The Counterfeit Madam

Chapter Eleven

Alys was still not to be seen, and nobody seemed to know where she had gone.

Leaving the two women to be escorted up to the Castle by Neil Campbell, Gil had made for home by the path along the mill-burn, pausing to look into the donkey-shed at the foot of Clerk’s Land. It was empty, and the cart was absent as well; presumably Sproat had some work somewhere.

At the house he was greeted with faint hostility by the women in the kitchen.

‘The dinner-hour’s long over, Maister Gil,’ said Kittock pointedly when he appeared in the doorway. ‘I might find you some bread and cold meat, but. No, I’ve no idea where the mistress is, but if that one up the stair thinks she can tell me how to run my kitchen,’ she went on, as much to the loaf she was hacking as to Gil, ‘she can go and bile her heid.’

‘John’s growing fine,’ said Nancy from her seat by the hearth, where she was mending one of the boy’s little shirts; John himself was rosily asleep on someone’s straw pallet in the corner. Kittock turned and gave the nursemaid a harried smile.

‘I ken that, and you’re a good lass, Nancy. But I’ll no have one wi no authority coming about my door wi orders like that.’

‘What’s to do?’ Gil asked, aware that this was unwise. Jennet, chopping leeks at the other side of the great wooden table, snorted grimly. Kittock shook her head, laid a generous slice of cold meat on the wedge of bread, and looked about her.

‘I’ll not tell tales,’ she said improbably, reaching for one of a neat row of bowls at her side. ‘But there’s Annis weeping her heart out over the crocks in the scullery, and Jennet here all put out and all, I’ll not have it, and so I’ll let the maister hear.’ She spooned thick dollops of amber-coloured onion sauce over the meat, clapped another wedge of bread on top, and swept the knife through the stack, once, twice. Arranging the four little towers on a wooden platter, she stuck a scrap of parsley in the bailey at their centre. ‘There you go, Maister Gil. That’ll no spoil your supper, but it should keep you on yir feet till then.’

‘But the mistress is not back?’ he persisted, accepting the food. She had turned away to draw him a beaker of ale from the barrel in the corner, and did not hear him. Nancy looked up from her mending and nodded.

‘Never been home,’ she admitted. This was probably as many words as she ever uttered at one time.

‘She’s got the dog wi her,’ Kittock observed, returning with the beaker. Gil took it from her and set it down on the table long enough to put the leaf of parsley in his mouth. ‘The wee one was fair missing his Ocketie.’ She added another generous pinch of parsley leaves to the platter, lifted the ale again and put it in his hand. ‘Now away out my kitchen, Maister Gil, till I get my feet clear for the supper.’

‘What was she wearing?’ he asked. Jennet looked up, narrowing her eyes.

‘I got her up in her blue linen,’ she said. ‘That was afore you was awake, maister.’

The everyday gown, for the market and for calling on close friends, he thought. She would have been home before now, and if not the dog would have become bored and come to find him.

‘She took Luke,’ offered Nancy.

Upstairs in the hall he found Luke’s master and Ealasaidh McIan, seated together on the great settle admiring the jug of flowers in the empty hearth. Questioned, Maistre Pierre agreed with Nancy.

‘I had work for the boy,’ he complained. ‘Did she tell you where she went, mistress?’

Ealasaidh shook her head.

‘She was never saying, that I heard,’ she said reluctantly. ‘Was it no some errand you had set her, Maister Gil?’

‘No.’ Gil scraped oozing onion sauce off the side of one of the little towers and licked his finger, trying to recall whether Alys had said anything yesterday. No, there was nothing. And better not to mention the state the kitchen was in.

He moved to sit in one of the window-seats and stared out over the garden, unseeing, trying to order what he knew about Dame Isabella’s death. He needed to locate the serving-men, but two of them were certainly in the clear and it was possible the other two could speak for one another likewise. One of the waiting-women was still suspect, the other was not. Who else could have approached the old woman at such a moment without causing her alarm? Some kin, perhaps. The two Livingstone men spoke for one another, though he had not asked them to investigate their own household. What about Sempill? he thought, chewing. The man was capable of killing the old woman, for certain, and was good enough with his hands to achieve the skilful way she had been killed, but his amazement at hearing of her death had seemed genuine. Could he dissemble that well?

‘Perhaps she is gone to a friend’s house?’ suggested Ealasaidh, breaking into his thoughts. ‘Or to your sister’s house, maybe?’

‘She would take John if she went there,’ objected Maistre Pierre. ‘And she would not need Luke. Even Catherine does not know where she is,’ he grumbled.

Gil nodded vague agreement, and put another sprig of parsley in his mouth. Lady Magdalen, now, was she capable of the deed? It hardly seemed like a woman’s method of killing, despite what it said in Holy Writ, and she was a slender creature, but all things were possible. It should be easy enough to check whether she had been out of the house that morning. I should have done all this yesterday, he realized irritably, what was I thinking?

What reason was there for killing the old woman? Was she killed because she was an objectionable old beldam, or for another reason? How was her death connected to the matter of the false coin? I ought to get a longer word with Sandy Boyd, he thought, frowning, and absently lifted the last of the onion sauce with the final crust of bread. And I should never have let Neil Campbell out of my grasp just now. I wonder where his brother is?

‘Perhaps she went to the tailor,’ Ealasaidh offered. ‘That might take the whole day.’

In fact, Gil thought, I have spent two days allowing others to direct me. I need to take charge of my own investigation. Confound this blow on the head, it has addled my wits more than I realized.

He set the platter down on the cushion beside him and swallowed the last of the ale.

‘I’m going out again,’ he said. ‘If Alys comes back, send to let me know, will you? I’ll be about the Drygate or Rottenrow.’

Canon Aiken’s house was quieter than when he was last there; the black hangings were still at the door and windows of the wing where Dame Isabella had died, and Maister Livingstone was seated glumly in the upper hall, reading in a small worn book. He rose when Gil was shown in, setting the book aside, and exclaimed,

‘In a good hour, maister! You had my message, then?’

‘No,’ said Gil blankly. ‘Message?’

‘Jock Russell’s back from Craigannet, man. You mind he was to ride out to ask Archie about some of these properties? Lucky it was we waited till the next day to send him, and he took word o the auld beldam’s death as well as the other questions we had, and now he’s back, wi word from my brother and a note of her will that they found in her kist. Fetch wine and cakes, Tammas,’ he added to the retreating servant. ‘Come and get a seat, and look at this, likely you could do wi a look at it, for it concerns your sister.’

‘Does it now?’ said Gil, raising his eyebrows.

‘Aye. Lady Tib will get the land in Lanarkshire after all, the other would go to Lady Magdalen if it wasny part o the Livingstone heriot right enough. The auld ettercap’s been stirring it.’

The note was in fact a full copy in a set of wax tablets. The document was clearly enough drawn up, and had been signed only a few days ago. Gil studied it carefully, not entirely sure what to expect, though after this disclosure he hoped there would be no unpleasant surprises; what startled him was the direct bequest to John Sempill, the size of another to Lowrie, and the final destination of the residue.

‘Did she have so much to leave?’ he asked. Livingstone grimaced.

‘She did not, though she thought she did, that’s clear. Archie reckons the land at Gargunnock that she’s left the lad was part of the heriot and all, same as both the plots in Strathblane. Just the way Lowrie’s luck falls, that. And I’d say Archie’ll be in for a fine battle wi John of the Isles for most of the rest. Stirling men of law will eat well this winter. Aye, set it there, Tammas, we’ll serve oursels.’

‘Why John of the Isles? He’s dispossessed, he’s landless and forfeit and living on the King’s pension, why would a woman like Dame Isabella leave him near all she had?’ A woman who couldny stand these heathen names, who abused her Ersche servants for thieving fools, he was thinking.

‘Christ and His saints alone ken, but she thinks the world o him. She made a right tirravee when he was brought to Stirling last year,’ Livingstone said sourly, handing him a glass of Malvoisie, ‘wanting Archie to offer to keep the man, or offer him funds, or the like. The names she called him when he wouldny oblige her, you’d wonder she wasny struck down by a thunderbolt on the spot.’

Gil sipped the wine and considered the words incised in the greenish wax. The copy was cramped but the original had been carefully composed; Maister Edward Cults of Stirling, whose name was in the colophon, was clearly a qualified notary. It assigned the familiar parcels of land to each of her goddaughters and another to my nephew Lowrence Livinston for that his faither will not see to his providing, with further gifts of some value to all three, and conventional if paltry sums to the testatrix’s own household. To Jhone Sempil of Muirende, spous of my gude-dochter Magdalen Boidd went another piece of land in Renfrewshire, along with my smal kiste of norowa dele with al held therin, and then the final sentence: Al uthir gudes, chattils and londes of which I dye invest or infeft I leve to the use of Jhon Macdonneld sumtyme erle of Ross callit Lord of the Yles for his lifetyme.

‘You’d get them back eventually,’ he said. ‘John of the Isles is, how old? Sixty? Can’t be far short of it.’

‘Aye, but that’s no the point, is it?’ said Livingstone indignantly. ‘He’ll get how many years’ worth o rents off that, if it’s hers to leave, and we reckon it isny.’

‘Have you found the Norway deal kist she leaves to Sempill? I wonder what’s in it?’

‘So did we,’ said Livingstone. ‘It’s not in her baggage. Some earnest o good behaviour, or the like, I’ve no doubt, that she extorted from him afore she wedded her goddaughter to the man.’

It would fit, thought Gil, but did not comment. ‘She gives no reason for the bequest of land.’

‘She’s entitled to assign what’s hers where she wishes,’ said Livingstone, ‘and that’s hers — or at least, it isny ours — but I agree, you wonder why, more particular when her servants, that she owes a duty to, get no more than five merks each. Though I suppose wi the way they’ve run off, she’s no that much of a duty to them. And Archie’s full able to see to the lad’s providing,’ he added.

‘I never doubted it,’ Gil said, still studying the will. ‘I’ll not mention this to Sempill.’

‘I’d be grateful,’ said Livingstone. ‘There’s enough to see to, without him underfoot demanding his rights afore they’re due.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘At least we can see the auld ettercap into the ground now, Christ be praised. Were you at the quest? I never saw you.’

‘I was elsewhere. What did it conclude?’

‘Oh, clear enough, clear enough, murder by an unknown felon, though I did think for a while they’d bring it in against the woman Marion, or whatever she’s cried. But Otterburn can steer an assize, he’s no so daft as he’s made out, and they returned that after a bit.’

‘Did you wait for the second one?’

‘I did not. Naught to do wi us, and I’d to speak wi Andro Hamilton to get Dame Isabella in her kist and received at Greyfriars. We’ll put her in the ground the morn’s morn.’

‘Did Lowrie stay? If he’s not back it’s maybe not over yet-’

‘Lowrie?’ said Livingstone, in surprise. ‘He’s away out the town wi your good lady, maister. Out to Strathblane.’

Leaving Maister Livingstone to establish belatedly whether any of his own household had been anywhere near Dame Isabella’s quarters on the fatal morning, Gil strode up the Drygate to the Castle, turning this news over in his mind. He knew his wife well enough to be sure she had some purpose in the journey, and she had made certain of her escort — Lowrie and two men, Luke, the dog, and whoever had accompanied his uncle’s horses made a good retinue. She ought to be safe, he thought, and Lowrie has a good head on his shoulders. But what will she ask, and who will she ask it of? What will she find? Will she ask the right questions?

What are the right questions? he wondered, and had to admit he was not certain of the answer. And when will they be back? He glanced at the sky. It was not more than four in the afternoon, there were four or five hours of daylight left, and it was a good dry day. They might be back for supper.

Otterburn was not in a good mood.

‘I could ha done wi your presence,’ he said grimly, ‘as the finder o the man Muir. No to mention as one that can contradict the Serjeant. He’s fine when it’s a matter o forestalling or avoiding the mercat fee, John Anderson is, but gie him a trail to follow and he’ll cross it as sure as winking. I’d the deil’s own job to keep them from naming that woman in the Tolbooth for the old dame.’

‘No, it was never her,’ Gil said absently. ‘What did they resolve about Dod Muir? And where did that pair of gallowglasses get to?’

‘Oh, we’re putting some fellow Miller to the horn. Mind, it would help if I kent his forename, Dusty willny do for the paperwork, but the two women you sent up here wi that sly fellow made the tale clear enough, and spoke up to it. Eventually. Even an assize couldny mistake the matter. Is that who you’re wanting, the man Campbell? I thought he was about the place, maybe talking wi Andro. You could try at the guardhouse.’

‘Have you searched for Miller?’

Otterburn gave him a look which his mother would have called old-fashioned.

‘My faith, I never thought o that. What do you think we’ve been doing? Andro’s no long back, in fact, he was down the Gallowgate wi four men asking the fellow’s whereabouts, but turns out nobody kens him. Must be invisible.’

‘The missing servants from Dame Isabella’s household,’ Gil said, without apology, ‘are likely with Barabal Camp-bell’s good-sister, somewhere by the Stablegreen Port. One o them at least she sent to Miller just before she was murdered, so they should be able to take you to the man’s workshop.’

‘Ah!’ Otterburn rang the little bell on his desk. ‘Walter, get Andro to me, and that Neil Campbell wi him if he’s still underfoot.’

‘And Miller was talking about going out of Glasgow the day,’ Gil added, ‘to Strathblane.’ Where Alys had gone, he realized. Would they encounter the man? Would Lowrie be able to defend her? It was a wide valley, but they would all be looking for the same people, the same spot.

‘All the better,’ Otterburn was saying. ‘If we can find his premises and search them, then put a watch on the ports for him, we’ll maybe no need to horn him.’

The tramp of booted feet announced Andro, with a reluctant Neil Campbell at his back. The gallowglass was dismayed to be ordered to find the missing servants.

‘I have never set eyes on my cousin’s good-sister,’ he protested. ‘You would be wanting my brother for that.’

‘And where is your brother?’ demanded Otterburn. Neil shook his head.

‘I am not knowing that. He was in Glasgow yestreen, but-’

‘If you went down Clerk’s Land,’ Gil recommended, ‘you could ask Saunders to take you and some men to his sister’s house.’

‘Aye,’ said Andro, grinning. ‘And he’s still that grateful no to be hung for Dod Muir, he’s bound to help us.’

‘Is he?’ said Gil.

‘He will be when I’m done wi him.’ Andro grinned again, touched his helm to the Provost, and left, shouting for his men. Gil laid a hand on Neil Campbell’s shoulder as he turned to follow him.

‘Not so fast, man. I need a word.’

‘Maister Cunningham iss aye welcome to a word,’ said Neil courteously, though his eyes rolled in alarm, ‘but-’

‘Several words, in fact,’ said Gil. ‘Tell me more about the coin you’re carrying to Ardnamurchan. To Mingary, was it?’

‘Och, no, I am knowing little of that,’ protested the gallowglass. ‘All I have done is carry the stuff, I have no knowing where it is from or who makes it-’

‘So it’s not this man Miller?’ Gil suggested.

‘I would not be knowing. Just my cousin gave me the leather bag and I was taking it to McIan.’

‘And never helped yoursel from the contents?’ said Otterburn sceptically.

‘I am an honest man,’ said Neil indignantly. ‘I would not be thieving from those that employ me. Besides that, it was sealed,’ he added, ‘the sack I mean.’

‘Whose seal?’ Gil asked. He shook his head.

‘The old woman’s, I am thinking.’

‘Old woman?’ Gil repeated. ‘What old woman?’

‘Some old woman that was paying them to-’

‘Was it Dame Isabella? Isabella Torrance?’

‘Maybe.’ The man backed away from Gil, looking anxiously at the Provost. ‘It wass not Sempill’s, for certain.’

‘Sempill’s? What does he have to do with it?’

‘He had the seal,’ said Neil, as if it was obvious. ‘He was there to seal the bag, wass he not, and pay my kinsman for his work, and me and my brother for our time. Like the other morning,’ he said helpfully.

‘What other morning?’ Gil felt he was floundering, but this seemed like a support to clutch at. ‘Do you mean Thursday morning? The day Dame Isabella died?’

‘The day you wass rescued in the — yes,’ finished the gallowglass, changing his mind about what he had been about to say.

Does the entire town know I was rescued by the bawdy-house? Gil wondered. ‘What time was he there?’ he asked.

‘Och, early on, maybe about Prime. No, it was later, for I heard the bells, but it was not so late as Terce.’

‘So he was on Clerk’s Land before Terce, sealing the bag of coin,’ Gil began.

‘No, he wass not, for it wass not there to be sealed, the man Miller only came by with it after he had gone away.’

‘And then what happened?’ Gil was trying to fit the sequence of the morning together. And you said you didn’t know the man Miller, he thought.

‘Miller and my kinsman were going off to speak with the old woman.’

‘Why?’ asked Otterburn. ‘Was that usual? No, it couldny be, she didny dwell here in Glasgow. Why did they want to speak wi her?’

‘I would not be knowing,’ said Neil politely. ‘But maybe it wass because of what Sempill of Muirend was saying.’

‘Christ aid, it’s like drawing teeth!’ said Otterburn. ‘So what was Sempill saying, and who did he say it to?’

‘Oh, I wass not listening,’ declared the gallowglass. ‘He wass not talking to me, you understand, so it wass not right to be listening.’

‘Neil,’ said Gil levelly, ‘tell me what he said.’

The gallowglass gave him a reproachful look.

‘Only that there was to be no more silver,’ he said. ‘He was in a great rage, I thought, and the whole of the Drygate likely heard him, but that was all he was saying. No more silver, and no more coin.’

‘No more siller,’ the Provost repeated. ‘And where was there to be no more siller from?’

Neil shrugged his broad shoulders.

‘He was never saying that.’

‘Did your kinsman argue with him?’ Gil asked.

‘Who argues with Sempill of Muirend?’

True, Gil thought.

‘And then your kinsman told the man Miller,’ said Otterburn, thinking about it, ‘and the two o them went away down the Drygate to speak to Isabella Torrance. To complain to her? To clype on Sempill?’

‘To kill her?’ Gil supplied. Neil Campbell stepped back in alarm.

‘I have not said it!’ he exclaimed. ‘I have no idea who was killing her! They have said nothing of it when they came back to Clerk’s Land, only that she was telling how it would certainly go on, she would see more silver into Glasgow if it was to kill her…’ His voice trailed off, and he stared at Gil. ‘I think it was not them,’ he finished.

‘Hah!’ said Otterburn, rubbing his hands together. ‘Looks as if we’ll sort that killing as well as Dod Muir’s if we take the man Miller, Maister Cunningham.’

‘Maybe,’ said Gil.

It was nearly an hour before Andro returned, with the three missing serving-men. There had clearly been some dissent about whether they accompanied the Provost’s men or not; two had puffy eyes, one was dabbing at a split lip, and all three were covered in the mud of the Stablegreen. Andro’s men were hardly unblemished either; the Provost, surveying them, said drily,

‘Well, well, we’ll ha some repairs to put on the bill, I can see. Right, you three.’ He stared at the row of men. ‘It’ll likely save time if I tell you what we ken already. You left your mistress’s house when you kent she was dead by violence, along wi the woman,’ he turned his tablets to read the name, ‘Forveleth nic Iain nic Muirteach. She went to hand a package back to the potyngar, while you three went by the back lane to Clerk’s Land and there burnt your livery,’ all three men gaped at him and two crossed themselves, ‘and then I think you went to the place where my men just found ye. No?’

They looked at one another in dismay. Gil, seated by the window, identified the two who were brothers, dark of hair like the gallowglass. They must be Nicol and Alan, he thought, and the third was called Billy, a short, round-headed man with a ginger beard.

‘Aye,’ said Billy now. ‘Small point in denying it, maister. What,’ he swallowed, ‘what d’ye want of us now?’

‘Ye’ll have heard,’ said Otterburn, ‘the quest on yir mistress brought in a verdict o murder.’ His tone was pleasant, so pleasant that the men took a moment to realize their danger. ‘So what can you three tell me o that?’

‘Persons unknown,’ said Billy nervously. ‘We’re no, no what ye’d say unknown, maister, ye can see us clear in front o ye.’

‘Aye,’ said Otterburn in that pleasant tone.

‘She was slain while we were out about her errands,’ said one of the other two. ‘We cam back all about the same time, and waited in the outer chamber, see, and then Annot cam out screeching that the old dame was, was-’

‘I still think it was an apoplexy,’ muttered his brother.

‘So where did you go?’ Gil asked. ‘It was Alan went to the potyngary, I think, Maister Syme gave me a good description.’ One of the brothers looked even more dismayed by this. ‘Where did Nicol and Billy get to?’

‘To the Campbells,’ said Billy promptly.

‘And?’ Gil encouraged. Billy and the remaining man eyed each other sideways, and Gil said, ‘Now I ken fine you went your separate ways. What I want to know is what those ways were.’

The two exchanged another glance, and Billy said reluctantly,

‘I gaed to Clerk’s Land. To ask about that pair o Camp-bells. Euan or Neil or whatever they’re cried. And then I waited on Nicol meeting me,’ he admitted when Gil prompted him further.

‘Was it a long wait?’ Gil asked, and bit his lip, thinking of the prentice joke. ‘How far had Nicol gone?’

‘Long enough,’ admitted Billy. ‘How long was ye, Nicol? Best part an hour, I’d say.’

Nicol nodded reluctantly.

‘All the way down the Gallowgate and back,’ Gil said. ‘It’s shorter by the back way, of course, down the Molendinar. Down the mill-burn,’ he translated, as they looked blankly, unfamiliar with the Sunday name. ‘And was Miller at home?’

Nicol’s jaw dropped. Recovering it, he said, ‘No, he wasny, nor his woman didny ken where he was, save that a laddie came to fetch him an hour afore I was there.’

Gil and Otterburn exchanged a glance. The Provost nodded at his captain, who left the chamber, and Gil said carefully,

‘What kind of time was that, then? When were you down the Gallowgate, Nicol?’

Nicol looked blankly at him, and then at Billy.

‘They’d done wi Terce,’ Billy said helpfully, ‘afore ever we set out. You could hear the bells ringing.’

‘Och, it was long after that,’ said Nicol.

‘Is that no what I’m saying? Half an hour after eight it would be, likely, when we left the lodging, and getting on for Sext when we got back.’

‘And there was nobody about Canon Aiken’s house other than the folk o the two households,’ said Otterburn. Billy nodded, the brothers shook their dark heads. All seemed to be agreeing with him.

Andro returned, with four men, rather fresher than the last set.

‘Right,’ said the Provost, and rubbed his hands together again. ‘Seeing you ken the way to this Miller’s house, my lad, you’ll take us there now. And to make certain you behave yoursel, we’ll just keep your brother and your friend here waiting for you. Any fun and games, laddie, and your brother’s the one that pays for it. Right?’

Out past the Gallowgate Port, past Little St Mungo’s, Nicol led them hesitantly down an alleyway among tumbledown hovels, little huts of wattle and clay with balding thatch and sagging walls. Women paused in their gossip and turned to stare as they went, a gaggle of children gathered in their wake, but as it became obvious where they were heading, somehow the interest evaporated. The children hesitated and turned back, the women ceased to watch them directly, though Gil suspected that by the time they stopped outside a shack no different from any of the others he could have obtained a detailed description of every member of the party from anyone within fifty yards.

Andro, following the plan the Provost had outlined before they left the Gallowgate, led two of the men quietly round the back of the little structure. Gil drew Nicol to one side, and Otterburn stepped up to the door and hammered on it with the hilt of his sword.

‘Miller!’ he shouted. ‘Open up, there! Open up for the law!’

A child in a nearby house began screaming, and a few heads popped out of doorways and as quickly popped back in. Like rabbits with a ferret in the warren, thought Gil.

‘What’s he done, maister?’ asked Nicol softly. ‘Why’s the law after him? Is he put to the horn, maybe?’

‘If he’s not here,’ said Gil, ‘he will be at the horn, for the murder of Dod Muir at the least.’ Otterburn, tiring of shouting at the door, had lifted the latch and flung it open. ‘I’d say he’s not here, would you?’

‘It’s deserted,’ said Andro, appearing in the open doorway. ‘We got in the back. There’s a workshop ahint the house, sir, you’ll want a right look at.’

The house was very small, and with eight men in it uncomfortably crowded. There was another doorway immediately opposite the one they had entered by, with a leather curtain; to the left was a single dwelling-space, to the right a couple of stalls where a goat bleated in alarm. Otterburn, ordering the men-at-arms out to watch front and back, cast a glance round the place and stepped through to the workshop Andro had mentioned. Gil stayed where he was, Nicol at his side, studying the sparse furnishings.

‘You said he had a woman,’ he remarked.

‘Aye.’ Nicol was looking about him too. ‘And there was a cooking-pot and two-three platters at the hearth, and a couple more stools, when I was here afore. And a better blanket on the bed.’ He grinned nervously. ‘He’s no a — no a good-heartit man, maister. Likely he beats her. She’s maybe took her chance when he’s away, and went somewhere kinder.’

‘Aye.’ Gil lifted the lid of the one kist in the place, with caution. It held some worn garments and a pair of down-at-heel boots; there were several choicer garments hanging on nails on one end wall of the box bed, and a pair of sturdy shoes set neatly below them. ‘He’s come into some better living lately,’ he observed. ‘Been here many times?’

‘Twice or thrice,’ admitted the man. ‘An errand for the old dame, ilka time.’

‘What was your message this time?’

‘To let him ken she was here in Glasgow,’ he said readily enough, ‘and wanting a word wi him.’

‘Was that how she put it?’ Gil asked, amused.

‘Well. Maybe no. Maybe it was more like, Tell the man Miller I’ll get a word wi him as soon as he pleases, and no to wait about.’

There was nothing under the bed, and nothing on its roof save some dust. The ledge at the top of the wall, below the rafters, yielded some oddments of broken crocks, a plain wooden comb, a few other fragments of domestic life. He prodded the bed, but found nothing stowed in it. Above the goat’s stall a bucket hung in the rafters proved to be empty.

‘If he’d anything worth it, his woman’s likely taken it with her,’ offered Nicol.

‘Maister Cunningham!’ Otterburn called from outside. Gil followed the sound across a small yard of beaten earth well-sprinkled with goat droppings, past a turf-banked furnace to a substantial shed whose door stood wide.

‘The man thinks more of his work than his dwelling,’ he observed, ducking under the lintel.

‘Aye, very like. See what we’ve found here,’ said Otter-burn, gesturing largely. Gil looked about the dark interior. There was a shuttered window, and a bench below it, the sort of low structure a man could sit astride with his workpiece on a raised portion before him. A rack of small hammers and mells was fixed to the wall below the window. Two wooden bins held scrap metal of different qualities, other tools and materials were neatly stowed.

‘A hammerman’s workshop,’ said Gil.

‘There’s more.’ Otterburn was grinning in the shadows. ‘There’s more. Show him, Andro.’

Part of the back wall of the shed swung open, and Andro stepped through.

‘There’s no air in there!’ he complained, fanning himself with one hand. ‘Aye, sir, it’s all there, all Maister Livingstone described, so far’s I saw afore you shut the door on me. A bar o siller, a sack o blanks waiting to be struck, a sack o powder I suppose could be dried argol. And here’s the dies.’

‘It’s no that secret,’ said Otterburn disparagingly, ‘but you’d no spot it unless you were right next it, in this light, and it’s a right neat wee press when you get inside, all well stowed. It’s a false back wall to the shed, see, you’d no guess unless you paced it out. See us the dies, then, man.’

There were three of them, identical in size and heft to the one which had been hidden with Dod Muir’s body. Gil moved to the door to inspect them. Two showed the cross and four mullets, with no balls as Madam Xanthe had said. One of these was badly worn. The third should be the king’s head, he thought, turning it to the light.

‘Here’s a thing,’ he said. ‘Could this be why Dod Muir was slain?’

‘Eh?’ said Otterburn from the hidden press.

‘The die we found wi him was a worn head, right? Livingstone reckoned there were two heads and two crosses, one of each worn out, so we ought to have a good head here.’

‘Aye?’

‘This one’s damaged. There’s a great scratch across it, maybe from a chisel or the like, right across the king’s jaw.’

‘You mean Miller wanted him to make another and he refused?’ Otterburn came to look. ‘Why would he refuse? He was in it up to his neck any road.’

‘Maybe he hoped to get out of it.’ Gil admired the three dies where they lay in a row on his palm. ‘Maister Otter-burn, I think we’ve found our counterfeiter.’

‘Well, we’ve named him, any road,’ said Otterburn, prodding the dies with a long forefinger. ‘We’ve no found him yet, Maister Cunningham.’

‘No,’ said Gil, with a sudden rush of anxiety. ‘No, we haveny, and he’s out the same side of Glasgow as my wife.’