Pat McIntosh - The Rough Collier

‘I still don’t see why he was killed,’ said Michael suddenly. Gil recalled himself to his surroundings, and made a questioning sound. ‘Murray,’ Michael qualified unnecessarily. ‘He was good at his trade, he brought money in to the coal-heugh, he was no worse a husband than many you hear about, he — ’

‘He quarrelled with Mistress Weir,’ Gil pointed out. ‘He was difficult to work with, kept himself superior to the men. Joanna feared his sharp tongue, it seems he’s free with his hands among the women, he had slighted Phemie and made fun of the younger one.’

‘Are those reasons to kill someone?’

‘I’m learning,’ Gil said, ‘that people will kill for very strange reasons.’

‘But does anyone gain by his death?’ Michael persisted. ‘I’ve felt angry enough to slay someone if I’d only had a knife in my hand, who hasny? But cold poison, ministered in secret like this, that’s a different matter altogether, and you’d surely need to be sure of a great gain to plan and carry out such a thing. Or was it vengeance? Did his wife — Joanna — did she guess what he was?’

‘Those are things I’ll have to find out.’ Gil nodded at the muddle of buildings coming into view over the flank of the hill. ‘I’ve learned a lot about the coal-heugh folk and their business, I may already have the answer in my hand, but I’ll have to ask more questions before I can be sure.’

‘They’ve seen us,’ said Michael after a moment.

‘They have,’ Gil agreed, studying the group of women gathering at the near corner of the house by the stillroom pent. He had picked out Alys immediately, in her light-coloured riding-dress. Beside her Beatrice Lithgo and her elder daughter were easily identified; Joanna’s white apron was conspicuous, the household servants were just joining them from the outlying kitchen building. The kitchen must be empty, he thought. I hope the supper doesn’t burn.

‘This will be difficult,’ Michael said grimly.

‘I think they know already,’ said Gil. ‘Alys must have said something.’

Under the gaze of many eyes, they rode down the track to the house, and dismounted. Michael handed his reins to one of his men, stepped forward, removed his hat, swallowed once, and said, ‘Is Crombie no here?’

‘He rode out to Forth this morning,’ said Beatrice Lithgo. ‘He’s no back yet. Have you aught to tell us, Maister Michael?’

Michael nodded. ‘Mistress Brownlie?’ he said. Round the corner of the house Jamesie Meikle appeared at a run, then checked on the edge of the group and stood tensely, his gaze fixed on Joanna, who floated forward almost as if she was sleepwalking.

‘What is it?’ she said, on a gasp. ‘What do you have to tell me?’

‘Mistress Brownlie, I believe we’ve found your husband,’ said Michael awkwardly.

She stared at him, all the colour leaving her face. ‘Is he — is he — ?’

‘I believe Thomas Murray is dead,’ he said, more gently. ‘We’ve found the corp of a red-haired man, dead since about the quarter-day.’

She made a little whimpering noise, and put her hands up as if to push the words away. Gil looked beyond her and caught Alys’s eye; they both started towards her, but it was Jamesie Meikle’s arms which were just in time to receive her slender form as she wilted and fell, boneless as a hank of wool.

‘You wee fool!’ he spat at Michael. ‘To break it that way!’ He gathered her up, and swung away from them towards the exclaiming women.

‘Aye, bring her in the house, Jamesie,’ said Beatrice Lithgo from among the group. ‘You’ll come within, maisters, I hope,’ she added with her usual faint irony, and turned to lead the way round the corner of the building. Alys touched Gil’s hand, gave him a quick smile, and hurried after the others. Phemie, left behind, looked from Gil to Michael.

‘Is he really dead?’ she demanded. ‘You’re sure of it?’

‘As sure as you can be of a five-week-old corp,’ said Gil.

‘His clothes? His knife? What about his hand?’ She demonstrated the shortened fingers.

‘All the evidence we’ve got suggests it’s Thomas Murray.’

She drew a deep breath, and stared at the sky, her eyes glittering.

‘I’m glad,’ she declared. ‘I’m right glad of it!’

‘Might we go in the house, as your mother bade us?’

Phemie turned that suspiciously bright stare on him.

‘Oh — I suppose,’ she said grudgingly after a moment. ‘Come round to the door. And your men, and the horses.’

Within Joanna’s own apartment there was disorder and confusion. Joanna herself was laid on the bed, Jamesie Meikle standing grimly by her pillow. Beatrice was bent over her, and Alys was directing several women who ran to and fro exclaiming, their wooden-soled shoes clattering on the floorboards. As Gil entered behind Phemie, two of the younger maidservants began a ritual-sounding wailing in a corner. Phemie dealt with this sharply, ordering them to move the cushioned bench from the bed-foot to the window and then be off to the kitchen, to fetch some refreshment for the guests and see to the two Cauldhope men.

‘You might as well be seated, maisters,’ she said, pointing to the bench. ‘There’ll be nobody but me to talk to you till Joanna’s back in her right mind, seeing my dear brother’s no returned from whatever mischief he’s got up to.’

‘I’ll be happy to talk to you,’ said Gil, while Michael stared anxiously at Joanna. ‘But where is your grandmother?’

‘Resting, most like,’ said Phemie indifferently. ‘She rests a lot now. She’s spent a lot of time sleeping this past week. Bel’s set by her wi’ her spinning, I’ve no doubt.’ She sat down, looking from one to the other of them. ‘Is he really dead? Where? How? What happened? And why,’ she added, the idea obviously only now occurring to her, ‘has it taken this long to find him, if he’s near five week dead? He must ha’ been well hid.’

‘I’ll go over all that when Joanna can hear me,’ said Gil. She looked at Michael, whose expression was giving away more than he realized, and nodded reluctantly. ‘But I need to ask all of you more questions about the last time you saw the man. Can you mind what order things happened the day he left here?’

‘What, after this time? Why d’you need to know?’ Her gaze sharpened. ‘Was it no a natural death, then?’

‘Try,’ said Gil, ignoring this. ‘Cast your mind back.’

She considered him briefly, then shrugged. ‘We broke our fast as usual, I suppose, him and Joanna in here, the rest of us in the other great chamber, the one where we sat the first time you were in this house.’ Gil nodded. ‘There would be porridge and bannocks and small ale, the way there always is. Then the horses were brought round, and the Paterson lads wi’ them.’ She paused, thinking. ‘Then Murray would have come through the house and spoke to Arbella, looking for any last instruction she had for him. Aye, that’s right. And she bade him mind her birthday.’

‘What did he say to that?’

Phemie curled her lip. ‘He said something like, Oh, I’ll not forget, madam. It would be a great feast wherever I was.’

‘Did you see the flask she gave him?’

‘Flask?’ said Phemie blankly. ‘She wouldny give him the time of day, save it was in his contract of labour.’

‘Did she have any other instructions for him?’

‘None that I recall. Then he said farewell to Joanna, and we all went out to the horses, and Arbella gave them her blessing the way she does, and they rode off.’

‘And all this was just as usual?’

‘It was. Even the way he said farewell to her.’ Phemie jerked her head at the bed, where Joanna was beginning to stir.