The Rough Collier (9 page)

‘So far, so good,’ said Gil. ‘These are all close at hand,’ he added to Alys, who nodded.

‘Aye. Well, after Jerviswood,’ Michael went on, ‘the next on the list is Lanark town, two houses. I decided I’d not go into Lanark yet, but went on to pick up the trail at Ravenstruther. Their steward looked up the accounts and said they lay there on the . . .’ He paused, reflecting. ‘Aye. The twenty-third and -fourth of March. Likely Lanark was more attractive, that they’d stayed longer there in between. I turned for home then, since it was well through the afternoon and I didny fancy my chances pressing on to Carnwath and getting back before dark.’

‘And all was as usual?’ Gil asked. Michael shrugged. Instead of his narrow scholar’s gown, today he was wearing a handsome doublet of soft tawny leather, faced with green velvet at the cuffs and neck, the sleeves and throat of his shirt embroidered in green and tawny thread to match. He seemed five years older and far better looking; Gil suddenly saw what might have attracted his youngest sister.

‘This was four or five weeks ago,’ he was saying. ‘I asked, but nobody minded aught that was out of the ordinary.’

‘Just Murray and his two men,’ said Alys. Michael nodded, and half rose as Lady Egidia returned.

‘Sit still,’ she said, crossing the chamber to her own chair. ‘Alan will bring more food in a little space. This has been good work, godson, even if you learned nothing. Tomorrow you can go on to the next houses on the list.’

Michael went scarlet with what might have been gratification, and Gil sat back, stretching out his legs.

‘So all was well for a good week after they set out,’ he summarized. ‘And meantime, I’m no nearer finding a name to the corp, nor learning just why Fleming brought such a charge against Mistress Lithgo. What about your day, sweetheart?’

‘I found out more than that, I think,’ said Alys diffidently. Alan Forrest entered, with a fresh platter of bread and cheese and a bowl of rather withered apples, which he set on the table by Michael’s elbow. ‘Though none of it may be to the point. Did you say Fleming admitted to having consulted Mistress Lithgo?’

‘Under pressure.’

‘Ah. Only under pressure. That is interesting. He did not say why?’

‘No,’ Gil admitted, ‘though he mentioned ointment which didn’t work. No reason why he should, I suppose, though it might have been more corroboration if he’d told me what way the ointment didn’t work.’

‘Yes,’ said Alys. ‘Phemie told me she had seen him slipping into her mother’s stillroom after they all thought he had left for the day. But Mistress Lithgo never mentioned it today when I spoke to her, nor yesterday when it might have helped her cause.’

‘Ah!’ echoed Lady Egidia. The steward paused in the doorway, half-watching the company. ‘You think . . .’

Alys exchanged a very woman-to-woman glance with her across Gil.

‘It seems possible,’ she agreed. ‘Some problem he might not wish discussed. She is a good woman, and a good healer, I think she would be discreet as a matter of course.’

‘Oh, she would. I wonder what it is? I suppose it could be anything he keeps under his hose. A carbuncle on his hinder end, emerods, trouble with his water. Alan, what are you waiting there for?’ demanded his mistress. ‘Have you aught to add to this?’

‘Aye, well,’ admitted the steward, grinning sheepishly. ‘In a manner o’ speaking. It’s Davy Fleming ye’re discussing, madam, is it?’

‘You ken very well it is,’ she said tartly. ‘What’s the word, then? Have you something Maister Gil should hear?’

‘I’m no just certain. For all you’re saying Beattie Lithgo can be discreet, mistress, I think there’s some word going about among the lassies – the young lassies. The way they laugh when his name’s mentioned, there’s something they’re no telling the men.’

Another of those significant glances passed, and both women nodded triumphantly. Gil, catching up with their thought, looked from his mother to his wife, and objected: ‘Michael’s just told us he’s putting it well about – what, three lassies last summer, two the year afore – that doesn’t sound like what you’re suggesting.’

‘But none since then,’ said Alys.

‘What is it you’re suggesting?’ Michael asked blankly. The steward grinned again, and made an inelegant gesture. Michael went scarlet. ‘Oh! D’you mean he canny get – like some kind of retribution? A judgement on him?’

‘It might be,’ agreed Alys, ‘though I have never heard of it happening so appositely.’ Gil looked down at the top of her head where she leaned against his shoulder, wondering yet again at her capacity to surprise him.

‘I have,’ said Lady Egidia. She paused, considering her household. ‘The lassies would tell me what the joke is, but I’d have to press them to it likely. They’re by far more like to share it wi’ you, Alys. Would you care to have a try at one or two of them?’

‘I should be honoured,’ said Alys.

‘Alan will furnish you wi’ likely names. And did you learn anything more at the coal-heugh?’

Alys nodded, her head shifting against Gil’s shoulder, and put up a hand to straighten her French hood.

‘Much of it was shadows,’ she qualified. ‘Nuances. The man Murray was much disliked – I think all of the women had some reason to wish him ill – but the most interesting was that Joanna is to have her first husband’s share of the inheritance. A half share in the business.’

‘Is she, now!’ said Gil.

‘Is that right?’ said Alan, still hovering in the doorway. ‘I kent the auld – Mistress Weir was daft for her, but I never heard that.’

‘Alan, you may as well be seated,’ said his mistress resignedly, ‘and tell us what you know about the folk at the coal-heugh and all.’

‘Well, it’s maybe no that much,’ said Alan, seating himself primly on the nearest stool. ‘They keep theirsels to theirsels up there.’

This proved to be the case. Few facts emerged, but a picture of a community viewed with suspicion, known to be violent, said to be feckless. The heugh was thought to be haunted, possibly by Mistress Lithgo’s husband, which Alan thought must be right, for else why would the colliers not work at night? Mistress Lithgo herself was well known and well liked, her daughters regarded warily – ‘They’re bonnie lassies, but nobody kens how they’ll be placed,’ said Alan. Gil recognized the reference to the girls’ dowries.

‘And the old woman?’ he prompted. ‘What’s said of her?’

‘Little enough,’ returned Alan. ‘I think it’s well kent who’s in charge up there, whatever man’s collecting the fee for the coals. Likely nobody wishes to offend her.’

‘Nobody wishes to offend me,’ said Lady Egidia, ‘and there’s plenty said about me by what I hear.’

I’ll wager there is, thought Gil, hiding a grin.

‘Aye, well,’ said Alan awkwardly.

‘Maister Forrest!’ Hasty feet sounded on the tiled floor of the hall, and the steward turned his head. The kitchen-boy appeared in the doorway, puffing in excitement. ‘Maister Forrest, you’re called for,’ he said, ducking and touching his wide bonnet as he spoke. ‘It’s someone at the yett. They’re saying it’s him from the coal-heugh.’

‘From the – who is it?’ demanded Gil. ‘The man Murray?’

The boy stared at him open-mouthed. He was probably ten or twelve, clad in an oversize homespun doublet and wrinkled hose, the general effect with his broad sagging bonnet very like one of the mushrooms that appeared in the horse-pastures in the dawn.

‘Who is it at the yett, Nicol?’ repeated Alan Forrest. ‘And uncover afore your mistress, you daft laddie.’

Nicol dragged off the bonnet, revealing a shaggy fairish thatch, and ducked again.

‘I never seen them, Maister Forrest,’ he said in alarm. ‘Just they’re saying it’s a man from the coal-heugh.’

Chapter Five

It was not Thomas Murray.

Adam Crombie the youngest stood in the stable-yard in the dying light of the April evening, loud and proud as Ivy, broad-shouldered in his blue student gown, and glowered at Gil.

‘Is it you that’s set this nonsense afoot?’ he demanded. ‘What’s it all about, then? Thomas dug out of a peat-bank, and my mother taken up for a witch? It makes no sense.’

‘I never said that,’ said Jamesie Meikle at his elbow. ‘I said it’s no Thomas Murray, and Mistress Lithgo was freed. By this fellow here,’ he added, ‘so you might as well be civil to him, maister.’

‘I’m glad you’re here,’ said Gil mildly. He stepped back, to allow Alan Forrest to offer ale to both men, and nodded to the stable-hand who held the bridles of two sturdy ponies. ‘Aye, take those beasts in, Tammas. They’ll be hungry, if they’ve come from Glasgow today.’

‘Glad? Why should that be?’ said Crombie, emerging from his beaker. ‘Did you look for us?’

‘There’s all sorts I need to know that I’d not wish to ask the women, that one or other of you can surely tell me. Will you come in the house? You’ll not ride on tonight, I hope. It must be another hour to the heugh, and the light’s going. We can feed you and fit you in a corner somewhere, can’t we, Alan?’

‘Aye, very like,’ admitted the steward with faint reluctance.

‘We’ll no be looked for till the morn,’ said Meikle hopefully, ‘and the owls will fly soon.’

Crombie grunted ungraciously, but followed Gil up the stone steps into the house, saying, ‘What’s going on, then? Jamesie brought me a word from my grandam, but all she says is that I’m needed out at the heugh, and what Jamesie has to add to that’s no great benefit, what wi’ a dead man in the Thorn peat-cutting and that fool Fleming trying to blame my mother for it.’

‘That’s the meat of it,’ agreed Gil, ‘that and the fact your grieve’s missing. He went off five weeks since to fetch the dues for last quarter and hasn’t come home.’

‘Five
weeks
? Have they no sent after him?’ demanded Crombie. ‘Jamesie, you never said it was as long as that.’

‘Mistress Weir won’t hear of sending after him yet.’ Gil led the way into the hall, just as Michael appeared in the doorway of the small chamber, bowing to those within.

‘Servant, madam, Mistress Mason,’ he said, and turned to leave. He checked at the sight of Crombie, who was staring at him from the hall threshold. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘What are you doing?’ demanded Crombie in return, equally hostile. Gil looked from one to the other in amusement, thinking of fighting-cocks.

‘Leaving,’ said Michael curtly. ‘I’ll carry on down the list the morn,’ he added to Gil, replacing his hat, ‘and report again.’

‘Have you light enough to get home by?’ called Lady Egidia. Michael turned in the doorway, raising his eyebrows.

‘Two mile on the old Roman road, most of it on our own land,’ he said. ‘I don’t need a light. I’ll see you the morn, madam.’

‘Good man,’ said Gil, clapping him on the shoulder as he went past. Michael grunted a reply, ducked round the glowering Adam Crombie, and left the house. Gil led the two new guests into another of the small chambers, and went to alert his mother to their presence.

Once both men had washed and eaten, Crombie in modest state in the chamber off the hall, Meikle in the kitchen with the maidservants giggling by the hearth, they forgathered in the steward’s room with a jug of the twice-brewed. Gil offered a concise account of events so far, to which the young coalmaster listened, frowning.

‘It makes no sense,’ he complained. ‘You say you’ve no notion who this corp might be.’ Gil nodded agreement. ‘As for where Thomas might ha’ got to – Jamesie, can you say?’

‘No,’ said Meikle baldly.

‘And David Fleming calling my mother for a witch. My mother! What’s got into him to do that? That’s bad, isn’t it, Maister Cunningham?’

‘It could be,’ Gil said warily. ‘Any woman as herb-wise as your mother is at risk of being accused like that. Have you yourself aught to add to the situation? I’d hoped you might be able to tell me what’s behind Fleming’s behaviour.’

Crombie was silent, staring into his cup of ale.

‘The corp’s nothing to do wi’ us,’ he said at length.

‘I think he’s been in the peat a good many years. Maybe even before your time.’

‘The clerk was teaching my sisters their letters and a bit Latin,’ continued Crombie, ‘till – oh, last autumn. Then when I was home at Yule he’d ceased the lessons. There seemed no reason for it, but Arbella wouldny hear of it continuing. Whether he broke them off, and she took exception to that, or whether my mother put a stop to them and he took a strunt, or what, I’ve no notion. He’s never liked us, for all Arbella’s done him a good few favours. I’ve aye took it it’s down to his father dying in the Long Shaft, but this –’

‘This seems to be aimed at Mistress Lithgo herself,’ Gil agreed, ‘and she can’t have been there when that happened.’

‘No, well afore her time,’ said Crombie, and took another pull at his ale.

‘Was Fleming’s father a collier?’

‘No that I heard. He clerked for the place, kept accounts and the like, I believe. What’s that to the point?’

‘Little enough, if that’s the case. And Fleming himself, is he a good teacher?’

‘Devil knows. My sisters wereny enjoying his lessons much, they’d no sorrow that they were ended. I just left it,’ he said grandly, ‘lassies have no need of reading, Latin or Scots, so long as they can keep the accounts straight.’

‘And is he liked by folk round about?’ Gil asked, ignoring this statement.

‘No as much as Sir Arnold was.’

‘My auntie hasny a good word for him,’ said Meikle.

‘I was up at Thorn and heard some of her words today,’ Gil said, glancing at him. The collier grinned. ‘What did you mean yesterday, Jamesie, about swearing to something on any relic Sir David could produce?’

Master and man looked at each other.

‘Is that still –?’ said Crombie. The collier nodded. ‘What a piece of nonsense. We’ve a chapel of St Ninian up by the coal-heugh, maister, and Sir David wants a relic for it. He and Arbella can never agree on what to search for, nor how much to pay for it, nor who should pay. It’s been an argument atween them these three year.’

‘The man’s a fool. I wonder that my godfather keeps him on,’ said Gil. Neither man rose to this bait. ‘Does he have much to do with you up at the heugh as under-steward?’

‘It’s generally him that collects the quarter’s fee,’ said Crombie, surprised. ‘But it’s mostly that he priests for us, seeing he’s chaplain at Cauldhope.’

Behind them, hinges grumbled as the door was nudged open. The colliers looked round, and both stared in surprise at the long grey muzzle and single bright eye which appeared round the edge of the heavy planks.

‘And what about Murray?’ said Gil, snapping his fingers. Socrates pushed the door wider and padded into the room. ‘Is there any reason why the man would vanish?’

‘A whole quarter’s takings would maybe be reason enough,’ suggested Meikle sourly.

‘Is that so? Would he think so? How much should he gather, all told?’

Crombie shrugged, still eyeing the dog with suspicion. ‘Ten merks? Twelve? Depends how much coal he sold last winter.’

‘Hardly a fortune to run off with. What does the man earn in a quarter?’

‘No that much, I assure you.’

‘And there’s the other two lads,’ Meikle pointed out. ‘He could never just ride off and leave them. They’d surely be back to let us know.’ He made a chirruping noise, and Socrates cocked his head at him.

‘And Joanna,’ said Crombie. The collier’s face froze. ‘He’d be daft to go and leave her, the way my sainted grandam’s will stands, unless she’s altered it since I’ve been in Glasgow.’

Socrates left Gil and went to Meikle’s side, nudging at the man’s hand with his long nose. The collier caressed him, fair head bent over rough grey.

‘Has there been any difficulty with the business?’ Gil asked. ‘Has he maybe run off because there’s no coin, rather than a lot of it?’

‘I see why you wouldny want to ask that of my grandam,’ said Crombie with a short laugh. ‘She’d let you have your head to play with. No, so far’s I’m aware there’s naught wrong wi’ the business. Coal comes out the ground, we sell the coal, the customers pay us and we pay the colliers. Is that no it, Jamesie?’

‘Aye,’ said Meikle.

‘And Murray himself. How do you find the man?’ Gil asked the coalmaster.

‘I’ve no need – he’s aye about the house.’ Meikle gave his master a swift glance, and bent over the dog again. Gil looked at Crombie without expression, and he amended his answer: ‘He’s a good enough worker, a good pitman so my uncle Matt aye said, and he would know, but he’s a knack for rubbing the men up the wrong way. Comes o’ being red-haired, I suppose. By Arbella’s way of it, she’s forever having to smooth things down.’

Meikle shot him another of those looks, and busied himself with refilling the beakers. Socrates had laid his head down on the man’s knee.

‘Is he trustworthy?’

‘You keep coming back to that,’ said Crombie, scowling again. ‘Have you any reason why I would find him otherwise?’

‘Not so far,’ Gil said. ‘We’re hunting along the track he should have taken, soon or late we’ll find whether he left it and where, but I want to consider all the possibilities.’

‘Why? It’s our man that’s missing, if he’s missing. What’s it to you?’

‘I was called in to deal wi’ the accusation of witchcraft,’ Gil reminded him, ‘part of it being Fleming’s thought that the corp in the peat-digging was Murray. If I can find Murray that part of the evidence fails.’

‘I suppose so,’ agreed Crombie grudgingly.

‘Do you know where he’s from? Does he have kin hereabouts, or friends?’

‘No,’ said Crombie. ‘Jamesie? And I never had any reason to doubt him,’ he added, ‘but then Arbella keeps me out of the business. Jamesie, has he mentioned kin to you ever?’

‘No,’ said Meikle. ‘He goes drinking in Lanark, times, he might have friends down there. He never talks much to the rest of us at the coaltown, save the Patersons. I’ve a notion he’s from Fife somewhere, like them.’ He screwed up his eyes. ‘He learned his trade at the sea-coal pits by Culross, I think. That side of the water, at any road.’

What would a sea-coal pit need with a sinker? wondered Gil. ‘The salt-boilers must be just this side of the Forth from there,’ he said aloud.

Crombie snorted, and took a pull at his ale. ‘That was a plan Murray had, and talked Arbella into. Daft idea. We’re short enough as it –’ He broke off, and took another mouthful of ale.

‘It was just the small stuff he wanted to sell them,’ said Meikle, and got a glare for his pains. ‘We canny shift it up here, maister. He might have gone to talk to them.’

‘I know the name,’ Gil said, and drained his beaker, ‘and where they are. I need to talk to them and all. And now I think we should see you settled for the night. You’ll want to be up betimes.’

Out in the stable-yard in the twilight, watching the shadowy dog ranging round checking the scents and adding his own, Gil considered the interview carefully. Magistrand or no, young Crombie did not appear to be a clever thinker, but it seemed as if he was concealing something about his dealings with the missing man. He had claimed nothing was wrong with the business, but he gave an impression of discord among those managing it, and Gil had not missed the last, broken-off remark. If the coal-heugh was not doing well, it might be a reason for the grieve to cut his losses and leave without notice, but what did the salt-boilers have to do with it? And where were the other two men?

Perhaps Alys has gathered more information, he thought hopefully, listening to the quiet sounds from the horses, the rustle of hay in a rack, the clip of shod hoof on cobbled floor. The dog snuffled at a stable door, and its resident snorted in answer. Alys would be waiting in their chamber by candlelight, perhaps reading, or combing down the silken honey-coloured tresses which he loved. He had been dismayed to realize that as a married woman she would have to cover her hair in public.

There were footsteps on the stone stair down from the house door, and he turned to see a dark figure moving towards him. Socrates appeared grinning out of the dark, claws rasping on the cobbles, and bounded towards the newcomer, who paused to greet him and then came forward.

‘Jamesie,’ Gil said.

‘The same,’ acknowledged Jamesie Meikle.

‘Tell me about the salt-boilers.’

The collier’s head moved sharply against the deep blue of the sky, as if he was startled by the request, but after a moment he said quietly, ‘What makes you think I ken aught of use, maister?’

‘I think you’re alert to anything that affects Mistress Brownlie,’ said Gil. There was another sharp movement, and he went on in soothing tones, ‘I’m not suggesting any ill doing. She’s a virtuous woman, I think.’

Meikle relaxed with an audible exhalation.

‘She’s that,’ he acknowledged. ‘I’ve no notion even if she kens what I feel for her, though once I did think – well. Anyway she wedded Murray.’

Poor devil.
Love is to his herte gon, with one spere so kene
, thought Gil.

‘And?’ he prompted, when no more was said.

‘The salt-boilers. When you buy coal, Maister Cunningham, you buy the great coal, am I right? Pieces the size o’ your head or greater.’

‘I suppose so.’ Gil recalled watching deliveries of coal at his uncle’s house. ‘Aye, indeed, the men bear it in from the cart in huge lumps. Some are so big it takes two to carry them.’

‘Aye. Most folk prefer to break up their own coal for burning, that way they can be sure it’s all good coal and no rock. It doesny all come out the ground in great pieces, though, and we’ve trouble shifting the small coal. But it suits the salt-boilers to take it off our hands at a good price, they’re no fussy about the quality and it saves them the trouble of breaking it. The fire under the pan burns more even and all.’

‘Go on.’

‘We’ve a hill of small coal up at the heugh, waiting to be sold on, and Murray was trying to get an agreement to sell it to Willie Wood down at Blackness, that’s all.’