Pat McIntosh - The Counterfeit Madam

‘If it still stands,’ Gil cautioned her. ‘Lady Magdalen may change her mind, now her godmother is dead.’

‘If it still stands,’ agreed her brother, ‘I am in favour.’

‘The rents would keep the boy easily,’ supplied Maistre Pierre, ‘and we may put some aside for his education as well.’

‘But this woman who is dead.’ McIan shook his head. ‘There is darkness and betrayal there.’

‘If it was her servant slew her, that is betrayal enough,’ observed Ealasaidh.

‘And the violence to yourself, Maister Cunningham.’ Gil, who had slid over that part, did not look at Alys. ‘Have you taken hurt?’

‘A headache, a wetting, no more than that.’

‘Hmm.’ Maistre Pierre rose, removed Gil’s hat, felt carefully at his skull with large gentle hands. ‘No, I think your skull is hard enough,’ he said at length, as Gil flinched. ‘A lump like a goose-egg, but nothing worse. Continue your tale. What were they concealing, do you suppose?’

‘If I knew, it wouldny be concealed,’ he said wearily. ‘All I did was look into Danny Sproat’s stable and frighten the rats. I saw nothing untoward there.’

‘No, you need to look elsewhere,’ agreed the harper.

‘I should like to search the toft, nevertheless,’ said Maistre Pierre.

‘Otterburn’s men are doing that,’ Gil said.

‘Drink this.’ Alys was at his elbow — when had she left the hall? — handing him a small beaker of something. He swallowed it obediently, tasting willow-bark tea, honey, something else familiar. He looked up warily and smiled his thanks, and she met his eye, though she did not return the smile. Was he forgiven or not? he wondered.

The band by the plate-cupboard embarked on another piece of music, passing this one by ear, laughing as the sweet-sharp phrases modulated in different hands. Ealasaidh, with a glance at her brother, rose and drew Alys away to talk to John, who was inclined to be a little shy of his tall aunt. The harper sat back and said,

‘I have a favour to ask of this house.’

‘Ask it,’ said Maistre Pierre largely.

‘I am bound for the West, for Ardnamurchan. I had as soon not take my sister, for I think the journey is not easy. Is it possible-’

‘Pooh! No need to ask,’ said Maistre Pierre. ‘You and Mistress Ealasaidh both are welcome under my roof, sir, for as long as you wish it. What takes you into the West?’

‘I think we should not ask,’ said Gil quietly.

‘Resentment, enmity, tipping of the scales of power.’

‘That is true all over Scotland,’ said Maistre Pierre.

‘Oh, aye,’ said McIan, ‘and of this death here in Glasgow, but I spoke of the Isles. The false coin breeds enmity, and the rest. That is its purpose.’

‘To whose advantage?’ asked the mason.

‘Always a good question, with always the same answer.’

The Campbells, thought Gil. The Earl of Argyll. People keep mentioning the Campbells today.

‘With good reason,’ said McIan, and he realized he had spoken aloud. ‘The young one, the new earl, may not be the match of his sire, but he has the same nature. Tell me, maisters, has that pair of Campbell brothers been seen in Glasgow lately? Eoghan and Niall, you recall them?’

‘Them!’ said Maistre Pierre.

‘Euan and Neil,’ Gil agreed. ‘I saw Euan at the quarter-day when he brought the money for John’s keep from Sempill, but I’ve heard nothing of them in the last month. Why, have you? Who are they working for now? Not Sempill, then?’

‘For MacIain. No, not myself, but the greatest of the name, the man that holds Ardnamurchan of the King.’ He fell silent. Gil leaned back against the settle and stared at nothing, while the musicians started on yet another tune.

It seemed to have been a very long day already, and it was not over yet. The sasine transaction which had begun it was unlikely to come back at him, but everything else seemed to have questions attached which would lead him in all kinds of directions, and he was feeling unbelievably weary. Perhaps that was the dunt on the head, he thought. Begin at the beginning: where is the title to Balgrochan? Is it important that the old woman kept it back? Where was Sempill this morning if he didn’t see Dame Isabella?

‘Well, Gilbert,’ said Maistre Pierre beside him, sounding amused. ‘And was that the whole tale, son-in-law?’

He opened his eyes with a start. The hall was much emptier and much darker than it had been a moment ago. The musicians had vanished.

‘I wasn’t asleep,’ he said hastily.

‘No, of course not. But what have you been about, that the whole town is talking of you being rescued naked from the bawdy-house?’

‘What?’ he exclaimed, and put a hand involuntarily to his head as pain stabbed. ‘Sweet St Giles, no wonder Alys is displeased. It was nothing of the sort — indeed they saved my life, I think.’

‘As strong as that?’ The mason sat down. ‘Tell me again. We have time before supper, I think.’

‘Where is McIan gone?’

Maistre Pierre waved a large hand towards the courtyard.

‘They are gone to settle in, or perhaps to see John in his cradle. Now tell me about the bawdy-house.’

‘We’ll set up the table shortly,’ said Alys from the other end of the hall. She came forward, still unsmiling. ‘Go over the first part, at least. They took you in and warmed you, sent here for dry clothing. What did they give you for your hurt?’

‘Some sort of cordial, and a bowl of broth.’ He looked up at her. ‘We owe them a debt, sweetheart.’

‘For certain,’ agreed Maistre Pierre.

She nodded.

‘I suppose we do,’ she agreed, with what seemed like reluctance. ‘I’d sooner have you live, and spoken of all over the town, than otherwise.’ She considered the hand he extended to her, and put her own in it. The world seemed to straighten round him. ‘So how did it happen?’

McIan and his manservant departed after supper for some engagement in the burgh. The harper was his usual dignified self, clad in a blue velvet gown with his hair combed down over his shoulders, but his sister watched them leave and said,

‘The Deil alone knows when himself will be home. It might be before the dawn. By what Whistling Tam was saying it will be a wild night of it.’

‘You do not go with him?’ asked Maistre Pierre curiously. She shook her head.

‘I’ve no notion where he gets the strength. There is ower many years on me for riding all day and then playing all night after it. I had sooner be here, where the bairn is.’ She looked round their faces as they stood by the hearth. ‘But I think you have things to discuss. I should go to my rest, maybe.’

Alys and her father both exclaimed against this, and Gil said, concealing reluctance, ‘You’ve heard the half of it already, and I could do with the woman’s view of what I saw. You and Alys will see things I never noticed.’ And a pity that Catherine always retires immediately supper is cleared, he thought.

‘Come and sit down,’ said Alys. ‘We have no usquebae in the house, but there is wine.’

In fact Ealasaidh was little help. Gil went over the morning again, detailing what he had seen and learned, and she exclaimed over every turn of the tale as she had done earlier, with shocked comments about the customs of Dame Isabella and her household. Alys listened quietly, and said as he finished,

‘Scatology not eschatology, despite her age.’ He glanced at her, acknowledging the play on words, and she went on, ‘I think you are right, Gil, there are things which do not make sense.’

‘The whole thing makes no sense!’ declared her father. ‘More wine, mistress?’

‘But to permit someone to come close enough with a hammer and nail!’ said Ealasaidh, accepting her refilled glass. ‘And occupied like that, the shameless woman!’