‘Does it?’ said Gil politely.
‘And she poisoned Thomas Murray,’ said Alys.
‘It could be nobody else,’ he agreed.
‘You’ve no even worked out what slew him,’ said Arbella, though the dog growled again. ‘How can you tell who it was?’
‘I know very well what slew him. Where is the yew tree, madam?’ asked Alys. Gil looked down at her, and smiled in the candlelight.
‘Of course,’ he said.
‘Your mind’s turned, lassie,’ said Arbella again. Socrates’ snarl grew louder. ‘Call this brute off me, maister, I’m an old woman and it’s no right to keep me here on the cold ground wi’ a savage beast standing ower me — ’
‘Was it right to kill Murray and an innocent bystander?’ Gil asked. He handed Alys his whinger, and lifted the stick which had fallen the last few feet of the shaft with him, measured the broken end of the rope which was tied to it, and began to unravel the knots about the stick. Arbella shrank away from the dog’s teeth, the hood of her leather sark falling back. Her linen undercap had come askew, and her white hair straggled loose, the blood from the dog’s nose darkening it in the candlelight.
‘None so innocent, was he?’ she retorted. ‘Filthy catamite!’
‘He had done you no harm, and he should have had his chance at repentance. But those were only the most recent, I think. What about the others?’
‘What others?’ said Arbella scornfully. ‘You’re raving, the pair of you.’
‘Your husband,’ said Gil. ‘Your son Adam, seven years after him — ’
‘Attie went under a roof-fall, ten fathom that way.’ She jerked her head sideways, and the dog growled deep in his chest.
‘Like the one today?’ said Gil. Alys glanced at him in the dim light, then hastily back at her target. ‘So you admit to poisoning your husband?’
‘I said no such thing.’
‘And there was your other son, seven years after Adam.’
‘You’re reading a strange lot into our ill fortune, sir.’ Arbella stirred, and the dog snarled in her face. ‘Free me of this monstrous brute, afore the roof falls here — ’
‘Is that a threat?’ Gil was still working on the knots. The light could be no help, thought Alys, glancing at him again. He must be working by touch alone. ‘Why did you kill Murray?’
‘Have I said I did?’
‘I know you did, and I’ve a good guess at why. I just want to know which reason you’ll give me.’
‘No, maister, you tell me. Why should anyone kill Thomas Murray?’
‘He asked too many questions, didn’t he?’ said Alys, still holding the sword ready. ‘He had got too close to the secret.’
‘Secret!’ scoffed Arbella from her prone position. ‘What secret?’
‘Give me the sword,’ said Gil, ‘and you tie her arms.’
Alys obeyed, the dog was persuaded with difficulty to stand back, and Arbella sat up, still scoffing. Alys bound her arms at elbow level, and said quietly, in the old woman’s ear, ‘Did he know who her father was?’
The spare body between her hands jerked convulsively at the words, but what Arbella said was, ‘Whose father? All the fathers in the place is dead.’
‘That’s true,’ agreed Alys. And whose doing is that, madam? she thought. ‘But had he guessed it?’
Arbella threw her a glance of acute dislike, but did not answer. Gil watched carefully, saying nothing. Alys sat back on her heels and went on.
‘As grieve, he had access to the accounts. There’s a lot to be learned from well-kept accounts, Mistress Weir, and yours are very well kept. I think Murray had come too close to — to a thing you would rather he didn’t spread about. So first of all you wedded him to Joanna, but that was hardly a success, was it?’ Arbella said nothing. ‘Then when he began to ask for more favours, he had to go. What had he asked for? Money? Control of Joanna’s portion?’ Still there was no answer. ‘And you have killed before, madam, haven’t you, many times, as my husband says? But that was different. That was for the coal.’
‘For the coal?’ Gil repeated.
‘Coal takes blood in exchange, she told me.’ Alys leaned closer to Arbella again. ‘If I swear,’ she said coaxingly, ‘to do my best to make sure she never learns, will you confess to poisoning Thomas Murray?’
There was a pause. Bruised, dishevelled, sticky with blood which was not hers, Arbella turned her head to stare at Alys.
‘Now why would I do that?’
‘Because you love her,’ said Alys. ‘You use your grandchildren, don’t you? Raffie to be a learned man, Bel to fetch your herbs home, Phemie to gather intelligence. But you don’t use her, you indulge her and pet her. You love her.’
There were voices, away down the tunnel. A light glimmered on the rock faces. Arbella turned her head to look down that way, and drew a deep breath and released it.
‘What will you swear by?’ she asked harshly.
‘Yew,’ said Lady Egidia. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘That was what Bel told me,’ said Gil, tightening his clasp on Alys. He was beginning to feel warm again. ‘I misinterpreted what she wrote. Arbella poison yew.’
‘How effective a poison is it?’ asked Michael Douglas, across the hearth.
‘Very,’ said Alys. ‘It will kill a horse that eats some of the leaves.’
‘A brew of the bark or the needles would do it,’ said Lady Egidia. ‘Bitter, I expect, but the cordial tastes strongly enough, by what you say, no doubt it would be disguised.’
Gil nodded, and stretched his feet nearer the fire, beside the sleeping dog. Alys moved closer against his side, and smiled up at him.
When he and Alys had reached the gates of Belstane in the middle of the afternoon, chilled to the bone and caked in the mud of the coal-heugh, Lady Egidia had taken one look at them and ordered the fire lit in the washhouse. They had scandalized Alan Forrest and deeply amused his mistress and her waiting-woman by sharing the resulting hot tub, and were now clean and relaxed. Alys’s hair was still lying loose on her shoulders and shining in the candlelight, to Gil’s quiet pleasure. Even when Michael had arrived to report Arbella’s safe incarceration in Lanark jail, she had not covered it again, but only bound it back with a linen fillet, quite as if the young man was a member of their close family.
‘And was Fleming right about the witchcraft?’ asked Lady Egidia now.
‘Yes and no,’ said Alys. ‘There was — there was certainly evidence. He showed us several wax mommets, all stuck with thorns and pins, and Henry and I found — ugh!’ She shivered. Gil tightened his arm about her again, thinking of the way the little brocade bag had flared yellow smoke and made a great stink when they thrust it into the remains of the washhouse fire. ‘But I think the witchcraft was Arbella’s work, not any of the others. They were as horrified as the men to see it.’
‘You haven’t got her to confess?’
‘Not to that,’said Michael, ‘and no need for it, that I see.’
‘I agree,’ said Gil, ‘though the Sheriff may think otherwise. The charge of murder is enough.’
‘But will that go through?’
‘It should, though it’s only the one charge. I’d dearly like to see her tried for the other three or four, but they’re too long ago, the evidence is too circumstantial. She’ll drown for Murray at any rate, and well served.’
‘Aye, and why was she busy killing all the men round the coal-heugh?’ demanded Michael.
‘I’d like to know and all. It seems an odd way to behave,’ pronounced Lady Egidia.
‘I think you got an answer to that, sweetheart?’ Gil asked, looking at Alys.
‘Not clearly. I wonder if she is a little mad? She told me that the heugh demands blood, that the coal is paid for in blood.’
‘But colliers get killed anyway,’ said Michael. ‘It’s a dangerous trade.’
‘Like horse-breaking,’ agreed Lady Egidia.
‘I think she made sure of a death regularly,’ said Alys. ‘What is worse,’ she added, eyes round with distress, ‘is that it seemed to me as if the profits did improve after each one. She must have reckoned that it worked.’