by Pat McIntosh
As they drew near the church, Henry observed from behind Gil, ‘They were saying in the kitchen at Kettlands, the mistress had sent over to ask Sir John’s prayers to St Malessock.’
‘And the gift o a pound of wax, and all,’ Euan said over his shoulder. ‘Is that the holy man that was coming out of the peat on Belstane’s own land? I was hearing how he protects all this parish, and turned back an outbreak of the summer fever from Lanark when they bore him round the bounds last year.’
‘Aye,’ said Henry, very drily. Gil slid a sideways glance at Alys, and found her wearing a studiously serious expression.
He was in more than one mind about St Malessock himself. The shrivelled, leathery corpse, naked but for a fox-skin girdle, with its battered face and shock of bright red hair, which had emerged from the peat two years since a few miles away on his godfather’s land, could have been anyone. It was almost certainly not St Malessock, if there had ever been anyone of that name, but the parish priest, discovering a hagiography in his vestry with the ink very nearly dry, had declared this to be the original evangelist of Kirkmalessock in the south of the parish, hastily cleared St James the Less out of a side chapel and installed the pitiful thing in a handsomely painted kist below the altar.
Small miracles had begun to happen almost immediately, warts and boils cured, a lost cow found safely, but what Gil found more convincing was a dream he had had not long after the finding of the body, in which a red-haired man, stark naked but for a fox-skin girdle, had addressed him like a fellow baron, and offered him a token which had saved Alys’s life the next day. Whoever the man was, it seemed he still guarded land and people about Carluke.
‘You want to step in and offer a prayer now?’ he asked. ‘Audrey’s a Carluke lassie, it can do no harm to ask aid for her.’
‘Och, yes indeed!’ said Euan with enthusiasm. ‘I have not been in the kirk here, and it’s good to remind Our Lady who I am from time to time.’
‘We could,’ said Alys doubtfully. ‘Aren’t you hungry?’
‘Very wise,’ said Lady Egidia. ‘Prayer is never wasted. But could Yolande Somerville be right? Could the girl have been stolen by tinkers?’
‘She could,’ said Gil. ‘All things are possible. But it doesny seem likely to me, what wi the note.’ He leaned back on the settle, stretching his legs. ‘I’ll sleep the night, I tell you. I’ve ridden further than I ever intended this day.’
They were gathered in a far less cluttered chamber, off the main hall of the tower-house, where Alan Forrest had set out a late supper for them as soon as they rode in. Cold cooked meat, bread and new butter, and a dish of raspberries and cream, made a feast for two hungry people; Gil hoped Henry and the other men were as well served.
This close to midsummer, the sun would set well north of north-west; the long golden light flooded in by the windows which looked across the wide valley of the Clyde towards the Campsie hills, lit up the little chamber, caught the bridge of Alys’s nose where she bent over Maister Vary’s ledger, outlined the oval of her face beneath her white indoor cap.
‘But who else could have lifted her?’ persisted Lady Egidia. ‘And her groom dead. It looks bad, Gil, very bad.’
‘I’d noticed that,’ he said politely. ‘The boy had been cut to pieces, I’d say by more than one attacker. Someone expected Mistress Madur to ride that way, lay in wait, and made sure to be able to take her by force.’
‘And it’s been kept secret,’ said Alys, immersed in the ledger. ‘It isn’t known in Lanark.’
‘Exactly,’ Gil agreed. ‘Whoever it is, either he can command silence or he can keep his men out of Lanark. I’d say we’re looking at someone on the lands round about, rather than in Lanark itself. Does the family have enemies? I’m out of touch with local politics, but I’d have thought Lockhart, for instance, or the Livingstones, were more peaceable these days.’
‘Her kin,’ said his mother obliquely.
‘Is any of them involved in the burgh?’
‘I’ve not heard it, if so.’ Lady Egidia nibbled a fingernail, considering. In the basket by her chair, her grey cat rolled over and dislodged a single fat kitten, which squeaked plaintively. Socrates, sprawled by Gil’s feet, raised his head to look, and the cat hissed at him and began to wash the kitten. ‘She has three uncles, if I recall, and two brothers. The brothers are at some distance, one at Harelaw, one in the Lothians. I don’t see how threatening Maister Vary would be of any use to them, but the uncles . . .’ She paused again. ‘There is Robert Somerville on her mother’s side, and Henry Madur of Madursmains and Jocelyn Madur on her father’s. Robert and Jocelyn are mostly short of money, and Jocelyn cheated me over a horse once. I suppose either could have some scheme afoot that would need the liner’s consent. I ken nothing against Henry Madur,’ she finished on a note of faint regret. ‘He’s said to be a good superior, a good landlord, but a wee thing tight-fisted.’
‘And Maister Vary’s kin?’ asked Alys. ‘Does he have brothers?’
‘One is a priest, in Lanark I think,’ said Gil, ‘and the other holds the family lands over by Carnwath.’
‘Ah.’ She looked down at the ledger again. ‘I have never seen such tiny writing, one could do with a fleaglass to read it. This must be the priest brother. Ser Jerom Varrie desirus to sell ii huses in friers wynnd to wm cunnighame, pottar. No kin of yours, I take it, Gil? No, I thought not. Disputit on account o daunger of fyre fro the sedd wms kiln. I suppose there is no reason for a priest to withhold from killing the manservant, if he was angry enough.’
‘I suspect you’re right,’ Gil said. ‘And Brosie thought he had made no enemies in the burgh! Are there more such, sweetheart?’
‘Several.’ She turned back a page. ‘Someone called William Mowat, ordered to take down his foreshot. What is a foreshot, Gil?’
‘A chamber built onto the gable of the house,’ he said promptly, ‘projecting into the street. Merchants build them to do business in. Brosie’s closet is in one. It’s all very well on the High Street of Lanark, which is the widest I’ve ever seen, but when it reduces the way so a cart canny get by it’s another matter.’
‘That’s what has happened here. It came to the Council, who supported Maister Vary.’
‘Mowat is a house carpenter,’ Lady Egidia supplied. ‘Easy enough for him to put up and take down sic a thing. I am amazed that Vary let you bring this ledger away.’
‘It took some persuasion,’ said Gil. ‘It’s all Council business, after all; it should never be out of the burgh.’
‘And this one,’ Alys continued. ‘Alexander Qhippo – what a strange name! – complains that his neighbour Walter Lightbody’s garderobe discharges foulness into his cellar. The said Walter ordered to rebuild or remove his garderobe.’
‘Lightbody?’ said Gil.
She glanced at him and nodded, and leafed further back through the ledger. ‘I think this has been at dispute for four, no, five years.’
‘A long time to deal with a stink in the cellar,’ said Lady Egidia. ‘What would provoke either party to action now, after so long?’
‘Anyone can lose patience,’ said Gil. ‘I suppose we should speak to all these folk. Are there more?’
‘Likely,’ said Alys. ‘But it seems to me,’ she went on diffidently, ‘these cases are ended. Well, not the stink in the cellar, but most of the others here are concluded. Should we not be looking at matters which are pending, or even not yet come to the Council?’
‘I think we should,’ Gil admitted, ‘though I’m at a loss to know how we track them down.’
‘Send Euan round the countryside to ask people if they’re planning anything,’ Alys suggested. Her quick smile came and went, and he grinned in answer.
‘It would certainly keep him out of my way. He was no help at all in Lanark. Which reminds me, mother: have you met this French lady that’s staying in Lanark? Olympe Archibecque is the name.’
‘I haven’t,’ she said. ‘I take it you have? What like is she?’
‘Striking,’ he said thoughtfully, taking care not to catch Alys’s eye. ‘Aye, that’s the word. Striking. To hear her sing, to hear her dance! she will the best herself advance that ever I saw.’
Leaving Maister Vary’s house, after Gil had spent some time trying to reassure him and Alys questioned the servants, they had set out to walk down the High Street to the St Nicholas Inn to meet Henry and the other men. The street was not busy, but a few people were out enjoying the still, warm evening. Gil was pacing in silence, thinking at once of the problem before them and the feel of Alys’s hand tucked into his arm, when the hand tightened.
‘Look, Gil!’ she said softly in French. ‘Isn’t that—? Surely it can’t be!’
He looked where she indicated, and saw a tall figure approaching, clad, remarkably, in a wide-sleeved, wide-skirted gown of sky-blue and tawny brocade, topped by a short cloak of cherry-coloured taffeta rather than a plaid as most Scots women wore, and crowned by a complex green velvet hat like a man’s, its trailing feathers brushing the broad shoulders. A stocky maidservant carried the long brocade train. Several small boys followed at a respectful distance, goggling.
‘Sweet St Giles,’ he said, ‘I think you’re right.’
As they drew closer he saw that the face was elaborately painted, in a way which would certainly make the boys and their parents stare, and the high-sketched eyebrows were rising in response to his scrutiny.
They both stopped. Gil bowed, Alys curtsied, they said together, ‘Madame.’
‘Madame, monsieur,’ responded the strange figure, and curtsied deeply in response. ‘I fear you have the advantage of me.’
‘Forgive us, madame,’ said Alys, and Gil realised they were still speaking French. ‘We took you for a dear friend whom you resemble closely.’
‘Oh!’ A large white hand batted the statement away. ‘Of a certainty there can be none like me. The good God broke the mould when he made me.’
‘I believe that must be true,’ Gil said. He replaced his hat, and the pale blue eyes under the painted brows flickered at the gesture. ‘Forgive us – I am Gil Cunningham, and this is my wife Mistress Alys Mason.’
‘And I am Olympe Archibecque.’ She curtsied again, just as deeply. ‘I am enchanted to meet two speakers of the beautiful language in this small place. You must call on me.’
‘That would be delightful,’ said Alys warily. ‘Where may one find you?’
The pale eyes sparkled at them. The pudding-faced maidservant stood stolidly holding the folds of silk out of the dust, and Madame Olympe pointed at one of the gables across the street.
‘I am lodged very comfortably there, in the house of Walter Lightbody,’ she mangled the name extravagantly, ‘who is a baker and confectioner. I have a set of chambers, quite private, looking on the street. Perhaps tomorrow? Tomorrow after noon? Ah, madame!’ She curtsied again, less deeply, to a passing townswoman, who returned the courtesy. Alys turned her head to consult Gil, her face expressionless, and he nodded. It would fit with what he planned for the day. ‘Ah, c’est merveilleux! I shall swoon with anticipation whenever I think of it. À demain, madame, monsieur!’
She curtsied again and swept on. Gil, taken by surprise, just managed a nod to the maidservant as the woman hurried past at her mistress’s back, and got a faint, approving narrowing of the eyes in return. Alys turned to look after the pair as Madame Olympe crossed the street to greet another couple out strolling in the evening sunshine.
‘Well!’ she said quietly.
‘Well indeed,’ he said. ‘Shall we go and find the men?’
‘How good is her Scots?’ asked his mother now. ‘Mistress Somerville seems to have taken her up, and I’ve no opinion of her French.’
‘I expect she gets by,’ said Gil offhandedly. ‘We spoke in French.’
‘And what is she doing in Lanark? She must stand out like a papingo in a henyard.’ Lady Egidia leaned back as her grey cat, having washed the kitten into sleep, sprang on to her knee. ‘Talking of henyards, John wanted to play with the kitten. Your girl made a to-do about the scratches, but as I said to her, he has to learn some time, even if your kitchen cat lets him pull her about, Silky and her kitten are another matter entirely.’
‘Is the kitten harmed?’ Alys asked anxiously.
‘It seems unhurt.’ Lady Egidia looked down at the sleeping scrap of fur. ‘It will be a pretty thing, with those grey stripes.’ She stroked the adult cat on her lap, trying to discourage it from working its paws in her gown. ‘No, no. That’s why I changed out of my court dress, Silky. So tell me what the Provost said when you handed him a corp. And one five days old, at that,’ she added in distaste.
Gil shook his head.
‘I sent Henry and the other men to him, with the corp on a litter, and bade them tell him where we found the laddie and why we were searching, and that I’d call on him the morn to discuss matters after I’d spoken to Brosie. I’m troubled now,’ he admitted, ‘for given the manservant’s been found it must be known abroad that the lady’s missing. The word will spread like wildfire, no matter what their instructions were to Brosie.’
‘It would have got out as soon as Mistress Somerville learned of it,’ said Alys. She closed the ledger and rubbed her eyes. ‘I have had enough of this writing for now. So far I have only found Maister Vary’s kin mentioned, not the girl’s, no Somervilles or Madurs. How far out of Lanark do they dwell?’
‘No more than ten miles out, for the most part,’ said Gil. ‘I wonder, would Michael help? He must know them all at least as well as I do, and he made a fair fist of helping me two year ago.’
‘Will he wish to leave Tib?’ Alys objected.
‘Tib has a few weeks to go,’ said Lady Egidia. ‘Mistress Lithgo is summoned to her for the middle of July—’
‘Mistress Lithgo? Beatrice Lithgo?’ Gil interrupted, while Alys’s eyes widened. ‘Is she hereabouts again? I thought they had all moved across the Clyde to Cadzow.’
‘She tells me she and her good-daughter are ill assorted,’ said Lady Egidia. ‘I knew that son of hers had poor taste, not like you, dear, and it seems there have been disagreements and pulling of caps, and she planned to move back into this parish after Tib’s time is over. I’ve invited her to live here,’ she said airily. ‘She’ll have the cottage at the back of the stables, indeed, she has moved some of her goods in already, and I’ll be glad to have someone so herbwise on hand.’
Gil opened his mouth, and closed it again, thinking of Mistress Lithgo. They had encountered her at the same time as St Malessock had risen from the peat; she was a sharp-brained, sharp-tongued woman with a gift for herbs and remedies, who had dealt with the ills and injuries of the folk up at the coalheugh until her family left the place, and he knew she was much missed in the area.
Alys said, ‘I can see she might not be easy to live with, but that’s no reason for it to come to such a pass.’
‘Quite so,’ said her mother-in-law. ‘I think she’s away the now, the cottage is empty again. She’s maybe gone to gather the rest of her goods.’
Gil, contemplating the effect of two such strong-minded women within the same barmekin, was unable to comment. Instead he said, ‘It has been a very long day, and there’s another the morn. I must bid you good night, mother. Alys?’
She rose immediately, accepting his outstretched hand, her fingers tightening briefly on his. Lady Egidia smiled enigmatically and delivered the blessing she had used since his childhood: ‘Christ and His blessed Mother guard your sleep, my dears.’
Much later, curled warm and sated against him in the box bed in their chamber, Alys murmured,
‘What do you suppose Ma— Madame Olympe is doing in Lanark? Such a small place, away from the court and the coast?’
‘Don’t let the Provost hear you describe it like that,’ he said lazily. ‘It’s one of King David’s burghs, after all. I’ve no idea what Madame Olympe might be doing here. I hope we’ll find out tomorrow.’
‘Mmm.
’ She was playing with the hairs on his chest. ‘She was very quick to invite us to visit. I suppose she wants your help.’
‘I’ve no doubt of it.’ Gil grinned into the darkness, thinking of his previous encounter with the individual now calling himself Madame Olympe, who was in fact his kinsman Sandy Boyd and was probably spying for the Crown. That occasion had nearly ended with Gil’s arrest for murder, while his cousin vanished into the night.
‘You’ll be careful?’ Alys was obviously thinking of it too. ‘No more housebreaking at midnight?’
‘Hardly, at this time of year, we’d be seen. I’m more concerned about Audrey Madur. I wish there had been some sign of where she was taken, which direction, who was with her.’
‘Why she was taken,’ Alys added.
‘Did you learn anything from the servants?’
‘A little. Mistress Somerville is right, she has taught her daughter well. The servants like her, think her a good mistress for all she’s so young, seem attached to her and to Maister Vary. It’s a well-run household.’ She wriggled closer to him. ‘The woman Jessie, the one we saw, acts as her tirewoman, and says she seems happy, looks forward to her baby, has no reason to run away or anyone to run to. She took her husband’s side in a disagreement with his brother, which is a good sign. The servants are as concerned as their master.’
‘Has she friends in the town?’ he asked.
‘I have one or two names. I thought I would try to speak to them tomorrow, before we call on Madame Olympe. Audrey might say more gossiping with friends than she would to her tirewoman.’ She paused, still twirling the hairs on his chest round her fingers. ‘You know, Gil, I keep thinking about her. A lady who rides like that, sideways on the saddle, very often knows nothing of controlling the beast. She can’t use the reins, she doesn’t know how to make it go faster. They were attacked, and her servant killed, and she could do nothing to escape, and even if she managed to dismount she was caught up in that great sack, she couldn’t run. I hope they have her safe somewhere.’
‘She could hardly run anyway, in her condition,’ he pointed out.
