The Harper's Quine by Pat McIntosh Page B

‘I don’t know what Neil told her.’
    ‘Understood,’ agreed Gil.
    ‘I bid him tell her it was a matter of money. Her money.
Knew that would fetch her,’ he said, grinning. ‘All
Stewarts are thrieveless and she’s no exception.’ The grin faded as the two lawyers looked at him without expression. ‘I was going to offer her her share of the purchase if
she agreed to this transaction.’ He nodded at the desk in
front of him.

    ‘You must be desperate for the money,’ Gil said.
    Sempill scrutinized this, failed to detect sarcasm, and
said, ‘Aye. Well. The Treasury has a long memory. So we
might as well go ahead with it.’
    ‘It seems to me as your conveyancer,’ said Canon
Cunningham, ‘that it is only proper the matter should be
replait - that it should be set aside to wait until you have
identified the corpse yourself. Perhaps you would discuss
this with your witnesses, Maister Sempill. And accept our
condolences on your loss.’
    ‘Aye,’ said Sempill again. He glared at both Cunninghams, rose and withdrew with dignity, slamming the door
behind him so that documents went flying about the
room.
    ‘Well!’ said Gil, stooping for the nearest. ‘Why is he in
such a hurry to get the money?’
    ‘Paisley Cross,’ said his uncle elliptically.
    ‘What was it at Paisley Cross?’ asked Maistre Pierre. He
had been waiting near the door at the foot of the stair.
Without the fur-lined gown he was less bulky but still
big, an inch or two shorter than Gil but far broader. He
had unlaced and removed the sleeves of his jerkin and
rolled up his shirtsleeves, revealing muscular brown forearms decorated with silver scars. ‘This way, maister,’ he
added.
    ‘It began two years since,’ said Gil, following him down
the kirkyard. ‘The Crown granted Paisley burgh status and
a market after Stirling field, you remember, and Renfrew
took exception to another market two miles away from
theirs.’
    ‘This I knew from Davie. Where does Sempillenter?’
    ‘The burgesses of Paisley bought stones to make a mar ket cross, and some evil advised persons of the said town of
Renfrew,’ Gil quoted with relish, ‘came by night and broke
up the stones. If Sempill of Eliotstoun -‘

    ‘Ah, the Sheriff of Renfrew -‘
    ‘Indeed, and head of the Sempills in the west, was
not involved, he certainly knew who was. The Earl of
Lennox and his son were charged with putting it right, and
naturally they pursued the guilty with all rigour, given
their -‘
    ‘Great love for all Sempills,’ Maistre Pierre completed.
‘I begin to see. There would be fines to pay, of course. So
this particular Sempill is being pursued by the Crown, and
having to sell land to raise funds. Is he close kin to the
Sheriff of Renfrew?’
    ‘Not close enough for Eliotstoun to pay his fines for
him,’ Gil said, and realized his companion was not listening. He had come to a halt at the edge of the trees and was
casting about.
    ‘Now where - ah, that peeled twig. We search for a
weapon, we agreed, or a thing out of place. We have seen
no weapon this far, but Luke found this, which is certainly
out of place. We left it lying so you also could see where
it was.’
    He parted the bluebells in front of the marker. Gil leaned
down and lifted the harp key which nestled in the long
leaves. It was a pretty thing; the metal barrel that gripped
the tuning-pins was set into a painted wooden handle. A
love-gift, a musician’s gift, acutely personal. Surely the
dead woman would have kept such a thing safe?
    ‘It has flowers on, it must be hers, not?’ the mason
continued. ‘Has she been here? Was it she who struck the
boy down?’
    ‘Her hands were clean,’ Gil pointed out. ‘She had not
handled the kind of stick we are searching for. No, this
came here another way.’
    He recounted the incident he had seen just before the
mason arrived. Maistre Pierre heard him out, and said thoughtfully, ‘She must have had a