The Rough Collier

Chapter Nine

The Hamiltons’ steward at Bonnington, a Hamilton himself, was quite unable to take it all in.

‘Two dead, you say?’ he repeated anxiously, as if the number might have changed since they first told him. ‘And lying as long amid the wild beasts — dreadful, dreadful. I canny credit it. You’ll take another stoup of this ale, sirs, it’s good to clear the throat and settle an uneasy wame.’ He poured generously, and Michael leaned forward to take his. He was still a pearly greenish colour, and had hardly spoken since they left the forester’s cottage and its dismal lodgers.

‘Two dead,’ Gil confirmed.

John Hamilton shook his head. ‘And to learn such a thing of Andro, the bonnie lad, the good worker he’s aye been. Oh, maister, it’s hard to credit, so it is. And taking a collier lad for his catamite and all — dreadful, dreadful! Are ye certain it’s Andro?’

‘It seems most likely,’ said Gil. ‘The body’s well past knowing, as you’ll imagine, but the height and the colour of the hair are right and it’s hard to see who else it might be, in the man’s own house. When did you see him last?’

‘Likely at the quarter-day,’ said Hamilton, shaking his head again. ‘I canny think. For such a thing to happen on our land, and me not know it! But he’s aye been a fellow that kept himself away from the house,’ he added. ‘Good at his work, he is, for all he’s no from hereabouts. Came to us from Ayrshire, he did. So what wi’ having no kin in the neighbourhood, and the way his work takes him all across the place, you’ll understand, maister, we seldom set eyes on him, and times we lend him out to other landholders forbye. Sir James your father was asking me afore he went to Stirling, Maister Michael, about getting a laddie taught his craft by working wi’ Andro. And he’s aye preferred to go home to his own roof-tree and get his own supper, rather than come up to eat wi’ the household.’

‘Well, it’s a good couple of mile from here to the cottage, which is reason enough for that,’ said Gil. ‘So you think you saw him at the quarter-day. That would be just over four weeks since. Did he collect his quarter’s fee? What was it?’

‘A wee bit coin and a sack of meal,’ supplied the steward promptly. ‘I can check the accounts, maister, if you’d wish it. I still canny credit this. Such a bonnie lad, all the lassies about the house has a notion to him. And poisoned, ye said? Was it an accident? A bad mushroom, maybe? These workers on the land often have a liking for mushrooms, the unchancy things, and it would be a judgement on the two of them — ’

‘I don’t know,’ said Gil. ‘The rats and the beasts had cleared the cooking-pot and never suffered from it, though it’s a good thought, Maister Hamilton. I’d say it’s been a deliberate poisoning, and in something they drank, though it’s possible it was meant for the other man rather than Syme.’

‘For the collier? Oh, what a wickedness!’ Hamilton crossed himself. ‘Who would do such a thing, to slay a man in that way and never care who else it took wi’ him?’

Gil nodded, and took another pull at his ale. ‘A wicked deed, maister. Can you tell me if the forester had enemies? Any of the lassies feel slighted, or their men maybe jealous?’

‘What, you think it was my household? Why would anyone here wish to slay the collier? He doesny come to this house, we get our coals across the river in Cadzow parish, from my maister’s own coal-heugh.’

‘I agree, if it was meant for the collier, it’s no more likely to be anyone here than elsewhere,’ agreed Gil in placating tones, ‘but if it was meant for Syme, it could well have been one of your household.’

‘Oh.’ Hamilton threw him an uncertain look, and peered into the ale-jug. ‘I’ve no a notion. I wouldny say any of our folk would poison a man. They’re no saints,’ he qualified, ‘we get squabbles and fists thrown and hair-pullings same as any household ye ever kent, but to procure poison and minister it in secret like that, well, I wouldny say so, maister.’ He set the jug back on the table before him, where it clunked emptily. ‘Now, I’ve bidden the men get a couple hurdles and a bolt of canvas, and lay them on the big cart, but how we get that down to the forester’s house is more than I can tell. We’ll maybe need to use his own handcart to bring him out. And then I suppose the Provost or the Sheriff will want to call a quest on them and raise the hue and cry, and all. Oh, my, what a thing to happen on my maister’s lands!’

‘It might be wiser to coffin them afore you move them,’ said Gil doubtfully. ‘If you’ve the stomach for it, you’d best come down yourself and look at the state they’re in.’

‘Oh, I’ll do that, sir.’ Hamilton rose. ‘Syme’s our man whatever his sins, I’ll see to his needs.’

‘And the accounts,’ Gil prompted. ‘Maybe you could check those afore we leave, make certain of whether Syme collected his fee at the quarter.’

‘Oh, aye, indeed!’ The steward bustled to the door of his chamber and opened it. ‘Will! Where’s Will Thomson? Send to him I want the last quarter’s account.’

Someone answered distantly, and he plunged out into the next chamber with a brief word of apology. Michael finished his beaker of ale and said, ‘Will you need me back at the cottage?’

‘We left two of your men there,’ Gil reminded him. ‘No need to enter the place. Or you could ride into Lanark for me and get a word with the Provost. I think my mother said Archie Hamilton the Sheriff was away just now, so it goes rightly to the Provost as his depute.’

‘I’ll do that, and wait for you at Juggling Nick’s. I’d as soon not go back to the forester’s place. The whole clearing was fit to turn your wame,’ Michael admitted. ‘What wi’ that great owl sitting in the yew tree watching the house. I was near enough taking a stone to it, save that my head was whirling by the time we came away.’ He paused, and grimaced resignedly. ‘Then I’ll need to get up to the Pow Burn, to break it to them. I take it you’d wish to be present?’

‘I do,’ agreed Gil, once more aware of being favourably impressed by his sister’s seducer. ‘I have things to ask them.’

Maister Hamilton hurried back into the chamber, a stout black-gowned clerk following him with a leather-bound roll of parchment open in his hands.

‘Here’s a thing, Maister Cunningham!’ the steward exclaimed. ‘Syme never came for his fee at Lady Day. Will here has it all writ down clear as day, he can show you in a moment.’

‘All writ down,’ confirmed his clerk in a squeaky voice. ‘All but four of the outside men had their fee on the quarter-day itself, and the remaining three we paid out on the Tuesday following, when maister steward here came back from Edinburgh. But Andro Syme’s never been up to the house.’ He ran his finger down the lines of crabbed writing. ‘And to tell truth, sir, it had slipped my mind, or I’d ha’ been out to his place to mind him o’t myself. It makes the accounts untidy, you’ll understand, sir, when a man’s fee gets left lying like that.’

‘It does,’ agreed Gil. ‘But in this case I think we’ll have to forgive Syme. I think he was dead afore Lady Day.’ Both the Bonnington men stared at him, open-mouthed. ‘The last time the other fellow was seen alive was March twentieth. I think they were both dead by sunset that day.’

‘They were no further help at Juggling Nick’s?’ said Michael.

‘Only in the negative,’ said Gil. ‘So far as Bessie or any other could recall, Murray was just as usual the last time they saw him. He left his horse and said nothing to the stableman or anyone else that suggested he wouldn’t be back for it in a week as usual.’

‘That’s much what she said to me when I first tracked the beast there,’ agreed Michael. He looked about him, and turned his horse off the road on to a narrow stony track. Gil followed, and the two Cauldhope men at their backs clattered after them. ‘This will take us to the Pow Burn. Maister Lockhart the Provost was no great help either. I had to be firm about it being murder before he’d agree to call a quest. Seemed to feel it was either Bonnington’s problem or Carluke’s, and none of his.’

Gil grunted. They rode in silence for a while, the peewits calling above them, a lark’s song carrying in shreds on the wind. Gil found himself thinking of the way Beatrice Lithgo had appeared over the flank of this same hillside among the cottars of Thorn, her hands bound, cap askew, bearing herself with dignity and composure. And there were the other Crombie women: Joanna, sweet and lovely, troubled and fearful; Phemie full of angry intelligence, her sister overflowing with words she could not speak. And Arbella Weir, as dignified as her daughter-in-law, her transcendent pride in the coal-heugh glowing in her blue eyes. One of these, most likely, had poisoned Thomas Murray. But why?

‘I still don’t see why he was killed,’ said Michael suddenly. Gil recalled himself to his surroundings, and made a questioning sound. ‘Murray,’ Michael qualified unnecessarily. ‘He was good at his trade, he brought money in to the coal-heugh, he was no worse a husband than many you hear about, he — ’

‘He quarrelled with Mistress Weir,’ Gil pointed out. ‘He was difficult to work with, kept himself superior to the men. Joanna feared his sharp tongue, it seems he’s free with his hands among the women, he had slighted Phemie and made fun of the younger one.’

‘Are those reasons to kill someone?’

‘I’m learning,’ Gil said, ‘that people will kill for very strange reasons.’

‘But does anyone gain by his death?’ Michael persisted. ‘I’ve felt angry enough to slay someone if I’d only had a knife in my hand, who hasny? But cold poison, ministered in secret like this, that’s a different matter altogether, and you’d surely need to be sure of a great gain to plan and carry out such a thing. Or was it vengeance? Did his wife — Joanna — did she guess what he was?’

‘Those are things I’ll have to find out.’ Gil nodded at the muddle of buildings coming into view over the flank of the hill. ‘I’ve learned a lot about the coal-heugh folk and their business, I may already have the answer in my hand, but I’ll have to ask more questions before I can be sure.’

‘They’ve seen us,’ said Michael after a moment.

‘They have,’ Gil agreed, studying the group of women gathering at the near corner of the house by the stillroom pent. He had picked out Alys immediately, in her light-coloured riding-dress. Beside her Beatrice Lithgo and her elder daughter were easily identified; Joanna’s white apron was conspicuous, the household servants were just joining them from the outlying kitchen building. The kitchen must be empty, he thought. I hope the supper doesn’t burn.

‘This will be difficult,’ Michael said grimly.

‘I think they know already,’ said Gil. ‘Alys must have said something.’

Under the gaze of many eyes, they rode down the track to the house, and dismounted. Michael handed his reins to one of his men, stepped forward, removed his hat, swallowed once, and said, ‘Is Crombie no here?’

‘He rode out to Forth this morning,’ said Beatrice Lithgo. ‘He’s no back yet. Have you aught to tell us, Maister Michael?’

Michael nodded. ‘Mistress Brownlie?’ he said. Round the corner of the house Jamesie Meikle appeared at a run, then checked on the edge of the group and stood tensely, his gaze fixed on Joanna, who floated forward almost as if she was sleepwalking.

‘What is it?’ she said, on a gasp. ‘What do you have to tell me?’

‘Mistress Brownlie, I believe we’ve found your husband,’ said Michael awkwardly.

She stared at him, all the colour leaving her face. ‘Is he — is he — ?’

‘I believe Thomas Murray is dead,’ he said, more gently. ‘We’ve found the corp of a red-haired man, dead since about the quarter-day.’

She made a little whimpering noise, and put her hands up as if to push the words away. Gil looked beyond her and caught Alys’s eye; they both started towards her, but it was Jamesie Meikle’s arms which were just in time to receive her slender form as she wilted and fell, boneless as a hank of wool.

‘You wee fool!’ he spat at Michael. ‘To break it that way!’ He gathered her up, and swung away from them towards the exclaiming women.

‘Aye, bring her in the house, Jamesie,’ said Beatrice Lithgo from among the group. ‘You’ll come within, maisters, I hope,’ she added with her usual faint irony, and turned to lead the way round the corner of the building. Alys touched Gil’s hand, gave him a quick smile, and hurried after the others. Phemie, left behind, looked from Gil to Michael.

‘Is he really dead?’ she demanded. ‘You’re sure of it?’

‘As sure as you can be of a five-week-old corp,’ said Gil.

‘His clothes? His knife? What about his hand?’ She demonstrated the shortened fingers.

‘All the evidence we’ve got suggests it’s Thomas Murray.’

She drew a deep breath, and stared at the sky, her eyes glittering.

‘I’m glad,’ she declared. ‘I’m right glad of it!’

‘Might we go in the house, as your mother bade us?’

Phemie turned that suspiciously bright stare on him.

‘Oh — I suppose,’ she said grudgingly after a moment. ‘Come round to the door. And your men, and the horses.’

Within Joanna’s own apartment there was disorder and confusion. Joanna herself was laid on the bed, Jamesie Meikle standing grimly by her pillow. Beatrice was bent over her, and Alys was directing several women who ran to and fro exclaiming, their wooden-soled shoes clattering on the floorboards. As Gil entered behind Phemie, two of the younger maidservants began a ritual-sounding wailing in a corner. Phemie dealt with this sharply, ordering them to move the cushioned bench from the bed-foot to the window and then be off to the kitchen, to fetch some refreshment for the guests and see to the two Cauldhope men.

‘You might as well be seated, maisters,’ she said, pointing to the bench. ‘There’ll be nobody but me to talk to you till Joanna’s back in her right mind, seeing my dear brother’s no returned from whatever mischief he’s got up to.’

‘I’ll be happy to talk to you,’ said Gil, while Michael stared anxiously at Joanna. ‘But where is your grandmother?’

‘Resting, most like,’ said Phemie indifferently. ‘She rests a lot now. She’s spent a lot of time sleeping this past week. Bel’s set by her wi’ her spinning, I’ve no doubt.’ She sat down, looking from one to the other of them. ‘Is he really dead? Where? How? What happened? And why,’ she added, the idea obviously only now occurring to her, ‘has it taken this long to find him, if he’s near five week dead? He must ha’ been well hid.’

‘I’ll go over all that when Joanna can hear me,’ said Gil. She looked at Michael, whose expression was giving away more than he realized, and nodded reluctantly. ‘But I need to ask all of you more questions about the last time you saw the man. Can you mind what order things happened the day he left here?’

‘What, after this time? Why d’you need to know?’ Her gaze sharpened. ‘Was it no a natural death, then?’

‘Try,’ said Gil, ignoring this. ‘Cast your mind back.’

She considered him briefly, then shrugged. ‘We broke our fast as usual, I suppose, him and Joanna in here, the rest of us in the other great chamber, the one where we sat the first time you were in this house.’ Gil nodded. ‘There would be porridge and bannocks and small ale, the way there always is. Then the horses were brought round, and the Paterson lads wi’ them.’ She paused, thinking. ‘Then Murray would have come through the house and spoke to Arbella, looking for any last instruction she had for him. Aye, that’s right. And she bade him mind her birthday.’

‘What did he say to that?’

Phemie curled her lip. ‘He said something like, Oh, I’ll not forget, madam. It would be a great feast wherever I was.’

‘Did you see the flask she gave him?’

‘Flask?’ said Phemie blankly. ‘She wouldny give him the time of day, save it was in his contract of labour.’

‘Did she have any other instructions for him?’

‘None that I recall. Then he said farewell to Joanna, and we all went out to the horses, and Arbella gave them her blessing the way she does, and they rode off.’

‘And all this was just as usual?’

‘It was. Even the way he said farewell to her.’ Phemie jerked her head at the bed, where Joanna was beginning to stir.

‘How was that? What was usual about it?’

Phemie hesitated, apparently at a loss.

‘Just the way he spoke. And the way she backed off as if he’d struck her. She’s a poor thing,’ she said quietly, but her mother looked round at the words.

‘Phemie, if Maister Cunningham’s finished with you, you may go and tell your grandmother what’s to do here.’

‘I suppose,’ she said ungraciously. ‘Since she’s clearly no jaloused it for herself.’

‘Phemie!’

By the time Arbella Weir entered the chamber, supported by a granddaughter at each elbow, Joanna was sitting up, sobbing quietly and sipping at the omnipresent cordial, her beads clutched in her other hand. A woman sate weping, with favour in her face far passing my reson, Gil thought, looking at her across the chamber. Beatrice was still at her side, but the women had been dismissed to the kitchen, and had gone with some regret, until one of them had recalled that Michael’s men would be there with all the information one could wish for. Jamesie Meikle stood by the head of the bed, as still as a stone evangelist in a niche, and stared at Joanna. Alys had come to sit at Gil’s side; he found her very presence comforting, and the warm pressure of her arm tucked into his seemed to clear his head.

‘Oh, my poor lassie,’ said Arbella in the doorway. She paused, took her stick from Bel and made her way to the bedside. ‘The troubles we women have. And what an end to all your waiting, my wee pet.’

‘Oh, Mother!’ Joanna wailed, and dropped the beads to reach out to her. ‘I never thought he was dead!’

‘My poor lassie,’ said Arbella again. She gathered Joanna into a loving embrace, and said over her bent head, ‘And what are you about, Jamesie Meikle, here in Mistress Brownlie’s chamber?’

‘I’m here to watch over her interest,’ he said quietly. Neither his stance nor his expression altered, but it was very clear he would not be moved. Arbella looked at him narrowly, but making no further attempt to discuss the matter she let go of Joanna, patted her hand and turned away to address the guests where they stood waiting for her.

‘It’s a great courtesy, Maister Cunningham, Maister Michael, to come up here to break the word to us. I take it right kindly, sirs. Phemie, have they never been offered a refreshment?’ Phemie’s sharp, defensive reply did not obscure Michael’s stammered answer. He hastily set a backstool for her as she made her way towards them, but she paused and gestured at the door. ‘Will you come into the other chamber and tell me how the man met his end? I hope he was cared for and shriven?’

‘They said they found — they found his corp,’ said Joanna from the bed, and sniffled again. Beatrice put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but Jamesie Meikle stood unmoving beside her pillow. ‘Does that mean he’s never buried yet?’

‘I’d sooner we stayed here,’ said Gil firmly. ‘Mistress Brownlie needs to hear it, and I have questions for all of you.’

‘My good-daughter would be best left wi’ her grief,’ Arbella countered.

‘No, Mother,’ said Joanna, composing herself with difficulty. ‘I must hear it. I must hear what’s come to Thomas. I’ll not be easy till I know.’

She may not be very easy once she does know, thought Gil, and then, wryly, But not knowing is always worse. Beside him Alys looked anxiously up at his face.

‘Very well,’ said Arbella, and seated herself. They all sat down likewise, and she studied their faces, turning her head to look from Michael to Gil and back. ‘Tell us, then. What’s come to my grieve? How did he die, and where?’

Michael swallowed hard again.

‘We tracked him,’ he said, ‘to the house of the man he drinks wi’ when he’s in Lanark, and when we came there we found the two of them dead.’

‘Two of them?’ repeated Alys.

‘Humph!’ said Arbella. ‘The man he drinks wi’? Was he no about my business, then?’

‘No at his death, madam.’ Michael glanced at Gil, and went on hesitantly, ‘It’s likely they’ve been dead these five weeks. We’re no certain yet how they died, but it seems as if it was quick, as if they’d barely time to guess what was coming.’

‘So there was none witnessed it?’ said Beatrice Lithgo, seated now by Joanna’s bedside, Bel standing at her shoulder.

‘None witnessed it,’ Gil confirmed.

‘But what took him to this man’s house?’ asked Joanna wonderingly. ‘He was about his round, he had the fees to gather. Why was he drinking in Lanark?’ She turned her numbed gaze on Alys. ‘What did you say earlier, mistress? Just that they’d found a man that might ken where Thomas was gone?’

‘That was all I knew then. This is the first I’ve heard of the two deaths,’ said Alys gently.

Beatrice studied her for a moment, then nodded. ‘And it wasn’t a fight between them two?’ she said to Gil. ‘Was it some sickness? Had they vomited, purged, bled at the mouth? How were they lying? Where were they found?’

‘Beatrice, my dear,’ said Arbella, turning to her daughter-in-law, ‘not in front of your lassies.’

‘My lassies are herb-wise already,’ said Beatrice. ‘They have to learn. What can you tell us, sir?’

Arbella considered her briefly, then looked at Michael, who had fallen silent.

‘Aye, sir, what can you tell us? In particular, as my poor daughter says, what took him to this man’s house? In Lanark, is it? Had he fetched the fees from the town afore he was struck down? Lockhart the Provost, four merks for the quarter, and George Wishart two merks and five groats. It should be wi’ his corp, Maister Michael.’

Michael stared at her, taken aback, and turned to Gil.

‘It may be with the rest of the coin,’ Gil suggested. ‘When that comes back from Forth you can find out.’

‘Raffie went to fetch it this morning,’ Beatrice observed.

‘Aye, and he’s no back yet,’ said Phemie tartly from her place by the window.

Michael spread his hands. ‘I’ve no knowledge of the coin, madam, other than what we’ve already told you.’

‘Very well.’ Arbella struck the floor with her stick. ‘Proceed, sir. Tell us what you came to let us know. What were these two doing when they were stricken? Were they at a meal, or an evening’s drinking?’

‘They were abed,’ blurted Michael, going scarlet.

‘Lying quite easy,’ Gil interposed. He felt Alys tense at his side, and wondered what she had detected from his attitude. ‘Whatever came to your man, it was quick. As to your questions,’ he went on, looking at Beatrice, ‘we saw no evidence that they had bled or purged, or suffered in any way.’

‘So he was taken in the night, and quickly,’ said Joanna, as if it gave her some comfort.

‘M’hm,’ said Beatrice.

‘But why was he never found till now?’ demanded Arbella, a crackle in her voice. ‘Did this other fellow’s kin or friends not go near him?’

‘Aye,’ said Phemie. ‘If they were lying in the midst of Lanark town five weeks, you’d think someone would have noticed them afore this.’

Arbella turned her head and glanced sharply at her, the blue eyes bright under the wired peak of her black veil.

‘You put yourself forward too much, Phemie my pet. Just the same she’s right, maisters. How were they not noticed?’

‘Syme — the other fellow — dwelt apart,’ Michael said. ‘Not in Lanark at all. His house is down by the river away from anywhere else.’

‘But what was Thomas doing there?’ asked Joanna. ‘I don’t understand!’

‘We know he drank with Syme,’ said Gil. ‘I assume he’d gone there to see his friend, and they were both struck down at the one time.’

He was aware that Beatrice Lithgo considered him thoughtfully at this statement, without speaking. Beside him, Alys sat alert, watching the faces. He looked round at them all himself. It felt like a game of Tarocco, in which he was not entirely certain how many of the people in the room were in the game or even what cards were in his own hand.

‘Will you come away ben now, maisters?’ said Arbella decisively, preparing to get to her feet. ‘My dear lassie has learned enough for this present, we should leave her alone for a wee space and I need to hear what’s to do next.’

‘No, Mother, that’s my part,’ said Joanna, with another flash of that independence. ‘I’m his wife. His widow, Our Lady protect him,’ she corrected herself, her pretty mouth twisting, and crossed herself. ‘It’s my place to see to his burial.’ She drew a deep breath, and said to Gil, ‘Is there a joiner in Lanark town would coffin him, maister?’

‘Never forget,’ said Jamesie Meikle, breaking a long silence, ‘never forget you’ve friends who’ll support you in that.’

She turned her head to meet his gaze. Gil could not see her expression, for the disordered folds of her headdress, but he saw Jamesie’s face, and thought that for the span of two breaths or three there might as well have been nobody else in the chamber.

‘Someone’s coming,’ said Phemie, staring out of the window. ‘There’s three — no, four horses coming down the track.’

‘This is no hour for visitors,’ said Beatrice decisively. She rose and made for the door. ‘I’ll take them aside, will I, madam?’

‘It’s no visitors,’ reported Phemie, still staring. They could all hear the hoofbeats now. ‘It’s that fool Fleming and three more of your men, Maister Michael.’

‘Fleming?’ repeated Michael in disbelief. He twisted to peer through the wriggling glass panes. Sweet St Giles, thought Gil, and I had the trap near laid. ‘It is, too. St Peter’s bones, what brings him here? He was lying sick, the last I saw of him.’

There was a sudden movement, and a door banged. Gil looked round, to find that Jamesie Meikle had vanished, and the door at the far side of the chamber, its latch not caught, was swinging open again.

‘He must have gone to call out the men,’ said Alys softly in French. ‘I think it wise.’

Gil nodded, and rose to his feet, saying to Arbella, ‘Madam, I think you should receive Fleming in the other chamber, if you receive him at all.’

‘Surely he’s come here as our priest?’ said Joanna. She was recovering rapidly from her swooning-fit, and now got cautiously off the bed and began fumbling at the laces of her gown which Beatrice had loosened to revive her. Bel, still at the bedside, turned to help her. ‘That’s kind in him. I’d be right glad to speak wi’ a priest.’

‘I’m no so certain,’ said Michael, who had risen when Gil did. He bowed briefly to Arbella. ‘I’ll go out and forestall him, madam, if you’ll permit it.’

‘You’re all full of directions to me,’ said Arbella in a caustic tone she had not used before. ‘I’ll order matters in my own house, maisters, and if Sir David has come here wi’ spiritual comfort for us, I’ll receive him in here if I — ’

There were raised voices, out on the cobbled area before the door. Michael turned on his heel with an apologetic glance at Arbella, and slipped out of the room. Looking through the glass, Gil saw him emerge from the house to confront Jamesie Meikle and a group of muddy men armed with mells and other implements. He appeared to be reasoning with them.

‘Stay with Joanna,’ he said to Alys in French, and went out to join the argument, passing Beatrice Lithgo who stood quietly in the hall. She smiled thinly at him, but did not speak. As he reached the outer doorway, Michael was saying:

‘I’ll speak to Fleming first, Meikle. He’s my man, he must answer to me.’

‘Then you’d best go up and meet him, for he’ll no get near this door, maister,’ said a brawny man in a smith’s leather apron.

‘What do you fear, Jamesie?’ Gil asked, over a loud chorus of agreement. Meikle glanced at him, and indicated the approaching horsemen. Grey light gleamed on helm and breastplate of all four.

‘He comes up here on foot most times. Why’s he on horseback now, wi’ three of Douglas’s men at his back? And going armed like this?’

‘I agree, but what do you fear? What do you think he wants?’

‘They’re after our Beattie again,’ said the smith.

‘And they’ll no get her,’ said another man, brandishing a reeking stable-fork.

‘It isn’t Mistress Lithgo they’re after, is it?’ said Gil as the horsemen came to a halt at the edge of the cobbled area.

Meikle shot him another glance, and shook his head. ‘No this time.’ He took a tighter grip of the mell in his hand. ‘Maister Michael, if you’re wishing to try and reason wi’ the priest, now’s your chance.’

‘Then who — ?’ said Michael. He met Gil’s eye as understanding dawned. ‘St Peter’s bones, the man’s a fool!’

He squared his shoulders and strode forward, slight and commanding. His men looked at him guiltily, still in their saddles, but Sir David dismounted to meet him and ducked in a clumsy bow, touching his helm with a gloved hand.

‘I’m right glad to see you here, Maister Michael. If you’ll lead me to where this wicked woman is, we’ll take her up now — ’

Uproar broke out again among the colliers, and several moved threateningly towards the priest. He straightened up, and raised a peremptory hand.

‘Peace!’ he shouted, and was ignored. Jamesie Meikle shouted something, but it was Michael, turning to face the group, who stilled them briefly.

‘I’ll hear what Fleming has to say,’ he announced. ‘There’s no man can say he went unheard on Douglas lands. So be silent and let me hear him, and then I’ll hear you.’ He turned to Fleming again. ‘What woman is it you want, Sir David?’

‘Why the woman Brownlie. That’s four men she’s poisoned, clear as day, and — ’

‘Joanna?’ repeated one of the colliers incredulously. ‘What’s he saying?’

‘Mistress Brownlie?’ said Michael, as the rumbling discontent spread again. Within the house Gil heard quick footsteps, and a sudden short scream. ‘How do you make that out, man?’

‘That’s her two husbands,’ the priest ticked them off on his fingers, ‘her own father, and the forester of Bonnington, all slain by poison. I discerned that as soon as Wat Currie brought the word home to Cauldhope. She’ll be found guilty of their deaths, that’s for certain, so we need to take her up now and bring her before the Sheriff, to be held in Lanark jail till the justice-ayre.’

‘We need nothing of the sort,’ said Michael. ‘If you’d keep to the tasks afore you, Sir David, namely stewarding my father’s estate and acting as his chaplain, and leave the law and its business to those that’s called to it, we’d all get on a sight better.’

‘Ah, Maister Michael,’ protested Fleming, with an ingratiating smile. ‘You’re young yet, you can take the advice of wiser folk — ’

‘Wiser, aye,’ said Michael. ‘I’ve yet to see that that includes you, man! Now get back on that horse and get back to Cauldhope.’

‘No without the poisoner — ’

‘David Fleming,’ said Arbella Weir from the house door. ‘Sir David, I’m right disappointed in you, and so would your mother be. As for you men,’ she went on, with that crackle of ice in her voice again, ‘you may get back to your work, or I’ll dock a day’s wages off the whole crowd of you.’

‘They’re wanting to lift Beattie again,’ someone told her loudly.

‘No, man, it’s Joanna they’re after!’ said another voice.

‘They’re saying it was pyson,’ said the smith. ‘That she used pyson on her man and all those others. They’ll no say that about a collier’s wife, even if she is a farm-lassie.’

‘I thank you for your support, George Russell,’ said Arbella, in a tone that made the man quail, ‘but I can deal wi’ Davy Fleming myself, I think, seeing I kent his father and his grandsire and they’re both of them, dead and buried though they are, better men now than he’ll ever be.’ She leaned on her stick and stared between the muddy shoulders and upheld hammers and pickaxes at Fleming. ‘Come here, man, where I can see you properly. I’m sure Maister Michael will give you leave to obey my direction afore you follow his,’ she added, raising her delicate eyebrows at Michael. Gil watched, fascinated, as Fleming approached. He was impressed to see that the colliers had withdrawn, though only to the next corner of the building, out of Mistress Weir’s sight and very convenient for the side door into Joanna’s lodging which Jamesie Meikle must have used earlier.

‘Uncover afore me, man,’ said Arbella as Fleming approached. He gave her another of those ingratiating smiles, and reached up to unbuckle his helm. ‘Now what in Our Lady’s name are you about here? Riding to my door wi’ armed men — ’

‘And I’ll have a word to say to them on that count, madam, I can tell you,’ interposed Michael hotly. ‘They’re here by none of my wish or command.’

‘I ken that, maister,’ she assured him, with another lift of her eyebrows. ‘You and your house has aye treated us here at the heugh wi’ courtesy. Well, Davy? What’s it about, then?’

‘Arbella my daughter,’ he began. Ill-advised, Gil thought, watching appreciatively. Beyond Arbella’s apricot wool shoulder he could see movement in the hall: Beatrice? There was no sign of Joanna, and he hoped Alys had remained with her.

‘I’m no daughter of yourn, Davy, and your actions these past few days leave you no right to be our confessor here,’ said Arbella pointedly.

‘Madam,’ he corrected himself. ‘Mistress Weir. You’re a good woman, and devout, but nevertheless you’re no but a weak woman, it’s no wonder you’re imposed on as you are. It’s clear to me Joanna your good-daughter’s long immersed in wickedness. That’s four men dead in the time since she came here, and her well established in your favour and placed to gain from all her misdeeds.’

Out of Arbella’s sight, beyond the house corner, Jamesie Meikle snarled soundlessly and took a firmer grip on the heavy wooden mell. Catching the man’s eye, Gil shook his head infinitesimally, and the collier gave him a savage grin.

‘Go on,’ said Arbella levelly. ‘How do you make all that out, man?’

‘It’s clear as day!’

‘No to me, Davy. I held Joanna in my arms after my poor Matt breathed his last, and I thought myself she would be dead of her grief afore morning. Beattie and I had our work cut out to bring her back into her right mind. I helped her watch her father’s deathbed, I saw her only now after she received the news that Thomas is dead, God shrive him.’ She crossed herself and closed her eyes briefly. ‘No, Davy Fleming, if that’s all you can say I’ll no hear another word of this. Maister Michael,’ she turned the blue gaze on him, ‘I’d be obliged if your men would see this fellow off the land I hold from your house, and I’d be the more obliged if you’d make sure he doesny return while I dwell here.’

I love you verily at my toe, thought Gil. And one can scarce blame her.

‘You heard Mistress Weir, Fleming,’ said Michael curtly. ‘Mount up, man, as I bade you, and be off home to Cauldhope. And hope you’re back there afore I am.’

‘Will none of you see reason?’ demanded Fleming. He turned to look from Michael to Gil, then at the staring men-at-arms still on horseback by the edge of the cobbled patch. ‘It’s plain as day! Here’s Murray, struck dead in the very midst of his wickedness, and his catamite wi’ him, and it’s clear they’ve been poisoned in their drink — ’

‘Not to me,’ said Gil. Confound the man’s tongue, he thought, it goes like a fiddlestick. ‘I was there, Sir David, and you wereny Poison it may be, but there’s no evidence to say how they took it — ’

‘Catamite?’ said Arbella, the blue eyes opening wide.

‘Pyson?’ said Beatrice Lithgo, appearing at her mother-in-law’s back in the doorway. ‘What pyson? You said …’ She fell silent, looking hard at Gil. ‘No, you never said what killed them,’ she acknowledged.

‘What in Our Lady’s name’s going on here?’ demanded a loud voice. Gil looked round, and saw Adam Crombie striding round the corner of the house, booted and spurred and well pleased with himself, clearly just come down from the stable-row. ‘What’s this Jamesie says? Thomas dead, and Joanna taken up for his murder?’

‘No, my dear,’ said Arbella, her voice like the cooing of wood-pigeons. ‘I’ve shown Sir David the error of his thoughts — ’

‘You, Adam Crombie!’ said Fleming. ‘I wonder you’ve the gall to show yourself afore me, you that raised your hand to an anointed clerk — ’

‘Aye, and I’ll raise it again!’ Crombie’s gaze fell on Michael. ‘Can you Douglases no control your servants? Here’s Fleming running all about the countryside, doing all he can to harm our women, and never a hand raised at Cauldhope to prevent it. Get him off our land, will you, afore I hunt him off it mysel!’

‘Raffie, my dear,’ said Arbella chidingly

‘Raffie,’ said Beatrice from the doorway. He exchanged a long look with his mother. She relaxed slightly, but his chin went up.

‘I mean it,’ he said. ‘If I catch him on our land again, I’ll see him off it wi’ a lash.’