Pat McIntosh - The Counterfeit Madam

Here he found Lowrie absent but the young man’s uncle present, with plenty to say and a jug of Malvoisie to say it over.

‘I tell you, I’m sorry I ever ordered a coffin for the auld carline,’ the older Livingstone admitted, filling Gil’s glass. ‘If I’d kent all she’s been at, she could ha gone into the ground in her shift for all I cared, never mind her shroud! But it’s ordered and paid for, so she might as well make use o’t. So it was your bonnie lass jaloused it was a mine out at Ballencleroch? My, she’s an accomplished one. Does she keep a good household and all?’

‘Oh, she does,’ said Gil, with a fleeting thought of this morning’s discordant breakfast. ‘A generous kitchen, and rarely a cross word.’

‘She’s no sisters, I suppose?’ said Livingstone hopefully. ‘No, the best ones never do. Some more o this wine, maister. And it seems it was the counterfeiter that slew Isabella when she put an end to the scheme? Aye, well, he’d have the eye and the hand to strike the nail home, I can believe it right enough, for all young Lowrie says the man’s denying it.’

‘He’ll hang for Dod Muir,’ said Gil as he had done before.

‘Fortunate for us, though,’ said Livingstone thoughtfully, ‘that he slew her when he did, for if the matter had got out and she’d gone to trial at the Justice Ayre, everyone round her would ha been drawn in, me and my brother questioned as to whether we’d kent what she was at and whether we’d benefited from the coin she was having struck. And me a past moneyer and all! I’d never ha lived it down.’

‘Fortunate indeed,’ agreed Gil, and took another sip of the wine.

‘And her household back here yestreen, all but that Marion or Forveleth or whatever she’s cried. I don’t know what to do wi them, they’ll follow her coffin all in black to make a decent show, but once she’s in the ground they’ll have to take what she’s left them and go. I’d send them to Lady Magdalen, but she’ll likely no be hiring new people for a while, by what you say. Quite the contrary, indeed.’

‘Indeed,’ Gil agreed. He set the glass down and leaned forward. ‘Maister Livingstone, I’ve another matter to consult you on.’

The hall of the White Castle was surprisingly crowded. It contained Lowrie, studiously conversing with Socrates, and Maistre Pierre speaking High Dutch with the boy Berthold; but it also contained the woman Forveleth, standing near the kitchen door in her stained and filthy clothing, her bundle at her feet, and Ealasaidh, tall and threatening in front of her. These two were hissing at one another in venomous Ersche while Alys attempted to reason with both in Scots. Gil took all this in, nodded to Lowrie, and went quietly to join Catherine where she sat at the hearth, her fingers busy at her eternal handwork while her black eyes flicked from one group to another.

‘ Que passe, madame? ’ he asked, sitting down beside her. She greeted him formally, and said, choosing her words carefully,

‘There is some objection to the presence of that woman in our kitchen.’

‘Objection?’ Gil was used to the level of charity exercised under Maistre Pierre’s roof. This did not appear to match it. ‘Why?’

‘I think she may have caused offence previously. It is hardly a guest’s place to order her out, but the matter ought to be resolved. Since our maistre will not intervene, it would be proper for you to do so.’

‘Do you think so?’

She nodded significantly. ‘Someone should support la jeune madame .’

Maistre Pierre was still as studiously intent on his conversation with Berthold as Lowrie was on his with the dog. Clearly, though he might not support Ealasaidh, he was not going to support his daughter. A sudden uneasy suspicion struck Gil, and he looked at Catherine in dismay. She nodded again.

‘She will need your help, maistre l’avocat .’

She certainly will, he thought, bracing himself. Catherine gave him an approving smile and returned her attention to the long trail of lace, or braid, or whatever it was, which hung from her twisted hands. He rose and crossed the room to join the argument.

It was easier than he had feared it might be to soothe matters for the moment. The Ersche argument ceased as he approached, both women looking warily at him.

‘Good day to you, Forveleth,’ he said casually. ‘The Provost told me he had ordered you set free. Have they fed you in the kitchen? Is that what brought you here?’

‘They would have fed me,’ said Forveleth resentfully, ‘but this one was ordering them to throw me in the street, and not listen to their mistress, though I said I had a word for her, and now she will not let me speak.’

‘I don’t know why she would do that,’ Gil said, raising his eyebrows at Ealasaidh. ‘It’s my wife runs this house, it’s her kitchen, she is well able to decide for herself who’ll be fed there and who she’ll speak to.’

‘This one is a fool and a false speaker,’ said Ealasaidh, her rich Scots vocabulary deserting her for the moment. ‘I was wishing only to protect the lassie from her, the way she would be taking advantage.’

‘I’m grateful for your consideration, I’ve told you that,’ said Alys, her exasperation well concealed, ‘but I can use my own judgement, you’ve no need to protect me.’

‘I meant for the best.’

‘I’m certain of that,’ agreed Gil, ‘but you’ve no need to concern yourself. Go down to the kitchen, Forveleth, and see if they can let you clean yourself up, and then maybe we can all dine soon.’ He looked hopefully at Alys. She smiled rather too brightly and said,

‘We’d all be glad to eat. Go and wash, Forveleth, as my husband says, and bid them come up to set the table if you would.’

‘And after dinner,’ Gil went on as the woman slipped away down the kitchen stair, ‘you and I and Lowrie will go down to visit Kate. Lowrie promised to tell the wee girls if there was news of the false coiners.’

‘Well, it was the younger one I promised,’ Lowrie said over dinner. ‘Ysonde, is that her name? A strong-minded lassie. She was very insistent I came back,’ he explained to Alys.

‘She would be,’ Alys said.

‘Now, this boy Berthold,’ said Maistre Pierre. He glanced at Ealasaidh, eating her dinner in a haughty silence, and went on, ‘He tells me he has no kin left in Germany, and no wish to go home for now. He seems a good laddie, though not of the cleverest, but I think he knows little about stone, for a miner’s son, and he is clumsy with his hands.’

‘So not a mason’s prentice, then,’ said Gil.

‘No. I did think of it, when you told me of the boy this morning, but he would not do. He may stay here till he learns enough Scots to get by,’ he offered, ‘but then you have to find him a position. He makes a good servant, perhaps. He likes horses. I help you to some of this mould, madame,’ he added to Ealasaidh, who accepted the gesture without speaking.

Gil glanced past Forveleth who was talking to Jennet, to Berthold seated at the foot of the board, apparently asking Luke for the names of one item after another on the table. Near them, on Nancy’s lap, John shouted the words after them.

‘A resilient laddie,’ he said. ‘He should do well wherever he settles.’

‘I’d thought much the same,’ said Lowrie. ‘But someone needs to have a care to him for now.’ He held out his wooden trencher for Maistre Pierre to transfer a slice of the kale mould with powdered ginger, and added reflectively, ‘He might teach me High Dutch. It’s clear to me it’s a good thing for a man to speak more tongues than his own.’

‘Cloth,’ said Luke at the foot of the table.

‘C-lof?’ essayed Berthold. ‘Coff!’ echoed John.