Pat McIntosh - The Rough Collier

‘No accounting for tastes.’

‘You never asked him?’

‘We did not. He’s no one for idle chat, Tammas Murray.’

‘And how long has this been going on?’

The brothers looked at one another in the firelight.

‘Two year?’ said Tam.

‘No as long,’ said Jock. ‘It was after Matt Crombie died, no the first quarter’s reckoning but the next. A year past at Martinmas, I’d say.’

‘A year and a half, then. Since before he wedded Joanna,’ Gil said.

‘Aye, but it went on after.’

‘But where does he go? Do you think he stays in the town, or does he venture out elsewhere?’ Gil asked.

‘I followed him one time,’ said Tam, ‘but I lost him afore the top of the town. It was market-day, ye see, and he just vanished in the crowd. Must ha’ jouked up a vennel.’

‘What, you lost a red-haired man?’ said Gil in faint disbelief.

‘Aye, red-haired, wi’ a great blue bonnet on like a’body else’s.’

‘So how come you’re asking for him, maister?’ asked Jock. Tam, looking along the row of salt-pans, rose and went to poke at one of the fires.

‘The men from Thorn found a red-haired corp in their peat-cutting,’ Gil explained.

‘A corp? St Peter’s bones, what’s that doing in a peat-cutting?’ exclaimed Jock. ‘Is it Tammas Murray, then? Is he dead right enough, and you never said?’

‘It isn’t Murray,’ Gil said carefully, ‘but I’m beginning to fear he’s dead right enough, for he’s never turned up yet. David Fleming was convinced that the corp was Murray, and that Mistress Lithgo had set it there by means of witchcraft.’

‘Beattie? No Beattie!’ said Tam, sitting back on his heels, the fire-glow lighting his face. ‘She’d no do a thing like that. Davy Fleming’s no done her any harm, has he?’

‘Phemie called out the day shift and rescued her.’

‘She would,’ said Jock, grinning in the firelight. ‘That’s a fechtie lass, that Phemie. And did that sort it? He’s no laid charges against Beattie, has he? He’ll have the whole of the colliers to reckon wi’ if he has.’

‘He’ll have Adam Crombie to reckon with,’ Gil said. ‘The young man came home yestreen, and was for Cauldhope this morning to confront Fleming.’

‘Oh, well. Raffie should sort him. But where has Tammas Murray got to?’ said Tam Paterson. He rose and returned to his log, bringing a lighted stick with him which he set to the fire at their feet. ‘You say he’s no turned up at the Pow Burn either, maister? That’s … that’s …’ He paused, reckoning on the free hand. Flames sprang in the tinder under the driftwood. ‘Aye, five week or more since we parted from him in Lanark town.’

‘We’ve been right concerned,’ said his brother, ‘but you’ll see it’s no just a matter of going back to the Pow Burn to ask for him. The auld wife would ha’ questions for us, and the first would be, Where did he part from you?’

‘And where does he part from you?’ Gil asked. ‘Can you recall anything that might help me track him down?’

‘The Nicholas,’ said Jock promptly. ‘Hard by St Nicholas’ kirk. Juggling Nick’s they call it.’ Gil nodded, familiar with the inn and its sign where the mitred saint stared up the market-place in half-length, his three purses floating round his halo. Its landlady was feared by drinkers in four parishes. ‘We aye light down there for a drink after we’ve rid in from Jerviswood, he collects from the two accounts we’ve got in the town, and then he takes off.’

‘On foot?’

‘On foot.’

‘So not far, then.’ Gil considered. ‘Somewhere in the town, or not far outside it. If it was in the town, I’d ha’ thought he’d ha’ turned up by now, the word about the corp in the peat-cutting should be all over the Middle Ward. Does he leave his horse at Juggling Nick’s?’

‘Aye, that’s right. Then he rides up to meet us when we get to Forth. He’ll get a week wi’ his woman, I suppose,’ reckoned Jock. ‘She must be a patient soul, to put up wi’ that. A week wi’ your man once a quarter doesny seem like a lot.’

‘Joanna Brownlie might think it was enough,’ said Tam darkly.

‘Did he never let anything slip, then? Nothing that might give us a direction?’

The two men considered, and Jock shook his head.

‘He’d a sprig of yew in his hat one time he joined us,’ offered Tam. ‘Tucked behind his St Andrew. Had berries on it.’

‘There’s yew grows everywhere,’ objected his brother. ‘That’s no use.’

‘No, but it might mean the lassie dwells by a yew tree.’

‘It’s still no use, you daft lump.’

‘It might help. Is Juggling Nick’s the same place he goes drinking, do you know? I’m told he goes down into Lanark once a week or so.’

‘You don’t think he takes us wi’ him,’ said Jock.

‘Just the same,’ said his brother, ‘I’d say it might be. He’s a kent face there, aye joking wi’ the lassies and taking snash from the ostlers he’d never take from us.’

‘It sounds like it,’ Gil agreed. He rose, and stretched his back. ‘I had best get back to the Ship afore they bar the doors. My thanks to the both of you for all this. If you think of anything else I’ll be glad to hear it, though I’ll be away back into Lanarkshire at first light.’

‘Aye well, here’s a thing,’ said Jock. ‘Just talking of it now, it comes into my mind. Could his lassie maybe work at Juggling Nick’s? They’ve two or three lassies about the place, to see to the chambers and the kitchen and that.’

‘No yew trees in the midst of Lanark town, but,’ said his brother.

‘Aye there is,’ retorted Jock, ‘there’s a great yew tree in St Nicholas’ kirkyard leans ower the wall.’

‘I think I need to head for Lanark the first chance I get,’ said Gil.

‘Michael was to start for Lanark at first light,’ said Alys, from her place in the circle of Gil’s arm, ‘so he has had most of the day now to search Lanark. He reckoned he could more easily spare half a dozen men for the day than Madame Mère,’ she explained, with a quick smile at his mother. ‘But I hoped he might send word of my patient.’

Gil drew her closer, relishing her solid warmth. It had been, somehow, a longer ride home than the one out to Blackness, and the thought of her welcome had greatly cheered the journey. He used his other hand to scratch the ears of the rather damp wolfhound who leaned against his knee, making the dog groan ecstatically.

‘Maybe I should have gone on to Lanark to find him myself. I’m reluctant to ride further, to be honest …’

‘Well you might be,’ said his mother, with a wry glance at the cushion of the bench he had chosen to sit on. ‘I can spare Steenie that long, I suppose. Indeed, he should be back soon. And I bade him ask after Fleming while he was about it, my dear,’ she added to Alys.

‘Yes, Fleming,’ said Gil. ‘You say it was Crombie beat him?’

‘So he told us,’ Alys agreed. ‘He made better sense later, once we had got him back to Cauldhope, and washed his hurts and put him to bed. He said he was out in the fields, on his way to wherever it was Michael had sent him, and Crombie and his men found him, and set about him with sticks.’

‘Crombie had one man and no sticks when he left here,’ Gil said.

‘No, I thought that, and I would have said from his bruises they rather used their fists and feet.’

‘Gaif him an outragious blaw, and great boist blew,’ suggested Gil.

Her quick smile flickered as she placed the quotation, but she went on, ‘I suppose Crombie wished to threaten him about the charge against Mistress Lithgo. But Gil, I am still puzzled by his lying in a swoon half the day like that, and by the convulsions. I could find no blow to the head that would account for it. I wonder if Mistress Lithgo would tell me …’ Her voice trailed off.