Pat McIntosh - The Counterfeit Madam

He had met Dame Isabella once or twice as a boy, and felt she had not improved. She had been a member of Margaret of Denmark’s household alongside his mother, which was presumably why she had been invited to stand godmother to his youngest sister. Lady Cunningham had mentioned her occasionally over the years; he vaguely recalled that she had been wedded at least twice since the death of her royal mistress, though to judge by her black garb and the pleated linen barbe pinned below her chin she was currently a widow. Small wonder, he thought.

As Tib’s godmother, it would be appropriate for her to do something for the girl before her approaching marriage, whether it embraced coin or a gift of land or jewels, and as Tib’s nearest male relative he could expect to be consulted in the transaction. But she had mentioned John Sempill’s involvement. There was no connection between Sempill and Tib that he knew of.

‘ Maistre le notaire awaits your convenience, madame ,’ said Catherine by the hearth. ‘We should not keep him waiting, perhaps.’

‘He’s got little enough to do,’ pronounced Dame Isabella, but she turned to stare at Gil. ‘Like my servants, the useless troop. Come here, Gilbert. Is that the brat?’ She nodded towards small John, who was just being led towards the kitchen stair by his quiet nurse.

‘That’s John Sempill’s heir,’ agreed Gil, repressing anger. ‘Does this concern the boy? My good-father should be present if so.’

‘Why? What’s it to do wi him?’

‘The boy is in my care,’ said Maistre Pierre, coming forward from the door. Dame Isabella glared at him, grunted, and gestured at the bench opposite her.

‘You may as well sit down and all, then, and listen.’ Catherine rose at this point with a murmured farewell, which was ignored, and Alys moved quietly towards one of the far windows, where she had left her needlework. ‘Now, Gilbert. You’ll ken I’ve two goddaughters, your sister Isobel and a lassie Magdalen Boyd, who’s some kin of yours so Gelis your mother tells me.’

‘Boyd.’ Gil sat down obediently beside his father-in-law, searching his memory of the kindred. ‘Aye, she is. Third or fourth cousin, I’d say. There was a brother too, name of — name of — was it Alexander? They were about penniless, I think.’

‘That was their faither’s doing,’ she said dismissively. ‘Any road, Magdalen has wedded John Sempill for her second husband.’ She looked with satisfaction at his astonished face. ‘Aye, a good match, for the both of them, and I was right glad to support it.’

‘I’d not wed my worst enemy’s daughter to John Sempill,’ said Gil. Beside him Maistre Pierre rumbled agreement.

‘He’s done better than you have, mewed up here in a town wi a barren foreigner. Maidie has no trouble wi him. But the point is, she’s in a likely way.’ Sweet St Giles, when were they wedded, Gil wondered grimly, not looking at Alys. ‘So she’s no wanting another man’s get to be Sempill’s heir, no when she’s in a way to provide him wi one. Sempill’s in full agreement, so they’re proposing that he’ll no recognize the brat as his heir any longer, and in consideration they’re offering it a bit land here in Glasgow where it’s handy.’

Gil stared at her, preserving his expression as best he might. After a moment Maistre Pierre said,

‘But does the man Sempill have anything left to offer? I thought he was hard pressed.’

‘He was,’ Gil said. ‘He was in Glasgow to deal with that when his wife — his first wife,’ he corrected himself, ‘was killed, and left her son motherless. That was why he took the boy for his heir, so old Canon Murray would leave him his fortune, though I think the old man still lives.’ He eyed Dame Isabella, hoping his dislike did not show. ‘I take it his circumstances have changed with the new marriage?’

She gave a bark of laughter.

‘Aye, they’ve changed, and for the better. So will you accept the offer?’

‘We can’t say,’ said Gil without pausing to consult with Maistre Pierre, ‘until we know what the offer might be.’

‘That’s a pity,’ said Dame Isabella, ‘for once that’s dealt wi I’ve a couple of plots to dispose of and all. There’s one of them out Carluke way, been in my family for years, and one in Strathblane, they bring in much the same rent, and we’ll can see about which goes to Maidie and which to your sister Isobel.’

‘It would surely be more convenient,’ said Maistre Pierre reasonably, ‘that the Lanarkshire property go to the Lanarkshire lassie, unless your other goddaughter dwells there also. No, she must be in Renfrewshire,’ he corrected himself.

‘We’ll can see,’ Dame Isabella repeated. Gil sat still, wondering how his mother had ever liked this woman enough to invite her to be Tib’s godmother. The bargain was clear enough: if he agreed to Sempill’s proposal for young John McIan and accepted the offered property in exchange for the boy’s present status as Sempill’s heir, Tib would get the land close to where she would be settled; if not, it was likely she would find herself in possession of a patch of Strathblane, a full day’s ride from her new home, with the attendant difficulties of administering the rent and overseeing the tenants.

‘We need to know more, madam,’ he said as politely as he could, ‘and we’ll need time to consider. As the boy’s tutor and foster-father we should take it all in advisement-’

‘You’ve an hour to think on it,’ she retorted. ‘We’re to meet at your uncle the Canon’s house. He made a right to-do about having no time, this was the only moment in the week he could spare us, as if he didny dwell and work in the burgh, so you’d best no be late.’

It was hardly worth trying to explain, Gil thought, that the Official of Glasgow, the senior judge of the diocese, had a caseload that would tax an elephant and regularly worked all the hours he was not sleeping. Sempill had been fortunate to find a moment when Canon Cunningham could see them. As for the papers he himself had to complete for the next day’s taking of sasines in Rottenrow, that would clearly have to wait until later.

‘Will we convoy you up the road?’ he suggested.

‘No, you’ll no. If you need to consult, you’ll consult, for I want a decision the day, else the whole goes to Maidie.’ She turned her head. ‘Here, Attie scatterwit, where are ye? And you, you worthless frivol. Call the men, and send out to see if Sproat’s waited like I bade him. Time I was on the road.’

When Maistre Pierre returned from seeing their unwelcome guest to the street he found Gil discussing the interview with Alys.

‘ Mon Dieu! ’ he said, shutting the house door and leaning on it. ‘ Quelle horreur de femme! Ma mie , your nose does not in the least resemble a parrot’s, it is the image of that of your sainted mother.’

Gil had already reassured his wife on this point, though she did not seem to be concerned; now he said in Scots,

‘ Christ never such another bought That ever I saw . I’ve aye thought it was little wonder Margaret of Denmark died young, given her household. So do we accept?’

‘It depends what the offer is,’ said his father-in-law.

‘I would be glad for John to be clear of Sempill,’ Alys observed, ‘but should we not consult his father?’

‘McIan? Do we know where McIan is?’ Gil wondered.

‘They were to be in Stirling, and then they are coming here, so Ealasaidh sent me the other day.’

‘We’ll not get a reply from Stirling within an hour.’

‘No, I fear not,’ said Maistre Pierre. ‘But if we are both to go up the road, there is another matter to see to.’ He crossed to the hearth and reached up onto the carved hood of the chimney-breast. ‘We may take this counterfeit silver to the Sheriff while we are there.’