Pat McIntosh - The Counterfeit Madam

When he had opened the door of Dod Muir’s house, Saunders the pewterer, clad in shirt and boots, had almost fallen into the chamber clutching one of his bigger mells. Behind him his wife held her plaid about her over her shift, a lantern in her free hand, her gaze going past Gil into the dark corners, to Neil Campbell on the ladder.

‘You!’ said Saunders. ‘What are you at here? What have ye done wi Dod?’

‘The man Muir is dead,’ said the gallowglass, as the whitesmith appeared out of the rainy darkness.

Saunders’ wife screamed, and crossed herself. The whitesmith pushed past her into the house, staring round in the leaping shadows.

‘What are you about?’ demanded Saunders, raising the mell. ‘Seize the man, Noll, we’ve got him red hand!’

‘He’s been slain and hidden here,’ said Gil, ‘I’d say yesterday some time.’

Both householders began shouting, ably assisted by Saunders’ wife. The resulting broil had attracted the attention of the Watch; during it, somehow, Madam Xanthe slipped out and away without being noticed.

The Watch, five stalwart indwellers of the burgh in a mixed set of ill-fitting armour, had been deeply dismayed to find they had a murder on their hands.

‘Is it Dod Muir right enough?’ said their leader, peering into the kist in the lantern-light. ‘His face is all sideyways, it’s no that like him.’ He felt respectfully at the folded corpse, and shook his head. ‘Whoever it is, he’s caulder than charity, and he’s stiff and softened again, he’s been gone a while.’

‘Who else would it be?’ said his neighbour scornfully, hitching at a breastplate which Gil estimated had been made forty years since for a thinner man. ‘Hid here in the man’s own kist, in his own house?’

‘It might be someone he’s slew himsel,’ said one of the other watchmen.

‘You need,’ said Gil, exerting authority, ‘to send to the Castle. Get them to wake the Provost, and fetch a couple of his men back wi you.’

‘Wake the Provost?’ repeated the leader doubtfully.

‘Aye, and take up this nosy-’ began Saunders. Gil stared him down, but his wife said shrilly,

‘Ach, indeed, nothing but trouble, he is, always poking round here, uncovering what he ought not, high time he was taken up and locked away!’ She fell silent as her brother hissed something threatening in Ersche, and Gil said to the leader of the Watch,

‘It’s none of your duty to deal wi murder, man. Send one of your lads to the Castle, tell them there’s been a murder, bid them come and take over from you here.’

‘Aye, you’re right there,’ agreed the man, grasping at this idea with relief. ‘Wee Rab, away up to the Castle, d’ye hear? And the rest o us will just stay here,’ he said, with more courage now he knew the task was limited, ‘mak sure nobody moves aught they shouldny.’

‘Aye, well,’ said one of his henchmen. ‘It’s out the rain, and all. But how did ye come to discover him, hid away like this?’

‘I’ll ask the questions, Tam Bowster,’ said the leader. ‘How did ye find him, then?’

‘The dog led me to him,’ said Gil, having anticipated this question. The men looked askance at Socrates, who was now sitting politely at Gil’s side, his teeth gleaming in the light. The child was still screaming in the near house; Saunders sent his wife away with a mutter and a jerk of the head, and Noll Campbell the whitesmith said,

‘For one that claims to be our landlord, maister, you do a rare lot o spying and creeping about. What was bringing you in here, that the dog could sniff out a death? Did you ken he was there to be found?’

‘When did you last see him?’ Gil countered.

‘I’ll ask the questions,’ said the leader of the Watch. ‘When was deceased last seen, then? Was he at his work the day?’

‘He couldny ha been,’ objected the man in the antique breastplate, ‘he’s been deid since yestreen by the look o him.’

‘I’d an encounter wi him yesterday morning,’ said Gil rather wryly. ‘I’ve been looking for a word wi him ever since.’

‘And you!’ said the watchman to Neil Campbell, not waiting for an answer from the householders. ‘What are you doing here? You’re a stranger, are ye no? Was it you slew the man and hid him in his own kist?’

‘I never knew the man was there,’ protested Neil.

He said the same now to the Provost. Otterburn snorted.

‘Answer Maister Cunningham,’ he ordered. ‘Why were ye no lodged wi your cousin? What made him bed ye down in Muir’s house?’

‘I was sleeping there before,’ said the gallowglass. Otterburn snorted again, and set his tablets down with a bang on the table.

‘Take him away, Andro,’ he ordered. ‘Shut him away wi the rest o them, we’ll get a right word wi them all the morn’s morn. And yoursel, Maister Cunningham,’ he added as his man-at-arms removed the startled Campbell, ‘what’s all this about, anyway? Respected burgess like yoursel, creeping about the back-lands in the night? Don’t think I haveny noticed what ye were about.’

‘I found Dod Muir,’ Gil pointed out, aware that his face was burning. Otterburn glared at him. ‘I was in pursuit of a matter concerning Dame Isabella’s death,’ he continued.

‘And did you find it?’

‘No,’ he admitted. Otterburn grunted, and pushed his chair back with a scraping noise, very loud in the quiet tower.

‘Get away hame to yir bed,’ he said, ‘and be back here betimes, if you would, Maister Cunningham.’ It was not a request. ‘I’ll want a good word wi you and all afore the old dame’s quest, and I’ll want you wi me when we get a look at Dod Muir. He’ll keep in his box till daylight.’

‘Very well,’ Gil said, rising when the older man did.

‘And next time you’re taken up by the Watch,’ said Otterburn, ‘I’ll have you arrested same as the lave o them.’

‘I’m right flattered,’ said Lowrie, ‘that Maister Gil trusts me to keep you safe, but I thought bringing a couple of our lads along as well might be wiser.’

Alys gave him an enigmatic smile, and pressed her horse to a faster walk. She had left Gil still asleep. He had returned some time before dawn, rousing her long enough to give her a confusing account of Sandy Boyd, Archbishop Blacader and a body in a kist, before they had both become distracted; when she woke again at the more usual time and slid out of his embrace he hardly stirred.

It had taken her an hour to organize horses and escort for this outing, while contriving to give both Catherine and Ealasaidh the impression that she was acting on Gil’s instructions. She hoped one of them would wake him in time for the quest on Dame Isabella; meanwhile she preferred to leave Glasgow behind as soon as possible.

‘I was certain you would know the road out to Strathblane,’ she said. ‘I have never ridden that way.’

‘Where are we headed, anyways, mem?’ asked Luke suspiciously from her other side. ‘It’s a bonnie day for a ride, but there’s work to do. The maister wasny best pleased at your message.’

‘Strathblane? Is that to Balgrochan?’ asked one of Lowrie’s men hopefully. ‘Willie Logan that’s grieve there’s got a generous hand wi the ale-jug. Good ale his wife brews and all.’

‘That and Ballencleroch,’ said Alys. Luke frowned, and Canon Cunningham’s groom Tam turned in his saddle and looked hard at her.

‘Is that these two feus the row was about?’ he asked. ‘When yon auld wife was at our house, that asked the maister-’ He broke off what he was about to say.

‘I think so,’ said Alys.

‘Asked him had he had his bowels open, did she?’ said the other of Lowrie’s men, and guffawed. ‘She’d ha asked the Pope himsel the same question, I can tell you, good riddance to her!’