Pat McIntosh - A Pig of Cold Poison

‘She’s worried for her brother,’ Gil said. ‘She went down the town early, to see to the booth and get a loaf to send in for him to break his fast.’ He glanced at the window. ‘I’d best be away to the Tolbooth and speak to the man myself.’

‘Tell him he has our prayers,’ she said, and both the brothers agreed with emphasis.

‘Spoke to the Provost,’ repeated Serjeant Anderson.

‘You can send a man up to the Castle to check, if you like,’ said Gil pleasantly.

‘No, no, I’ll tak your word for it, maister.’ The Serjeant reached for his keys, rose in offended dignity from his great chair and turned towards the stair which descended from the far side of his cluttered chamber. ‘Come and get speech wi our pysoner, then. I’ve no put him to the question yet, I was waiting on instruction from the Provost myself and he’ll likely want him up at the Castle. Forbye my lord Montgomery hasny returned the pilliwinks he borrowed off me the last time he was in Glasgow.’

Suppressing the thought of what thumbscrews would do to a man used to such fine work as rolling pills and measuring tiny quantities of their ingredients, Gil followed the Serjeant down to the row of three small cells where miscreants were held until justice came their way.

‘We’ve no that much room,’ admitted the Serjeant, ‘seeing the Watch lifted a couple of lads on the Gallowgate last night, suspicion of pickery, and the ale-conners had a bit trouble yesterday and all, so we’ve a hantle of alewives, causing of mob and riot …’ He paused as a volley of shrill invective struck them from the alewives’ cell. ‘But just the same I put him in on his own, seeing it’s no right to ask other folk, even ill-doers, to share a cell wi a pysoner.’ He was unlocking the furthest cell as he spoke, and now unbarred the door and opened it cautiously, peering in. ‘Right, Anthony Bothwell, here’s a man of law to question you why you did it.’

Bothwell was on his feet when Gil stepped into the cell, a blanket round his shoulders, the end of a loaf in one hand. He ducked his head in a bow, stammering, ‘Maister Cunningham! This is right kind of you — ’

‘Wait till he’s questioned you afore you call him kind,’ said the Serjeant. ‘Just kick the door and shout a bit when you want to leave, maister, I’ll hear you in time.’

As lock and bar clunked into place Gil looked round and sat down cautiously on the stone slab which served as a bed.

‘Your sister’s loaf reached you,’ he observed.

Bothwell looked down at the crust. ‘Aye. How is she? She’s aye — she’s — ’

‘She’s out at the booth here,’ Gil said. ‘She’s feared it might be attacked if she left it unattended.’

‘Aye. I thought o that too, in the night,’ said Bothwell. He took two paces across the cell and two back, and turned to Gil, spreading his hands, the crust shedding crumbs on the filthy floor. ‘What am I to do, maister? I never pysont Danny, whatever the Serjeant says, but he’ll not hear me. I lay all night thinking, what of my sister? She’ll never wed now, we’ll never get a tocher thegither for her, who’ll go to an apothecary that’s been accusit of pysoning a man?’

‘You’d be surprised what folk can forget,’ said Gil. ‘Your sister’s asked me to look into this business. She’ll not believe you guilty, and nor do the Forrests, nor the other players.’

‘My thanks for that, maister,’ said Bothwell.

‘So sit down, man, and tell me where the flask came from.’

‘The flask?’ The other man stared at him. ‘Was it — was it the flask right enough?’

Gil detailed Wat Forrest’s observations. Bothwell heard him out in silence, and suddenly sat down on the bench and covered his mouth with the back of his free hand.

‘I’d been sure,’ he said after a moment, ‘sure as anything, it was something he’d eaten afore the play. So it was pyson, and it was me gave it to him, and neither of us ever thinking — ’ He broke off, and rubbed at his eyes. ‘Poor Danny. God ha mercy on him. And on me.’

‘Amen,’ said Gil. ‘So where did the flask come from? Is it one of your own?’

‘No, it — ’ Bothwell stopped, staring at Gil in the dull light. After a moment he looked away, and said slowly, ‘Aye, I suppose it is.’

‘You must know.’

‘Aye, it is. It’s one of mine. One of ours.’

‘So what was in it and when did it get there?’ The other man shook his head, staring at the ground. Gil looked at him in some puzzlement. ‘You must know,’ he said again. ‘Why were you carrying that one rather than the other?’

There was another pause. Then Bothwell drew a deep breath, exhaled hard and said, ‘Maister, you’ve just tellt me I killed my nearest friend. I’m no thinking that well. Can I get a bit of time to get my head clear?’

‘I’ve aye found,’ said Gil deliberately, ‘that the sooner I ask the questions, the better the answers I get.’

‘No in this case,’ said Bothwell.

‘Well, let’s talk about something else. Have you enemies in Glasgow? Anyone that dislikes you enough to get you accused of murder?’

‘Me?’ said Bothwell in blank amazement. ‘No! No that I — no.’ He shook his head.

‘Why Glasgow anyway? Why did you settle here after you left Lanark?’

Bothwell grimaced. ‘Our grandam was a Glasgow woman. We’d kind memories of her.’

‘And the move was a good one?’

‘Oh, aye. Till now. Wat and Adam have been good to us, and Frankie’s aye free wi advice and encouragement.’ He shot Gil a wry look. ‘Seeing we’re hardly after the same custom.’

The same remark as his sister had made.

‘Tell me about Danny Gibson,’ said Gil. ‘What kind of a fellow was he?’

‘A good friend.’ A painful half-smile. ‘We seen eye to eye on so many things, it was no wonder we both — ’ He stopped, and there was another pause.

‘Both went after the same girl,’ Gil supplied.

‘Aye.’

‘Which of you did she favour?’ Another shake of the head. ‘Neither of you? Do you tell me a young lass like Agnes Renfrew contrived to be even-handed between you?’ Surely not that empty-headed little creature — Alys could have managed it, he thought, but Alys is by far wiser.

‘Look, we can just leave Agnes out of this,’ said Nanty Bothwell. ‘She’s got nothing to do wi it, I tell you. I never slew Danny out of jealousy or for any other reason, it was a foul mischance, and no point in asking questions.’

‘What did you and Danny have words about in the kitchen before the play?’

‘We never did,’ said Bothwell, looking up indignantly.

‘I’ve heard different. You had speech with Agnes Renfrew out in the yard, and then hot words with Danny in the kitchen.’

‘Oh.’ Bothwell looked down again. ‘That. Aye, well, I saw Agnes in the yard and stepped out — just to pass the time of day,’ he said fluently, ‘no that she was able for much conversation for she’d to run home on some errand for her stepmother, seeing it’s just next door. And then, well, Danny was angry at me for getting a chance at speaking wi her when he hadny. We’d an agreement. We’d pledged,’ he said, with a sideways glance at Gil. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he suddenly put his hand over his mouth again. ‘Ah, the poor fellow,’ he said behind it.

‘And then you spoke to her again on the stairs. What did she have to say then?’

‘Nothing. She was on the stair, I met her there. By happenstance.’

‘Are you sure it was happenstance? You’d a lot to say to each other, for a chance encounter.’

‘Why are you questioning me? You know the whole tale, that’s clear,’ said Bothwell. ‘I tellt you to leave Agnes out of this, forbye.’