Pat McIntosh - The Merchant's Mark

‘Why, it came home,’ said Morison, the blank look appearing again.

‘Straight home in one day?’

‘Don’t be daft, Gil!’ Morison paused. ‘Oh, I see what you want. We lay at Linlithgow Monday night, and Kilsyth on Tuesday.’

‘And what happened to the cart each time? Did you leave it in the inn-yard?’

‘No, no. I take better care of my goods than that. We’ve an arrangement wherever we lie, to run the cart into someone’s yard where it can be secure, and Billy sleeps with it as well.’

‘We’ll need the names of the yards,’ said Gil. ‘Now, after it came home, where did the barrel lie? Where was it yesternight?’

‘Last night.’ Morison frowned. ‘Is that right? Just last night? I suppose it must be. We were so late back, we ran the cart into the barn and shut the doors on it. Billy had to take the mare down to stable her, but I’d not the heart to make them start on the load after.’

‘So the barrel sat in the barn overnight with the rest. Was it undisturbed when you saw it this morning?’

‘Oh, yes. Well, it must have been,’ qualified Morison, ‘for there had been nobody in the barn. Then I got Andy to roll it down and handle it into the shed, and sent him for you while the other men made a start on the pipe of tin-glazed, and … and …’ He paused, staring at nothing. ‘St Peter’s bones, Gil, when he came up out of the water like that!’

‘He was a gruesome sight, poor devil,’ Gil agreed.

‘Aye, but … aye, but …’

‘What is it, Augie?’ Gil asked. It was clear the man needed to say something, and was reluctant to form the words. ‘Out with it, man!’

‘It was the way the water ran from his mouth,’ said Morison in a rush, his face reddening. ‘When — when I saw my Agnes lifted from the milldam. She was all white like that, and she could have been asleep, only for the water running out of her mouth — oh, Gil, it minded me so strongly!’

He scrubbed at his eyes with a sleeve, turning his face away.

Orpheus, thought Gil. Quhair art thow gone, my luve Ewridicess? He rose and walked about the small room, overcome with embarrassment. Behind him Morison groped for his handkerchief and hiccuped, while Maistre Pierre tut-tutted in sympathy.

‘I’m sorry,’ Gil said at last. ‘I never realized she had — ’

‘It was the melancholy,’ Morison explained, and blew his nose resoundingly. ‘After the bairn died. He only lived a week, the poor wee — and I knew she was — I’d to be away too much, but how could I leave the business? And now if my wee lassies are to be left with neither father nor mother, what’s to come of them? What’s to come of the household?’ He turned away again, ramming the damp linen against his eyes.

‘It won’t come to that,’ Gil said firmly. ‘Would you like to see a priest? I forget who’s chaplain here when Robert Blacader’s away, but there’s plenty priests over yonder.’ He waved at the towers of St Mungo’s.

Morison nodded, sniffing unhappily, but said, ‘Or maybe someone from the Greyfriars?’

‘I can send to Greyfriars for you,’ said Maistre Pierre.

‘I’ll have a word with Sir Thomas, and then I’ll get away, Augie, for the first thing I need to do is speak to someone about the treasure.’

‘Oh, aye, the treasure,’ said Morison vaguely ‘I keep forgetting that.’ He sniffed again, biting his lip, and Gil patted him awkwardly on the shoulder.

‘I hadn’t. I think it may be the key to the whole thing. Keep your spirits up, man,’ he said, ‘and pray for my success, and I’ll see you when I get back to Glasgow.’

‘I see two trails we must follow,’ said Maistre Pierre as they crossed the castle yard.

‘At least two,’ agreed Gil.

‘You must go now, to take advantage of the escort and speak to Robert Blacader,’ continued the mason, ‘but I could set out tomorrow, and trace Morison’s cart back to Linlithgow.’

‘And then I could meet you there,’ said Gil. ‘Pierre, if you can spare the time, I’d be glad of the help.’

‘How fast will the law proceed? How long have we got?’

‘The law will take time,’ Gil admitted, nodding to the men on the gate. He set off right-handed along the rose-coloured outer wall of the castle, and continued, ‘Even if Robert Blacader sits in judgement while he is in Glasgow, which I hope to avert, he would then have to send Augie to Edinburgh for trial, and that would have to wait while the King’s Justice was sent for and the witnesses were summoned from Glasgow. But I’m concerned about Augie’s business and even more about his bairns. The sooner we get this straightened out, the better.’

‘Oh, indeed. But at least we are not attempting to hold the hangman’s arm.’

‘Not yet.’

Maistre Pierre paused by the stone cross at the Wyndhead, where the four roads of the upper town met.

‘We need to give that poor soul a name,’ he said, ‘and find how he died. We must trace your books in their barrel, wherever they have got to.’

‘And we need to find out where the coin has been these four years and how it got into the barrel we have.’

‘But why must you go to Stirling?’ asked Alys, turning within the circle of Gil’s arm to look up at him. ‘Surely if the King and the court will come to Glasgow on Saturday you can ask your questions when they arrive.’

‘It will be late in the day when they get here, and I had sooner make a start today,’ said Gil. ‘Augie is fretting about the bairns and the business. Besides, there’s no saying whether the people I want to speak to will travel with the court.’

‘Leave him, Alys,’ said his sister, from where she sat in bleached dignity in the arbour by the wall. ‘He wants off his leash.’

Gil looked at her with sympathy, and found her looking back at him, a faint ironic smile overlying the tear stains. She was the best-looking of his four surviving sisters; according to their uncle she was bonnier than their mother in her prime. Here in the garden, weary with grief, she looked older than their mother was now. At least, Gil thought, scratching Socrates behind the ears with his free hand, she had recovered enough spirit to rake up old family jokes.

‘What will you do first?’ she asked. ‘Who must you speak to at Stirling?’

‘Treasurer Knollys,’ said Gil. ‘Robert Blacader, of course. The McIans, if they’re in the town.’

‘You should speak to Maister Morison’s men before you go,’ said Alys thoughtfully. ‘They may have noticed something without recognizing its importance.’

‘No time just now. When I get back,’ said Gil. ‘Unless …’

She looked up at him again. Unable to resist, he leaned down to kiss the high narrow blade of her nose. Her smile flickered, but she said seriously, ‘I could do that. My father’s man Thomas likely knows them.’

‘If you have the time,’ he said. She smiled, and he kissed her again, then said reluctantly, ‘I must pack. If I set out as soon as I’ve had a bite, I should be in Stirling before Vespers.’

‘I will have a word with Maggie,’ said Alys. ‘She always has food for you.’

She rose from the bench where they were sitting. Gil caught her hand, attempting to detain her, but she looked down, met his eye, and with a significant glance directed his attention to the arbour, then turned and left the garden. Socrates turned his long nose from Gil to her retreating back and whined.

Kate was sitting quietly, with her hands in her lap, staring out over the burgh. It was only when he went over and sat down beside her that Gil saw the small movements of fingers and thumbs, doggedly tearing at the calloused skin of her palms. He put his hand over hers, to still the movement, and she jumped convulsively and looked round at him.