Pat McIntosh - The Counterfeit Madam

The younger woman appeared at the door behind her sister-in-law’s muscular shoulder, her baby clasped tightly to her.

‘ An caisteal? ’ she repeated in alarm. ‘Let them in, sister, we not — we never-’

The other children were not visible. Barabal, when asked, said sulkily that they were with her man’s sister.

‘And where does she dwell?’ Gil enquired, seating himself in the whitesmith’s chair.

‘Yonder.’ She jerked her head vaguely northwards.

‘Is that where Alan and Nicol are lodged and all?’

Her eyes widened, but she said nothing. The younger woman, laying the sleeping baby in its cradle, began to move about the hearth, finding oatcakes and cheese and a bottle of something, clearly taking comfort from obedience to the laws of hospitality. Gil, hoping it would not be usquebae, said,

‘I’ve heard a bit about Thursday morning.’ Barabal scowled at him. ‘How come Miller was here? He dwells down the Gallowgate, does he no?’

‘He was discussing matters,’ said Barabal, while the other woman crossed herself at the sound of the name.

‘What was he so angry about? Frightened your weans, I think, mistress?’

‘There is no knowledge at me of that,’ she said. ‘The man was in a great rage, but it was not my business what angered him.’

‘I hope the weans never saw him killing Muir.’

‘No, they were down the back, thanks be to Our Lady,’ she said, ‘I was keeping them there out his way, and I waited till he had hid the-’

‘You kent he was in there?’ demanded Neil Campbell. ‘You kent he was in the kist, and you never said?’

‘You would never jaloused it,’ she retorted, ‘if this lang drink o watter was not powterin where it was none o his business!’

‘Where did Miller go after he hid the body?’ Gil asked. She shook her head, the ends of her linen veil swinging against her massive bosom.

‘Off down the burn, likely, to his own place. He is not one that welcomes being spied on, you will understand.’

‘And after that the three men came looking for help. They’re kin of yours, are they?’

‘On her mother’s side,’ said Neil hastily. She threw him a very ugly look.

‘That Billy is no kin of mine,’ she objected, ‘you will never say so.’

‘He must be kin to somebody,’ Gil said. ‘So far as I can make out everyone in this is related. How is the man Miller your kin?’

She checked, staring, then shook her head again, looking alarmed.

‘No kin to any of us, that one!’ she said. ‘They are all in the guild thegither, just.’

Her sister-in-law came forward with a beaker in one hand and a platter in the other, and offered them to Gil with the graceful curtsy he had seen other Ersche women make. He accepted, concealing reluctance, and sipped at the beaker. It was usquebae, and new stuff at that, the raw, fiery spirit biting at his throat. Neil said something in Ersche, and the young woman tightened her lips and set about preparing food for him too.

‘Then later,’ said Gil, ‘the woman Forveleth was here. I think she’s your cousin, Mistress Bethag?’ She looked round, and nodded shyly. ‘So it was hardly friendly of your man when he exchanged the bag of coin for the package of apothecary goods in her bundle, and gave it to Mistress Barabal.’

Barabal made the sign against the evil eye.

‘You are knowing too much a’thegither!’ she said, glowering. He smiled, and raised the horrible usquebae in a toast to her.

‘And where is the purse of blue velvet?’

She shook her head. ‘I have seen no purse of blue velvet, and so I was telling the soldiers when they were here.’

Neil translated the question at Gil’s nod, but the other woman made the same answer. No purse of blue velvet had been on the toft since the day they moved in, no matter how hard the Provost’s men had searched.

Gil paused to eat one of the oatcakes. It had been smeared with green cheese, and was rather tough. He had heard Maggie say that the cook’s mood affected the baking. Small wonder, then, he reflected, and took another sip of usquebae, hoping the one would cancel out the other. The combination was even less palatable.

‘What brought Miller back that evening?’ he asked. ‘The Provost’s men found him in the forge out here wi a parcel of scrap metal on him. What was he looking for?’

‘Old metal, I am supposing,’ said Barabal before the other woman could speak. ‘He takes the old stuff, the broken pieces-’

‘The scrap,’ he supplied. ‘What, you mean he buys it in from other hammermen?’

‘Hah!’ she said bitterly, and Bethag in the shadows shook her head.

‘Not buying,’ she said softly.

‘Does Maister Hamilton ken this?’ he asked.

‘What are you thinking?’ retorted Barabal.

Opening his purse he fetched out the brass die, and held it out on his palm.

‘You ken what this is, mistress?’ he said.

‘Not me!’ said Barabal boldly, though her eyes had narrowed at the sight. ‘Good enough brass, but someone is hammering at it, by the look of it.’

‘Was Miller looking for this, maybe?’

‘I would not be knowing. I never spoke wi the man, I had the bairns to keep from him. They fear him.’

‘There should be two of these. Is the other one about the toft, would you say?’

Her sister-in-law said something emphatic in Ersche, which Neil translated:

‘There is nothing the like on this toft. She is sure of that.’

Gil frowned, trying to pull all this into one tale. It would not fit. Something was still missing, something he had not asked.

‘How much have you had to do wi Dame Isabella?’ he ventured.

‘Who?’ said Barabal blankly, at the same time as the younger woman said,

‘Is mistress to Forveleth, is so?’

‘And to Alan and Nicol,’ agreed Gil. ‘What has she done for you?’

‘Nothing good,’ said Barabal, ‘causing them turn up here and ask our aid, and us wi troubles enough!’

‘But before that?’ Gil suggested. ‘Had she no part in the other troubles?’

‘No,’ said Barabal firmly. Her sister-in law shook her head, though whether in agreement or disagreement Gil was not certain.

‘Has Miller been here the day?’ he asked.

‘Why would he do that?’ returned Barabal. ‘He has ears, the same as the rest of Glasgow, he will be hearing of what has happened. Why do you think we are shut in here, instead of about the toft as we should be? Half the Drygate was running about the place this morning, wanting to question us, nothing for it but to pretend we are not here. None of their mind it is, whatever happens on Clerk’s Land.’

‘She here yestreen,’ said Bethag reluctantly. ‘Miller.’

Gil, familiar with the Ersche confusion with the Scots he and she , simply looked questioningly at her. She gazed back at him, spread her hands, and spoke rapidly to Neil.

‘She is saying,’ he relayed, ‘The man was here yesterday. After you was here and before I came to the door, she is saying.’

‘And what did he want then?’ Gil asked.

‘They were shouting,’ he relayed. ‘She was not understanding it all. Her Scots is not so good as mine,’ he said disparagingly. ‘Were you hearing what they said, Barabal?’

‘I was not,’ she said firmly, ‘and nor was Bethag if she has any sense.’

‘He wanted her man to do something,’ the gallowglass went on, ‘and he would not. And he wanted him to go somewhere with him the day.’

‘Where?’

The answer to that was clear enough: Strathblane.

‘Why?’ Gil asked. ‘What did he want there?’

She shook her head blankly. ‘Important,’ she said. ‘No ken why.’