Pat McIntosh - The Harper's Quine

‘And had you good hunting in Rothesay?’

‘I did, but it’s good to be back. William Dalrymple sends his salutations. Sir, if John Sempill is to be here before Vespers I must talk to you, but before that I must shift my clothes and wash off the dust. Will you excuse me?’

‘Come to my chamber once you are dean. You are aware, I take it, that you have lost your hat?’

‘Have I? It must have fallen off. Likely when Matt drew the lassie’s tooth.’

His uncle paused in the door to the stairs, raising his eyebrows.

‘You have dearly a lot to tell me,’ he said.

Maggie looked up as Gil entered the kitchen.

‘You might have warned me you were bringing a Campbell back with you,’ she said. The Campbell, seated in a corner, ducked his head in embarrassment and took a bite of barinock and cheese. ‘And so you’re to be wed, are you, Maister Gil?’

‘So it seems,’ said Gil. ‘Are you pleased?’

‘Oh, aye. It’ll get you out from under my feet.’ She thumped at the dough under her hands. ‘And you’ll no be so far away, you’ll can visit your uncle, I’ve no doubt. Is she bonnie? I’ve seen her at the market, but no close to.’

‘I think so,’ said Gil.

‘That’s what matters. And I’ve heard she’s a rare housewife, which is more to the point.’

‘She runs her father’s household, which is a large one, and does it well, from all I’ve seen. Maggie, I must wash. Can you spare William to fetch more water?’

‘I can,’ she said doubtfully, looking at the kitchen-boy, who was hunkered down by the window staring vacantly at the gallowglass. ‘Tam’s faster, but he’s still down at the harper’s. It takes William a long time, and I’ll need him soon, to turn the spit for tomorrow’s dinner.’

‘I can be turning the spit,’ offered Neil Campbell.

‘There’s water hot,’ said Maggie, accepting this. ‘Get you in the scullery, Maister Gil, and shift that beard, in case the lassie comes up the hill with her father before Vespers. A three days growth is no way to commend yourself to a lass before you’re handfasted. You can fling that sark out here when you’re done and I’ll put it to soak. And then I’ll have a dish of eggs ready for you.’

To be fed, washed, shaved, combed and clad in clean linen simply accentuated the strange feeling of lightness Gil still felt. Kissing Maggie, who told him sharply to save that for his own lass, and clapping the startled gallowglass on the shoulder where he sat turning the spit, he sprang up the stairs to the hall and checked by his uncle’s oratory. On impulse he slipped behind the curtain, remembering the last time he had knelt here. Just as on that occasion, he found the words would not come, but this time only a boundless gratitude, which he offered up until he felt it turn to gold as if in sunlight and float away from him.

He knelt for a while longer, feeling the unseeable sunlight almost tangible behind his closed eyelids. When it faded he rose, signing himself, and went on up, crossing the solar to his uncle’s chamber.

‘Ah, Gilbert,’ said his uncle. ‘What is this about a lassie with toothache?’

‘The lass we were to find in Dumbarton,’ Gil answered. ‘The same lass we missed in the Gorbals. When we got to her house today we found her screaming with a rotten tooth, and Matt drew it for her. Did you know Matt could draw teeth, sir?’

‘I did not. Likely it’s a thing he learned away at the wars in Germany. He has already asked for a day off tomorrow to go to Dumbarton.’

‘I suppose he wants to see how she does.’

‘No doubt. And you, Gilbert? How do you do? This proposition of Maister Mason’s likes you, does it?’

‘I can think of nothing I would like better,’ said Gil, as he had to the mason, ‘and almost nothing of which I am less worthy.’

‘Well, well.’ His uncle looked down at his book, unseeing, for a moment. ‘I had hoped to deacon for your first Mass, Gilbert, but do you know I find I would rather say a wedding Mass for you and christen your first bairn.’ Gil murmured something. ‘There are too few of your father’s name left. Aye, I think you will do better out in the world, providing we can find you something to live on.’

‘That is what worries me,’ said Gil. ‘However well Pierre dowers the lass, I cannot live on her money. I’m a Cunningham, after all.’

His uncle shot him a sharp glance, and nodded.

‘You are a Cunningham,’ he agreed. ‘The lands out by Lanark are lost to us, I think, but there is property here in the burgh that does near as well, I can let you have in conjunct fee. The rents are all in coin, of course. As for income, I have one or two ideas. Let me ask about, Gilbert.’

‘May I know what they are?’ Gil asked politely. ‘You could say they concern me, sir.’

He got another sharp glance, and the corner of David Cunningham’s mouth quirked.

‘You could say so. Let me see. It is possible that Robert Blacader will consent to your employment here in the Consistory as we had planned, though you are in minor Orders only. You could hang out a sign and practise as a notary in the burgh, though I cannot see you growing rich at that.’

‘Nor I,’ agreed Gil, thinking of Alexander Stewart’s house with the tumbling children by the peat fire.

‘Since as Maister Mason’s son-in-law you will get your burgess ticket almost as a wedding-gift, you might find a post as one of the burgh procurators.’

‘What, and speak for poor devils taken up for theft?’

‘Or speak on the burgh’s behalf in the same case,’ his uncle concurred. ‘I have friends, and some influence, Gilbert. Let me continue asking about.’

‘I should be grateful, sir. I am grateful,’ said Gil, still aware of the unseen sunlight, ‘for everything you have done for me-these-past years.’

‘Well, well,’ said his uncle again. ‘You’re a good boy, Gilbert. Your father would have been proud of you.’ He closed his book, and opened it again at random. ‘Now, tell me about your hunting in Rothesay. What did you raise? Sit down, for mercy’s sake, and tell me about it.’

Gil, hooking a stool towards him with his foot, sat down and gave a concise account of the interviews with the lawyer, Mariota Stewart and the gallowglass. His uncle heard him attentively, asking the occasional question.

‘And the lassie in Dumbarton,’ he said at the end. ‘What did you learn from her?’

‘I had no speech of her,’ Gil said, ‘but her mother reports that James Campbell of Glenstriven came looking for a word with her yesterday, with no success.’

‘Did he so?’

Uncle and nephew looked at one another consideringly.

‘John Sempill will be here shortly,’ said Canon Cunningham after a moment. ‘No way of knowing, of course, how many of his household will come with him.’

‘No,’ agreed Gil. ‘I wonder, sir, might we borrow a couple of the apparitors from the Consistory?’

‘They will have gone home by now,’ said his uncle, glancing at the window. ‘No, we must make do with Tam, I think. And perhaps Maister Mason will bring one of his fellows with him. I wonder will he bring the lassie, hm?’

‘I hope he may,’ said Gil, feeling his face stretch into a fatuous grin. The image of Alys rose before him, in her plain blue gown with her hair down her back. He dragged his mind back to the point at issue. ‘There will be. the harper’s sister, of course. I’d back her against an army.’

‘Ah, yes, the harper and his sister. What are we to agree for the bairn, who is the main point on the agenda?’

‘I have no idea what my principal will ask for.’

‘You must get a word with him as soon as he arrives.’ The Official rose, and Gil stood politely. ‘I wish to be sure the bairn will be reared fittingly, and his property decently overseen. If that is in jeopardy I will say so.’