A Pig of Cold Poison (29 page)

‘That’s not what I asked you,’ Gil said. ‘Mistress Grace, did you poison Frankie Renfrew?’

‘I did not,’ she said. ‘I swear by my hope of salvation, I did not.’

There was a pause. Nicol turned to look at his wife. Gil tensed to jump forward, but Alys made a small movement of her hand.
Stay back
.

‘Grace? Is that true?’

‘I’ve just sworn it, my loon,’ she said.

Nicol’s gaze swung back to Gil. ‘D’you believe her?’

‘Do you?’

‘A course I do. No, wee lass, you’ll not trick me like that,’ he added to Alys, adjusting his grip on her arm. Over by the other rail the mate had begun stealthily moving backwards away from the group. ‘Gerrit, tell Hans I can see him. I’ve still got a blade to this bonnie wee wifie’s throat, and I’ll use it if he gets too close. A course I believe Grace,’ he continued, as if he had not interrupted himself, ‘I ken fine when to believe her.’

‘And I you, Nicol,’ said Grace. ‘Give him his answer. You didny poison Frankie either.’

Nicol looked at Gil again, smiling happily. ‘Then we needny ha come away like this,’ he said.

‘This is all nonsense,’ said Maister Renton suddenly. ‘What’s the trouble, anyway? I’ve still to prove these packages and write you out a docket for whatever port you’re headed for, and I’ve more to do the day than stand here fasting, waiting for you to tell us why you’re –’

‘Get on and prove them, then,’ said Nicol. He drew Alys to one side, and nodded at the heap of boxes. ‘There you are, and plenty folk to help you. Grace, you have the keys, haven’t you no?’

‘But what is it about?’ Gil demanded. ‘You’ve never said, man. Why are you threatening my wife? Why did you steal her away down the river in the first place? She’s no wish to go wi you, and you’ve a wife of your own.’

‘She’s too clever,’ said Nicol. The hand holding the dagger shook a little, and a bead of something dark sprang on Alys’s neck. ‘Too clever by half. She’d worked it all out, afore ever we left Glasgow, and told it all to Grace, the bits Grace didny tell her, all the way down the Clyde.’ At the words Grace looked over her shoulder from where she bent to the stack of boxes. She and Alys exchanged a long look, but Nicol went on, ‘Frankie Renfrew brought about his own death, and I believe that, but I’m none so sure you do, Gil Cunningham.’

‘You believe your wife,’ said Gil. ‘I’ll believe mine, Nicol, if you’ll let her speak. Alys?’

The knife eased away from her white skin, and the dark bead trickled down towards the band of her shift. She met Gil’s eye and said shakily, ‘Grace is guilty only of making something someone else used. She has told me all. And we never did think Nicol guilty of – guilty of –’

‘You see?’ said Syme from the cabin doorway. ‘Nicol, man, this is madness. Let Mistress Mason go and we can all get home to –’

There was a bloodcurdling yell, and Grace and the custumar both cried out as something large hurtled out of the dull sky and swung down on Nicol. He went headlong, dragging Alys with him, but before they reached the planks Gil was there, flinging himself on top of him, kneeling on his wrist, snatching at the knife.

They struggled briefly, then Nicol seemed to give up. Gil dragged the other man to his feet, gave him into the grasp of two sturdy mariners, and looked about him. Syme was just helping Alys to rise, and beyond her, the large object which had appeared so timeously was –

Was Luke, surrounded by coils of rope, also picking himself up and blowing on his palms.

Two steps took Gil to Alys, to clamp her against his side, feeling he could never let go of her again. ‘Well done,’ he said to the boy. ‘Very well done, Luke. What did you do, anyway?’

‘He has climbed the mast, all in the dark,’ Gerrit said admiringly. ‘We make you a mariner,
ja
?’

‘I sclimmed up all their scaffolding,’ said Luke. ‘Then there was a block I saw I could ride down on and get his attention, so I just did. I couldny call out to you first, maister,’ he said earnestly, ‘for he’d ha heard me and all.’

‘Maister Mason will hear of this,’ Gil said, and clapped the boy on the shoulder with his free hand. ‘And I thought you were afraid of boats.’

‘Oh, aye, boats,’ agreed Luke, ‘but scaffolding is just scaffolding.’

‘Let me understand,’ said Maistre Pierre.

It was next day, after dinner, and he had joined them on the settle by the fire, one arm around Alys, his hand gripping Gil’s shoulder, as if he could not yet believe they were both safe unless he was touching them. The dog, still slightly offended that they had gone out without him, was sprawled on the hearth. Opposite them, Catherine sat with her beads, bright dark eyes watching them all under her black linen veil.

They had given the household an explanation of sorts when they reached Glasgow the evening before, weary and damp despite the hospitality of Renton and his wife, who had provided food, rest, a fire to dry their clothes. Not that Gil and Alys had rested much, either then or when they fell into their own bed; matters between them were certainly mended, though Gil did not entirely understand why or how.

‘This whole case has been all back to front,’ he said after a moment.

‘How so?’ said Maistre Pierre.

‘Well – Gibson died, poor fellow, and set us asking questions. We asked so many that by this third death, which I think was the one intended all along, we already had most of the answers. Not that it helped much. And yet what happened to Gibson was an accident.’

‘Intended?’ repeated Maistre Pierre. ‘This woman concocted a deadly poison which killed two people without her intention –’

‘So she swore to me,’ said Alys. ‘I do believe her.’

‘You think it was intended to kill the third? But you said she also swore she had not killed her good-father. So what was her intention? Simply to see how the poison was made?’

‘I can’t say,’ said Alys, as she had already said to Gil. He was certain the turn of phrase was carefully chosen. ‘But she did not use it. Nor did Nicol.’

‘I suppose each was protecting the other,’ remarked Catherine, ‘which is very commendable in a married couple.’

‘Why did she change her mind?’ demanded Maistre Pierre.

‘She said it was a heart attack,’ said Alys, and shivered. ‘She – she witnessed it. I think she is guilty of that at least.’

‘What, of causing a heart attack?’ Gil turned his head to look at her, startled by the idea.

‘No. Of watching it and doing nothing to help. His drops might have – might have –’

‘Might have made things worse,’ said Gil.

‘You are talking in riddles,’ complained Maistre Pierre, but Catherine was nodding, and Alys was staring at him, her eyes wide.

‘
Ah, mon Dieu!
’ she breathed. ‘Of course! And he never – he never –’

‘He never swore he did not kill his father,’ Gil agreed. ‘Though he first told me it was none of his doing, the morning of the quest.’

‘And we let him go,’ she said.

‘Still riddles!’

‘I suspect Nicol has been tampering with his father’s drops,’ said Gil. ‘It’s only a guess,’ he admitted, ‘but it would fit. They didn’t seem to be helping him much lately. I asked Adam about it this morning. There are things one could add to the mix, obviously, but even putting in too much of something that’s already in the compound could be effective, and he hinted as much, you recall, Alys.’

‘And we let him go,’ she said again.

‘It would be impossible to prove, even if I could persuade the Provost that it hadn’t been a simple heart attack.’

‘If his wife suspected it,’ Maistre Pierre was considering the idea, ‘it would explain why she was so quick to clear Frankie’s chamber and wash him.’

Alys shivered again. What was troubling her? Gil wondered. Was she simply tired?

‘It was her idea to come to Glasgow, she told me,’ she said. ‘How she must regret it.’

‘You think justice has not been served?’ said Maistre Pierre, watching Gil’s expression.

‘Justice has not been served,’ he agreed.

‘No, surely,’ said Alys, ‘it is the law which has not been served. Justice has been done, I think.’

‘I think you correct,
ma mie,
’ said Catherine. ‘The poor lady. She has much to regret.’

‘No, that sounds too philosophical for my taste,’ said her father. He gripped Gil’s shoulder tightly, released it, and got to his feet. ‘I must get to work. I have accounts to see to for the quarter day. Not to mention some reward to consider for Luke, since I can hardly offer him my daughter’s hand. I leave you to your philosophy.’

Ever since it became a kingdom, Scotland has had two native languages, Gaelic (which in the fifteenth century was called Ersche) and Scots, both of which you will find used in the Gil Cunningham books. I have translated the Gaelic where needful, and those who have trouble with the Scots could consult the online
Dictionary of the Scots Language
, to be found at http://www.dsl.ac.uk/dsl/

The Harper’s Quine

The Nicholas Feast

The Merchant’s Mark

St Mungo’s Robin

The Rough Collier

The Stolen Voice