Pat McIntosh - The Counterfeit Madam

‘The house called the Mermaiden,’ he said. ‘A pleasure-garden, a kaleyard, stables, other offices. It’s quite a property, madam. Are you certain you want to offer it to the boy, with or without the sitting tenant?’

Magdalen Boyd raised her head to look him in the eye.

‘I am quite certain,’ she said. ‘I don’t go back on my word.’

‘I’ll swear to it and all,’ said Sempill. ‘The brat can have both the properties, so long as his keepers accept that he’s no my heir any longer. Name me any relics you please, I’ll swear.’

‘John.’ His wife turned to him. He glanced at her, went red, and muttered some apology. Gil registered this exchange and set it aside to consider later.

‘We need time to think about your proposal,’ he said. ‘The harper ought to be present, and Pierre and I should consult-’

‘They’ve naught to do wi it!’ said Sempill. ‘It was you that signed the last time as the brat’s tutor, you’ll do this time!’

‘I am agreed wi my nephew,’ said the Official, lifting his tablets. He found a suitable leaf, and began to smooth out the previous notes in the wax with the blunt end of his stylus. ‘This is no simple conveyancing matter, John, the conditions you set need a bit thought. At the least,’ he paused, deciphering a word in the document, ‘the boy’s well-wishers have to inspect the properties.’

‘We could do that now,’ suggested Philip Sempill.

‘They’re exactly as it says there!’ said his cousin indignantly. ‘I’m no trying to-’

‘John.’

‘Maidie drives an honest bargain,’ said Dame Isabella as Sempill fell silent. ‘You’ve no need to worry. So how long will you want to think it over, Gilbert? Will you sort it afore your sister’s marriage, d’ye think?’

Gil met her gaze again. The black beads glittered at him, and he said politely,

‘Oh, sooner than that, madam. Give me two days.’

‘Right,’ began Sempill.

‘But before we depart,’ Gil pursued, ‘maybe you’d let me have a sight of the documents for the two properties you’re planning to gift your goddaughters, madam.’

Maister Alexander Livingstone straightened up, paying attention at that.

‘Aye,’ said Dame Isabella after a moment. ‘No such a bad notion. Attie, you scatterwit, bring me those documents again. And a course there’s the other matter and all,’ she added, delving in the bag as her goddaughter had done and passing two wads of parchment across. Beside her Lowrie fidgeted, clearly embarrassed.

‘Two mile from Carluke,’ Canon Cunningham read, unfolding one docket. ‘Banks of the Clyde — oh, aye, I ken the property. A generous gift, madam.’ He removed his spectacles to peer at Dame Isabella. ‘My niece is fortunate in her godmother.’

‘Aye, but she hasn’t got the land yet,’ the old woman pointed out. ‘It’s that or the other. I’ve yet to make up my mind.’

‘The house of Ballencleroch, together wi the whole Clachan of Campsie.’ Gil had reached the description of the boundaries on the second document. ‘Stretching up the Campsie Burn to the edge of the muirland.’

‘What?’ Sempill straightened up sharply, and his back-stool tilted on its carved legs. He caught himself before all went flying, and stared from Gil to his wife. ‘Up the Campsie Burn? I thought that was yours already! You said — your man said-’

‘No, John. That was never mine.’

‘What’s this?’ demanded Dame Isabella. ‘Aye, Ballen-cleroch’s mine. What ails ye, John?’

He frowned at her, chewing his lip, and clearly trying to recall something.

‘I thought it was Maidie’s,’ he repeated.

‘Balgrochan is mine, that lies next to it, east along Strathblane,’ said hs wife gently.

‘Balgrochan,’ Sempill repeated. ‘No Ballencleroch?’

‘I gied Balgrochan to Maidie when you were wedded,’ pronounced Dame Isabella in her harsh deep voice. ‘As you ken well, you light-fingered hempie. I’ll get a word wi you later, John Sempill.’

‘Aye, we will, madam,’ he retorted, scowling at her.

‘When did you come by Ballencleroch, madam?’ asked Maister Livingstone. Dame Isabella did not look at him.

‘Thomas gave it me outright,’ she stated. ‘As a marriage-gift.’

‘Well, he shouldny ha done that,’ said Maister Livingstone. He reached into his sleeve to produce a fat wad of parchment, unfolded it, and leaned forward to hand it to Canon Cunningham. ‘I have the title here, handed me by my brother Archie. It never belonged to Thomas.’

‘What?’ John Sempill leapt to his feet. This time his back-stool clattered to the floor behind him, but he ignored it, lunging forward to snatch at the document. Canon Cunningham held it out of his reach, and Dame Isabella prodded him again with her stick.

‘Sit down and behave, John,’ she ordered him. ‘Eckie, what are ye about? It’s mine, I tell ye, Thomas and me signed the papers. They’re there, David, under the other.’

‘Aye. indeed. Here are two sets of titles to the land,’ Canon Cunningham said, looking disapprovingly from one document to the other, ‘with quite different names on them, conveyed in different hands, and at dates four year apart. This is highly irregular.’

‘Thomas should never have alienated the land,’ said Maister Livingstone firmly, sitting back. ‘It’s a part of the heritable portion, held from the Earl of Lennox and his forebears these fifty year. It went to my faither and now to Archie. Thomas never had a say in it.’

‘You said you’d already-’ Sempill began, glaring at Dame Isabella. Lowrie had quietly assisted Lady Magdalen to set his backstool on its legs; now she thanked him with a smile, put a hand on her husband’s wrist and drew him back to sit again.

‘We need to look at this again, that much is clear,’ she said. ‘Canon Cunningham, I’m right sorry that we’ve taken up your time wi such a guddle. We’ll away now and-’

‘We’ll do nothing of the sort!’ Dame Isabella’s stick thumped again. ‘I tell ye it’s mine, Eckie, and I’ll hear no different! As for you, you great fool,’ she added, baring her large white teeth at Sempill, ‘we’ll need to sort out which of Maidie’s properties it is you’ve been neglecting.’

‘At the very least, Isabella,’ said Canon Cunningham, ‘your possession is questionable and the matter must be replait till it can be studied carefully. No, your good-daughter is right, we can make no decision the day.’

‘Can you look into it, sir?’ asked Lady Magdalen.

‘There’s no need of looking into it!’ declared the old woman.

‘I’d be grateful,’ began Maister Livingstone.

Canon Cunningham shook his head.

‘I haveny the time,’ he said. ‘I’ve a caseload this week would try a team of oxen. This was the only-’ His voice trailed off as he looked at Gil, one eyebrow raised.

‘But what about the other matter?’ demanded Sempill.

‘I’ll take it on,’ Gil said to his uncle, with resignation. ‘If you think it proper, sir. But it will take me longer than the two days I promised you,’ he added, turning to Dame Isabella. ‘I’ll need to talk to a few folk, and I have work o my own to see to.’

‘You’re all in a league against me!’ she declared, thumping the stick again. ‘I’m an old woman, and I-’ She broke off, clutching at her massive chest. One of the waiting-women exclaimed and hurried forward to bend over her anxiously, patting the plump red cheeks, then pulling at her own skirts to reach her purse.

‘Oh, madam! Oh, where have I put your drops? Forveleth, do you have them?’ She tugged at the purse-strings, rummaged in the laden depths without result. The other woman dragged her dark gaze from Maistre Pierre and came forward quietly, producing a tiny flask which Annot unstopped and waved under her stricken mistress’s nose. ‘There, now, no need to go upsetting yourself.’