by Pat McIntosh
‘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 gently, 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 s
ince 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 menat-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. Pyson 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.