Pat McIntosh - The Nicholas Feast

‘But can we offer a better scent to the hounds?’ asked Maistre Pierre in French. ‘Did the young man have enemies?’

‘At least one, clearly’ Archie Crawford still wore the critical frown. ‘What do you mean, very probably? I should have said it was a certainty.’

‘He means, Archibald, that the malefactor might have used the property of another,’ said Maister Doby kindly. ‘What must you do next, Gilbert? How should the Faculty help you?’

‘Tell me about the dead boy,’ Gil invited.

There was a brief stillness, in which he was aware of powerful minds working; then the Dean said firmly, ‘An able student, an ornament to the college. Learning has lost one of her dearest sons.’

‘That will sound well in the letter to his family’ Gil looked from face to face. ‘Was he really that able? The impression I had, seeing him today, was of someone a little too clever for his own good.’

A flicker of something like agreement crossed Maister Doby’s expression, but the Dean said, ‘How can one be too clever?’

‘What are the facts, then?’ said Gil. ‘Who was he? Was he an Ayrshire man, as the surname suggests?’

‘He was a bastard,’ said David Gray suddenly and ambiguously.

‘His mother, it seems, is an Ayrshire lady now married to another,’ said the Dean, ‘and his father is a kinsman of Lord Montgomery.’

‘Supported by the Montgomerys? In their favour?’

‘Yes,’ said the Dean, as if the word tasted bad. ‘And well supported.’

‘A rich bastard,’ qualified Maister Gray. He still seemed dazed, like a man who can hardly believe what fortune has brought to him. Good fortune or bad? Gil wondered.

‘Certainly there has been no shortage of drinksilver,’ agreed the Principal.

‘What, actual silver?’ said Gil in surprise. ‘Not meal or salt fish like the rest of us?’

‘Oh, that as well,’ said the Dean. ‘But he has always seemed to have coin.’

‘And more of it lately,’ said Maister Doby in thoughtful tones.

‘Was he liked? Who were his friends?’

There was another of those pauses.

‘He had no particular friends, I thought,’ said the Principal with reluctance. ‘When he was a bejant he roomed with his kinsman Robert, and Ralph Gibson, and they were mentored by Lawrence Livingstone and his friends, but I do not think he has — ’

‘What friends are those?’ Gil asked. ‘Of the boy Livingstone, I mean.’

‘Ninian Boyd and Michael Douglas,’ said the Principal. ‘Ninian played Diligence very well, I thought. I wish he knew the meaning of the word in his studies.’

‘Ah,’ said Gil. ‘Michael must be my godfather’s youngest. I thought I knew that jaw. A Livingstone, a Boyd, a Douglas — what a conspiracy!’

‘Indeed, I do not think that can be right, Gilbert,’ said the Principal seriously.

‘William spends — spent time with Robert Montgomery,’ the Dean interposed, ‘and with Ralph Gibson, poor creature. Either of these may tell you more than his teachers.’

‘Did he still share a chamber with them?’ Gil asked.

‘He did not,’ said Maister Doby, shaking his head. ‘Sooner than share his good fortune with them, whatever its source, he has withdrawn from his friends this year. He has a room here in the Outer Close. John Shaw assures me all is paid for.’

‘And yet his legitimate kinsman has a shared chamber in the older part of the building,’ said Gil.

‘I told you he was a bastard,’ said David Gray. Gil looked at him, and wondered if he was sober. Certainly his narrow face was flushed, the colour contrasting unbecomingly with the red hood still rolled down about his neck.

‘Where did the money come from?’ asked Maistre Pierre.

‘From his home, I suppose,’ said the Principal. ‘He had no benefice or prebend as yet. Where else would he get money?’

‘Was there money on him?’ asked Maister Crawford. ‘Maybe he was robbed.’

‘By a fellow student?’ said the Principal, shocked. ‘Surely not!’

‘Don’t be daft, John. One of the servants, maybe, or some passing — ’

‘It was hardly a passing robber,’ said the Dean, ‘that left him locked in the coalhouse. And I hope our servants are more conscious of the good of the college than — ’ He stopped, apparently unwilling to finish the sentence.

‘Do you wish to ask us anything else,’ demanded Maister Crawford, ‘or can we get on with our own business?’

‘I have two further questions,’ Gil admitted. ‘In the first place, when William rose at the Faculty meeting — ’

‘I have no idea,’ said the Dean firmly. ‘I know neither what prompted him to speak nor what the matters were of which he spoke.’

‘Ask his friends,’ said Maister Crawford.

‘He hinted at heresy and peculation,’ Gil said. ‘These are both matters of some importance. Could he have misinterpreted something?’

‘I have no idea,’ said the Dean again. ‘And the other question?’

‘I must ask this of everybody, you understand,’ Gil said. They watched him with varying expressions: Maister Gray wary, Maister Crawford still critical, the Principal with the intent look of a teacher with a good student, the Dean clearly formulating his answer already. ‘After the end of the play, where were you all before returning to the Fore Hall? And who was with you?’

‘Most of the senior members came here to the Principal’s house,’ said the Dean promptly. ‘The four of us now present, Maister Forsyth, Maister Coventry — ’

‘Not Patrick Coventry,’ said the Principal. ‘He and Nicholas went over to the Arthurlie building. You were with them, Gilbert, were you not?’

‘We were here perhaps a quarter-hour,’ the Dean continued, ‘in this room or near it, standing or walking about, until Maister Shaw came to inform us that the procession was re-forming. Is that what you wish to know?’

‘Were you all within sight of one another for most of that time?’

The four men exchanged glances, and nodded.

‘I should say we were,’ pronounced the Dean.

‘Would you swear to it if necessary?’

There was another of those pauses.

‘I should swear to it,’ agreed the Dean.

‘They were lying,’ said Maistre Pierre positively. ‘Oh, not about where they were, I think we can accept that, but they know more about the dead than they would tell us.’

‘I agree.’ Gil stopped in the inner courtyard, looking about him. ‘Maybe if I speak to them separately I’ll learn more. But before that we need to look at William’s chamber, which seems to be locked from what one of the boys said, and I think I want a look at the limehouse. We must also talk to those three senior bachelors, and to the two boys named as William’s friends, even if one of them is a Montgomery.’

‘Did you say you had ordered the yett shut?’ asked the mason.

‘Aye, and we’ll need to let it open soon. Once Maister Coventry has finished that list I asked him for, we can let folk go.’

‘Then do you go and inspect the limehouse and I will find out the young man’s chamber.’ Maistre Pierre looked about, and caught the eye of one of the numerous students who somehow happened to be crossing the courtyard. ‘You, my friend, may guide me! Where did your lamented fellow pursue his studies?’

‘Eh?’ said the boy.

‘William’s chamber, you clown!’ said the next student. ‘It’s in the Outer Close, maister. I’ll show you, will I?’

Gil, retrieving the lantern from the coalhouse, lit the candle in it with the flint in his purse and unbarred the next door. Behind it was a similar vaulted chamber, unwindowed and smelling sharply and cleanly of limewash. Neatly ordered sacks were ranged against the walls, several wooden buckets and paintbrushes sat on a board near the door, and a fine sifting of white powder lay on everything. In it were displayed a great confusion of footprints, particularly immediately in front of the door. As Gil peered into the shadows, the light from the courtyard was cut off behind him.