Pat McIntosh - The Stolen Voice

‘The horses have taen no hurt,’ said Ned now, ‘and they’re saying young Donal will be well enough, wi God’s help, and get a scar to fright the lassies wi.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Gil. ‘I wish none of you had been hurt. Who was it? Did you get a look at them?’

Ned shrugged, and winced as the movement shifted his bandaged arm.

‘I took it they was Murrays,’ he admitted. ‘They’re no likely to be MacGregors, this close to Perth, and besides he,’ he jerked his head at the dead man, ‘he was a MacGregor, though I suppose — ’

‘Aye, it means nothing,’ agreed Gil. ‘Tam? Did you jalouse anything?’

‘They were after him,’ said Tam, ‘like I tellt you, Maister Gil. The first two made for Donal and me, the next two got past us and went straight for him, and I’d say they wereny looking to take him prisoner. Him and Ned took them on, and Donal and me struck one of ours down and took the last two from behind, and then — ’ He swallowed, and winced as the man at his side tightened the bandage. ‘Then we ran for the town, and them after us, such as could still sit a horse, and when we cam by the barn the lay brothers cam charging out, right handy wi brooms and pitchforks they are, and we turned there, and then we saw how Mitchel — ’ He swallowed again. ‘I’m right sorry, Maister Gil, I never — ’

‘Leave it, Tam,’ said Gil, reaching out to grip the man’s hand. ‘And thank God you came out alive. Ned, is that how you saw it and all?’

‘Close enough,’ agreed Ned.

‘It’s the lay brothers that gets me,’ said Tam, with a slightly hysterical laugh. ‘They come down to the roadside at the charge, wi their brooms and pitchforks levelled like they was pikes. You’d ha thought they was a regiment.’

‘Likely the Murrays did think they were a regiment,’ observed Ned, ‘the way they cut and ran.’ He took another swallow of his spiced ale.

‘That’s Brother Dickon’s doing,’ said the man who was bandaging Tam. ‘He’s got the outdoor men well trained. The hounds of the Lord need a stout collar, he aye says.’

‘They’re that, all right,’ said Ned. ‘Saved our skins, they did, and I’d like to shake them all by the hand and buy them a stoup of ale for it.’

‘I’ll pass on your thanks,’ said the Dominican, gathering up his materials, ‘if you’ll thank God and His Mother for it first.’

‘Oh, aye!’ said Ned, shocked.

When Gil stepped out of the hall Mistress Doig was seated on the porter’s bench in the courtyard, her expression grim. She looked up as he approached, impaling him with a hot dry stare. There was blood on her cheek; she must have kissed the dead man.

‘What’s he got tangled up in?’ she demanded. ‘Was it you sent for him? Why you and no his own maister?’

‘You were close?’ Gil said gently, sitting down beside her. She turned her face away.

‘First cousins,’ she said. ‘My mother wouldny let me wed him.’

Revising his estimate of her age sharply downwards, Gil said, ‘I’ll pray for him. He died confessed and shriven, that must be a comfort.’

‘Aye,’ she said bleakly, ‘and why? What for? Your man said those Murrays, or whatever they were, went for him a purpose.’

‘That’s what I’d like to know,’ he answered. ‘What can you tell me about it?’

‘Me?’ She stared at him again. ‘What would I ken? Him and Doig never let on.’

‘So he was in something with Doig,’ he prompted. She nodded at that, looking down. ‘What did you see? Did he come to the house with word for him? Bring messages?’

She nodded again.

‘He’d turn up once in a while, saying he’d the evening free,’ she said. ‘I was aye glad to see him. Then one time I saw him slip Doig a letter o some kind.’

‘Can your man read?’

‘Oh, aye. Read and write and cipher.’

‘Did you ask them what it was about?’

She looked at him.

‘You’ve questioned Doig, maister,’ she said bluntly. ‘How would I get any more out of him than you?’

‘I’m not wedded to him,’ Gil pointed out. Her trap of a mouth twitched at that, but she said nothing. ‘Was the letter for Doig, or for him to carry overseas?’

‘He never tellt me.’

He pressed her a little, but she would not admit to knowing anything more, and he was unhappy about trading on her obvious grief. This was probably not the best time, either, to question Tam and Ned about Mitchel’s reaction to his summons, he realized, and it was probably the only way he would find out anything now about the man’s involvement in Stirling’s death. He would have to come back out here later in the day, when the two might have recovered their spirits in the care of the convent Infirmary.

‘Will I walk you home, mistress?’ he offered. ‘Is there a neighbour would sit with you?’

She shook her head, but rose to her feet, wearily, as if she carried a great burden.

‘I’ve the dogs’ dinner to see to,’ she said. ‘That won’t wait.’

Making his way towards the Red Brig, Gil turned his next move over in his mind. He was uneasily aware that he needed to speak to the Sheriff or his depute; he knew he would have to carry the word of Mitchel’s death to the Bishop’s household. On the other hand, he still had a lot to find out, and neither task seemed likely to contribute to that. He paused beside Cornton’s yard, looking over the planks of the fence at the silent sheds and drying-racks. If nobody drove his men to work, he thought, the tanner would find no business left when he was released. And that was what he had to do next: he must speak to Mistress Cornton.

The tanner’s house was quiet, though when he rattled at the pin he could hear footsteps beyond the sturdy door. After a moment a shutter opened and the girl Eppie popped her head out, saying in a subdued voice:

‘My mistress is no weel, maister, can your business wait? Oh,’ she went on, recognizing him. ‘It’s you, is it? Was it you that got my maister thrown in the jail?’

‘No,’ he said firmly, ‘I hope I can get him out. Can I get a word wi your mistress, lass?’

‘Wait and I’ll speir,’ she said, and withdrew, closing the shutter. He waited on the fore-stair, watching the traffic in and out of the port, aware of voices inside the house, one querulous, one persuasive. Eventually Eppie’s wooden soles clattered, and the door swung open.

‘Just a wee word,’ the girl said, and then in a whisper, ‘and if you’d persuade her to take a morsel to eat, maister, it would be a kindness. I think she’s swallowed nothing since Martin prentice came to the door to tell us. Will you come up, sir?’ she added, more loudly. ‘My mistress is abed, but she’ll receive you.’

He was shocked by the change in the woman. Stepping into the upper chamber from the newel stair he found her lying back against the pillows of a handsome carved tester-bed. Her hair was straggling from under a night-cap tied beneath her chin, her shoulders were wrapped in a quilted garment of some sort, and the bright embroidered counterpane and pillow-bere showed signs of having been spread in haste and made her flushed face look almost purple by contrast. He bowed, concealing his dismay, and said:

‘I’m glad you could see me, mistress, but I’m right sorry to find you like this.’

‘Can you help him?’ she demanded, ignoring this. ‘Can you get Cornton out of the jail? I never thought I’d be married on a man that got put in the jail.’

He came forward to sit down, and she reached out a claw-like hand to grasp his. Eppie placed herself by the neatly bagged curtain at the bed-foot, saying, ‘Now, mistress, there’s none of us believes it was him.’

‘His customers will,’ she said urgently. ‘It’s no good for trade, and besides I canny bear it, to think of him in all that dirt and the rats and all — ’