A Pig of Cold Poison

by Pat McIntosh

‘Christ and His saints be thanked that you came to our aid,’ said Alys fervently.

  ‘Thanks be to Our Lady your woman fetched me.’

  ‘Fetched you?’ said Kate. ‘I was about to ask what brought you. I’ve never been so relieved to see anyone, Grace. Who fetched you?’

  Grace paused in measuring the water for the dose.

  ‘It was a woman,’ she said blankly. ‘Did you not send her? I was in my chamber, and she came in and said the boy had eaten berries of May lilies and needed my help. Is she not one of your women?’

  ‘We’d had no time to think of sending for anyone,’ said Kate. ‘What like woman? You’re sure it wasny one of the men?’

  ‘No, it was a woman. Tall, dark hair worn loose, a checked gown,’ said Grace. ‘I took her for an Erschewoman. She made it plain it was urgent. So I gathered the remedies I needed and ran down the garden and in by the gate there.’ She turned to administer her prescription, but at the look which Kate and Alys exchanged she halted. ‘What have I said?’

  * * *

  ‘It sounds like Ealasaidh,’ said Kate.

  ‘But how can it have been? She is in Fife, I think, and the last I heard she was well.’ Alys shivered, and clasped her hands closer round the beaker of spiced ale, grateful for its warmth. ‘To think of what word I might have had to send her –’

  Dinner was over, a subdued meal at which Alys had been unable to swallow more than a mouthful. Both Wynliane and Ysonde, standing at the table beside Kate, had had to be coaxed to eat, and Ysonde had suddenly burst out with, ‘John might have died! Of poison berries!’

  ‘Yes, but he didn’t,’ said Kate, ‘and we’re going to pray for Mistress Gordon all our days, aren’t we? She saved him.’

  Grace had gone back to the Renfrew house, matter-of-factly brushing off Alys’s fervent thanks. On her advice, John had been watched carefully until the meal was ended, but he had slept heavily in a nest of plaids in one of the window bays, and had not woken when Nancy lifted him to carry him home. It seemed to be a natural sleep; his colour was good, his skin dry and neither cold nor hot.

  ‘Don’t think of it,’ said Kate firmly now. ‘John is safe, and home in his own crib, thanks be to God, and we’ve all learned a valuable lesson. I’ll have Andy secure the fence before nightfall, and Nancy and Mysie both will keep a closer eye on the bairns from now on. But I don’t mean,’ she went on, returning to her point, ‘that it was Ealasaidh herself. I think it must have been her fetch. Danger to the boy would be enough to summon someone like her. She’s an Erschewoman, after all, as Grace said. They can do strange things.’

  Alys eyed her warily. ‘Gil has mentioned such things too,’ she said. ‘I find it – how can a living person be a ghost? And how would such a ghost know that Grace was the one to tell?’

  Kate shook her head. ‘As well explain one as the other,’ she observed. ‘Whatever happened, the boy is unharmed, we’ll both be grateful to Grace Gordon all our days, and there’s no sign of whatever woman it was on the rest of the High Street.’

  Questioning the men in the yard and Maister Syme who was in the shop next door had elicited no sighting of a woman such as Grace described. They could not work out how the visitant had reached Grace’s chamber without being seen by someone, the more so since the Renfrew house was busy with company as Meg’s contemporaries called to congratulate her and admire the baby and the maidservants came and went with refreshments.

  In the middle of their enquiry, John Paterson had returned, somewhat chagrined to discover he had missed the excitement, with the news that he had found Andrew Hamilton, working on a roof at the college, but Andrew said he had already spoken to Maister Gil about it and couldny be spared from the task at hand if they were to finish afore dark.

  ‘I wonder what Gil learned from Andrew,’ Alys said, trying to distract herself.

  ‘Likely he’ll tell you later,’ said Kate. ‘Is there anyone else he’s yet to speak to?’

  ‘He mentioned Nell Wilkie this morning,’ Alys recalled. ‘And Nell’s mother asked me to have a word with her too. She was still weeping, yesterday afternoon. I – I forgot about it,’ she finished abruptly, remembering the occasion. Just before she – just before – Think about something else. Someone else’s troubles are the best distraction, Mère Isabelle had always said. ‘I could do that now, I suppose. She might say more to me than to Gil.’

  ‘Poor girl,’ said Kate. ‘She seemed very troubled when – when it happened, and I’d not think Nancy Sproull would have much sympathy for that kind of distemper.’

  They looked at one another.

  ‘I wonder what she knows?’ said Alys.

  ‘Only one way to find out,’ said Kate. Her eyes lit up. ‘I could do with a diversion, after a morning like that, Alys. May I come too?’

  ‘And we can call in at St Mary’s,’ said Alys, ‘and give thanks for John’s safety.’

  Alys stepped in at the gates of Wilkie’s dyeyard along the Gallowgate, Babb on her heels leading Kate’s mule. Maister Wilkie and his men were dipping a batch of indigo, two men sweating at the winding-gear to raise the bolt of cloth from the vat and Maister Wilkie himself inspecting it critically as the blue colour developed in the air. The characteristic pungent smell of the dyestuff met them on the chilly breeze.

  The dyeyard was set out much like Morison’s Yard, with the house to one side, the working space to the other, succeeded by long open sheds where swathes of cloth hung drying under cover, and beyond them the garden where in the summer weld and rocket showed yellow flowers and now the broad leaves of next season’s woad spread flat and green. More things laid out invitingly for little boys –

  Alys nodded to the dyers, turned towards the house and rattled at the pin by the latch. The maidservant who came to the door looked doubtful when she asked for Nell.

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ she said. ‘The lassie’s hardly ceased weeping since they cam home on Hallowe’en. Maybe you’d speak wi the mistress first, only she’s no very good the day. Will you come in, my leddy, mem, and I’ll fetch her?’

  It was hardly surprising if Nancy Sproull was suffering, thought Alys, agreeing to the suggestion. Babb assisted Kate to dismount and handed her the crutches, then strode off to the kitchen, one of the men ran to take the mule, and the servant led them through the house, saying hopefully, ‘What was it happened? Is that right that Nanty Bothwell’s pysont the whole of the mummers, or is it just Dan Gibson that’s deid?’

  ‘It’s just the one man that died,’ Alys assured her, seeing Kate’s grim look. ‘Is Mistress Sproull in her own chamber, Sibby? Will we see ourselves there and save your feet?’

  ‘No, no, I’ll put you in the hall, for the mistress is in the kitchen, harrying the supper,’ said the woman, clearly reluctant to be parted from a source of information. ‘And what was it happened, then? Did he fall down dead in a moment, or was his belly afflicted first, or what? They’re saying the corp looks quite natural-like, as if he never felt a thing. And the quest on him’s put off till Monday, that should be a thing to hear!’

  ‘Very likely,’ said Alys, thinking that if this was one of her servants she would keep her home on Monday. ‘How is Nell?’

  ‘Still weeping, like I said.’ Sibby paused in the act of setting a chair for Kate as her mistress came into the hall. ‘Mistress? Here’s Lady Kate and Mistress Mason from the High Street.’

  ‘Och, Kate,’ said Nancy. ‘You shouldny ha bothered. How are you, my lassie? Are you recovered fro the fright yet? Sibby, fetch us a cup of ale, lass.’

  ‘I’ll feel the better for knowing who slew the lad,’ said Kate briskly. ‘And how are you, Nancy? How’s Nell?’

  ‘Oh, that lassie,’ said Nancy, putting a hand to her head. She drew up another chair and sat down opposite them, a pretty woman not yet forty, still slender, the dark-lashed eyes shadowed today. ‘She’s in her chamber still, would you credit it, hasny left it since we cam home from your house. If I hadny sic a headache I’d have her ou
t of there, though to be fair she’s been busy at her sewing. Aye weeping, picked at her dinner which we put on a tray – she must be right sharp-set by now, the silly lassie. What it’s about she’ll no say, but it canny be Danny Gibson, her faither would never hear of her looking at a journeyman that young.’

  Kate and Alys exchanged a glance, but neither commented.

  ‘Has Agnes Renfrew been by?’ Alys asked.

  Nancy shook her head, and winced.

  ‘I’d not have looked for her, either,’ she said sourly. ‘It’s all one way wi that one. Nell’s aye ready at her bidding, but she’ll not go out her road to help Nell.’

  ‘It’s a strange household,’ said Kate speculatively. ‘I’m not sure any one of them has any love for another.’

  ‘A true word,’ agreed Nancy. ‘Agnes isny even that civil to Meg, the bonnie soul. Complaining that day when she fetched her cushion to her, of having to seek it all over the house, when Meg had told her where it was exact. All Sibella Bairdie’s fault, it was. If she’d gone her time wi her first bairn, Renfrew would never ha turned against her, and they’d ha reared the family in love and friendship as Holy Kirk teaches us. And here’s Dod and me only raised the one, for all our prayers, and Frankie got that daftheid Nicol, and then Eleanor, sour as verjuice, and Robert and Agnes that would neither of them lift a hand to save you if you were drowning.’

  ‘Is Nicol so daft?’ Kate wondered. ‘He’s come home with a bonnie wife. Grace Gordon’s a clever woman,’ her eyes flicked to Alys for a brief moment, ‘and wise with it.’

  ‘I’ll grant you that,’ agreed Nancy. ‘How a fellow like that managed to get himself such a wife I’ve no notion. Mind you, she lost the bairn.’

  ‘Yes, poor soul,’ agreed Kate, ‘and no luck with another one yet, she tells me.’

  Nancy laughed shortly. ‘By what Dod says,’ she divulged, ‘as soon as Grace is howding, Frankie plans to pack Nicol off overseas again, and keep her here at his side, seeing what a good hand she is with the sweetmeats. That way he can rear the bairn himself.’

  ‘He will send his son away?’ Alys asked.

  ‘Oh, aye. He sent the lad to the Low Countries to get him out the way in the first place. I heard he wasny best pleased when he turned up again, and I think they’ve had one or two shouting matches since then.’ She turned as Sibby came in with the jug of ale and a handful of beakers. ‘Is that lass of ours in her chamber yet, Sibby?’

  ‘She is,’ agreed the woman.

  ‘Shall I go to her?’ Alys suggested. ‘She might talk to me. And would Sibby fetch her something to eat?’

  ‘Aye, and you’re a lass wi some sense,’ said Nancy, as she had done before. ‘See what you can make of her, my dear, for I canny tell what ails her.’

  Nell was seated by the window in her chamber, a pile of sewing at her side, her beads in her hand. When the door opened she looked up wearily, obviously expecting her mother or Sibby; at the sight of Alys her expression lightened, and she mustered a smile from somewhere.

  ‘May I come in?’ Alys did not wait for the answer, but crossed the room to kiss the other girl in greeting. ‘Are you not well? Your mother says you’ve not eaten today.’

  Nell’s colour rose. She was fully dressed but dishevelled and uncombed, and she had obviously been weeping.

  ‘I’m well,’ she said. ‘I just didny – I wasny hungry. Is there – is there any word from the Renfrews’ house?’

  ‘Meg is safe delivered, yesterday evening,’ Alys said, aware of those images stirring again in her memory. Don’t think of it, don’t think of it. ‘Agnes has a wee sister.’

  ‘My mammy said that.’ Nell sounded approving, but there was no smile at the thought. ‘How is she the day? And – did you see Agnes?’

  ‘Not to talk to, for she was not at the gossip-ale,’ Alys pointed out.

  ‘I suppose.’ Nell looked round, rose and fetched a stool for her guest, then flinched, visibly bracing herself as the door was flung open, and the maidservant entered with a platter and a jug.

  ‘I hear it’s a lassie at the Renfrew house,’ said the woman, setting the platter down on a kist by the door. ‘No doubt her man would rather a son. Mind, he’s no that well pleased wi the sons he has, so what he’d want wi another is anybody’s guess, but some folks is never satisfied wi what they’ve got. And had she an easy time of it? The mistress never said.’

  ‘No,’ said Alys. Don’t think of it –

  ‘Small wonder at that,’ said Sibby in satisfaction, ‘seeing the way she was frighted into it wi Nanty Bothwell murdering a man in front of her.’

  ‘That will do, Sibby,’ said Nell sharply. ‘Away back to the kitchen and let us talk.’

  ‘Hark at you!’ said Sibby, and left the room, closing the door ostentatiously. Nell made a face.

  ‘She’s been wi us a long time,’ she said, in partial apology. Alys rose and fetched the platter, which held oatcakes smeared with green cheese, and one apple cut in quarters.

  ‘Eat something, Nell,’ she coaxed. ‘You’ll feel more like yourself. What is it troubling you? Will you speak of it?’

  ‘You saw it too,’ Nell said. ‘You were there on the day. And the wee lassies and all.’

  ‘Gil got the lassies out of the chamber in time,’ Alys said. ‘I asked my good-sister – they were not troubled. The wee one was cross because she never saw the end of the play. Is it that troubles you?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Nell unconvincingly. ‘What a thing to happen afore them.’

  ‘Did you know Danny Gibson?’

  ‘No.’ The other girl turned her face away. Alys studied her carefully. She was acquainted with her, as she was with most of the women on the High Street, but though they were close in age she did not know her well. She was taller and slimmer than Agnes Renfrew, with oak-brown hair which fell in smooth waves round her shoulders when it was tended. Now it was tangled and untidy and the grey eyes which were Nell’s best feature were swollen with weeping. But was it grief, Alys wondered, or something else which made her weep?

  ‘It’s a dreadful thing, for a young man to be struck down in the midst of his fellows like that,’ she observed, ‘but it happens often enough. Folk fall sick, or an injury poisons the blood. Death can strike at any of us, as God wills it.’

  ‘Amen,’ agreed Nell in a small voice, and crossed herself.

  ‘Is it Maister Bothwell?’ Alys asked. ‘Held in the Tolbooth by the Serjeant. Is that what troubles you?’

  ‘Would it not trouble anybody,’ Nell said, with an assumption of more spirit, ‘a bonnie fellow like that to be taken up for murder. Especial when he –’

  ‘When he what?’ prompted Alys. Nell shook her head. ‘When he never meant to? Is that what you were going to say?’

  ‘Well, a course he never meant to!’ said Nell. ‘They’re – they were good friends, him and Danny Gibson! Poor fellow,’ she turned her face away again, ‘lying there in the Tolbooth and thinking on his friend’s death.’

  ‘Your sympathy does you credit,’ said Alys gently. ‘Would it help you to pray for him?’

  ‘I’ve done little else the day,’ admitted Nell, ‘but pray for him and Agnes and –’

  ‘Why Agnes? You think she needs your prayers? I’d have thought,’ she kept her tone light, ‘that now she’s rid of one sweetheart she can just take the other, and no need to decide between the two of them.’

  ‘It’s no that way,’ Nell said, and sniffled.

  ‘Which one did she favour?’

  ‘Neither of them!’ Nell rubbed at her eyes with her sleeve. ‘She just likes having the two of them on a string, when there’s folk in Glasgow would be glad to call either of them –’

  ‘Which is it you like?’ Alys asked, with a sinking heart.

  ‘I never meant myself!’ said Nell quickly.

  ‘That would be a wonder, two well-favoured young men like that. Is it Nanty Bothwell?’ After a moment Nell sniffled again, and nodded. ‘He’d be a good choice, he’s a goo
d worker and has his own business, if only we can get this charge of murder dealt with.’

  ‘He’s a bonnie fellow,’ Nell repeated, and sighed heavily, ‘but he’s never looked my way, he can only see Agnes. And how could he – Serjeant Anderson’s decided he’s guilty, you could see that when he took him away!’

  ‘Serjeant Anderson is not the whole of the law,’ said Alys. ‘Nell, can you tell me anything about that flask? It seems it was the wrong one, but we can’t find out how it came into Nanty Bothwell’s hand. Did Agnes fetch it for him?’

  ‘Will he not say?’

  ‘He claims it was one of his own, but all the ones he had are accounted for, and so are the ones Wat Forrest took. It must have come from the Renfrew house, though Maister Renfrew denies it.’

  ‘He would, would Maister Renfrew,’ said Nell. ‘Agnes aye says her father likes nothing to stir in his house without he knows of it. It’s one of her chiefest pleasures to balk him in that.’

  ‘So she fetched Nanty the flask when he asked her to find him one.’

  Nell looked at her and nodded. ‘But she never knew what was in it,’ she said earnestly. ‘She said, she thought it was her father’s drops, that he takes for his heart. She never thought it was poison. She was as stricken as any of us when Danny fell.’

  ‘Where did she get it from? Was it in her father’s workroom?’

  ‘She never said. We never spoke of it, till after – after – and then we hardly had time for more than a couple of words, what wi Meg –’

  She turned her face away again, rubbing at her eyes. Alys sat looking at her, considering what to do next.

  ‘I wonder,’ she said, half aloud, ‘why Agnes has not come forward to show the young man innocent.’

  ‘If she’d spoken in front of the Serjeant,’ objected Nell, ‘he’d ha taken her off in chains instead of Nanty.’ There was a pause, in which she seemed to go back over the conversation. ‘You said, If we can get this charge dealt with. Does that mean Maister Cunningham’s looking into it, the way he did when Maister Morison –’

  ‘Yes,’ said Alys.

  ‘Then have you never asked her about it?’