Pat McIntosh - The Rough Collier

‘How was that? What was usual about it?’

Phemie hesitated, apparently at a loss.

‘Just the way he spoke. And the way she backed off as if he’d struck her. She’s a poor thing,’ she said quietly, but her mother looked round at the words.

‘Phemie, if Maister Cunningham’s finished with you, you may go and tell your grandmother what’s to do here.’

‘I suppose,’ she said ungraciously. ‘Since she’s clearly no jaloused it for herself.’

‘Phemie!’

By the time Arbella Weir entered the chamber, supported by a granddaughter at each elbow, Joanna was sitting up, sobbing quietly and sipping at the omnipresent cordial, her beads clutched in her other hand. A woman sate weping, with favour in her face far passing my reson , Gil thought, looking at her across the chamber. Beatrice was still at her side, but the women had been dismissed to the kitchen, and had gone with some regret, until one of them had recalled that Michael’s men would be there with all the information one could wish for. Jamesie Meikle stood by the head of the bed, as still as a stone evangelist in a niche, and stared at Joanna. Alys had come to sit at Gil’s side; he found her very presence comforting, and the warm pressure of her arm tucked into his seemed to clear his head.

‘Oh, my poor lassie,’ said Arbella in the doorway. She paused, took her stick from Bel and made her way to the bedside. ‘The troubles we women have. And what an end to all your waiting, my wee pet.’

‘Oh, Mother!’ Joanna wailed, and dropped the beads to reach out to her. ‘I never thought he was dead!’

‘My poor lassie,’ said Arbella again. She gathered Joanna into a loving embrace, and said over her bent head, ‘And what are you about, Jamesie Meikle, here in Mistress Brownlie’s chamber?’

‘I’m here to watch over her interest,’ he said quietly. Neither his stance nor his expression altered, but it was very clear he would not be moved. Arbella looked at him narrowly, but making no further attempt to discuss the matter she let go of Joanna, patted her hand and turned away to address the guests where they stood waiting for her.

‘It’s a great courtesy, Maister Cunningham, Maister Michael, to come up here to break the word to us. I take it right kindly, sirs. Phemie, have they never been offered a refreshment?’ Phemie’s sharp, defensive reply did not obscure Michael’s stammered answer. He hastily set a backstool for her as she made her way towards them, but she paused and gestured at the door. ‘Will you come into the other chamber and tell me how the man met his end? I hope he was cared for and shriven?’

‘They said they found — they found his corp,’ said Joanna from the bed, and sniffled again. Beatrice put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but Jamesie Meikle stood unmoving beside her pillow. ‘Does that mean he’s never buried yet?’

‘I’d sooner we stayed here,’ said Gil firmly. ‘Mistress Brownlie needs to hear it, and I have questions for all of you.’

‘My good-daughter would be best left wi’ her grief,’ Arbella countered.

‘No, Mother,’ said Joanna, composing herself with difficulty. ‘I must hear it. I must hear what’s come to Thomas. I’ll not be easy till I know.’

She may not be very easy once she does know, thought Gil, and then, wryly, But not knowing is always worse. Beside him Alys looked anxiously up at his face.

‘Very well,’ said Arbella, and seated herself. They all sat down likewise, and she studied their faces, turning her head to look from Michael to Gil and back. ‘Tell us, then. What’s come to my grieve? How did he die, and where?’

Michael swallowed hard again.

‘We tracked him,’ he said, ‘to the house of the man he drinks wi’ when he’s in Lanark, and when we came there we found the two of them dead.’

‘Two of them?’ repeated Alys.

‘Humph!’ said Arbella. ‘The man he drinks wi’? Was he no about my business, then?’

‘No at his death, madam.’ Michael glanced at Gil, and went on hesitantly, ‘It’s likely they’ve been dead these five weeks. We’re no certain yet how they died, but it seems as if it was quick, as if they’d barely time to guess what was coming.’

‘So there was none witnessed it?’ said Beatrice Lithgo, seated now by Joanna’s bedside, Bel standing at her shoulder.

‘None witnessed it,’ Gil confirmed.

‘But what took him to this man’s house?’ asked Joanna wonderingly. ‘He was about his round, he had the fees to gather. Why was he drinking in Lanark?’ She turned her numbed gaze on Alys. ‘What did you say earlier, mistress? Just that they’d found a man that might ken where Thomas was gone?’

‘That was all I knew then. This is the first I’ve heard of the two deaths,’ said Alys gently.

Beatrice studied her for a moment, then nodded. ‘And it wasn’t a fight between them two?’ she said to Gil. ‘Was it some sickness? Had they vomited, purged, bled at the mouth? How were they lying? Where were they found?’

‘Beatrice, my dear,’ said Arbella, turning to her daughter-in-law, ‘not in front of your lassies.’

‘My lassies are herb-wise already,’ said Beatrice. ‘They have to learn. What can you tell us, sir?’

Arbella considered her briefly, then looked at Michael, who had fallen silent.

‘Aye, sir, what can you tell us? In particular, as my poor daughter says, what took him to this man’s house? In Lanark, is it? Had he fetched the fees from the town afore he was struck down? Lockhart the Provost, four merks for the quarter, and George Wishart two merks and five groats. It should be wi’ his corp, Maister Michael.’

Michael stared at her, taken aback, and turned to Gil.

‘It may be with the rest of the coin,’ Gil suggested. ‘When that comes back from Forth you can find out.’

‘Raffie went to fetch it this morning,’ Beatrice observed.

‘Aye, and he’s no back yet,’ said Phemie tartly from her place by the window.

Michael spread his hands. ‘I’ve no knowledge of the coin, madam, other than what we’ve already told you.’

‘Very well.’ Arbella struck the floor with her stick. ‘Proceed, sir. Tell us what you came to let us know. What were these two doing when they were stricken? Were they at a meal, or an evening’s drinking?’

‘They were abed,’ blurted Michael, going scarlet.

‘Lying quite easy,’ Gil interposed. He felt Alys tense at his side, and wondered what she had detected from his attitude. ‘Whatever came to your man, it was quick. As to your questions,’ he went on, looking at Beatrice, ‘we saw no evidence that they had bled or purged, or suffered in any way.’

‘So he was taken in the night, and quickly,’ said Joanna, as if it gave her some comfort.

‘M’hm,’ said Beatrice.

‘But why was he never found till now?’ demanded Arbella, a crackle in her voice. ‘Did this other fellow’s kin or friends not go near him?’

‘Aye,’ said Phemie. ‘If they were lying in the midst of Lanark town five weeks, you’d think someone would have noticed them afore this.’

Arbella turned her head and glanced sharply at her, the blue eyes bright under the wired peak of her black veil.

‘You put yourself forward too much, Phemie my pet. Just the same she’s right, maisters. How were they not noticed?’

‘Syme — the other fellow — dwelt apart,’ Michael said. ‘Not in Lanark at all. His house is down by the river away from anywhere else.’

‘But what was Thomas doing there?’ asked Joanna. ‘I don’t understand!’

‘We know he drank with Syme,’ said Gil. ‘I assume he’d gone there to see his friend, and they were both struck down at the one time.’

He was aware that Beatrice Lithgo considered him thoughtfully at this statement, without speaking. Beside him, Alys sat alert, watching the faces. He looked round at them all himself. It felt like a game of Tarocco, in which he was not entirely certain how many of the people in the room were in the game or even what cards were in his own hand.