Pat McIntosh - The Counterfeit Madam

‘Did she have so much to leave?’ he asked. Livingstone grimaced.

‘She did not, though she thought she did, that’s clear. Archie reckons the land at Gargunnock that she’s left the lad was part of the heriot and all, same as both the plots in Strathblane. Just the way Lowrie’s luck falls, that. And I’d say Archie’ll be in for a fine battle wi John of the Isles for most of the rest. Stirling men of law will eat well this winter. Aye, set it there, Tammas, we’ll serve oursels.’

‘Why John of the Isles? He’s dispossessed, he’s landless and forfeit and living on the King’s pension, why would a woman like Dame Isabella leave him near all she had?’ A woman who couldny stand these heathen names , who abused her Ersche servants for thieving fools, he was thinking.

‘Christ and His saints alone ken, but she thinks the world o him. She made a right tirravee when he was brought to Stirling last year,’ Livingstone said sourly, handing him a glass of Malvoisie, ‘wanting Archie to offer to keep the man, or offer him funds, or the like. The names she called him when he wouldny oblige her, you’d wonder she wasny struck down by a thunderbolt on the spot.’

Gil sipped the wine and considered the words incised in the greenish wax. The copy was cramped but the original had been carefully composed; Maister Edward Cults of Stirling, whose name was in the colophon, was clearly a qualified notary. It assigned the familiar parcels of land to each of her goddaughters and another to my nephew Lowrence Livinston for that his faither will not see to his providing , with further gifts of some value to all three, and conventional if paltry sums to the testatrix’s own household. To Jhone Sempil of Muirende, spous of my gude-dochter Magdalen Boidd went another piece of land in Renfrewshire, along with my smal kiste of norowa dele with al held therin , and then the final sentence: Al uthir gudes, chattils and londes of which I dye invest or infeft I leve to the use of Jhon Macdonneld sumtyme erle of Ross callit Lord of the Yles for his lifetyme .

‘You’d get them back eventually,’ he said. ‘John of the Isles is, how old? Sixty? Can’t be far short of it.’

‘Aye, but that’s no the point, is it?’ said Livingstone indignantly. ‘He’ll get how many years’ worth o rents off that, if it’s hers to leave, and we reckon it isny.’

‘Have you found the Norway deal kist she leaves to Sempill? I wonder what’s in it?’

‘So did we,’ said Livingstone. ‘It’s not in her baggage. Some earnest o good behaviour, or the like, I’ve no doubt, that she extorted from him afore she wedded her goddaughter to the man.’

It would fit, thought Gil, but did not comment. ‘She gives no reason for the bequest of land.’

‘She’s entitled to assign what’s hers where she wishes,’ said Livingstone, ‘and that’s hers — or at least, it isny ours — but I agree, you wonder why, more particular when her servants, that she owes a duty to, get no more than five merks each. Though I suppose wi the way they’ve run off, she’s no that much of a duty to them. And Archie’s full able to see to the lad’s providing,’ he added.

‘I never doubted it,’ Gil said, still studying the will. ‘I’ll not mention this to Sempill.’

‘I’d be grateful,’ said Livingstone. ‘There’s enough to see to, without him underfoot demanding his rights afore they’re due.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘At least we can see the auld ettercap into the ground now, Christ be praised. Were you at the quest? I never saw you.’

‘I was elsewhere. What did it conclude?’

‘Oh, clear enough, clear enough, murder by an unknown felon, though I did think for a while they’d bring it in against the woman Marion, or whatever she’s cried. But Otterburn can steer an assize, he’s no so daft as he’s made out, and they returned that after a bit.’

‘Did you wait for the second one?’

‘I did not. Naught to do wi us, and I’d to speak wi Andro Hamilton to get Dame Isabella in her kist and received at Greyfriars. We’ll put her in the ground the morn’s morn.’

‘Did Lowrie stay? If he’s not back it’s maybe not over yet-’

‘Lowrie?’ said Livingstone, in surprise. ‘He’s away out the town wi your good lady, maister. Out to Strathblane.’

Leaving Maister Livingstone to establish belatedly whether any of his own household had been anywhere near Dame Isabella’s quarters on the fatal morning, Gil strode up the Drygate to the Castle, turning this news over in his mind. He knew his wife well enough to be sure she had some purpose in the journey, and she had made certain of her escort — Lowrie and two men, Luke, the dog, and whoever had accompanied his uncle’s horses made a good retinue. She ought to be safe, he thought, and Lowrie has a good head on his shoulders. But what will she ask, and who will she ask it of? What will she find? Will she ask the right questions?

What are the right questions? he wondered, and had to admit he was not certain of the answer. And when will they be back? He glanced at the sky. It was not more than four in the afternoon, there were four or five hours of daylight left, and it was a good dry day. They might be back for supper.

Otterburn was not in a good mood.

‘I could ha done wi your presence,’ he said grimly, ‘as the finder o the man Muir. No to mention as one that can contradict the Serjeant. He’s fine when it’s a matter o forestalling or avoiding the mercat fee, John Anderson is, but gie him a trail to follow and he’ll cross it as sure as winking. I’d the deil’s own job to keep them from naming that woman in the Tolbooth for the old dame.’

‘No, it was never her,’ Gil said absently. ‘What did they resolve about Dod Muir? And where did that pair of gallowglasses get to?’

‘Oh, we’re putting some fellow Miller to the horn. Mind, it would help if I kent his forename, Dusty willny do for the paperwork, but the two women you sent up here wi that sly fellow made the tale clear enough, and spoke up to it. Eventually. Even an assize couldny mistake the matter. Is that who you’re wanting, the man Campbell? I thought he was about the place, maybe talking wi Andro. You could try at the guardhouse.’

‘Have you searched for Miller?’

Otterburn gave him a look which his mother would have called old-fashioned.

‘My faith, I never thought o that. What do you think we’ve been doing? Andro’s no long back, in fact, he was down the Gallowgate wi four men asking the fellow’s whereabouts, but turns out nobody kens him. Must be invisible.’

‘The missing servants from Dame Isabella’s household,’ Gil said, without apology, ‘are likely with Barabal Camp-bell’s good-sister, somewhere by the Stablegreen Port. One o them at least she sent to Miller just before she was murdered, so they should be able to take you to the man’s workshop.’

‘Ah!’ Otterburn rang the little bell on his desk. ‘Walter, get Andro to me, and that Neil Campbell wi him if he’s still underfoot.’

‘And Miller was talking about going out of Glasgow the day,’ Gil added, ‘to Strathblane.’ Where Alys had gone, he realized. Would they encounter the man? Would Lowrie be able to defend her? It was a wide valley, but they would all be looking for the same people, the same spot.

‘All the better,’ Otterburn was saying. ‘If we can find his premises and search them, then put a watch on the ports for him, we’ll maybe no need to horn him.’

The tramp of booted feet announced Andro, with a reluctant Neil Campbell at his back. The gallowglass was dismayed to be ordered to find the missing servants.

‘I have never set eyes on my cousin’s good-sister,’ he protested. ‘You would be wanting my brother for that.’