Pat McIntosh - The Merchant's Mark

‘I don’t see what you mean,’ said Marriot, reluctant to be balked of her drama. ‘He could have dee’d after I saw him.’

‘The man who is dead was dead before that,’ said Ealasaidh.

‘The barrel that we found the head in,’ Gil explained, ‘left Linlithgow early Tuesday on a merchant’s cart. By the time you saw Balthasar coming from Mass, both barrel and head were halfway to Castlecary.’

‘Oh,’ said Marriot, not fully convinced.

‘I’m glad to hear you saw him,’ said Gil encouragingly, ‘for I liked the man. I still have to find a name for the dead man, but at least I’ve eliminated one.’

‘Just leaves the whole of the rest of Scotland, eh?’ said the flute player.

‘If the dead had odd eyes like Barty,’ said the man who had admitted Gil, ‘was he maybe some kind of kin to him? It’s no that common a feature, see.’

This was generally agreed to be a good point.

‘There you are, maister,’ said the lutenist with the green ribbons. ‘Gang to Linlithgow, find Barty, and you’ll get a name for your corp.’

‘If he’s still there,’ said the bass vièle.

‘If he wasny, he’d be here, where the pickings are,’ said the tenor singer beside Marriot.

One or two of the men laughed, but McIan said, with sudden authority, ‘Go to Linlithgow the morn, Maister Cunningham, and ask your questions again. There will be answers.’

‘But the now,’ said the bass vièle, ‘he said he was the audience. We aye need an audience. Gie the man another drink, Alissy, and he can listen to this new piece for us. I still say you want to be half a tone higher there, Edward,’ he went on, turning abruptly to the flute player. ‘It’s away too sweet like that.’

Kate Cunningham, sitting in the arbour in her uncle’s garden, stared out over the lower town and thought bleakly about her future.

It seemed to contain very little that was positive. St Mungo had been her last resort. Restricted though their income was, she had travelled widely in the past two or three years, following the pilgrim roads of Scotland with offerings and petitions for saints from Tain to Whithorn without success. She wondered if she had offended Mungo by turning to him the last, and found her mouth twisting in a bitter smile.

‘What has changed?’ said Alys in her accented Scots.

Kate looked round, and found her new relation sitting on the grass nearby. The smile softened; in the few days since they had met she had found a great liking for this slender, elegant, terrifyingly competent girl.

‘Changed?’ she said now.

‘Since yesterday, for example,’ said Alys.

Kate turned her head to look out over the burgh again, trying to decide whether she could answer that.

‘All my hopes are away,’ she said at last. ‘The rest of my life’s still the same, but now I’ve no hope of ever getting rid of — these.’ She nodded at the crutches propped beside the arbour.

‘All your hopes?’

‘You sound like my brother. No, I suppose, not all. I still have my hope of salvation, but what else is there? How can I lead a useful life? How can I lead a good life, even?’

‘You said,’ said Alys diffidently, ‘that the saint bade you Rise up, daughter.’ Kate nodded. ‘Dreams often go by image and metaphor. Do you think, perhaps, he meant you were to rise up above your difficulties? To ignore them?’

‘He could have said so,’ Kate said sourly. ‘It’s no that easy to ignore having to be carried downstairs every day.’

Alys was silent for a while. Then she said, ‘I came out to ask for your help.’

‘Mine? What help can I be? Did you not hear me, Alys?’

‘Your brother,’ said Alys, colouring slightly as she always did when she mentioned Gil, ‘left me a task. Someone must speak to Maister Morison’s men about the bringing home of that cart, with the barrel on it, and the sooner the better. I need a companion. Would you come with me?’

‘Why not take one of your lassies?’ said Kate, aware that she sounded pettish. ‘Or that Catherine?’

‘I’d rather have this Katherine,’ said Alys, her elusive smile flickering. ‘My lassies will be busy about the dinner just now, and Catherine will be asleep over her prayer-book, since she last saw me in my father’s care. Will you not help me? We can have your mule brought round, and you can ride down, and Babb and I can walk. Then you may dine with us, and come home after.’

‘Oh, well,’ said Kate after a moment. ‘I might as well, I suppose.’

The three women halted in the gateway to Morison’s Yard, staring at the disorder within.

‘ Mon Dieu ,’ said Alys after a moment, ‘quelle espèce de pagaille!’

‘You’ve not been here before?’ said Kate, as her mule pricked his long ears at a blowing wisp of straw.

‘No,’ admitted Alys, looking round. ‘How ever could he let his men work like this? I would be ashamed to — of course his wife is dead.’

‘ Her is non hoom, her nis but wildernesse. Where should we start?’ asked Kate. ‘Is there anyone here to question, or is the place deserted?’

‘There’s somebody down yonder,’ said Babb suspiciously. ‘Ye can hear voices.’

As she spoke the door of the barn at the far end of the yard was flung open and a skinny boy scurried out, making for one of the sheds. Halfway there he caught sight of the visitors, skidded to a halt staring, then turned and scurried back into the barn. The words Three bonnie leddies floated out.

‘Hmf!’ said Babb. Andy Paterson appeared in the doorway, and hurried forward, the boy beside him.

‘Forgive the wait, leddies, we’re a wee thing owerset here,’ he said, raising his blue knitted bonnet, and stopped, a grin spreading across his face. ‘Lady Kate! John, you never said it was Lady Kate!’ he remonstrated, aiming a cuff at the boy, who ducked expertly.

‘No reason the boy should know me,’ Kate said. ‘How are you, Andy? And the family?’

‘All well, so far’s I’ve heard,’ said Andy. ‘Madam your mother’s well, then, leddy?’

‘She is,’ said Kate. ‘Andy, this is Mistress Mason, who’s to marry my brother.’

‘Wish ye well, mistress,’ said Andy. He raised the bonnet again to Alys, and nodded companionably to Babb. ‘And what’s your pleasure, Lady Kate? Mistress?’

The two girls exchanged a brief look, and Alys gave Kate one of her infinitesimal nods.

‘A word with the men who brought the cart from Linlithgow,’ Kate said.

Andy’s eyes narrowed. ‘What for?’

‘In case any of them remembers something that might be useful,’ said Alys. ‘You want your master out of the castle and back in the yard, don’t you?’

‘Aye, I do, mistress,’ said Andy. ‘And if it’s like that.’ He turned to the boy. ‘John, run and mak siccar Billy Walker’s no left the yard yet. I’ve just bidden him gie us his room,’ he expanded to Kate. ‘You’ll have heard from Maister Gil what passed at the quest, then?’

‘What like a man’s Billy Walker? Is that him at the back yett?’ asked Babb. Andy swung round, let out a roar, and set off at a run. Babb, grinning, dropped Kate’s crutches with a clatter, hitched up her skirts and pounded after him. She overtook him easily halfway down the yard, swept past him and seized Billy as he slipped through the gate.

‘Let me loose!’ he shouted as she dragged him triumphantly back to her mistress. ‘Let me away, you fairground show! I’ve been turned off, it’s none of my mind now, it’s nought to do wi me!’

‘Well, now,’ said Kate thoughtfully, studying him from her perch on the back of the mule. ‘Maybe if you can tell us anything useful …’ She paused, glancing at Andy’s scowling face, and changed what she had been about to say. ‘One of us might put in a word for you with another master. I take it you’d liefer work than starve?’