The Lanimer Bride

by Pat McIntosh

‘Well, well,’ said Lockhart, ‘I’m right grateful to you, maister, for bringing this to my attention. We’ll ha to find out how it was done, when it was done—’ He turned to his men. ‘Did you lads never notice this when you were clearing the tinkers off the muir?’

  ‘It wasny here, Provost,’ said the one who had wanted to uproot the trees. ‘We hunted them all across this bit, we’d ha seen them.’

  ‘We’d ha fell ower the fence,’ offered another man. ‘If it was there, I mean.’

  ‘So it’s been done the last two or three days,’ said the Provost.

  ‘Or nights,’ said Gil. ‘It never gets right dark, this time o year.’

  ‘Aye, that’s true. Well, lads, we’ll away back down to Lanark, and youse can start asking questions. Someone about the burgh must ken how these got here, and by whose order, and when we find him we’ll deal wi him. Which reminds me, maister, the sweep’s laddie, young Nicol Baillie, he tells us he saw two men running down towards the port. Never recognised them, but gave us a description that accords well wi the one we have a’ready.’

  Gil nodded acknowledgement of this.

  ‘There’s the matter o the fellow Tammas saw up here,’ he said. ‘Easy enough to hide here, if you ken the place, I’d ha said, what wi hills and burns and the like, it’s a broad muir. What’s more,’ he added, ‘if those trees were brought up the road from Ayr, say, there’s no need for them ever to ha entered the burgh.’

  ‘That’s true and all,’ said Lockhart, staring out towards the Ayr road where it forded the Clyde at Hyndford Lea. ‘It could be done in secret right enow.’

  They rode back down into Lanark, Gil deep in thought. Descending the High Street, he became aware of Madame Olympe’s servant Agnes, standing in the doorway of their lodging above Maister Lightbody’s house. She looked at him significantly.

  Ignoring her, he said clearly to the Provost, ‘I’m for collecting my men afore the ports are shut and riding home, maister. I’ll be lucky if they’ve kept supper for me as it is.’

  ‘Aye, the day’s wearing on,’ agreed Lockhart, as Agnes’s good striped kirtle vanished into the lodging. ‘I’ll send you word out at Belstane if I need you further, or if there’s aught you can advise me on.’

  ‘Aye, do that,’ Gil agreed, and wished the man a good night. The constables set off to stable their own steeds and the Provost’s, Lockhart went into his house, and Gil, dismounting as the street grew steeper, led his beast down to Juggling Nick’s. To its evident disapproval, he did not stable it, but tethered it outside. By the time he had extracted Euan and Tammas and seen them mounted, a certain amount of discussion with the gate-ward was needed to get them out of the burgh, but he managed it at length, and they took the road home with some relief.

  ‘Well, that was a wasted day,’ observed Euan, as they crossed the bridge. ‘It’s still a great mystery where the lady might ha vanished away to.’

  ‘It’s a worry,’ said Tammas. ‘I doubt we’ll never find her alive now. She’ll be under a dyke or floating in the Mouse somewhere.’

  ‘Never say it!’ exclaimed Euan, crossing himself. ‘Our Lady send her safe, and her bairn too!’

  ‘Hold up a moment,’ said Gil. ‘I’ve heard there are caves down here, along the waterside. If they took her there, they’d ha left the road about here.’

  All three men scouted up and down the roadside, but could see no sign that anyone, let alone a group of men or horses, had crossed the bank at the roadside.

  ‘Is there no other caves?’ Euan wondered. ‘Maybe up the river instead of down?’

  ‘I’ve heard o none,’ said Gil, ‘and I don’t intend to go seeking them this evening. I want my supper.’

  ‘Maister,’ said Tammas, looking back the way they had come. ‘Is that someone on the road?’

  ‘One horse,’ said Euan, turning his head likewise. ‘Making a good speed, so it is.’

  ‘There’s three of us,’ said Gil, swinging his beast round to face the sound of hoofbeats. All three animals had their ears pricked, and Tammas’s horse produced a soft whicker.

  The steed which came round the curve in the road, slowing as the gradient steepened, was a handsome creature, broad-chested, deep in the barrel. Gil was completely unsurprised to see that its rider was his cousin Sandy Boyd, pale hair blowing in the air of his movement, shirt neck open and sleeves rolled up, a beribboned black velvet doublet gathering dust. He was more taken aback to realise, as his kinsman drew abreast of them, that Billy Doig was perched uncomfortably on the pillion, clinging to Boyd’s belt.

  ‘In a good hour!’ said Boyd happily. ‘I hoped I’d find you.’

  ‘Oh, you did?’ said Gil, misliking the omen in these words. ‘So you came after me from the cyte of Camelot on horsbak as moche as ye myght, and to what end?’

  ‘I’ll ride on wi you,’ said his cousin, grinning as he placed the quotation. ‘We’ve news.’ He flicked a glance at Gil’s men.

  ‘News,’ said Gil flatly.

  He sent Euan and Tammas ahead, far enough to be out of earshot, and turned his beast for Belstane. His kinsman fell in alongside, and Doig said, ‘Guid e’en to ye, Maister Cunningham.’

  ‘Have you news and all?’ Gil asked him pointedly. His cousin laughed.

  ‘No need to be so suspicious. My aunt would ha my guts to stuff cushions wi if I brought harm to you. No to mention your bonnie wee wife,’ he added.

  ‘So what’s this news?’ Gil prompted, unconvinced. ‘Does it concern Mistress Madur?’

  ‘No,’ said Boyd. ‘At least, I think not. It concerns the burgh clerk, Maister Ballantyne.’

  ‘Aye?’ said Gil. ‘It was you delivered the trees, was it, Maister Doig?’

  Under the trees which shadowed the road he could not be certain, but he thought surprise flickered in both faces.

  ‘It was,’ said Doig. ‘Took them out the Burgh Muir on Saturday. The tinkers put them in the ground, Saturday and Sunday nights, and fenced them away from the burgh herd.’

  ‘Fast work,’ commented Boyd. ‘How many, five hundred wee trees?’

  ‘A whole tribe o tinkers,’ countered Doig. ‘Even the bairns. They were well enough paid, though no by me.’

  ‘Who by?’ asked Gil.

  ‘Aye, that’s the point,’ said Boyd. ‘He never kent their names.’

  ‘I recognised the burgh clerk’s house, where I met them,’ said Doig, ‘and got his name that way, but seeing he’s deid, I’ll never get my fee from him now. He paid the tinkers in coin, or he’d never ha got the work done, but like a fool I allowed him the account.’

  ‘So what’s the plan?’ Gil asked after a moment. ‘What do you intend, and why are you telling me this?’

  ‘Thought you might find it useful,’ said Boyd innocently.

  ‘Thought you might be able to help,’ said Doig at the same moment. ‘Scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.’

  ‘And if I’m not wanting my back scratched?’

  Boyd shrugged. ‘We go back to Lanark.’

  ‘What, at this hour? How will you get in? They’ve shut the ports.’

  ‘Same way we got out,’ said Boyd, but did not elaborate.

  Gil looked from Boyd to his passenger, considering.

  ‘You could describe them, I suppose? How many were there in the venture?’

  ‘The late Maister Ballantyne,’ said Doig, ‘and two more. Aye, I can describe them well. One about our freen’s height,’ he nodded at Boyd’s back where his big hands still clutched at the belt, ‘short hair, fairish, thin face, showy dresser. Aye a feather in his hat and a swagger to him. The other, that was to fee me, maybe a handspan shorter, longer hair o a light brown colour, heavier built, left-handed and a neb like a Kerr’s.’

  ‘That is interesting,’ said Gil slowly. And the shorter man’s initial was M, he thought. The other, presumably, was S. Muir, Mowatt, Marr, even Murray? Scott or Steel? Or were they Madur and Somerville?

  ‘Isn’t it?’ said Boyd happily. ‘D’you ken either
man?’

  ‘No so as to name or accuse them,’ Gil admitted, ‘but I tell you what, Michael Douglas was to go all about the neighbourhood asking for Audrey Madur the day. If you came back to Belstane wi me you could get a word wi him. He kens the neighbourhood and who dwells in it better than I do.’

  ‘Ah, your good-brother,’ said Boyd. ‘And is madam your mother at home?’

  ‘She is,’ said Gil. There was a short pause, while the horses clopped onwards.

  ‘I’d like fine to put names to them, I’ll admit,’ said Doig in his deep voice. ‘You still have that wolfhound, Maister Cunningham?’

  ‘I’ve no doubt o that, Billy,’ said Boyd. ‘Aye, we’ll call on my aunt, Gil, and thanks for the offer.’ He gathered up his reins. ‘Will we make more haste? I’d as soon be back in Lanark afore first light.’

  ‘I’m surprised you never met Crombie on the road,’ said Michael Douglas. ‘It’s no an hour since he left here.’

  ‘Likely he went round the other side o Kettland Muir,’ said Gil, ‘if he thought he was seeking the trod further up the Mouse Water. He knows these parts well, after all. So Mistress Lithgo’s missing, my wife thinks Audrey Madur’s bairn is born, and Henry’s leading a hot trod through Lanarkshire after them, wi Adam Crombie in pursuit.’

  ‘That’s about the size o’t,’ said Michael. He lifted the jug and poured more of the vinegar-and-water mix into everyone’s cups. They were in the steward’s room, where Alan had set out a generous supper of leftovers and cold cuts which, as he said, ought to be ate up afore they were much older. ‘No, I’d my supper wi the ladies, help yoursel,’ he went on as Gil offered him a slice of pie. ‘Tib couldny wait for her vitals, though she doesny eat that much at a time the now. I’d as soon tell you what I learned, Gil, and get her away back to the Pow Burn.’

  ‘I can see that,’ said Gil. ‘But Sandy, here, wants to learn if you ken these two men he and Maister Doig have had dealings wi.’

  ‘It’s Billy that’s had dealings wi them,’ said Boyd. ‘I prefer no to niffer wi the nameless.’

  Doig threw him a black look from under his heavy brows, but obliged with the two descriptions he had already given Gil. Michael heard him in silence, looking into his cup.

  ‘Left-handed,’ he said at length, ‘and a neb like a Kerr. Old man Madur, from my grandsire’s day, that would be Audrey’s grandsire, was wedded to a Kerr. She’d be mother to Henry and Jocelyn, I suppose, and Jocelyn Madur certainly has her neb, though I couldny tell you offhand if he’s corrie-fisted or no, I’m no that well acquaint wi the man. There’s James Mowat down by Braidwood, that’s left-handed, I chanced to notice it the day, but he’s clippit short as a priest. But the ither sounds gey like Robert Somerville, wi the swashing and the feather in his hat. For all he’s short o money, he’s aye well turned out.’

  ‘Terrible,’ said Boyd, straight-faced. ‘How ever does he do it?’

  Michael shot him a glance, decided he was joking, and went on without comment, ‘Mind, Somerville’s no the only one takes pride in his appearance. There’s a few more it could be.’

  ‘I can see that,’ said Boyd, still straight-faced.

  Michael, who had been riding about Lanarkshire in a red leather doublet of complex cut and even more complex braiding, gave him an exasperated look, and Doig said to Boyd, ‘You’re no help, ken that?’ He paused as Socrates nudged the door open and swaggered in, grinning, to greet him with delight. ‘Get aff, ye daft dug,’ he said, pushing at the shaggy grey head with scarcely hidden pleasure. ‘Aye, ye’ve a good memory, I can tell. I seen that fellow, one time,’ he added to Michael, ‘in a short gown o tawny satin, faced wi crimson silk. Fair made yir een water, it did. That any help?’

  ‘Tawny satin faced wi crimson silk,’ Michael repeated. ‘Oh, aye, that’s Rab Somerville. There canny be two short gowns in the country like it.’

  ‘Right,’ said Gil. ‘That’s one o them named, anyway.’

  ‘And where does he dwell?’ asked Doig grimly. Socrates, deserting him, went to greet first Gil and then his cousin. ‘I’m no a local man, and it seems to me I’m as well no asking a’ that passes by for directions to his lodging.’

  ‘Up ayont Forth,’ said Michael. ‘It’s a fair ride fro here. You’ll no want to set out now, surely?’

  ‘Eight or ten mile from here,’ said Gil. He found his cousin eyeing him speculatively, and sat back, raising a hand, palm out. ‘Oh, no, Sandy. Count me out o this one. I’m doing no more housebreaking wi you or any other.’

  ‘Housebreaking?’ said Michael, startled, and went red. ‘I mean—’

  ‘What, are you feart?’ challenged Boyd. The dog, abandoning hope of attention, padded back to Doig and sat down, leaning heavily against him.

  ‘I could do wi getting my wife home,’ said Michael with determination, ‘and there’s a day’s findings to report. Will you hear me now, Gil, or will I come back the morn?’

  ‘I’ll hear it now,’ Gil said, aware of gratitude. ‘Sandy might as well hear it and all.’

  ‘Oh, a tale!’ said Boyd eagerly. ‘Tell on, tell on, bold Douglas.’

  ‘I made a note,’ said Michael, drawing his tablets from his purse, ‘seeing I wasny sure how far I’d get. Lockhart at the Lee, Waygateshaw, Braidwood, Nellfield, none o those had any word o the lassie and all seemed genuine in their concern when I told them the tale. Though some o them,’ he grinned at his notes, ‘were certain at first I was seeking a load of gunpowder. Seems there’s a tale of a cartload of the stuff going about Lanarkshire. And at Nellfield,’ he added, ‘it was guns I must be seeking. A whole batch of guns brought in from Portingal, said the steward, though he’d seen not a whisker of sic a thing, and couldny mind where he had the tale from. Any road, I had Attie scout all their stables for me, no sign of a jennet or one o Bluebell’s get at any house, though there was other Belstane beasts to be found a plenty. So then, sooner than cross the Mouse I stayed this side and went on to Drums and Foulwood, and then to Castlehill.’

  ‘Who holds Castlehill again?’ Gil asked.

  ‘That’s Henry Madur,’ said Michael.

  ‘Henry? No Jocelyn?’

  ‘Aye. Though he doesny dwell there, it’s a man Lindsay he’s put in it. Civil enough fellow.’

  ‘William Lindsay,’ said Boyd. ‘The Lindsays are sweetly perfumed in the King’s sight, well in wi the court. William’s some kind of a third cousin to Montrose, is that right? Davie Lindsay, I mean.’

  ‘That’s the one,’ Michael agreed. ‘His grandsire and Lindsay of Montrose’s were brothers. Or maybe cousins.’

  ‘There’s a lot o it about,’ said Boyd, not looking at Gil. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Naught to see at Castlehill,’ said Michael, ‘though I kinna wondered if the steward kent more than he let on. When I said I was seeking Mistress Madur he looked round sharpish from what he was at, just about dropped the jug of ale. Lindsay never noticed, he’d his back to him, and by the time I got to ask the man he’d a smooth tale that his wife had mentioned the lassie that morning, saying her groaning-time was near, wondering how she did in this heat.’

  ‘Plausible,’ said Gil.

  ‘Aye.’ Michael emptied his cup, and referred to his tablets while Gil refilled it. ‘So I rade on, Cleghorn, Ravenstruther, where they fed me, Mossplatt, Hyndshelwood, Throwburn, which is Henry Madur’s and the steward had the exact same tale—’

  ‘Did he now?’ said Gil. ‘Did he seem surprised to be asked for the lassie?’

  ‘Seemed to me he was waiting on the question,’ said Michael.

  ‘How long were you at Ravenstruther?’ Gil asked.

  ‘More than an hour,’ said Michael. ‘Plenty time for anyone to ha rid past me, by the back roads up to Throwburn or even across the muir.’

  ‘Did you check the stables?’

  ‘Attie did. No sign o the beasts, but he spied a jennet’s bridle at the back o an empty loosebox when the Throwburn lad went out for a driddle. The wee thing could ha been hid in a far fiel
d, or in one o the barns, or the like.’

  ‘So she’s been as far as Throwburn,’ Gil said thoughtfully, ‘or at least her jennet has, and likely Madur’s men at the least know about it.’

  ‘Aye, but there’s more. Ayont Throwburn I called on both the Forth houses, east and west, and then on to The Cleuch. Rab Somerville holds that,’ he said to Doig, who was watching him intently. ‘D’ye ken the house, Gil?’

  ‘No,’ said Gil after brief thought. ‘Never been there.’

  ‘They’ve built new, abandoned the tower-house, though I think they use it yet for storage. The new house is a hall wi two wings, a bit like our house at the heugh, though a sight bigger. The wings are two floors and an attic, a right warren it must be. So I got there, and the steward welcomed me, offered me a seat in the garden in the shade, and a refreshment, while he sought out his maister. I accepted, seeing the garden’s on the north o the house.’ He glanced from Gil to Boyd, to see if he was understood. ‘I’m seated there, enjoying a draught o some very good ale, and I hear voices. Ower my head, they were, as if they cam from an upper floor of the house. I lost my temper, says one of them, what’s done’s done, so let’s ha an end o’t. And another says, That’s no my concern, my dear. It’s none o my problem if you wish to go about slaying clerks or stealing away ladies—’

  ‘Ah!’ said Gil. Michael nodded, but went on, ‘It’s on your head, he says, I’m here to discuss another matter entirely. And the odd thing was,’ said Michael, ‘the first voice, the one that lost his temper, sounded like Rab Somerville right enow, but the second voice was Irish.’

  ‘Irish,’ Gil said flatly, aware of Boyd beside him intently saying nothing whatever. Across the table, he realised, Doig was equally intent, though his strong fingers worked in Socrates’ shaggy ruff so that the dog groaned faintly in pleasure.

  ‘Aye. Irish out of Ireland, I mean, no an Erscheman. You can tell. So I moved, quiet-like,’ said Michael, ‘to a bench against the house wall, under the window that was open. One o the attic chambers, it was, no wonder they’d both the shutters set wide, it would be stifling hot up there.’

  ‘A kind thought,’ said Boyd lightly. ‘You’d no want them to be embarrassed, thinking they were overheard.’