Pat McIntosh - A Pig of Cold Poison

It was hardly surprising if Nancy Sproull was suffering, thought Alys, agreeing to the suggestion. Babb assisted Kate to dismount and handed her the crutches, then strode off to the kitchen, one of the men ran to take the mule, and the servant led them through the house, saying hopefully, ‘What was it happened? Is that right that Nanty Bothwell’s pysont the whole of the mummers, or is it just Dan Gibson that’s deid?’

‘It’s just the one man that died,’ Alys assured her, seeing Kate’s grim look. ‘Is Mistress Sproull in her own chamber, Sibby? Will we see ourselves there and save your feet?’

‘No, no, I’ll put you in the hall, for the mistress is in the kitchen, harrying the supper,’ said the woman, clearly reluctant to be parted from a source of information. ‘And what was it happened, then? Did he fall down dead in a moment, or was his belly afflicted first, or what? They’re saying the corp looks quite natural-like, as if he never felt a thing. And the quest on him’s put off till Monday, that should be a thing to hear!’

‘Very likely,’ said Alys, thinking that if this was one of her servants she would keep her home on Monday. ‘How is Nell?’

‘Still weeping, like I said.’ Sibby paused in the act of setting a chair for Kate as her mistress came into the hall. ‘Mistress? Here’s Lady Kate and Mistress Mason from the High Street.’

‘Och, Kate,’ said Nancy. ‘You shouldny ha bothered. How are you, my lassie? Are you recovered fro the fright yet? Sibby, fetch us a cup of ale, lass.’

‘I’ll feel the better for knowing who slew the lad,’ said Kate briskly. ‘And how are you, Nancy? How’s Nell?’

‘Oh, that lassie,’ said Nancy, putting a hand to her head. She drew up another chair and sat down opposite them, a pretty woman not yet forty, still slender, the dark-lashed eyes shadowed today. ‘She’s in her chamber still, would you credit it, hasny left it since we cam home from your house. If I hadny sic a headache I’d have her out of there, though to be fair she’s been busy at her sewing. Aye weeping, picked at her dinner which we put on a tray — she must be right sharp-set by now, the silly lassie. What it’s about she’ll no say, but it canny be Danny Gibson, her faither would never hear of her looking at a journeyman that young.’

Kate and Alys exchanged a glance, but neither commented.

‘Has Agnes Renfrew been by?’ Alys asked.

Nancy shook her head, and winced.

‘I’d not have looked for her, either,’ she said sourly. ‘It’s all one way wi that one. Nell’s aye ready at her bidding, but she’ll not go out her road to help Nell.’

‘It’s a strange household,’ said Kate speculatively. ‘I’m not sure any one of them has any love for another.’

‘A true word,’ agreed Nancy. ‘Agnes isny even that civil to Meg, the bonnie soul. Complaining that day when she fetched her cushion to her, of having to seek it all over the house, when Meg had told her where it was exact. All Sibella Bairdie’s fault, it was. If she’d gone her time wi her first bairn, Renfrew would never ha turned against her, and they’d ha reared the family in love and friendship as Holy Kirk teaches us. And here’s Dod and me only raised the one, for all our prayers, and Frankie got that daftheid Nicol, and then Eleanor, sour as verjuice, and Robert and Agnes that would neither of them lift a hand to save you if you were drowning.’

‘Is Nicol so daft?’ Kate wondered. ‘He’s come home with a bonnie wife. Grace Gordon’s a clever woman,’ her eyes flicked to Alys for a brief moment, ‘and wise with it.’

‘I’ll grant you that,’ agreed Nancy. ‘How a fellow like that managed to get himself such a wife I’ve no notion. Mind you, she lost the bairn.’

‘Yes, poor soul,’ agreed Kate, ‘and no luck with another one yet, she tells me.’

Nancy laughed shortly. ‘By what Dod says,’ she divulged, ‘as soon as Grace is howding, Frankie plans to pack Nicol off overseas again, and keep her here at his side, seeing what a good hand she is with the sweetmeats. That way he can rear the bairn himself.’

‘He will send his son away?’ Alys asked.

‘Oh, aye. He sent the lad to the Low Countries to get him out the way in the first place. I heard he wasny best pleased when he turned up again, and I think they’ve had one or two shouting matches since then.’ She turned as Sibby came in with the jug of ale and a handful of beakers. ‘Is that lass of ours in her chamber yet, Sibby?’

‘She is,’ agreed the woman.

‘Shall I go to her?’ Alys suggested. ‘She might talk to me. And would Sibby fetch her something to eat?’

‘Aye, and you’re a lass wi some sense,’ said Nancy, as she had done before. ‘See what you can make of her, my dear, for I canny tell what ails her.’

Nell was seated by the window in her chamber, a pile of sewing at her side, her beads in her hand. When the door opened she looked up wearily, obviously expecting her mother or Sibby; at the sight of Alys her expression lightened, and she mustered a smile from somewhere.

‘May I come in?’ Alys did not wait for the answer, but crossed the room to kiss the other girl in greeting. ‘Are you not well? Your mother says you’ve not eaten today.’

Nell’s colour rose. She was fully dressed but dishevelled and uncombed, and she had obviously been weeping.

‘I’m well,’ she said. ‘I just didny — I wasny hungry. Is there — is there any word from the Renfrews’ house?’

‘Meg is safe delivered, yesterday evening,’ Alys said, aware of those images stirring again in her memory. Don’t think of it, don’t think of it. ‘Agnes has a wee sister.’

‘My mammy said that.’ Nell sounded approving, but there was no smile at the thought. ‘How is she the day? And — did you see Agnes?’

‘Not to talk to, for she was not at the gossip-ale,’ Alys pointed out.

‘I suppose.’ Nell looked round, rose and fetched a stool for her guest, then flinched, visibly bracing herself as the door was flung open, and the maidservant entered with a platter and a jug.

‘I hear it’s a lassie at the Renfrew house,’ said the woman, setting the platter down on a kist by the door. ‘No doubt her man would rather a son. Mind, he’s no that well pleased wi the sons he has, so what he’d want wi another is anybody’s guess, but some folks is never satisfied wi what they’ve got. And had she an easy time of it? The mistress never said.’

‘No,’ said Alys. Don’t think of it -

‘Small wonder at that,’ said Sibby in satisfaction, ‘seeing the way she was frighted into it wi Nanty Bothwell murdering a man in front of her.’

‘That will do, Sibby,’ said Nell sharply. ‘Away back to the kitchen and let us talk.’

‘Hark at you!’ said Sibby, and left the room, closing the door ostentatiously. Nell made a face.

‘She’s been wi us a long time,’ she said, in partial apology. Alys rose and fetched the platter, which held oatcakes smeared with green cheese, and one apple cut in quarters.

‘Eat something, Nell,’ she coaxed. ‘You’ll feel more like yourself. What is it troubling you? Will you speak of it?’

‘You saw it too,’ Nell said. ‘You were there on the day. And the wee lassies and all.’

‘Gil got the lassies out of the chamber in time,’ Alys said. ‘I asked my good-sister — they were not troubled. The wee one was cross because she never saw the end of the play. Is it that troubles you?’

‘Aye,’ said Nell unconvincingly. ‘What a thing to happen afore them.’

‘Did you know Danny Gibson?’

‘No.’ The other girl turned her face away. Alys studied her carefully. She was acquainted with her, as she was with most of the women on the High Street, but though they were close in age she did not know her well. She was taller and slimmer than Agnes Renfrew, with oak-brown hair which fell in smooth waves round her shoulders when it was tended. Now it was tangled and untidy and the grey eyes which were Nell’s best feature were swollen with weeping. But was it grief, Alys wondered, or something else which made her weep?