Pat McIntosh - The Harper's Quine

‘The land at Kingarth,’ said Gil, referring to the parchment again, ‘is valued at eight merks and a weaned calf, besides the toll on the rents taken at St Blane’s Fair, which my informant estimated at a considerable sum.’

‘What?’ Sempill stared at him. ‘And I suppose there’s a goldmine on the plot on the shore?’

‘No, but there is a very handsome barn on it,’ said the mason, ‘used by a cartel of merchants whose turnover is probably a thousand merks a year, I would guess.’

‘The barn? You told me it was the next toft!’ John Sempill’s hands were at his brother-in-law’s throat. James Campbell flung himself backwards off the bench, rolling over as he landed to come up with his dagger drawn. Euphemia screamed, but Philip Sempill got between them, stripping off his gown to use as a defence.

‘Be seated, maisters!’ said David Cunningham sharply.

‘I sent you on the rent,’ said the laird of Glenstriven, ignoring him. ‘I sent you it with that pair of perjured caterans.’ He jerked his head at Neil, who was in front of the table, stooping to retrieve the scattered wine-cups. ‘It should have reached you.’

‘Oh, aye, it reached me. Eight shillings reached me for the two properties at Candlemas. Less than two merks and a half for the year, that makes. Where’s the rest, James? Where’s the rest? Is that what your fine education and your foreign travel does for you? Is that what studying law in Italy learns you?’ He tried to push his cousin aside. ‘Let me at him, the cheating — ‘

James Campbell cracked.

‘Oh, there was more than that, John. I sent it to Euphemia.’

James!’ She leapt to her feet, her hands at her bosom, her eyes luminous with martyred virtue, the image of a little saint accused before Caesar. Sempill turned to her.

‘Where’s the money, Euphemia?’ He held his hand out, as if expecting her to produce it from her bodice.

‘I–I gave you all James sent me,’ she said, tears quivering in her voice. ‘Don’t be angry with me.’

‘I’ll be as angry with you as I choose to be,’ he snarled, face to face. ‘What did you do with the money, Euphemia?’

‘I gave you it, John!’

‘That you did not,’ said her brother. ‘Most of it’s on your back, high-kiltit hussy that you are. How much do you think she paid an ell for that satin she’s wearing?’

‘Is it so?’ said Sempill, advancing on her. She gave back another step. ‘Keep my rents back, would you, and then come winding round me begging for this and that jewel, with me scraping and pinching to find the money I owed the Crown — ‘ He snatched the gaud hanging at her waist and yanked at it. She screamed, but lurched forward against him. Philip Sempill was there again.

‘Sit down, please,’ he begged them, ‘as we are bid. Sit down and discuss this properly.’

Now there’s a vain hope, thought Gil. His sleeve was tugged. He looked round, and found one of the gallowglasses beside him, directing his attention to the kitchen doorway.

Maggie stood there, beaming broadly, one red fist clenched.

‘Easy,’ she said when he reached her. ‘A wee secret drawer in the bottom of her jewel-box.’

‘Secret?’ he said, startled.

‘You don’t hide much from Marriott Kennedy. No that secret,’ she admitted. ‘And did you know the woman Campbell has a troutie in the well?’

‘She does, does she? Did Marriott tell you that?’

She nodded, and opened the fist to show him her trophy: a plain gold cross, smoothly shaped and sweet to hold.

‘And this was with it,’ she added, and showed him a little key in her other hand. He took key and cross, and kissed her.

‘Well done, Maggie. Wait here a moment, will you?’ He crossed behind the Official in his great chair, barely noticing Mistress Murray, who was swelling like a threat ened hen and glaring at Maggie. Alys looked round as he approached her.

‘Bring the bairn,’ he said quietly, ‘and come away. There may be a bit of a squabblement shortly.’

‘I want to watch!’ she said, following him back round to the kitchen stair. ‘It’s like jousting, isn’t it? You’re defending the truth against all comers.’

Gil, quite charmed by this view of matters, introduced her to Maggie and dispatched the pair of them downstairs cooing over the baby, with instructions to send Tam up. Then he turned back to the fray.

It appeared at the moment to be a four-handed shoutingmatch between both Sempills and the Campbell brother and sister, each taking on all comers. Nobody else was attempting to speak, which was probably just as well, he reflected.

The mason caught his eye and nodded approvingly, then sneezed again. Drawing a deep breath, Gil moved forward, and placed the cross on its ribbon on his uncle’s table, the key beside it.

‘What is this?’ asked David Cunningham.

‘Evidence; said Gil deliberately, ‘of who killed Bess Stewart, and therefore also Bridie Miller.’

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‘What did you say?’

Sharp exclamations from Philip Sempill and James Campbell. Ealasaidh, identifying the cross from the far end of the bench, was speaking in an urgent undertone to her brother. Sempill and Euphemia were still shouting.

‘I thought you wanted me to have nice things!’

‘Not to that tune, you light-fingered bismere! How much have you had? What have you cheated me of? Tell me that!’

‘Lady Euphemia!’

Campbell of Glenstriven said something vicious in Gaelic which made Ealasaidh nod, pursing her lips. Euphemia turned to look at him, flung a glance so swift at the table that Gil would not have seen it if he had not been waiting for it, and clasped her hands at her throat.

‘Oh, I am breathless!’ she said. ‘I am faint!’ She dropped gracefully into her brother’s arms, an effect badly marred by his pushing her away and dumping her unceremoniously on the bench. Mistress Murray hurried forward, with another dark look at Gil, and began patting hands and exclaiming.

‘If the lady is not well,’ said Canon Cunningham, ‘should we adjourn?’

Gil shook his head at him over the roiling mass between them. John Sempill emerged from it, his cousin at his elbow.

‘What’s that you say, Gil Cunningham?’ he demanded. ‘Do you know who killed Bess? Who was it? Was it no the Italian?’

‘If you sit down, I will explain,’ said Gil.

‘I thought we were sorting who took the plate. And the rents,’ he added, with a savage kick at his mistress’s ankle.

‘All this excitement’s not good for her, Maister Sempill,’ Mistress Murray remonstrated.

‘I’ll be a lot worse for her yet,’ he threatened, and Euphemia moaned faintly.

‘It’s all linked,’ Gil said.

Sempill glowered at him, but sat down, pushing Euphemia along. She was now drooping on her companion’s bosom with little fluttering movements; unimpressed, Sempill said, ‘If you can’t sit up straight, go and he on the floor. Philip and James want to sit down.’

‘I am ill,’ she said plaintively. ‘I feel sick.’

‘There is a garde-robe in the corner,’ said Gil. Euphemia rose, and tottered towards it, supported by Mistress Murray. The sounds which emerged from behind the curtain suggested that she was indeed throwing up.

‘Come on, then, man,’ said John Sempill. ‘Who killed Bess?’

‘I, too, wish to know,’ said the harper.

Gil, bowing to his uncle, surveyed his audience.

‘Bess Stewart came up the High Street,’ he began, ‘on the evening of May Day, with Euan Campbell. Not Neil,’ he added to John Sempill, who looked blankly at him. ‘She was seen by more than one person, including James Campbell of Glenstriven, who was tousling a lass in a vennel near the Bell o’ the Brae and made some effort not to be seen by her. I don’t know whether he was successful.’ Both Sempills turned and stared at James Campbell, who was staring in turn at Gil, the colour rising in his face. ‘Euan left her in the clump of trees opposite the south door of St Mungo’s and went into the kirk to tell John Sempill she was waiting for him.’