Pat McIntosh - The Counterfeit Madam

Xanthe and Agrippina, forsooth, thought Gil. Maister Livingstone had heard right.

‘Does living in Glasgow agree with you?’ he asked in Latin. His father-in-law shot him a sharp glance; Madam Xanthe drew breath as if to answer, then tittered improbably and batted the question away with a long white hand.

‘Oh, you’ll ha to excuse me, maister! French I can manage, and I’ve a few words o High Dutch, but Latin’s beyond my skills.’

‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘I took it a lady like yoursel would read in the Classics. How do you like living in Glasgow, then?’

‘It makes a change.’ She turned as the same woman returned with a tray of glasses and a jug of wine. ‘Set it there, lass, and I’ll serve. Aye, a change,’ she continued as Agrippina withdrew quietly. ‘And yoursels, maisters? Does Glasgow agree wi you?’

‘Well enough, seeing I was born here,’ said Philip Sempill. ‘Where were you before you came here?’

‘Ah, where was any of us afore we came here?’ she responded, handing him a brimming glass. ‘That’s too deep for me and all.’ She handed wine to Maistre Pierre and to Gil, and sat back, raising her own glass. ‘Your good health, maisters. Now, what can a poor woman do for three burgesses of Glasgow? Is it about the counterfeit coin we had?’

‘Ah!’ said Gil. ‘I took it it was Long Mina who’d had that. Tell me about it.’

She spread her free hand. ‘What’s to tell? Counting the takings the eve of Thomas Sunday, I recognized two false silver threepenny pieces, and took them to the Provost as my duty is.’

‘That’s more than most burgesses would do,’ observed Maistre Pierre. ‘It’s a loss of six silver pennies, after all, not to be accepted lightly.’

She tipped her head back, and looked sideways at him beneath the pleated gold gauze of her undercap.

‘This is a house of honest dealing, maistre . I’ll no give out false coin even in taxes. So once it’s in my hands it’s a loss any way, the Provost might as well have it. Besides, I hadny his acquaintance yet, the chance was no to be missed.’

‘You recognized them?’ Gil said. ‘How? What showed you they were false?’

‘No balls,’ she said, and tittered. ‘Four wee mullets about the cross, instead of two mullets and two balls. Oh no, I mind Eckie Livingstone called them pellets,’ she added reflectively, ‘and he ought to ken, wi his experience.’

‘What, is he that Livingstone?’ asked Gil in surprise. ‘I hadn’t realized. Alexander Livingstone was moneyer to James Third,’ he explained to his father-in-law. ‘It must be twenty year since, but I mind my father talking of him. If this is the same man I must get a word wi him about the process, we need to know what to look for, whether it’s like to be hidden in Glasgow. I’ve no idea what size of a workshop we’d be seeking.’

‘No hope, I suppose,’ said Maistre Pierre, ‘that you would tell us where the false coin came from, madame?’

‘Never dream o’t, maistre !’ she said. ‘Mind you, if you were to attend here on an evening, you’d be one of the society, and could learn all sorts o secrets and mysteries.’

‘Is that right?’ said Gil, turning his glass in his hand. ‘Such as where you get this wine, madam? It’s uncommon good.’

‘Oh, some secrets are no for sharing!’

‘What do you mean by the society?’ asked Philip. ‘Are your customers all in a league, or something?’

‘That’s it exact,’ she agreed. ‘But we call them guests, maister. Once a man’s called here of an evening, taken part in our entertainment, which is music and singing and the like, whether he stays late or goes home to his own household, he’s a member of the society. You’d be surprised at some of the names I’ve got writ down,’ she added, then looked away, hand over her crimson mouth, in a play of realizing she had said too much.

‘And the false coin came from one or more of your — guests,’ said Gil, ‘rather than from the market.’

‘Two silver threepenny pieces? No from the market, sir, and I’ve had no dealings wi the merchant houses lately that would leave me wi coin to that value in my hand.’

Gil nodded, recognizing the slight stress on houses . It was possible she could be persuaded to give him more precise information, but not in front of two other people. He did not relish the thought of a more intimate conversation; something about Madam Xanthe repelled him, and it was nothing to do with her striking appearance and arch manner, which reminded him of a bawd-mistress he had encountered in Paris.

‘In fact,’ said Philip Sempill, ‘we’re no here about the false coin, though I’ve no doubt Maister Cunningham welcomes what you’ve tellt him.’ She looked sharply, briefly, at Gil then turned to face Philip, opening her eyes very wide. ‘I’m here to represent Mistress Magdalen Boyd, who I believe is your landlord.’

‘Mistress Boyd?’ she repeated. ‘Aye, she is, maister. What’s she at? I do trust she’s well?’

‘She has offered this toft and the next one to my foster-son,’ said Maistre Pierre, ‘as severance, I suppose you might say, in recognition of the boy no longer being John Sempill’s heir.’

‘John Sempill? The new husband?’ The arch manner had vanished.

‘The same,’ agreed Gil.

‘Maybe you should explain it from the start,’ she said. ‘Who is the heir, then? What’s it about? If I’ve to pay over a heriot fee to a new superior, I’d as soon know why.’

Gil, with a glance at Philip, set out the history of the offer. Madam Xanthe listened without interrupting him, and finally nodded.

‘She’s within her rights, I suppose, if she wishes her own bairn to be the legitimate heir. And you’ll accept the offer?’

‘We have not yet decided,’ said Maistre Pierre. ‘We thought to inspect the property, to clarify the decision.’

‘Oh, I’d advise you to accept,’ she said, with a return to her former manner. ‘I pay a good rent, maistre , and it’s a handsome house; once we move on and it’s right fumigated you’ll find another tenant easy enough.’ That titter again. ‘You might even be able to leave the image on the door.’

‘Once you move on,’ Gil repeated. ‘So you don’t see staying in Glasgow, madam?’

‘Our Lady save us, no,’ she said. ‘We leave afore folks get bored.’

‘I do not think folk would so soon tire of you, mistress,’ said Maistre Pierre.

‘Oh, you’d be amazed,’ she responded, looking at him sideways. ‘You’d be amazed. So I suppose you’ll wish to view us, maisters? A wee tour of the fixed assets?’ She turned her head, not waiting for an answer, and called, ‘Agrippina! Send Cato to me. The laddie will show you about,’ she went on. ‘I’ll leave you wi him, for there’s matters to see to above stair. My lassies need to keep abreast of the news, you might say, and we open for business in an hour or so.’

Cato proved to be a gangling boy of sixteen or so, who emerged from the stair dragging on a velvet jerkin and grinning nervously. Madam Xanthe exclaimed in exasperation and rose, towering over the boy, her fur-lined brocade swinging, to cuff him briskly about the ear.

‘I’ve tellt you often enough, you fasten the jerkin out-by, you don’t come in here dressing yoursel!’ He rubbed the ear, looking sulky, and she went on, ‘Put yoursel straight, you’re trussed all awry, and then show these maisters about the outhouses and the kaleyard.’

‘All o them? And the wee pleasance and all?’ asked Cato. She sighed.

‘Aye, the wee pleasance and all, and the kitchen if Strephon allows it. All but the house.’ She turned to her guests again with a coy crimson smile, and curtsied. ‘If you’ll forgive me then, maisters. And I hope to see you all again some evening.’