Pat McIntosh - The Counterfeit Madam

‘The fire,’ he said, as it suddenly emerged. ‘There was a fire in the yard, I think.’

‘Aye, that’s right,’ agreed Jack. ‘Away too close to the thatch.’

‘Which I never set,’ said Campbell resentfully. ‘None of my doing it was.’

‘What was in the fire?’ Gil asked. Jack shrugged.

‘Kale stalks, making a rare stink, a few scraps o wood and shavings. Some rags. Someone burning a bit rubbish, but away too close to the thatch, so we fined the lot of them.’

‘Aye, you did,’ said the prisoner sourly.

‘What kind of rags?’ Gil asked.

‘Bits o blue velvet?’ The two men looked at one another again, and Jimmy nodded. ‘Looked like someone’s old livery, by what you could still see,’ Jack went on. ‘There’d been a fair bit o stuff, there was quite a heap of ashes. I’m surprised this lot hadny taken it down the rag market, the way they complained about a wee bit fine that deserved them well.’

‘So where did Alan and Nicol go?’ Gil said to Campbell. The man’s eyes widened in shock, but he made no reply. ‘Are they staying wi the man Miller?’

‘Are they, then?’ demanded Jack, and shook Campbell’s arm so that his chains clanked. ‘Come on, speak up, answer when ye’re asked!’

‘No! No, I-’ Campbell began. ‘I don’t know — I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he finished as the shaking stopped. ‘I never — I’ve no notion who you’re on about.’

‘The men who wore the blue velvet livery,’ said Gil. ‘Whose kin are they? The Provost is right, I think, half Scotland is kin to someone on Clerk’s Land. There were three of them when they left Dame Isabella’s household. Where are they now, Campbell? Why did they come to your toft for help?’

‘I don’t know who you’re on about,’ repeated Campbell. Gil eyed him, and changed the subject.

‘What happened when you had words wi Dame Isabella at her window on Thursday morning?’

‘Eh?’ The prisoner stepped back, crossing himself, his manacles clanking, and was hauled forward by his guards. ‘What are you — I never — it wasny me!’ he stammered.

‘It wasny you what?’ Gil studied him. ‘Wasny you spoke wi her? Wasny you slew her? Wasny you at her window? You were seen,’ he said, stretching the point a little. ‘What happened to the velvet purse of money? The leather one you hid in Forveleth’s plaid, but there’s a velvet purse wi gold braid missing, and it was last heard of just before you reached that window, Campbell.’

‘I never laid a finger on any sic thing!’ protested the prisoner. ‘I never saw any purse o blue velvet!’

‘So how d’ye ken it was blue?’ demanded Andro.

‘Who was the other man?’ Gil asked. ‘Was it you stepped into the old woman’s chamber and slew her, or was it you kept her talking while he took a mell to her?’

The manacles clanked again as Campbell first crossed himself and then made the horns against the evil eye, staring wildly at Gil.

‘I never,’ he said hoarsely. ‘It wasny me, I never!’

They got no further answers from the man, only continued denials, and after a few more attempts Gil ordered him back down to the cells. He thought a look of surprised relief crossed the prisoner’s face as he turned away with his escort, as if he had expected other questions which had not been put, but it was too fleeting to be certain.

‘And bring up the right Campbell this time,’ recommended Andro.

Neil Campbell was a great deal more civil and more forthcoming, but provided little useful information at first.

‘Any time I am in Glasgow,’ he said earnestly. ‘There is room for two in that loft, and little enough in my cousin’s house.’

‘And when are you in Glasgow?’ Gil asked. ‘I’ve not seen you that often.’

The gallowglass shrugged. He had not been manacled, perhaps having been a more biddable prisoner, and stood easily now between the two men of his escort, lanky and dark-haired, innocence shining on his high cheekbones.

‘Now and then, just,’ he said.

‘On what errands?’

‘Any I can find. It is my calling, Maister Gil, you ken that, my sword is at anyone’s service that will pay me for it.’

‘So what errand are you about now?’ Gil asked. Neil looked wary.

‘I am thinking maybe it is not-’ he began. ‘Maybe I will not be completing it.’

‘Why?’ Gil asked bluntly.

‘Och, it is not possible.’

‘Because? What’s changed, Neil?’

‘Because of all that is happening.’

‘Dame Isabella’s death, you mean?’

The gallowglass considered this question.

‘No,’ he said at length. ‘I would not say so.’

‘Were you working for her? Or was your brother?’ Gil added quickly, recalling previous attempts to interrogate these two. ‘Philip Sempill thinks you were.’

‘Strange, it is, the way these ideas gets about.’

‘So what was this errand that you might not complete?’

Neil appeared to make a decision.

‘It was for McIan,’ he explained. ‘McIan of Ardnamurchan, that is, that dwells in Mingary Castle and is lord over all the West.’ This was not wholly accurate, Gil knew, but he let it pass. ‘I was to take a leather sack of money to him, but it is not in the hands of those that-’

‘The leather sack of coin that the Provost holds?’ Gil interrupted. ‘That was taken from one of Dame Isabella’s servants the other night?’

‘I would not be knowing of that,’ said Neil. ‘But it is certain it is no longer with those that were to give it to me.’

‘And those were?’

‘My cousin,’ admitted the gallowglass. ‘Or maybe my other cousin, that is Barabal, the wife of the man Saunders.’

‘Likely they had it in the house, one or other,’ said Andro, ‘and planked it in the woman’s bundle when they saw our lot coming.’

Gil, who had long since concluded the same thing, merely nodded.

‘Have you done this before, you or your brother?’ he asked. ‘Taken money from here to Mingary, I mean.’

‘Maybe,’ said Neil cautiously.

‘How many times? Last month? The month before?’

‘I was carrying a good sum last month,’ admitted the gallowglass. ‘And before that at the New Year, which was a great trouble, as you might know, what with the weather we were having at that time.’

‘I can imagine,’ said Gil. ‘So who ordered you to fetch this coin to McIan? Was it the man himself, or another?’

‘Och, no, it was my kinsman who called me in,’ said Neil easily, ‘saying he was to send it to Mingary and I would be well paid for the journey. And I was well paid indeed,’ he added. ‘Sword, helm and hauberk I’ve had from McIan’s own hands, one time or another.’

Gil rubbed at his eyes, considering what he had learned.

‘Do you know aught about Dame Isabella’s death?’ he asked.

‘Who?’

‘This old dame that’s slain on the Drygate,’ said Andro. ‘You must ha heard o’t, the whole of Glasgow’s buzzing wi the tale.’

‘Has your cousin mentioned it?’ Gil asked. Neil shook his head.

‘No, no,’ he said. ‘They would never mention the like in front of me.’

‘Why not?’ Gil asked casually. The gallowglass opened his mouth to answer, and closed it again, visibly thinking better of his reply. ‘So they are involved? Did your kinsman slay her, or was it another man?’

‘I would have no knowledge of that,’ said the prisoner flatly. ‘Why would my kinsman slay her, that was-’ he stopped again.

‘That was what?’

‘That was a stranger to him, so far as I ken,’ said the prisoner. Gil did not think this was what he had started to say. He studied the lean dark face before him, wondering how to get past the man’s practised evasion.