The Rough Collier

by Pat McIntosh

  ‘How much blood?’ asked Alys softly.

  ‘More than you’d think. But men come and go, lassie. Mind that. Never grieve for one, for you’ll aye get another.’

  Impossible, thought Alys. There is no other like Gil.

  ‘Like Joanna,’ she suggested aloud. ‘I think she might take the man Meikle, when she has done mourning Murray.’

  ‘She could do worse,’ admitted the other voice.

  ‘She has no notion to your grandson?’

  ‘No,’ said Arbella curtly. Then, after a moment, ‘They’re too close kin. Raffie is her nephew. She was married on his uncle, after all.’

  ‘I forgot that.’ Alys was groping about her. ‘Did one of the candles fall this way?’ She could feel more lengths of wood, smaller timbers than the ones Fleming had landed on, and some flat pieces of metal whose purpose was not clear, and lumps of stone of every size, but not the candle. The top of the shaft showed faintly less dark in the blackness, but no light came down it.

  ‘No, they went to my other side.’

  The conversation at the top of the shaft continued, and in its silences the sounds of the mine grew. Water dripped, there was a distant tapping, stone creaked again. Alys began to be aware of just how much stone lay above her head.

  ‘What led your man to find Thomas Murray?’ asked Arbella suddenly.

  ‘He found the place in Lanark where the man went drinking,’ said Alys, ‘and they told him who his friend was. When he knew also that the friend had not been seen for as long as Murray, he went to his house to see what could be learned, and so found them.’

  ‘Aye.’ Another pause. ‘Mind, I never knew that about Thomas. If I’d ha’ known –’

  ‘There was an owl in the trees by the cottage,’ said Alys, as if it was to the point.

  ‘It wasny within the place,’ said Arbella, as if that answered her.

  ‘Will you not search for the candles, madam?’ asked Alys. But my flint and tinder are in my purse, she realized.

  ‘Feart for the dark, are you, lassie?’

  ‘It doesn’t trouble you, does it – being in the dark, I mean?’

  ‘It’s never troubled me. You sit here quiet, you’ll hear the voice of the coal. And your man thinks Thomas was poisoned. What makes him so certain?’

  ‘We tested the dregs of the flask,’ said Alys cautiously. Was that a movement she could hear, along the tunnel they had climbed to reach this place?

  ‘Oh, aye? The flask. Had they both drunk from the one source, then?’

  ‘Both are dead,’ Alys said.

  ‘And they died how? It wasny right clear at the quest.’

  I have heard Gil give evidence before, thought Alys, he would have made it very clear. Aloud she said, ‘It seems as if they felt no signs until they were abed, and then perhaps they were dizzy and became unconscious, and so died. There was no other sign to be found, as he told Mistress Lithgo two days since, no effect on their bellies.’

  ‘Aye,’ said the other voice in the darkness. ‘That would be right. And has your wisdom discerned yet what it was they took?’

  ‘Not yet.’ Well, she thought, I am not certain yet. She turned her head to listen; there was definitely movement, stones shifting under a footfall. What was the voice of the coal, anyway? Closer at hand Arbella’s leather sark creaked.

  ‘You’re slow, for one that claims to be herb-wise. And what will your man do next to find who is to blame?’

  ‘He will ask more questions.’

  ‘Aye, he’s good at that,’ said Arbella. It was clearly not a compliment. ‘Did my good-daughter talk to you yestreen?’

  ‘Mistress Lithgo?’ There was a thumping overhead, as if someone was hammering timbers, but there was also certainly movement close to her, on both sides. Arbella was stirring, the little sounds of leather and stone suggesting that she was indeed searching for the candle, and from down the sloping tunnel came the footfalls again. Something was approaching slowly through the dark. She stretched her ears, trying to hear the tiny noises. Not booted feet, surely? ‘Yes, I spoke to her. She said she poisoned Thomas Murray, because he was annoying her daughters and Joanna.’

  ‘She never did such a thing.’

  ‘No, I think not,’ agreed Alys.

  ‘You said that afore. Why d’you think not?’

  ‘I think she is protecting her daughters.’

  ‘You think one of my lassies poisoned Thomas?’

  ‘I think Mistress Lithgo fears it, or fears my husband might think it.’

  Close beside her, something large moved, a waft of hot fishy breath reached her. She recognized it just as the cold wet touch came on her cheek.

  Socrates.

  Stifling laughter, she put an arm across his reassuring narrow back, and he licked her face as Arbella said, ‘But not you. Why not?’

  Where are Jamesie and his men? she wondered. What is happening overhead? I do not know how long I can hold off this inquisition, and what if she becomes angry?

  ‘Why not?’ repeated Arbella. ‘What does your man think?’

  ‘We haven’t spoken of it since yesterday,’ she parried.

  The scrape of flint and steel alerted her. Almost automatically she turned her head away and closed her eyes, and light flared beyond her eyelids. Beside her the dog tensed, and she felt him growl. Her free hand closed on one of the lengths of wood which lay beside her, and she opened her eyes, to find the space where she sat lit by one candle, in brilliant contrast to the total darkness. David Fleming lay on the heap of timbers staring blankly at the stone roof, and Arbella was on her feet, lunging towards her, knife in one hand and a lump of rock in the other.

  Scrambling up and swinging the balk of wood she struck the knife, and it flew glittering into the tunnel and rattled down the slope. She hefted the stave, twisted it, swung it back, realized she had grasped it in the hold which Gil had shown her – how many days ago? – and struck Arbella’s wrist. The woman cried out, and recoiled. The dog bounded snarling round them, threatening to upset the candle again, and wonder of wonders Gil’s voice echoed down the shaft, booming and resounding but heart-warmingly familiar.

  ‘Gil!’ she shrieked. Wood creaked high up, and stones rattled down the shaft and fell on her leather hood. Her opponent hissed, and lunged again, and Socrates leapt to seize the old woman’s arm. Arbella struck at the soft of his nose with the stone, breaking his grip, and flung herself forward. Alys swung her wooden stave again, across, and twist the blade, and back, stepped backwards to avoid the reaching hands, and went down as her foot turned on a stone, writhing round to land on one knee. Using the stave to hold off her attacker, she scrambled to her feet, and the dog leapt past her, snarling hideously, struck Arbella at shoulder height with his forepaws, and brought her down.

  More stones rattled down the shaft, and Gil shouted urgently to her, but she was panting too hard to answer him. The dog was standing over Arbella, his teeth at her throat. Blood dripped on her from his muzzle. Rope creaked and twanged, and suddenly Gil arrived beside her with a rush and a clatter of wood, blinking in the light, whinger in hand.

  One breath, and he took in the situation.

  ‘You picked a strange place to practise,’ he said. ‘I told you to keep the point up.’

  ‘I was distracted,’ she said. ‘Gil, she killed Fleming, before he could tell me what he knew.’

  ‘He was next thing to dead already,’ said the woman on the ground. Socrates growled. ‘I gave him his quietus, no more. Call your dog off me, Maister Cunningham, if you would, and you’ll need to have a care to your wife, for I think her mind’s turned wi’ the dark. It does that to folks.’

  ‘Does it?’ said Gil politely.

  ‘And she poisoned Thomas Murray,’ said Alys.

  ‘It could be nobody else,’ he agreed.

  ‘You’ve no even worked out what slew him,’ said Arbella, though the dog growled again. ‘How can you tell who it was?’

  ‘I know very well what slew him. Where
is the yew tree, madam?’ asked Alys. Gil looked down at her, and smiled in the candlelight.

  ‘Of course,’ he said.

  ‘Your mind’s turned, lassie,’ said Arbella again. Socrates’ snarl grew louder. ‘Call this brute off me, maister, I’m an old woman and it’s no right to keep me here on the cold ground wi’ a savage beast standing ower me –’

  ‘Was it right to kill Murray and an innocent bystander?’ Gil asked. He handed Alys his whinger, and lifted the stick which had fallen the last few feet of the shaft with him, measured the broken end of the rope which was tied to it, and began to unravel the knots about the stick. Arbella shrank away from the dog’s teeth, the hood of her leather sark falling back. Her linen undercap had come askew, and her white hair straggled loose, the blood from the dog’s nose darkening it in the candlelight.

  ‘None so innocent, was he?’ she retorted. ‘Filthy catamite!’

  ‘He had done you no harm, and he should have had his chance at repentance. But those were only the most recent, I think. What about the others?’

  ‘What others?’ said Arbella scornfully. ‘You’re raving, the pair of you.’

  ‘Your husband,’ said Gil. ‘Your son Adam, seven years after him –’

  ‘Attie went under a roof-fall, ten fathom that way.’ She jerked her head sideways, and the dog growled deep in his chest.

  ‘Like the one today?’ said Gil. Alys glanced at him in the dim light, then hastily back at her target. ‘So you admit to poisoning your husband?’

  ‘I said no such thing.’

  ‘And there was your other son, seven years after Adam.’

  ‘You’re reading a strange lot into our ill fortune, sir.’ Arbella stirred, and the dog snarled in her face. ‘Free me of this monstrous brute, afore the roof falls here –’

  ‘Is that a threat?’ Gil was still working on the knots. The light could be no help, thought Alys, glancing at him again. He must be working by touch alone. ‘Why did you kill Murray?’

  ‘Have I said I did?’

  ‘I know you did, and I’ve a good guess at why. I just want to know which reason you’ll give me.’

  ‘No, maister, you tell me. Why should anyone kill Thomas Murray?’

  ‘He asked too many questions, didn’t he?’ said Alys, still holding the sword ready. ‘He had got too close to the secret.’

  ‘Secret!’ scoffed Arbella from her prone position. ‘What secret?’

  ‘Give me the sword,’ said Gil, ‘and you tie her arms.’

  Alys obeyed, the dog was persuaded with difficulty to stand back, and Arbella sat up, still scoffing. Alys bound her arms at elbow level, and said quietly, in the old woman’s ear, ‘Did he know who her father was?’

  The spare body between her hands jerked convulsively at the words, but what Arbella said was, ‘Whose father? All the fathers in the place is dead.’

  ‘That’s true,’ agreed Alys. And whose doing is that, madam? she thought. ‘But had he guessed it?’

  Arbella threw her a glance of acute dislike, but did not answer. Gil watched carefully, saying nothing. Alys sat back on her heels and went on.

  ‘As grieve, he had access to the accounts. There’s a lot to be learned from well-kept accounts, Mistress Weir, and yours are very well kept. I think Murray had come too close to – to a thing you would rather he didn’t spread about. So first of all you wedded him to Joanna, but that was hardly a success, was it?’ Arbella said nothing. ‘Then when he began to ask for more favours, he had to go. What had he asked for? Money? Control of Joanna’s portion?’ Still there was no answer. ‘And you have killed before, madam, haven’t you, many times, as my husband says? But that was different. That was for the coal.’

  ‘For the coal?’ Gil repeated.

  ‘Coal takes blood in exchange, she told me.’ Alys leaned closer to Arbella again. ‘If I swear,’ she said coaxingly, ‘to do my best to make sure she never learns, will you confess to poisoning Thomas Murray?’

  There was a pause. Bruised, dishevelled, sticky with blood which was not hers, Arbella turned her head to stare at Alys.

  ‘Now why would I do that?’

  ‘Because you love her,’ said Alys. ‘You use your grandchildren, don’t you? Raffie to be a learned man, Bel to fetch your herbs home, Phemie to gather intelligence. But you don’t use her, you indulge her and pet her. You love her.’

  There were voices, away down the tunnel. A light glimmered on the rock faces. Arbella turned her head to look down that way, and drew a deep breath and released it.

  ‘What will you swear by?’ she asked harshly.

  ‘Yew,’ said Lady Egidia. ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘That was what Bel told me,’ said Gil, tightening his clasp on Alys. He was beginning to feel warm again. ‘I misinterpreted what she wrote. Arbella poison yew.’

  ‘How effective a poison is it?’ asked Michael Douglas, across the hearth.

  ‘Very,’ said Alys. ‘It will kill a horse that eats some of the leaves.’

  ‘A brew of the bark or the needles would do it,’ said Lady Egidia. ‘Bitter, I expect, but the cordial tastes strongly enough, by what you say, no doubt it would be disguised.’

  Gil nodded, and stretched his feet nearer the fire, beside the sleeping dog. Alys moved closer against his side, and smiled up at him.

  When he and Alys had reached the gates of Belstane in the middle of the afternoon, chilled to the bone and caked in the mud of the coal-heugh, Lady Egidia had taken one look at them and ordered the fire lit in the washhouse. They had scandalized Alan Forrest and deeply amused his mistress and her waiting-woman by sharing the resulting hot tub, and were now clean and relaxed. Alys’s hair was still lying loose on her shoulders and shining in the candlelight, to Gil’s quiet pleasure. Even when Michael had arrived to report Arbella’s safe incarceration in Lanark jail, she had not covered it again, but only bound it back with a linen fillet, quite as if the young man was a member of their close family.

  ‘And was Fleming right about the witchcraft?’ asked Lady Egidia now.

  ‘Yes and no,’ said Alys. ‘There was – there was certainly evidence. He showed us several wax mommets, all stuck with thorns and pins, and Henry and I found – ugh!’ She shivered. Gil tightened his arm about her again, thinking of the way the little brocade bag had flared yellow smoke and made a great stink when they thrust it into the remains of the washhouse fire. ‘But I think the witchcraft was Arbella’s work, not any of the others. They were as horrified as the men to see it.’

  ‘You haven’t got her to confess?’

  ‘Not to that,’said Michael, ‘and no need for it, that I see.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Gil, ‘though the Sheriff may think otherwise. The charge of murder is enough.’

  ‘But will that go through?’

  ‘It should, though it’s only the one charge. I’d dearly like to see her tried for the other three or four, but they’re too long ago, the evidence is too circumstantial. She’ll drown for Murray at any rate, and well served.’

  ‘Aye, and why was she busy killing all the men round the coal-heugh?’ demanded Michael.

  ‘I’d like to know and all. It seems an odd way to behave,’ pronounced Lady Egidia.

  ‘I think you got an answer to that, sweetheart?’ Gil asked, looking at Alys.

  ‘Not clearly. I wonder if she is a little mad? She told me that the heugh demands blood, that the coal is paid for in blood.’

  ‘But colliers get killed anyway,’ said Michael. ‘It’s a dangerous trade.’

  ‘Like horse-breaking,’ agreed Lady Egidia.

  ‘I think she made sure of a death regularly,’ said Alys. ‘What is worse,’ she added, eyes round with distress, ‘is that it seemed to me as if the profits did improve after each one. She must have reckoned that it worked.’

  Michael shook his head.

  ‘One thing to get killed in an accident, or in preventing a worse accident,’ he said, ‘the colliers all know that happens. It’s part of the
trade, as I said. But to be slain deliberately, without warning or mercy, only for the profits – what a fate for a Christian soul!’

  ‘Her husband and her own sons,’ said Gil’s mother in distaste.

  ‘And David Fleming’s father,’ said Alys quietly.

  ‘A vicious woman. There is no end to human wickedness.’ Lady Egidia looked at the sprawled dog. ‘And you and Socrates took her captive between you, Alys?’

  ‘They did,’ agreed Gil, looking down at his wife with pride. ‘I arrived like a god from the skies thanks to Henry and Michael, and praise be to St Giles the rope only broke when I was at the foot of the shaft, and there I found the two of them standing over Arbella Weir, and David Fleming lying dead.’

  ‘But what possessed you to go underground alone with such a woman, my dear?’

  Alys moved uneasily in Gil’s clasp, and he caught her sidelong look. They had already had that out as they rode across the hill, the two grooms at a tactful distance once they had assured themselves that neither had taken any hurt.

  ‘I couldn’t find a way to refuse,’ she said, as she had said then, ‘without making her suspicious. I’ve learned a lesson,’ she added. ‘I have never been so frightened in my life. And I was protected, of that I am certain.’ She felt under the folds her skirt, and drew something from her pocket. ‘Gil, I have not shown you this. I turned my heel on it when Arbella attacked me, and so I fell and she missed me. Look what it is.’

  It was a fragment of black stone, dull and heavy. On one flat surface, clear in the light from the stand of candles beside them, in delicate, perfect detail, was a fish.

  ‘You can even see the rays in its tail,’ he said, marvelling. ‘Oh, I agree, Alys, this is no work of human hand. It must be God’s work indeed, set in the stone. But how do you know it was this stone that tripped you?’

  ‘It was in the right place,’ she said simply, ‘and you can see the mark of my shoe. See on the other side?’

  He turned the thing over, and nodded at the scrape on the underside. He was not convinced it was the stone which had tripped her, but it did look like the stone which the man in his dream had given him.