Pat McIntosh - A Pig of Cold Poison

‘She denied all,’ said Gil, and Maistre Pierre nodded agreement. ‘I thought she was more angry than distressed, though she put up a good imitation of it.’

‘I think she is genuinely distressed at the death of her sweetheart,’ said Maistre Pierre. ‘She is also frightened. No doubt if she did provide Bothwell with the flask, she has seen that she must be suspected.’

‘Angry?’ said Alys. ‘But with whom? As if she had not expected what happened? She might blame Bothwell for her situation — after all if he had not forgotten the flask and asked her help, she would not be involved.’

‘Assuming he did ask her help,’ said Gil. ‘They both deny all this.’

‘The safest road for both of them,’ said Maistre Pierre.

‘But when Renfrew announced that the boy had been poisoned,’ said Gil, the scene in his sister’s hall coming vividly to mind, ‘he asked Bothwell what was in the flask.’

‘And Bothwell,’ said Alys, clapping her hands together, ‘turned to look at Agnes!’ Socrates sat up expectantly.

‘Exactly,’ said Gil. ‘They gave no signal, but he clearly associated the flask with her.’

‘So where have we got to?’ asked Maistre Pierre. Catherine raised her head and looked at him, then went back to her beads. The dog lay down again with a resigned sigh.

‘It looks as if Agnes gave Nanty the flask,’ said Alys, ‘but neither of them knew it held poison.’

‘So if that is the case, who is guilty in Gibson’s death?’

‘I’d need to ask my uncle,’ said Gil. ‘I suspect the two of them must share some guilt, but if it was an accident, not murder, there would be a fine, kinbut, payable to Gibson’s father or kin, with the guilty parties all in their linen at Glasgow Cross for penitence, rather than hanging.’

‘Perhaps if we told Agnes that, we might persuade her to confess,’ said Alys.

‘I cannot see that young woman in her shift at Glasgow Cross,’ observed the mason.

‘Meanwhile, where did the poison come from, and why was it sitting about where Agnes could find it? I’d like to search the house, but Sir Thomas isn’t convinced, and without a direct order from the Provost Frankie would never countenance it.’

‘ Ah, mon Dieu , what a thought,’ said Maistre Pierre.

‘Eleanor Renfrew,’ Gil recalled suddenly, ‘tells me they label poisons with a black cross. Agnes would have recognized that, I’d have thought. It must have had no mark.’

‘Simple carelessness?’ asked Maistre Pierre disapprovingly. ‘To keep a pig full of poison standing about the place unlabelled? If that is the case, we do no more business with them, Alys, I think.’

‘But where did it come from?’ Gil repeated. ‘Nobody we spoke to has recognized what it is.’

‘Or at least has admitted to recognizing it,’ Alys put in.

He nodded at that. ‘You’re right. Whoever brewed the stuff, he would hardly admit to knowing it now. The Forrest brothers are probably safe,’ he added, ‘they seem to be testing the flask quite thoroughly. They found scraps of what looks like nutmeat at the bottom of it, as if it had got through the bolting-cloth.’

‘Nutmeat?’ said Alys. ‘Do you mean they think it was brewed from nuts? I wonder what that might be? I never heard of a poison like that.’

‘Nor had Wat.’ Gil grinned, and retailed the conversation about the pine nuts. Maistre Pierre guffawed much as Wat had done, but Alys listened seriously.

‘He is right, they are not poisonous except in vast quantities,’ she agreed. ‘But I had not heard of that virtue in them. I must check my Hortus Sanitatis . I wonder — Meg’s mother, Mistress Baillie, said something about pine nuts when she was abusing Maister Renfrew. Could they have been for his own use?’

‘Myself, I have no wish to ask him that either,’ said Maistre Pierre.

‘No, but,’ said Alys slowly, ‘his wife was — ’ She caught her breath. Catherine looked up but did not speak, and after a moment Alys went on, ‘Meg was in childbed, what was he doing preparing something of that sort?’

‘To be ready for later?’ Gil suggested. ‘Maybe he wants a son from her. Or perhaps he has a mistress, or planned to — ’ he glanced at Catherine, but she had bent her head to her beads again. — ‘visit Long Mina’s, or some such place.’

‘The man has a new young wife,’ Maistre Pierre said. ‘How many women does he need, in effect?’

‘And does it mean he is planning to poison someone?’ asked Alys.

Gil sighed. ‘I think, from what Eleanor tells me, any of the Renfrew household is at least capable of making up whatever it is. Poison is a woman’s weapon, or so I’ve read, but in this case it seems to me the men must be included as well, even Frankie.’

‘Robert would be my favourite,’ said Maistre Pierre darkly.

‘Let us consider them,’ said Alys. ‘Who might wish to poison someone, who might be a likely target.’ Socrates opened one eye as she bent to draw her tablets from the purse which hung under her skirts, then closed it again when she sat back slightly and took the stylus out of its slot in the carved cover. ‘Maister Renfrew himself. Not a pleasant man, I think.’

‘He might wish to rid himself of Nicol out of dislike,’ said Gil slowly, ‘or of the wife if he thought she was cheating him, but surely not any of the others of the household? He seems to favour Robert, he has wedded Eleanor off, Agnes is his pet.’

‘The good-mother?’ suggested Maistre Pierre. ‘Mistress Baillie, I mean.’

Alys nodded, and made a note.

‘Nicol himself,’ she said. ‘He hates his father, he dislikes his brother and sisters. Is he unbalanced enough to poison them from dislike alone? Or is there some benefit we can’t see?’

‘ Cui bono ? I suppose he could fear that Robert would take his place in the business,’ said Gil slowly, ‘but Nicol has changed since we were boys. It might be something he’s taking now has settled his mind, but he’s by far calmer than he used to be, almost out of the world at times. Just the same, I think his state is still what Aristotle called akrasia , or in Latin impotens sui , not master of himself.’

‘Behaving inconsistently,’ said Alys, ‘not in accordance with any discernible principles. Yes, I see. That would fit. So is he capable of killing, do you think?’

‘For something he cared about, maybe, and I wouldn’t think he would care enough about the business to kill for it. He’d rather go back to the Low Countries, I think.’

‘Grace asked him if he needed some of his drops,’ said Alys, and unaccountably blushed darkly in the candlelight. ‘Perhaps that’s what has changed him.’ She made a note. ‘And Robert?’

‘Robert dislikes everyone,’ said Gil. ‘His father, Agnes, probably Syme, certainly Nicol, possibly his stepmother. But he’s not someone I could imagine leaving a flask of poison about unlabelled by accident.’

‘So that if he left it,’ said Alys, ‘it was where his intended victim would pick it up. It becomes more and more important to know where Agnes got it from.’

‘Nicol said that everyone likes Syme,’ said Maistre Pierre reflectively, ‘but it does not mean that Syme likes everyone.’

‘I’d say he’d no good opinion of young Robert,’ agreed Gil. ‘And I suppose it would be to his benefit to be rid of Renfrew, though the method might be bad for trade.’

‘And the women,’ said Alys, writing busily. ‘I think we can dismiss Meg as poisoner, though not as victim. She has no training, and — ’

‘She must know stillroom work,’ Gil observed. ‘If she learned that a given receipt would brew up poison, she would be as able to follow it as you would. And Frankie said much the same of Grace Gordon,’ he recalled.