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Authors: Pat McIntosh
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says.’
‘Or of both of them,’ said Alys, at the door of their bedchamber. ‘Or perhaps someone who dislikes Agnes Renfrew, or apothecaries in general.’
‘Hmm.’ Her father considered this, seating himself at Gil’s gesture in his usual chair by the cooling brazier. ‘I suppose.’
‘Or it could have been an accident after all,’ said Alys. She began to unpin her velvet headdress, and turned away into the other room to finish the task before the looking-glass.
‘All the man’s friends are agreed that it’s out of character,’ Gil concurred, lighting another candle from the one he held. ‘And it does seem a clumsy way to go about it, to poison your rival in front of half the High Street. What puzzles me is this business of it being the wrong flask.’
‘We must find where that one came from,’ said Maistre Pierre. ‘And how it was exchanged for the right one, and by whom.’
‘And whether Bothwell knew it was that flask when he opened his scrip. Did either of you think he seemed surprised to find it?’
‘He might have been,’ said Alys from the bedchamber. ‘I wonder if he paused just a little when he touched it in his scrip.’
‘I was watching Frankie Renfrew,’ admitted the mason. ‘But I thought Bothwell as amazed as the rest of us when his friend fell, which suggests he did not know it to be lethal.’
Rustling sounds suggested Alys was unlacing the apricot silk with its wide sleeves. Gil, who would normally have helped her in this task, put aside the thought of the solid, slender warmth of her ribcage between his hands, and said resolutely, ‘I must speak to Wat Forrest tomorrow, to find out what he has discovered. And to young Bothwell himself.’
‘If the Serjeant will let you,’ said Maistre Pierre gloomily. ‘He has decided the man is guilty, as has Frankie, I suppose.’
‘I’ll go to the Provost if he won’t,’ said Gil. ‘But Alys, you could find out for me, if you will, if all the flasks Bothwell took from the joint order are accounted for, or if that could be one of them.’
‘Yes,’ she answered thoughtfully. Silk rustled again. ‘We must check those. But we need to account for the ones that went out to customers with some preparation in them, as well. It could be one of those.’
‘She is right,’ said her father. ‘And there is another thing I wonder at about young Bothwell. If the father’s substance all went to pay his debts, where did these two get the money to set up in business in Glasgow?’
Alys emerged from the inner chamber, fastening a bed-gown about her, and came to sit down with her comb.
‘Their mother’s portion?’ she hazarded. ‘It needn’t be much, if the season was right. They needn’t even have a physic garden. So much of an apothecary’s stock-in-trade is there for gathering in the countryside at the right time of year. Enough coin to lay in some ginger and liquorice, and a good eye for growing things, and perhaps a few crocks and mortars and paper for packaging, and you have the start of your trade.’
Maistre Pierre shook his head. ‘It puzzles me. Why Glasgow? Why not Edinburgh or Linlithgow, or another nearer town to Lanark?’
‘That’s a good point,’ said Gil. ‘It may not be relevant, but who knows what is relevant at this stage?’
Alys turned to smile at him, her face half obscured by the sheet of honey-coloured hair which gleamed gently in the candlelight.
‘I’ll see what I can learn,’ she said again. ‘And Gil – I know you would rather not have her here, but she would have been alone in the house tonight if she went home.’
‘Aye, very true,’ said Maistre Pierre. ‘It was a wise decision, ma mie .’
Gil made no answer. After a moment she continued, ‘Gil, has anyone else prayed for the poor man?’
‘Father Francis was there,’ he pointed out.
‘No, I mean for Nanty Bothwell. Whatever happens, he has lost a friend, and he probably gave him the poison that killed him. He needs our
‘Or of both of them,’ said Alys, at the door of their bedchamber. ‘Or perhaps someone who dislikes Agnes Renfrew, or apothecaries in general.’
‘Hmm.’ Her father considered this, seating himself at Gil’s gesture in his usual chair by the cooling brazier. ‘I suppose.’
‘Or it could have been an accident after all,’ said Alys. She began to unpin her velvet headdress, and turned away into the other room to finish the task before the looking-glass.
‘All the man’s friends are agreed that it’s out of character,’ Gil concurred, lighting another candle from the one he held. ‘And it does seem a clumsy way to go about it, to poison your rival in front of half the High Street. What puzzles me is this business of it being the wrong flask.’
‘We must find where that one came from,’ said Maistre Pierre. ‘And how it was exchanged for the right one, and by whom.’
‘And whether Bothwell knew it was that flask when he opened his scrip. Did either of you think he seemed surprised to find it?’
‘He might have been,’ said Alys from the bedchamber. ‘I wonder if he paused just a little when he touched it in his scrip.’
‘I was watching Frankie Renfrew,’ admitted the mason. ‘But I thought Bothwell as amazed as the rest of us when his friend fell, which suggests he did not know it to be lethal.’
Rustling sounds suggested Alys was unlacing the apricot silk with its wide sleeves. Gil, who would normally have helped her in this task, put aside the thought of the solid, slender warmth of her ribcage between his hands, and said resolutely, ‘I must speak to Wat Forrest tomorrow, to find out what he has discovered. And to young Bothwell himself.’
‘If the Serjeant will let you,’ said Maistre Pierre gloomily. ‘He has decided the man is guilty, as has Frankie, I suppose.’
‘I’ll go to the Provost if he won’t,’ said Gil. ‘But Alys, you could find out for me, if you will, if all the flasks Bothwell took from the joint order are accounted for, or if that could be one of them.’
‘Yes,’ she answered thoughtfully. Silk rustled again. ‘We must check those. But we need to account for the ones that went out to customers with some preparation in them, as well. It could be one of those.’
‘She is right,’ said her father. ‘And there is another thing I wonder at about young Bothwell. If the father’s substance all went to pay his debts, where did these two get the money to set up in business in Glasgow?’
Alys emerged from the inner chamber, fastening a bed-gown about her, and came to sit down with her comb.
‘Their mother’s portion?’ she hazarded. ‘It needn’t be much, if the season was right. They needn’t even have a physic garden. So much of an apothecary’s stock-in-trade is there for gathering in the countryside at the right time of year. Enough coin to lay in some ginger and liquorice, and a good eye for growing things, and perhaps a few crocks and mortars and paper for packaging, and you have the start of your trade.’
Maistre Pierre shook his head. ‘It puzzles me. Why Glasgow? Why not Edinburgh or Linlithgow, or another nearer town to Lanark?’
‘That’s a good point,’ said Gil. ‘It may not be relevant, but who knows what is relevant at this stage?’
Alys turned to smile at him, her face half obscured by the sheet of honey-coloured hair which gleamed gently in the candlelight.
‘I’ll see what I can learn,’ she said again. ‘And Gil – I know you would rather not have her here, but she would have been alone in the house tonight if she went home.’
‘Aye, very true,’ said Maistre Pierre. ‘It was a wise decision, ma mie .’
Gil made no answer. After a moment she continued, ‘Gil, has anyone else prayed for the poor man?’
‘Father Francis was there,’ he pointed out.
‘No, I mean for Nanty Bothwell. Whatever happens, he has lost a friend, and he probably gave him the poison that killed him. He needs our
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