A Pig of Cold Poison by Pat McIntosh Read Free Book Online

wedge of pie halfway to his mouth. ‘Once the poor fellow is buried you can be sure it will all be forgotten.’
    ‘Aye, but the quest,’ said Morison. ‘The whole town will be there to hear. There was a crowd at the gates the now, when I saw the Serjeant off the premises.’
    Alys patted Kate’s arm. ‘Better to wait, as my father says, till the poor man is buried,’ she said, ‘but after that, you must hold a gathering for a great many people, and hold your head up and wear all your jewels. And Augie must wear the King’s chain.’
    ‘And invite the Provost,’ said Gil, ‘and our uncle.’
    ‘And your neighbours,’ added Alys. ‘You are right, Kate, Grace Gordon is well worth the knowing. When did you say they came home, she and Nicol?’
    ‘In May, was it? Poor soul, she’d have had her own bairn by now, but she miscarried within days of reaching Glasgow, and kept her chamber a month or more after it. She’s well now, I’d say, but –’ Kate glanced at Alys, and stopped in mid-sentence.
    The last of the other guests had eventually left, still exclaiming about the afternoon’s entertainment, but Kate had begged the mason’s party to wait on and eat a bite of supper in private with them, saying, ‘I’ve no idea what’s left in the house, it could be thin fare, but we could both do with your company.’
    In fact it was a substantial meal before them, the more so since Kate picked at her plate of cold raised pie and refused the mould of rice and almonds which Ursel had sent up with apologies.
    Morison cast her an anxious glance now, served Alys with a wedge of onion flan, and said, ‘I’m less than convinced it was murder under our roof, anyway. Young Bothwell seemed as stricken as any of us by the man’s death. Can you do aught about it, Gil? After all, you – you got me –’
    Kate shivered. He dropped his serving-knife to put a comforting hand over hers.
    ‘I feel very sorry for that poor woman, his sister,’ said Alys. She and Kate had been in time to witness the removal of the prisoner, with Christian’s angry attempts to interfere restrained by Nancy Sproull and a more sympathetic Barbara Hislop.
    ‘I’m not convinced it was murder by Nanty Bothwell,’ said Gil. ‘I’ll report to my lord and get his instruction, but I agree, Augie, I should be asking questions already, before folk forget what they saw.’
    ‘And what did we see?’ asked Maistre Pierre rhetorically. ‘The only opportunity to poison the man while the players were there in the hall,’ he gestured with his third slice of pie at the door of the small chamber where they sat, ‘was when the doctor put the drops to raise him up.’ He grimaced at the irony implied. ‘But was there some other way it could be ministered?’
    ‘The sword?’ said Morison.
    ‘Was wooden,’ said Gil, ‘and they never struck flesh. It was a very clever display,’ he added, ‘they were well practised.’
    ‘The armour?’ suggested Alys. ‘Something they ate or drank in the kitchen?’
    ‘Christ preserve us,’ said Morison, ‘I never thought o that. Kate, should we –?’
    ‘I’ll ask Ursel,’ said Kate with more resolution. ‘She was to give them ale, she’d likely serve it from the barrel or from a common jug, but she might ha noticed something.’
    ‘The man was rubbing at his mouth,’ Gil recalled, ‘just before he collapsed. Did the drops go on his mouth, Alys? I think you saw better than I did.’
    ‘The second time,’ she agreed. ‘The first time he only touched the man with the lip of the flask, but the second time when he said, Three drops to your beak , I saw them fall.’
    ‘If that was the moment,’ said Maistre Pierre, ‘it worked with astonishing speed.’
    ‘He fell down within a quarter-hour,’ said Alys.
    ‘Less,’ said Gil. ‘The length of a Te Deum , maybe.’
    ‘I can’t bear this. Let’s talk of something else,’ said Kate. ‘Tell me how John does.’
    Nothing loath to discuss his