The Rough Collier (24 page)

‘Oh, too soon to say, too soon to say. We left the poor soul asleep, did we no, mistress,’ he said with a nod at Alys, ‘which at the least will do him some good, and if he can fast as I bade him and ask the saint’s help, then I’ve great hopes. Great hopes,’ he repeated, stroking Socrates’ head.

‘And how are they all up at the coaltown?’ asked Lady Egidia.

Sir John shook his head compassionately. ‘All at sixes and sevens, madam. The young widow – Mistress Brownlie – is overcome in her grief, and Mistress Weir is quite ill wi’ concern for her.’ Alys had difficulty in recognizing this picture. ‘I said a Mass for them, though we had to make do with household candles to light it, the rats had eaten away all the ones in the box, even the wicks, indeed. Strange to think that the cause of their sadness is the source of our rejoicing, is it no? And tell me, mistress,’ he turned to Alys. Trying to work out the logic of his last statement, she was taken by surprise. ‘I think you were there when our saint came up out of the peat? Did you not see any portents? Was there no sign, no lights in the sky or flames hovering over his brow, nothing like that?’

‘Nothing,’ she said firmly, wishing Gil was present to share the moment. Sir John looked so cast down at this that she felt impelled to add, ‘But I was not there when he was discovered, sir. When Maister Cunningham and I arrived he was already taken out of his burial-place and laid on a hurdle. You should ask the men of Thorn, who found him.’

‘Thorn,’ he said reflectively. ‘Aye. Well, I can ask.’

‘Best ask them separately,’ said Lady Egidia on a sardonic note, ‘if you want to get at any sort of truth there.’

‘Oh, they would not lie to their priest,’ Sir John responded, shocked.

‘And the other folk at the coaltown?’ pursued Lady Egidia. ‘Mistress Lithgo and her daughters, young Crombie himself, how are they? I hardly think Crombie will be grieved for his grieve,’ she pronounced, savouring the play on words, ‘but the man was part of the household, so I’ve heard, and it stirs up the melancholy humours when death comes under your roof.’

‘Indeed,’ agreed Sir John, crossing himself. ‘As you say, madam, young Crombie’s hardly touched by it, save that he must be at the quest in Lanark the morn’s morn. They were to ride out shortly after I came away, and lie in Lanark town tonight. The old lady was to go and all, though I tried to persuade her against it.’

‘Mistress Weir?’ exclaimed Alys involuntarily. Both of them looked at her, and she was annoyed to find herself blushing. ‘But can she travel so far?’

‘That was my concern, though I think her stronger then she looks. And spryer,’ the priest added. ‘These old women are often – indeed.’

‘Indeed,’ said Lady Egidia in the same sardonic tone as before.

‘As for Mistress Lithgo and the two lassies, I scarcely saw them. The younger lassie was attending on her grandam, though I did wonder – and the older one and her mother were that busy about their stillroom, mixing and pouring this and that.’ Alys glanced sharply at her mother-in-law and found her own sudden anxiety mirrored in the older woman’s face. ‘But I talked a while with Mistress Brownlie, brought her to a knowledge of God’s goodness and grace, comforted her I hope. Indeed.’ He crossed himself.

‘I’m sure you were a comfort,’ said Lady Egidia, sounding sincere.

‘What were you going to say of Bel?’ Alys asked. ‘The younger lassie,’ she added, as he looked blankly at her.

‘Oh, the younger one. No, I wondered if she wished – och, it’s a daft notion, poor lassie, she canny speak her needs, only that she knelt afore me as if she would ha’ made some confession. But her grandam called her and told her not to take up my time. Certainly it takes a time to confess the poor lass. I’m sure Mistress Weir was right. Indeed.’ He wound down as if his string had run out, and crossed himself again.

‘I am sure you are right,’ said Alys soothingly. Lady Egidia looked at her, but did not speak. ‘Sir John, had you any acquaintance with the dead man – with Thomas Murray?’

‘Wi’ Murray?’ Sir John looked from her to Lady Egidia. ‘I did, indeed, a small acquaintance. A good enough fellow, but a good opinion of himself.’

Confession, thought Alys. He has confessed the man.

‘Was he honest in his employment?’ asked Lady Egidia, stroking the cat.

‘He was. I can safely say that he was.’ Sir John nodded judiciously.

The two women looked at one another again. One thing he cannot have confessed, thought Alys, and saw the same assumption in her mother-in-law’s face.

‘He died in mortal sin,’ said Lady Egidia, as Alan Forrest entered the hall, followed by the women with responsibility for the linen and tableware. ‘Ah, supper must be ready.’

‘You asked me of his employment, madam,’ said Sir John, ‘and I say he was an honest workman.’

Alys’s estimate of Sir John rose. It took a strong character to stand up to her mother-in-law.

Over supper, by unspoken agreement, they allowed the priest to soliloquize almost uninterrupted on the forthcoming translation of St Malessock. Alan Forrest listened from his place next him at the board, with a wary expression as if he was certain too much of the planned junketing would devolve on him.

‘It’ll be a longer procession than the opening of Parliament, Jackie,’ he said at last. ‘You should send to Lanark and get the carts from Corpus Christi, and save your feet –’

‘No, no,’ broke in Lady Egidia, in tones of innocence. ‘I’m certain you should put the corp – the saint on the Meikles’ cart, Sir John. They brought him here, after all.’

‘The men of Thorn must have a part,’ said Alys, keeping her face straight despite the image this conjured up. ‘And if he should recover, so must Sir David.’

The meal was over, the long table cleared away, and the two women, Socrates and Sir John had retired to sit by the brazier in one of the smaller chambers before Alys accepted that Gil would not be home that night. The evening ahead of her suddenly seemed very long and empty, though the board had been set up for the game of tables, and she knew there was a piece of plain sewing waiting in their chamber. She sat smiling and nodding and caressing the dog as her elders conversed, wondering whether he had stayed away because she had argued with him, or because it was too late to come home. When the priest finally rose to take his leave, and extricated himself in a flurry of compliments and
Indeeds
, Lady Egidia looked wryly at her and said:

‘My dear, if you’re only now learning that love hurts, you have been fortunate.’

‘Am I so obvious? I’m sorry, madame – I was better reared than that.’

‘Not to our guest, I imagine, but I could tell you were elsewhere. Gil will put his duty first, you know that. He’ll be home when he’s done it.’

‘I wouldn’t have him otherwise,’ Alys said firmly. Lady Egidia turned her head sharply as a step sounded in the hall, but Socrates had done no more than prick his ears, so Alys was not disappointed when it was Alan who appeared in the doorway, looking harassed.

‘It’s her from the Pow Burn at the yett, mistress,’ he said. ‘She’ll not say what she wants, save it’s for Maister Gil only. I’ve tellt her he’s not here and won’t be back this night, but she’s saying she’ll wait.’

‘Which of them?’ asked Alys with sudden anxiety. ‘Is something wrong up there?’

Alan looked at his mistress, who nodded. And I was trying not to put myself forward, thought Alys.

‘It’s Mistress Lithgo. The one that does the healing. She was up at the yett as soon as I saw Jackie Heriot out to the road, just walked down from the coaltown. She’ll not say what it is,’ he repeated, ‘only it’s for Maister Gil.’

‘See if she’ll speak to one of us,’ said Lady Egidia, regaining control.

Beatrice Lithgo was seated in the steward’s room, still wrapped in a great blue plaid, her indoor cap covered by a veil of coarse black linen secured with a carved wooden pin. Her feet were propped on a brass box of charcoal, a cloth bundle and a jug of hot buttered ale beside them, and she held a cup in her hands. Her face was shadowed from the candlelight but she was as still and tense as a strung bow. As Alys stepped into the room and closed the door, she looked up and her mouth twitched in a small smile.

‘M-my husband is not here,’ Alys said. ‘He went – he went on an errand. We think he may not come back till morning now.’ Beatrice considered this, the expression of her eyes hidden. ‘Is there some difficulty at the coal-heugh? Can I help, or should we send someone with torches to Cauldhope?’

‘No, Maister Michael’s not who I need.’ The other woman looked down at the cup of buttered ale, and up again. Her shadowed gaze met Alys’s and slid aside. She looked higher still, at the broad boards stretched between the rafters, and took a breath. ‘I want to ask Maister Cunningham who I should tell.’

‘Tell what? Has something happened? Are your daughters safe? Is Joanna –?’

‘They’re well enough.’ Again, the quick glance at the ceiling. Then, squaring her shoulders and looking Alys in the eye, she said, ‘I need to ask your man who I should tell that I poisoned Thomas Murray.’

Alys put out a hand and steadied herself on the corner of the steward’s desk. She became aware that her mouth had fallen open; closing it, she said very carefully, ‘You wish to confess to poisoning Thomas Murray?’

‘You heard me right,’ Beatrice assured her, with a faint flicker of her usual irony.

‘Do – do you know what that will lead to? If you confess? If you are found guilty?’

‘Drowning.’

The Scottish form of execution for a woman, thrust into a pit with the hands tied, held down by long poles. Probably better than hanging, if one had the choice. Alys stared at her, then turned away and poured herself a cup of the buttered ale, as much for something to do with her hands as anything else. She sat down, and sipped the fast-cooling brew, her mind still racing. After a moment she said, ‘But what about your children?’

An infinitely small shrug was the only response.

‘How.’ She swallowed. ‘How did you do it? What did you use?
Why
did you do it?’

This could not be happening. Gil should be here. Why had he not come home?

‘I put the poison into the flask,’ said Beatrice, patiently and very slowly. ‘Seeing Arbella had tellt him to use it to mind her birthday.’

‘When? When did you put it in the flask? And what did you use?’

‘You keep asking me that. I should ha’ thought you could work it out for yourself, lassie.’

‘No, I think you have to tell us.’ Alys frowned, trying to fit this into what she knew already. ‘I don’t understand why, either. Should we send after Sir John Heriot? Would you wish to confess to him?’

‘No,’ said Beatrice briefly. ‘He was annoying my lassies, Thomas I mean. And Joanna,’ she added as an afterthought.

‘When did you put the poison in the flask?’ Alys asked again.

‘I got the chance while he made his farewells.’

‘But where was the flask then?’

‘In his scrip. In the hall. They were all in the window chamber, and nobody saw.’

It fits together, thought Alys. As I should have expected.

‘And what was it? What did you use?’

‘Work it out, lassie.’ Beatrice sat back, her shoulders softening as if she had laid down a burden. ‘Now, if your man’s no looked for till the morn’s morn, you’ll have to keep me here,’ she prompted. ‘A dangerous felon like me’s no safe to be running about the countryside in the dark. Will your good-mother be wanting to chain me?’

‘I’ve no idea.’ Alys found she was still staring at the older woman, unable to read her expression. ‘Sir John cannot be far on his road – would you like me to send after him? Will you not confess to him?’

‘Our Lady save you, my dear,’ said Beatrice, with a flicker of amusement, ‘I stood out there in the mirk getting chilled to the bone, waiting for him to take his leave. No, we’ll not trouble Sir John. Your man can hear me when he comes home.’

‘Won’t they miss you at the coal-heugh? Your daughters will be worried.’

‘Not them. I sent them off to bed, after Raffie left for Lanark wi’ Arbella, and shut myself into the stillroom. They’ll no ken till the morn that I’m no in there minding a triple-distillation.’

‘What – what will happen to them? They can’t . . .’ Alys ran out of words, and Beatrice gave her another ironic smile.

‘They’ll can go wi’ their brother. I’ve got him a good position as under-grieve wi’ Russell at Laigh Quarter, over in Cadzow parish, though his grandam doesny know of it yet. Have no fears for them, lassie.’

There was another pause, while Alys’s thoughts swirled and submerged like linen surging in a washtub. A fresh point surfaced, and she seized on it.

‘What about the other man, the forester? Did you know about him? Did you know about Murray being –’

‘No, I never discussed his tastes wi’ the man. And I never knew about the other fellow. I’m right sorry about him,’ Beatrice said. It sounded like the truth.

‘Tell me again,’ said Alys. ‘You put the poison –’

‘Into the flask, where it was in his scrip in the hall, afore he left. Because he was annoying my lassies and Joanna. That’s the trouble wi’ herbs,’ she said sadly. ‘They can heal, and they can kill, and once you’ve the knowledge in your hand, it’s too easy to use it. Will you lock me in, lassie? I brought my night-cap, I can lie here as well as anywhere.’

As Alys stepped from the chamber, Alan Forrest, on the stair outside with a candle, said in an urgent whisper, ‘Mistress – Mistress Alys – I heard all that.’ He held out a substantial iron key. ‘What are we to do wi’ her? Maister Gil’s no back yet, we’ll no see him till the morn, what will we do?’

‘We tell Lady Egidia first,’ said Alys, turning the key in the lock and giving it back to him. ‘She must direct where we put her or if she stays there. And we must get word to Gil as soon as may be in the morning.’

‘Aye, but where is it he’s gone? And there’s the quest and all, I took it you and the mistress’d want to go down to Lanark first thing to witness that. And an owl out there screeching in the stable-yard, fit to deave every beast in the place,’ he added, following her up the curling stair to the hall.

Lady Egidia was as astonished as Alys had been.