The Harper's Quine (36 page)

‘It is none of your -‘

‘If Bess had died before she disgraced herself -‘

‘Which, St Catherine be my witness, I wish she had!’
exclaimed Euphemia piously.

‘You keep out of this,’ said her brother. ‘If she’d died
before she went for a harper’s whore, Mariota would have
got her Stewart properties.’

‘I’d have seen you in court first!’

‘I’d have taken you there with pleasure.’

‘Bess never had no rent off her lands in Bute,’ said
Ealasaidh loudly. Both men turned to look at her. The
mason sneezed again.

‘What are you saying, woman?’ demanded Sempill.

‘Och, what does a singing tramp know,’ began James
.
Campbell

‘You miscall my sister, do you, Mhic Chaileann?’ said the
harper quietly.

‘I am saying Bess never had any money off Bute but
what she brought away with her,’ said Ealasaidh doggedly.

‘And that was what little she had by in the house. She was
saying, if we had waited till St Martin’s tide she would
have had more to bring that was her own rents.’

‘Hold up here,’ said Sempill. ‘Are ye saying she never
brought anything but the coin that was in the house? What
about the plate-chest? There was plenty in that.’

‘Plate-chest?’ said Ealasaidh. There was no mistaking the
blank surprise in her voice. ‘How would she be taking a
plate-chest off Bute, and me not noticing?’

‘Well, she never left it behind,’ said Sempill. His pale
eyes turned to Campbell. ‘At least, so I was tellt. Well,
good-brother?’

Gil stepped back quietly from the shouting.

‘Euan,’ he said to the waiting gallowglass. The man,
intent on the argument, jumped and looked up at him. ‘Go
down yon stair to the kitchen and fetch your brother up
to me.’

By the time Neil sidled into the hall, James Campbell
had reached the point of accusing Ealasaidh directly.

‘And what price did you get for it, you and her? Plenty
of silversmiths in Edinburgh would ask no questions,
though it had the crest on it.’

Ealasaidh was on her feet, spitting Gaelic. Beside her,
Alys was hugging the baby, who was becoming alarmed
by the noise. The harper cut across his sister with a single
calm sentence which made all the Gaelic-speakers in the
room flinch.

‘I must ask you to speak Scots in this court,’ said the
Official, apparently forgetting where he was for the
moment.

‘I ask the court’s pardon.’ The harper rose and bowed in
the direction of Canon Cunningham’s table, his darkbrowed face very solemn. ‘I have said, I am a harper, and
I can determine the truth of the matter.’ It appeared to be
a threat.

‘There is one here,’ said Gil, cutting in smoothly, ‘who
can tell us more towards the facts.’

‘Euan Campbell?’ said his master. ‘What does he
know?’

‘They were asleep when she left,’ said Campbell of
Glenstriven. ‘She got out of a window, no doubt with help
from this ill-conditioned woman -‘

The harper said something, quietly, to his sister. She
bowed her head and restrained herself. Gil said, ‘I have
seen this window.’ James Campbell turned to look at him,
his jaw dropping. ‘It is this size,’ Gil continued, measuring
the air with his hands. ‘I have not seen the plate-chest -‘

‘It was this big!’ Sempill demonstrated. The dimensions
appeared quite similar.

‘But we are asked to believe that this woman climbed
out twenty feet above the ground, from a window scarcely
big enough to accommodate a laddie, let alone a grown
woman fully clothed, taking with her a box at least the size
of the window and containing near thirty pounds of plate,
as well as coin and jewels.’

‘Forty pounds of plate at least!’ Sempill corrected.

‘I have the inventory,’ Gil said, looking at another of the
parchments in his hand. ‘Twenty-seven pounds, ten and a
half ounces. There were never any marks of a ladder
found, so she either jumped or climbed down a rope with
this box -‘

‘She must have lowered it first to whoever helped her,’
said James Campbell desperately.

‘And landed in the spreading white rose-bush which
grows under that window.’ Euphemia giggled, and was
pinched savagely by her brother again. ‘Shall we hear a
different version? Not Euan Campbell but Neil can tell us
more about that night.’

He beckoned the gallowglass forward, and got him
launched with difficulty on the account he had given on
Sunday evening. While the halting explanation went on he
looked round the faces. On this bench, John Sempill in
steadily rising fury, Euphemia critical as if she was listening to an old tale badly told, her brother in gathering
alarm, Philip Sempill with the expression of a man waiting for a cannon to go off. On the other, the mason absorbed,
Alys watching the baby (she looked up, and their eyes met
for a moment), Ealasaidh intent, her face softening as she
remembered the escape, and her brother beside her, clasping the harp, still as King David on a church doorway. In
the great chair, his uncle was watching the gallowglass.

‘And I never laid eyes on it again,’ the man finished.

‘Lies - all lies!’ said James Campbell, a second before
Sempill said,

‘Right, James. Where is it?’

David Cunningham beckoned to Gil, and when he
approached asked quietly, ‘What is the significance of the
plate-chest?’

‘It is certainly missing,’ said Gil. ‘The contents belonged
to her first husband’s family, and were to revert to them, so
someone owes them the value of twenty-seven pounds of
silver.’

‘And ten and a half ounces,’ the Official added, watching the growing argument before him. At the point where
Philip Sempill leapt up to restrain his cousin, Canon
Cunningham banged sharply on the table with his winecup. Even muffled by the table-carpet the sound was
enough to distract the combatants.

‘I am not certain,’ he said in his dry voice, ‘that this
discussion is relevant to the point at issue, which is
I believe to establish what lands belonged to Elizabeth
Stewart, deceased, in the Island of Bute, and which are
now to be assigned to her son.’

‘May it please the court,’ said Gil, following where his
uncle led, ‘I think it is relevant, since if the money and
other rents did not reach John Sempill and did not reach
Bess Stewart they must still be owing to someone, and
might be said to belong to the bairn.’

‘And what about the land in Kingarth?’ said Philip
Sempill, sitting down. ‘And was there not another stretch
in Rothesay itself? Where are the rents for that?’

‘The conjunct fees. I had the rents off those,’ said Sempill
grudgingly, ‘for what they’re worth.’

‘The land at Kingarth,’ said Gil, referring to the parchment again, ‘is valued at eight merks and a weaned calf,
besides the toll on the rents taken at St Blane’s Fair, which
my informant estimated at a considerable sum.’

‘What?’ Sempill stared at him. ‘And I suppose there’s a
goldmine on the plot on the shore?’

‘No, but there is a very handsome barn on it,’ said the
mason, ‘used by a cartel of merchants whose turnover is
probably a thousand merks a year, I would guess.’

‘The barn? You told me it was the next toft!’ John
Sempill’s hands were at his brother-in-law’s throat. James
Campbell flung himself backwards off the bench, rolling
over as he landed to come up with his dagger drawn.
Euphemia screamed, but Philip Sempill got between them,
stripping off his gown to use as a defence.

‘Be seated, maisters!’ said David Cunningham sharply.

‘I sent you on the rent,’ said the laird of Glenstriven,
ignoring him. ‘I sent you it with that pair of perjured
caterans.’ He jerked his head at Neil, who was in front of
the table, stooping to retrieve the scattered wine-cups. ‘It
should have reached you.’

‘Oh, aye, it reached me. Eight shillings reached me for
the two properties at Candlemas. Less than two merks and
a half for the year, that makes. Where’s the rest, James?
Where’s the rest? Is that what your fine education and
your foreign travel does for you? Is that what studying law
in Italy learns you?’ He tried to push his cousin aside. ‘Let
me at him, the cheating -‘

James Campbell cracked.

‘Oh, there was more than that, John. I sent it to
Euphemia.’

James!’ She leapt to her feet, her hands at her bosom,
her eyes luminous with martyred virtue, the image of a
little saint accused before Caesar. Sempill turned to her.

‘Where’s the money, Euphemia?’ He held his hand out,
as if expecting her to produce it from her bodice.

‘I - I gave you all James sent me,’ she said, tears quivering in her voice. ‘Don’t be angry with me.’

‘I’ll be as angry with you as I choose to be,’ he snarled,
face to face. ‘What did you do with the money,
Euphemia?’

‘I gave you it, John!’

‘That you did not,’ said her brother. ‘Most of it’s on your
back, high-kiltit hussy that you are. How much do you
think she paid an ell for that satin she’s wearing?’

‘Is it so?’ said Sempill, advancing on her. She gave back
another step. ‘Keep my rents back, would you, and then
come winding round me begging for this and that jewel,
with me scraping and pinching to find the money I owed
the Crown -‘ He snatched the gaud hanging at her waist
and yanked at it. She screamed, but lurched forward
against him. Philip Sempill was there again.

‘Sit down, please,’ he begged them, ‘as we are bid. Sit
down and discuss this properly.’

Now there’s a vain hope, thought Gil. His sleeve was
tugged. He looked round, and found one of the gallowglasses beside him, directing his attention to the kitchen
doorway.

Maggie stood there, beaming broadly, one red fist
clenched.

‘Easy,’ she said when he reached her. ‘A wee secret
drawer in the bottom of her jewel-box.’

‘Secret?’ he said, startled.

‘You don’t hide much from Marriott Kennedy. No that
secret,’ she admitted. ‘And did you know the woman
Campbell has a troutie in the well?’

‘She does, does she? Did Marriott tell you that?’

She nodded, and opened the fist to show him her
trophy: a plain gold cross, smoothly shaped and sweet to
hold.

‘And this was with it,’ she added, and showed him a
little key in her other hand. He took key and cross, and
kissed her.

‘Well done, Maggie. Wait here a moment, will you?’
He crossed behind the Official in his great chair, barely
noticing Mistress Murray, who was swelling like a threat ened hen and glaring at Maggie. Alys looked round as he
approached her.

‘Bring the bairn,’ he said quietly, ‘and come away. There
may be a bit of a squabblement shortly.’

‘I want to watch!’ she said, following him back round to
the kitchen stair. ‘It’s like jousting, isn’t it? You’re defending the truth against all comers.’

Gil, quite charmed by this view of matters, introduced
her to Maggie and dispatched the pair of them downstairs
cooing over the baby, with instructions to send Tam up.
Then he turned back to the fray.

It appeared at the moment to be a four-handed shoutingmatch between both Sempills and the Campbell brother
and sister, each taking on all comers. Nobody else was
attempting to speak, which was probably just as well, he
reflected.

The mason caught his eye and nodded approvingly, then
sneezed again. Drawing a deep breath, Gil moved forward,
and placed the cross on its ribbon on his uncle’s table, the
key beside it.

‘What is this?’ asked David Cunningham.

‘Evidence; said Gil deliberately, ‘of who killed Bess
Stewart, and therefore also Bridie Miller.’

la?r

‘What did you say?’

Sharp exclamations from Philip Sempill and James
Campbell. Ealasaidh, identifying the cross from the far end
of the bench, was speaking in an urgent undertone to her
brother. Sempill and Euphemia were still shouting.

‘I thought you wanted me to have nice things!’

‘Not to that tune, you light-fingered bismere! How much
have you had? What have you cheated me of? Tell me
that!’

‘Lady Euphemia!’

Campbell of Glenstriven said something vicious in
Gaelic which made Ealasaidh nod, pursing her lips.
Euphemia turned to look at him, flung a glance so swift at the table that Gil would not have seen it if he had not been
waiting for it, and clasped her hands at her throat.

‘Oh, I am breathless!’ she said. ‘I am faint!’ She dropped
gracefully into her brother’s arms, an effect badly marred
by his pushing her away and dumping her unceremoniously on the bench. Mistress Murray hurried forward, with
another dark look at Gil, and began patting hands and
exclaiming.

‘If the lady is not well,’ said Canon Cunningham,
‘should we adjourn?’

Gil shook his head at him over the roiling mass between
them. John Sempill emerged from it, his cousin at his
elbow.

‘What’s that you say, Gil Cunningham?’ he demanded.
‘Do you know who killed Bess? Who was it? Was it no the
Italian?’

‘If you sit down, I will explain,’ said Gil.

‘I thought we were sorting who took the plate. And the
rents,’ he added, with a savage kick at his mistress’s
ankle.

‘All this excitement’s not good for her, Maister Sempill,’
Mistress Murray remonstrated.

‘I’ll be a lot worse for her yet,’ he threatened, and
Euphemia moaned faintly.

‘It’s all linked,’ Gil said.

Sempill glowered at him, but sat down, pushing
Euphemia along. She was now drooping on her companion’s bosom with little fluttering movements; unimpressed, Sempill said, ‘If you can’t sit up straight, go and
he on the floor. Philip and James want to sit down.’

‘I am ill,’ she said plaintively. ‘I feel sick.’

‘There is a garde-robe in the corner,’ said Gil. Euphemia
rose, and tottered towards it, supported by Mistress
Murray. The sounds which emerged from behind the curtain suggested that she was indeed throwing up.

‘Come on, then, man,’ said John Sempill. ‘Who killed
Bess?’