Pat McIntosh - The Nicholas Feast

‘Jaikie’s death was a crossed scent,’ Gil admitted. ‘I think it was the result of a quarrel between Jaikie and Doig, who were both involved in the information-gathering. Montgomery said he had heard an argument when he came to the college at noon.’

‘But he saw nobody,’ objected Maistre Pierre.

‘Montgomery was talking to Jaikie, not searching the place, and the room is poorly lit. I surmise that Doig had hidden under the bed. He would fit in there quite well.’

‘The marks in the dust!’

‘Precisely And the dog-kennel smell that Michael noticed. Then when both Montgomery men had left, Doig emerged and killed Jaikie. Possibly the fellow had threatened him in some way. We may never know — Doig has run and the University has no serjeant or armed men to send to bring him back.’

‘No doubt they will make a note at the next meeting,’ said Maistre Pierre, ‘that if he comes back he is to be charged with the porter’s death.’

‘He will probably turn up on one of Montgomery’s holdings,’ said Lady Cunningham.

‘And Montgomery and his nephew, though they didn’t lie outright, were each stretching the truth for fear the other had knifed the porter, which led me to assume that neither had done so.’

‘That will also stand in Robert’s favour,’ said the Official.

‘And Father Bernard was protecting his favourite pupil’s son?’ prompted the mason.

‘One of his sons. I wonder which way he would have jumped if William had survived, with his threats?’ Gil cast his mind back over the several interviews he had had with the chaplain. ‘He was protecting the other boy, but he was also trying to cover his own back. The Church will not be pleased to learn of Alexander’s marriage to his cousin. How close were they, mother?’

‘First cousins, if I recall. Much too close to marry without dispensation. And Robert’s mother, poor woman, is a Stewart, no closer than fourth cousin, and brought the family some useful land in — in — ’

‘The Lennox,’ supplied the Official.

‘The one I feel sorry for,’ said the mason heavily, ‘is that wretched creature Ralph.’

‘Patey Coventry was to break it to him,’ said Gil. ‘And I think Nick was going to organize an unofficial game of football, since the quodlibet disputation had to be cancelled.’

‘What is a quodlibet disputation anyway?’ asked Alys.

‘It starts with a serious question — I think Patey was to propound it, and Father Bernard was to answer — but after that has been dealt with the scholars are allowed to ask more frivolous questions of the regents, provided they aren’t obscene or defamatory. It’s always unexpected and sometimes it’s good entertainment.’

‘I recall one,’ said Canon Cunningham, straight-faced, ‘in which John Ireland — yes, I am sure it was John Ireland — was asked what he would do if he found himself standing on the moon. Mind you,’ he added, ‘he spoke for near half an hour by way of answer, and I think he brought in the duties of sovereignty and the Doctrine of Atonement. The bachelor who asked it regretted it. But it seems, Gilbert, as if the young man’s death was a family matter rather than being related to his spying and extortion.’

‘The spying was not connected,’ Gil agreed. ‘So I kept it out of the argument so far as I could. No sense in angering the Montgomery more than was necessary. As for the extortion — well, if William had been a different person, he would have responded differently to the news of his legitimacy, and Robert might not have felt the need to act to protect his mother and siblings.’

‘Montgomery as good as admitted he had attacked you,’ recalled the mason, ‘while you were losing to him at cards.’

‘Losing? Gilbert!’ said his mother, in some amusement.

‘It was deliberate,’ he said. ‘We were exchanging information, a question for every trick, and I don’t think he realized how much his questions gave away.’

‘You never asked him your last two questions,’ said Maistre Pierre.

‘I did,’ said Gil, ‘this afternoon, while Robert was packing his goods.’

He hauled the wolfhound further on to his knee, and it turned to lick his hand. He scratched the corner of its jaw, recalling the awkward conversation. Strangely diminished, the angry fire in his eyes banked down to a dark glow, Montgomery had stared hard at Gil, then had suddenly come out with, ‘I canny thank ye for this day’s work, Cunningham.’

‘I’d not expect it,’ Gil had answered him. ‘I’m aware I’ve done you no favour, my lord.’

‘Did ye ken, yesternight? When we played at the cards? Was this where all your questions were leading?’

‘No at the time,’ said Gil. ‘I only pieced it together this morning.’

Montgomery grunted, ignoring the Dean, who was attempting to catch his eye.

‘I owe ye yir two last questions,’ he said at length. ‘I pay my gaming debts. Is there still aught to ask?’

‘Do you pay your legal debts?’ Gil asked hardily. ‘Do I get a fee for this?’ Montgomery’s right arm moved involuntarily, and Gil prepared to dodge a blow. ‘And what of the pup? What will happen to him?’

‘The pup?’ The other man grinned mirthlessly. ‘You can take the brute for your fee, then, Cunningham, and I wish you joy of it.’

‘Will you say that again before witnesses, my lord?’ asked Gil formally. Montgomery nodded impatiently, and gave Gil another diminished stare.

‘I’ll tell ye something else,’ he said abruptly. ‘For another fee, if ye like. I saw your father fall, on Sauchie Muir in ’88.’

‘My lord?’ Gil had said, shocked.

‘I didny strike him down,’ Montgomery continued, ‘never fear, but you may be proud of him. He dee’d well. You minded me of him this afternoon.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Gil had answered, swallowing hard. ‘Thank you indeed.’

‘No trouble,’ said Montgomery ironically, and swung away across the room as his nephew, escorted by Maister Forsyth and Maister Coventry, returned with his bulging scrip and an armful of books. ‘Aye, Robert, bring your books. You’ll have plenty leisure for them.’

Behind Montgomery, Lady Cunningham had risen in her crackling silk to come forward, seizing Gil’s elbow as she passed.

‘Your uncle has the right of it,’ she said quietly. ‘That lassie thinks just as she ought. There are great advantages for you in this marriage, Gil, I see that now.’ Before he could speak she had let go of him and moved on to corner the Dean, saying, ‘Patrick, I want to talk to you.’

‘And I had a long word with Patrick Elphinstone,’ she said now, with the expression of a cat over a dish of cream. ‘He’ll mention your name when he reports to the Archbishop, Gil. He feels you dealt with the whole affair very discreetly and quickly, and I hope he’ll make sure Robert Blacader shows his gratitude properly.’

Did Patrick Elphinstone know he felt that before she had a word with him? Gil wondered, and smiled across his uncle’s hall at her, in affectionate admiration. The Dean had flinched from her a little as she crossed the room, in just the way his father used to. I’ll pass on to her that encomium on my father, he thought, but not here, not now.

Instead he said, ‘Montgomery has given me the dog. A valuable fee.’

‘You must name him then,’ said his mother, ‘if only so you can order him off the furniture.’

‘What will you call a wolfhound?’ asked his uncle. ‘Birsie? Bawtie? Lyart, like the one your father kept?’

‘There was only one Lyart,’ said Gil firmly. ‘William called him Mauger …’ The dog looked up at this, and his stringy tail twitched. ‘But I don’t like that so much. No, I know exactly what to call him, with his long nose and his solemn face.’