The Harper's Quine (15 page)

‘Yes, your honour,’ said the pedlar hastily. ‘Forgive me,
father, I didn’t see you was a priest, father ..

Gil moved on, his jaw tightening. Not yet, he thought,
not yet.

‘Why, Maister Cunningham!’ said a voice at his elbow.
He turned in sudden hope, and found himself looking into
the sparkling, elfin countenance of Euphemia Campbell.
‘Good day to you, sir.’

‘Good day, madam,’ he returned, bowing. She curtsied
in reply, her cramoisie velvet pooling on the damp flagstones. It was already marked at the hem. Her neck bent
elegantly under the mass of folded linen, and a heavy waft
of perfume reached him. ‘Exploring the market?’

This close, he could see that she was older than one
thought at first. The fine skin round her eyes was beginning to sag, and there were lines coming between the
insignificant nose and the mouth which was now pouting
prettily.

‘There’s not much to explore, is there? The apothecary
can’t supply enough ambergris for my perfume - I have
my own receipt, you know - so I came to look at the rest
of the town. Where do Glasgow wives go for linen and
velvets?’

‘I have no idea,’ he admitted.

‘Perhaps Antonio knows. Tonino?’ She smiled along her
shoulder at the small dark man who stood watchfully at
her side, his hand on the hilt of his sword, and spoke
briefly in Italian. He shook his head, and she laughed. ‘No?
Men never know. Mally can find out for me. Are you for
the Upper Town, Maister Cunningham? Can you convoy
me?’

‘As far as Greyfriars, gladly,’ he said perforce, offering
his arm. Lady Euphemia laid her hand on it, the elegantly
embroidered glove in contrast with the dusty black of his
sleeve, and turned with him, the small man always at her
other elbow.

‘You aren’t much like your brother, are you?’ What does
she mean by that? Gil wondered, but she chattered on.
‘Greyfriars? Oh, of course, that poor woman’s to be buried
this afternoon, isn’t she? John will be there. It’s only
proper.’

‘I’m sure Sempill of Muirend will do what is right,’ said
Gil, and was aware of sounding fatuous.

‘And have you come any nearer finding who killed her?
Or who struck down the mason’s boy? What about his
lass? It must be very difficult for you, with so little
evidence.’

‘We are searching for evidence,’ he assured her.

‘I suppose if you find all her missing possessions it will
help,’ she chattered. ‘The plaid, the purse, the harp key
and - what was it? A cross? That the poor mad woman was screaming at the gates about last night. I thought at
first it was the devil himself come to get us all!’

As well you might, thought Gil, trying to suppress the
image of her bare back by candlelight.

‘And John was furious.’ She giggled throatily. ‘Such a
rage he was in. It took me the rest of the night to soothe
him.’

Gil, grasping her meaning, wondered if his ears were
going red. He risked a glance at her and found her suddenly very like her brother, smirking at him sideways like
a well-fed cat, the dimple very much in evidence. Beyond
the piled-up linen of her headdress he met a burning stare
from the small man.

‘How is the mad woman?’ she went on. ‘I heard you
took her away - is she locked up? She certainly ought to be
out of harm’s way. She needs to be tied to St Mungo’s
Cross for the night, like one of Colqhoun’s servants at
Luss. They brought him all the way in and tied him to the
Cross. It cured him, too, at least he died, but he was sane
when he died.’

‘She is safe enough,’ Gil began.

‘And the dogs barking like that. I thought I would die
laughing when all the neighbours woke and started shouting too. I’m surprised the Watch didn’t come to see what
the trouble was. I’m sure they could hear the noise in
Inveraray.’

‘Nobody shouted for the Watch.’

‘I saw a lovely piece of black velvet when I was last in
Rothesay. It was very dear, so I just left it, but I wish now
I’d bought it, for there’s not a scrap fit to wear in Glasgow
and I’ve nothing suitable to go to a burying in. If I can
borrow a black mantle I’ll be there, but I don’t know.
Antonio can bring me, or Euan. He ought to be there, dear
knows - after all,’ Euphemia said, giggling again, ‘he
promised to see her home.’

‘Maister Cunningham! Maister Cunningham!’

Feet hurried in the muddy street. Gil halted, and looked
back over his shoulder, to see Alys pattering towards them past a group of maidservants, her brown skirts hitched up
out of the mud, neat ankles flashing.

‘Oh, Maister Cunningham, well met!’ she exclaimed as
she reached his side, taking his outstretched hand, answering his smile. She looked beyond him and curtsied to
Euphemia. ‘Forgive me, madame. I hope I don’t intrude.
I am sent with a word from my father to Maister
Cunningham.’

‘Not at all, my dear,’ said Euphemia in execrable French.
‘We were merely discussing the markets of the burgh.’ Her
eyes flicked over Alys’s linen gown. ‘I don’t imagine you
can tell me where to buy cloth in Glasgow.’

‘Then you haven’t seen Maister Walkinshaw’s warehouse, madame?’ responded Alys politely. Two apprentices passed them, leather aprons covered in mud, rolling
a barrel up the street.

‘Oh, that,’ said Euphemia. ‘But we are forgetting your
errand. What did your father send you to say? Tell Maister
Cunningham, and then you may go home safely.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ said Alys, ‘for my father sends to bid you
to the house, sir.’

‘Is that right?’ said Lady Euphemia, raising her finely
plucked brows. ‘I am sure Maister Cunningham will have
time for your father when he has convoyed me home.’

‘No, madam,’ said Gil in Scots, aware of a level of this
conversation which he did not fully understand. ‘I undertook to see you as far as Greyfriars, and here we are.’ He
nodded at the end of the wynd beside them.

‘What, are we here already?’ She looked round, startled.
‘And I was wanting to ask you -She glanced sideways at
the group of maidservants, who were just passing them,
and lowered her voice. Gil bent his head to hear her,
uneasily conscious of how intimate it must look to the
passers-by. ‘Have you found that girl? The one that was
with the boy?’

‘We have,’ Gil said, ‘but -‘

‘And did she tell you anything?’ Glittering green eyes stared up at him, holding his gaze. ‘Surely she was able to
help?’

‘We haven’t questioned her,’ said Gil, ‘because -‘

‘Oh, but you should have! You must see that! Didn’t you
want to find out what she knew?’

‘We do,’ said Alys at Gil’s other side, ‘but she is the
wrong lass. Forgive us, Lady Euphemia. I am sure Signor
Antonio can see you safe home.’

Euphemia stared from Gil’s face to Alys’s, apparently
startled into silence. Gil seized the opportunity to disengage his wrist from her grasp. Stepping away, he bowed
and strode off down the High Street with Alys hurrying at
his side.

‘All is well,’ she said quietly. ‘You may come to the
White Castle and eat with us.’

‘Shortly,’ he said. ‘I have an errand up the town once
they are out of sight.’

‘They are still watching us,’ she said, with a covert
glance over her shoulder, ‘but you have no errand. All is
well. I have found the harpstring.’

He checked, staring down at her, and she tugged him on
by the hand which still clasped hers.

‘How? How did you know?’

She let goof him and gathered up her skirts again.

‘Come and eat, and I will explain.’

‘There are others must be told.’

‘No, I have seen to all of it. Come and eat - there is just
time before the burial. I asked the harper and his sister too,
when I went back there, but they wished to be early at the
kirk. He has his farewells to make.’

‘I am right glad you found me,’ he said, following her.
‘I can still smell that woman’s scent. It must have been on
her glove.’ He sniffed at the wrist of his doublet. ‘Ugh -
yes.’

Alys turned in at the pend.

‘Where?’ she asked, pausing in the shadows. ‘Let me …?’
She bent her head to his offered wrist. ‘No, your nose must
be keener than mine. I will give you some powdered herbs to rub on the cloth, if you like, to take the scent away. Mint
and feverfew should mask it for you.’

‘That sounds like what Maggie uses against fleas,’ he
observed, following her into-the-yard.

‘It is,’ she agreed, her smile flickering, ‘but it has other
uses. Maister Cunningham, the child is here. He and his
nurse both. The harper knows.’

‘So you didn’t come straight home.’

‘I went to speak to Nancy,’ she agreed, ‘and persuade
her to bring the child here. She knew me by repute, at least
- her sister is Wattle’s wife, and Luke is winching their
cousin - so she was willing enough to accompany me.’ Her
eyes danced. ‘It was exciting,’ she admitted. ‘We spied out
of the window till the gallowglass was gone up the
harper’s stair, and hurried across the yard with the bairn
hidden in Nancy’s plaid. Then we cut round by the back
lands, and across Greyfriars yard, and so down the High
Street.’

‘And the harper?’

‘I went back after they were settled. You were not long
left, it seems.’

‘This is a great relief,’ he said. ‘How did you - what
made you -‘

‘I thought about it last night,’ she said, moving towards
the house stair, ‘and it seemed to me a baby with two
fathers and a murdered mother should be in a safe place
until the thing is untangled.’

‘Alys, you have the wisdom of an heap of learned men,’ he
said.

She laughed. ‘Come and eat, Maister Cunningham.’

On the long board set up in the mason’s well-polished hall,
there was cold cooked salmon, for which Alys apologized,
and a sharp sauce, and an arranged sallet with marigold
petals scattered over it. Further down the table the men
had bannocks and cheese as well, but the maids had eaten
earlier and were hard at work in the kitchen again. The mason, greeting Gil with enthusiasm, drew him to the seat
at his right. He was in funeral black, a great black gown
flung over the back of his chair, and wearing a selfsatisfied expression which he accounted for, as soon as he
had said grace and seen everyone served, by saying,

‘Maister lawyer, I have something to show you in St
Mungo’s yard. We go up there after the Mass.’

Gil raised his eyebrows.

‘Not the weapon, no,’ Maistre Pierre continued with
some regret. ‘I think we search no longer. It cannot be
there. But something strange, which I think you must look
at.’ He pushed salmon into his bannock with the point of
his knife. ‘Alys, how does Davie?’

‘Still sleeping, father. Brother Andrew says the longer
he sleeps the better. We cannot know until he wakes what
sort of recovery he will make, but the good brother is
optimistic.’

‘Hm,’ said the mason, chewing.

‘Nancy will help to watch him.’

‘Ah, yes. This baby. Why are we harbouring a baby?’

‘Because,’ said Alys patiently, ‘although the harper is its
father, it was born less than a year after its mother left John
Sempill. He could claim it as his own in law, and he says
he needs an heir, you heard Maister Cunningham tell us
last night.’

‘Can the law not count?’ asked Maistre Pierre curiously.

‘Stranger things have happened,’ said Gil.

‘And are we any closer to finding what girl it was with
Davie, since it was not Bridie Miller?’

‘No word yet,’ said Alys, ‘but I sent the maids into the
market this morning to learn what they could. It is too
soon, I think, for word to have got back to us.’ She poured
ale for Gil and for her father. ‘They tell me Bridie herself
was there, making great play of how she has had a narrow
escape. She should be here soon - Agnes promised to send
two girls round to help. And they saw you, Maister
Cunningham, and Lady Euphemia and her man. Who I think would do anything at all for his lady,’ she added
thoughtfully.

‘The musician?’ said Gil, startled.

‘Oh, yes. That was how I managed to find you. Kittock
said when she came in that Lady Euphemia had gone up
the street with that wee Italian lutenist on one arm and you
on the other, and looked like two weans being led to the
school,’ she quoted, in excellent mimicry of Kittock’s
broader Scots.

‘Alys,’ said her father reprovingly. She blushed, and
apologized. Gil, contemplating the remark, found it more
comforting than offensive. He said so, earning a grateful
smile from Alys.

‘And what did the Campbell woman say?’ asked the
mason. ‘Anything to the purpose?’

‘God, what was she not saying? Her tongue’s hung in
the middle, I swear it,’ said Gil intemperately. ‘Questions,
questions, about how far we have got. John Sempill will be
at the burial, and she may come if she can find anything to
wear.’ Father and daughter made identical long faces, and
he nodded. ‘Asking about Bridie Miller - you heard her,
Alys - had we questioned her.’

He frowned, trying to recall the flood of words.

‘I’m sure she said something I should note, but I can’t
pick it out among all the nonsense.’

‘If you leave it, it will come to mind,’ said Alys
sagely.

‘Speaking of the burial …’ said Maistre Pierre, and
pushed his chair back.

It was cool and dim in the Greyfriars’ church.

In the side-chapel, candles flickered on the altar, their
light leaping on the painted patterns on the walls, outlining cowl and rough woollen habit where the half-dozen
friars stood waiting, catching the knots in Father Francis
Govan’s girdle as the Superior stood bowing gravely to the
mourners as they entered from the transept. It gleamed on
the harper’s white hair combed down over his shoulders,
on Ealasaidh beside him at the head of the bier, swordstraight, mouth clamped shut, and on the white tapes
which bound the shroud about Bess Stewart’s knees and
shoulders, so that she was reduced within her wrappings
to the essence, neither male nor female, neither young nor
old, but simply human.