Testament of a Witch

by Douglas Watt

  The servant bowed his head, but left them waiting outside. MacKenzie turned to take in the view of the gardens to the front of the house. He bent over to examine a shrub, smiling appreciatively. ‘Ah, Cytisus – Cytisus sessiliflorus was introduced from Italy in the early part of the century. And here is Trumpet Honeysuckle, Lonicers sempervirens, a native of America. Lady Girnington has employed an adventurous gardener.’

  ‘Her ladyship will see you.’ The servant had re-appeared.

  They were escorted through the hall into a large room on the right. Lady Girnington was seated by the fire. She was wearing a dark silk gown. A luxurious blonde wig enclosed a vigorously powdered face.

  MacKenzie reflected that Lillias Hay, Alexander Hay’s elder sister, had put on a great deal of weight in the twenty years since they had last met. She was arrogant then. He doubted if age had mellowed her. A great beauty in her youth, she had made a stir in London in the days of Cromwell. But there had been a scandal. He could not remember the details.

  Mesmerised by the billowing dress, Scougall was reminded of a queen on her throne.

  Lady Girnington did not rise to greet them. ‘That will be all, Leitch,’ she snapped. ‘Mr MacKenzie, it is a pleasure. I expect you are well,’ she continued in barely more mellow tones. ‘And who are you?’ The question was directed at Scougall, causing his face to turn red.

  ‘My assistant Davie Scougall, a writer in Edinburgh,’ MacKenzie interceded. ‘He hails from Musselburgh.’

  ‘An inhabitant of Musselburgh. I see…’ Holding back none of her condescension, she turned to MacKenzie: ‘To what do I owe the pleasure of your company? I do not remember seeking legal advice.’ Lady Girnington shifted herself slightly. ‘Sit,’ she ordered.

  Scougall dropped into a finely upholstered French chair. MacKenzie took his time to make himself comfortable on another. ‘Thank you, my lady. I am very sorry we visit Girnington under such circumstances,’ he began in a slightly obsequious manner, ‘I believe we met many years ago. I am not sure if you remember.’

  ‘I do not, sir. Lawyers make little impression on me,’ she replied.

  ‘I believe it was over twenty years ago. The laird was still alive.’

  ‘I am happier as a widow than I ever was as a wife,’ she smirked.

  MacKenzie returned the smile. ‘It was with great sorrow that I learned of the death of your sister-in-law. She was a charming woman who will be greatly missed by her children.’

  ‘You are right, Mr MacKenzie. However, their future is secure in my hands. Grissell was a soft creature who gave no thought to the future of Lammersheugh. Debts were built up, but little was done to improve the estate. Under my stewardship there will be change. You must remember that I was a child of the house. It is a place which means much to me. I have fond memories of it.’

  MacKenzie had long experience of the arrogant wives of aristocrats and lairds. ‘Your ladyship, I seek to clarify some points of law relating to my deceased client. I am particularly interested in financial encumbrances upon the lands of Lammersheugh. As one of the guardians of Euphame and Rosina, I thought that you might be able to shed some light on them.’

  ‘I do not concern myself with such matters, Mr MacKenzie. I fear your journey has been wasted. Purse will help you with the financial details.’

  MacKenzie sat forward, a serious look coming over his face. ‘I must remind you that Euphame languishes in sackcloth in the steeple.’

  ‘I am doing all that I can to secure my niece’s release,’ Lady Girnington replied. ‘But when the parish zealots get hold of a witch it is difficult to restrain them. Their appetite for persecution grows. The kirk session must have its day. However, I am sure Euphame will not be convicted. The case would be laughed out of court!’

  ‘I fear we must make haste if we are to save her from the humiliation of a trial in Edinburgh. She may not survive incarceration in the Tolbooth.’

  ‘It will not come to that, Mr MacKenzie. I have influence over Cant and the other little men of the parish. Persuasion will rein them in. After a night in the steeple she will be released. I am sure of it. I will stand caution for her.’

  ‘I presume you have already been in contact with the minister.’

  ‘Be assured that I am doing all I can to secure her release.’

  MacKenzie took a deep breath. ‘I believe you are owed substantial sums from the estate of Lammersheugh?’

  ‘You attended the reading of Grissell’s will – it is public knowledge. Debts are, however, not purely financial in nature. I have no intention of going to law to get money back from my own family.’

  ‘What of your relations with Lady Lammersheugh?’

  ‘You ask too many questions, Mr MacKenzie. I am not to be cross-examined in my own home. Relations were as one might expect. I am as shocked as anyone by the terrible course events have taken since the death of my brother.’

  ‘Can you think of any reason why anyone might want to kill her?’

  Lady Girnington hesitated before answering. ‘Mr MacKenzie, I am not in court. I do not need to answer your questions. All I will say is that I know of no reason why anyone might want rid of her. However, I do know that she was sorely afflicted by melancholy following Alexander’s death. This can drive some to seek unwise remedies.’

  ‘What do you mean, my lady?’

  ‘I mean that her servant, Janet Cornfoot, had a reputation for charming.’

  ‘You are surely not suggesting that Grissell was involved in such things?’

  ‘I am not suggesting anything. I think it is time for you to take your leave, Mr MacKenzie. If you have any further questions concerning the debts, address them to Purse.’

  But MacKenzie was persistent. ‘What about Euphame’s marriage?’

  Lady Girnington could not resist replying. ‘Euphame’s value would appear to have fallen. We may find someone once she is released. The Laird of Clachdean is unmarried. He may be willing to accept her – on certain terms.’

  ‘Is he not too old for her?’

  ‘The caresses of an old man have been forced on many a maid. I doubt if she will have many suitors. Most men are reluctant to marry a woman accused of witchcraft, although I know a few who have taken one into their bed.’ She gave a humourless laugh.

  ‘Where were you on the twenty-second of October?’

  ‘Are you suggesting that I could have killed my sister-in-law?’ She laughed in derision. ‘Look at me, gentlemen. I am a fat old woman. It is difficult for me to stand unattended. I am helped into the gardens. I am carried to my coach. I am afflicted by grossness of the body, as my mother was.’

  MacKenzie rose, indicating that Scougall was to do likewise. ‘I have only one more question, madam. A clock is hardly a generous gift to a beloved sister?’

  ‘The silly game of a deranged woman!’ Lady Girnington shook her head.

  ‘We have taken up enough of her ladyship’s time, Davie.’

  They were shown out by Leitch, who observed them with unveiled suspicion. At the front door MacKenzie turned to him. ‘Was Margaret Rammage a servant on the Girnington estate?’

  ‘Yes, sir. She bided in Headshaw. A poor misguided creature. God rest her soul.’

  At the gates they allowed a horseman entrance. The bulky frame of Clachdean was perched on top of the beast. He nodded sullenly to them as he passed.

  CHAPTER 23 - A Meeting with the Colonel

  THE MINISTER WAS nervous as he entered the room. The colonel always made him uneasy. It was partly his gruff manner; as a soldier who had survived bloody battles, he cared little for men of the cloth. But it was also that he made no secret of his life of sin, boasted of his conquests, even to him, a minister of the Reformed Church of Scotland. Did the brute have no care of his immortal soul? On their last meeting he had told him all the details of a liaison with Jane Nisbet, the Laird of Skirt’s servant. Cant did not have the strength of will to upbraid him on the evils of fornication. In the church before his congregation he felt co
nfident, but in the presence of the colonel he was diminished, a fearful boy before a man. Another troubling matter was that Clachdean never attended church on the Sabbath, deliberately ignoring the Kirk’s admonitions. He would not have the word of God flouted in his parish.

  ‘I did not see you in church last Sunday, Colonel Dewar,’ he said as he occupied the chair in front of the desk. Clachdean was at the window, looking out at the hills, seemingly deep in thought. He turned abruptly and gave Cant a scathing look.

  ‘You will not see me in your church, Mr Cant. I worship God where I want, not where I am told.’

  ‘Would it not set a good example to your servants?’

  ‘My servants need no such example. They will not serve me more loyally for imbibing a little scripture. Too much religion makes men troublesome.’

  Cant moved the conversation onto another subject. ‘I was deeply shocked by Lady Lammersheugh’s death. It was a terrible accident…’

  ‘A terrible accident, indeed,’ Clachdean repeated. ‘I am told she could not swim. The pool is deep in parts. She must have slipped on the rock. She was a very fine looking woman. You have lost your witch, Mr Cant.’

  ‘She did not confess, sir. She was named in Rammage’s confession…’

  ‘But there is now another in the grasp of the session,’ the colonel sneered.

  ‘It is an awful shock to me. I am spiritual adviser to her sister. Euphame appeared such a pure girl, but she is infected with sin. The pricker has found the Devil’s Mark on her.’

  ‘All women are polluted by sin. They are good for only one thing, are they not, Mr Cant? Only yesterday I fucked a very fine wench in Haddington for a few pennies.’

  Cant did not reply. He realised that he hated the colonel.

  ‘You have overreached yourself, Mr Cant. Euphame is an innocent girl, accused by a dolt.’

  ‘The case troubles me much, sir.’

  ‘Her ladyship expects her niece to be released.’

  ‘I must follow procedure, Colonel Dewar. I cannot overrule the session. The authorities in Edinburgh have already been informed.’ Cant was adamant.

  ‘Her ladyship will not be pleased.’ said Clachdean menacingly.

  Cant was sweating. He wanted to get away from the colonel as soon as he could.

  ‘We are in great danger, sir, grave danger. The Devil has found succour in Lammersheugh. Cockburn’s boy saw him in the woods by the pool. Many are accused throughout Lothian and across Scotland. As minister of this parish I must do all that is in my power to root out such evil. And now Janet Cornfoot is dead. It is surely the Devil’s work, also.’

  ‘Janet was an old woman. She died of natural causes. I have inspected her body. She was afflicted by some kind of fit. Unfortunately, the lawyer MacKenzie was with her. I believe he may be trouble, Mr Cant. He is an Episcopalian degenerate! We must watch him. There is much at stake beyond the parish of Lammersheugh. For all our sakes it would be best if you carried out the wishes of Lady Girnington. If not, I may have to take further action. You may go now.’

  Cant looked up at the huge face lowering over him. The colonel’s scarred hand rested on the handle of his sword. He wondered whom he feared most – Clachdean, or the Devil.

  CHAPTER 24 - The Wake of Janet Cornfoot

  28 October 1687

  THERE WAS A commotion outside Janet Cornfoot’s cottage when Scougall and MacKenzie appeared through the woods. A small crowd of mourners were in the garden; an old woman was wailing loudly. She fell silent as they entered through the small gate.

  ‘We come to pay our respects,’ said MacKenzie.

  John Murdoch came forward with a worried expression, beckoning them to follow him round the side of the building.He waited until they were out of earshot. ‘God help us! God help us!’

  ‘What is it, man?’ asked MacKenzie.

  ‘Bluid! Bluid! We were aw roond the coffin, when Jean Paterson suddenly screams – “Bluid! Bluid!” I looked within. Fresh bluid wis drippin frae Janet’s mooth. Then Jean starts shouting “The killer is here! The killer is here!” It is said a corpse bleeds in the presence o the one who killed it. We aw began tae look roond the room, eyeing each ither.’

  ‘There will be a rational explanation, Murdoch,’ MacKenzie reassured him.

  ‘I dinnae ken what it can be, sir. I saw the blood masel, clear as day.’

  MacKenzie marched round to the front of the cottage and made his way through the throng. The door was ajar. He pushed it open and entered, Scougall behind him, fearful of what they might find. Murdoch followed, but remained just outside the door.

  There was no one inside the cottage. The coffin lay on top of the wooden table in the centre of the room. MacKenzie and Scougall looked down on Janet Cornfoot. There was a dark red trail emerging from her slightly open mouth. The wood of the coffin was stained beneath her head. Scougall edged back, glancing round the room as he recalled the description of the badger hanging at the doorway.

  MacKenzie removed a small pair of tweezers from his pocket. Holding Janet’s nose with thumb and forefinger, he pulled down the jaw, jabbing into her mouth with the instrument. Scougall took another pace back, fearing that something might burst out. MacKenzie carefully removed what looked like a leather pouch about the size of an apple. It reminded Scougall of an old golf ball.

  ‘There, we have it!’ MacKenzie was delighted with the discovery. ‘There is no witchcraft here. This is the work of man, or woman! Look, Murdoch. A bladder of blood was placed in the mouth. A piece of metal was secured inside; the hole sealed with wax. When it was pulled, the bag was ruptured, releasing the blood.’ MacKenzie showed Scougall the tiny slash in the bladder. ‘The timing was perfect. Could it have been someone in the room? Think, Murdoch!’

  ‘I saw naebody touch the body, sir.’ The old servant looked bewildered.

  ‘What do you think, Davie?’

  ‘Perhaps a thread was yanked from somewhere.’ Scougall was relieved that the explanation involved no supernatural agency.

  They searched the room, but found nothing. MacKenzie noticed that the window was slightly open. ‘A cord might have been pulled from there by someone outside.’ He looked through the open door where the crowd was dispersing. ‘The folk of the parish believe that Janet’s killer is amongst them. They will not trust any of their neighbours. Keep this in your pocket, Davie. We must examine it closely later.’

  Scougall gingerly pocketed the shrivelled object.

  ‘Does it tell us anything about how Janet died?’ he asked.

  ‘It tells us that she did not die of natural causes, despite what the sheriff-deputy believes. But we knew that already.’

  ‘I must return to the house, sir,’ said Murdoch from the doorway.

  ‘Before you go, I have a couple of questions for you,’ said MacKenzie, moving towards the servant.

  Murdoch looked down at the floor. ‘Aye, sir.’

  ‘You and your wife were seen the night before Lady Lammersheugh died. What were you doing out so late?’

  Murdoch rubbed a large hand on his trousers as if trying to remove a stain. ‘We were returning frae ma sister, sir. She bides in Craw, five miles frae Lammersheugh.’

  ‘I understand you were wearing only a semmet on a cold evening.’

  ‘I had taken aff ma coat. It’s a lang walk hame. I wis sweating.’

  ‘Was there any other reason you were out so late?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘I hope you are telling the truth, Murdoch.’

  MacKenzie waited, but the servant said nothing.

  ‘Janet spoke of strange sounds in the village during the night, faint screechings,’ said MacKenzie.

  ‘I have heard them, sir. The spirits o the deid. The Devil walks in Lammersheugh.’

  MacKenzie’s frowned. ‘Please do not say anything about what has happened here to Rosina.’

  Murdoch nodded.

  ‘Do you trust him?’ Scougall asked MacKenzie after Murdoch had departed.

 
; ‘I do not trust anyone in a witch-hunt, Davie! But he has been a loyal servant of the House of Lammersheugh, as has his wife. We must not let his manner prejudice us against him. They could have acted together to engineer this morning’s conjuring trick. But what would they gain from stirring up such trouble in the parish?’

  ‘They were beneficiaries of the will,’ observed Scougall.

  ‘The sum they received was not great. According to Euphame, Murdoch was in the house on the day of Grissell’s death. However, it is possible he was paid to cause trouble at the wake.’ MacKenzie took a piece of string from his pocket and threw it to Scougall. ‘I want to take another look at the body. While I am busy here, search the gardens. Look for footprints under the window.’

  CHAPTER 25 - The Library of Lammersheugh

  MACKENZIE LET HIS eyes wander round the bookshelves. Like him, Alexander Hay had been a devoted bibliophile. He noticed a selection of works by the poet William Drummond of Hawthornden: Flowers of Sion, Forth Feasting and Teares on the Death of Moeliades. And there was a copy of Spenser’s Faerie Queen. There was Ekskubalauron by Sir Thomas Urquhart, a neighbour in Ross-shire. A very fine writer, but quite mad. His translations of Rabelais, which the author had shown him in manuscript, were of the highest quality, though his other works were tiresome.

  ‘Here is the picture, Mr MacKenzie. It is not the best likeness of my mother,’ said Rosina.

  Scougall and MacKenzie looked at a small portrait which hung above a darkly-stained desk on the only wall not lined by books. Grissell’s head and shoulders were painted against a black background.

  Scougall was struck by her dark eyes, voluptuous lips and long brown hair. He felt himself being drawn into the painting, and a slight light-headedness. Her beautiful eyes were captivating. He found that he was not able to look away. It flashed through his mind that she was a witch, that he was bewitched.

  Then he experienced the beginnings of sexual arousal. God forgive him! He turned his eyes away.