The Fireraisers

by Malcolm Archibald

  'I'll stay with them too,' Marie said.

  'I know you will.'

  'Sergeant Watters.' Once they were on course for Broughty, Ragina had requisitioned the telescope. Now he had it focussed on the quarterdeck of the French vessel. 'There's that woman I told you about.'

  'Look after the boat.' Watters took back the telescope to concentrate on the coper. Dressed in a seaman's white trousers and blue jacket, with a cap struggling to hold her flowing hair in place, Isabella Navarino stood on the raised quarterdeck of the brig. On one side of Navarino stood the man with the feathered bowler; on the other side was William Caskie.

  Watters took a deep breath. What the devil is Caskie doing out here?

  'Are you all right, George? May I see?' Marie knew her husband too well.

  'I'm fine, thank you.' Watters lowered the telescope. He could not allow Amy or Elizabeth to see William Caskie. 'I'm just a little surprised to see a woman as master of a ship.'

  Marie shook her head. 'I know,' she said. 'Women have a habit of surprising men. That's not what's bothering you, George.'

  'I'll tell you later.' Watters kept his head down. He did not wish Caskie to recognise him or the girls. 'Take us back as fast as Christ will let you, Ragina.' He felt Marie's stare. She knew he only blasphemed when he was worried.

  * * *

  It was indicative of Watters's state of mind that he accepted Murdoch's invitation to a game of billiards in Russell's Royal Hotel the next evening and then played badly. Since it had been refurbished a decade before, Russell's on Union Street boasted the finest billiards room in Scotland, but Watters failed to recapture any of the skill he had possessed as a young man. He could only watch as Murdoch rattled the balls home.

  'You're not concentrating, George.' Murdoch placed his cue against the table, leaned against the polished wooden panels of the wall and ordered another round of whisky-and-water. 'What's on your mind? Those fishermen buying all that foreign gin?' He grinned, dismissing the matter as unimportant.

  'Not so much,' Watters said. He cued, hit his mark, and watched the ball spin nowhere. 'But that French coper was a bit worrying. I warned the customs officer, and I told the Navy too.'

  'Oh?' Murdoch potted his ball, cued for another, and stopped. 'What did you tell them? There's a French brig off the Inchcape Rock? I wager they did not thank you for the information, or do you think that the French are going to land in the Tay? Louis Napoleon III will lead ten thousand French soldiers, fresh from Mexico into Dundee, to rape and spoil and plunder?'

  'Why is William Caskie on a French ship when he should be on honeymoon?' Watters watched the balls run true for Tulloch. 'And this woman, Isabella Navarino, is trouble. The first time I met her, she was mixed up with a stolen ship. How did Caskie get involved with her?'

  'Blessed if I know,' Murdoch said. 'That's not your job, George. You're a Dundee policeman. Your job is to investigate crime in Dundee, not sail the seven seas after Frenchmen and whatnots. In fact, your present job is to nursemaid young Amy Beaumont.'

  'There's more.' Watters watched as Murdoch potted three balls in quick succession. 'I've heard that Rogers is building a ship for a foreign buyer, either the Emperor of China or Napoleon of France, so I'm told.'

  'Oh? Good. More work for the lads.' Murdoch looked over his shoulder. 'The Emperor of China and Napoleon ideas are only covers, of course. They're fictitious names to hide the real buyer. Why so glum, Rab; would you rather we were like Lancashire, with thousands of men idle and the factory chimneys quiet?'

  'French ship offshore with Dundee businessmen on board, a foreign ship being built in Dundee, Volunteers drilling at Broughty Ferry…' Watters closed his eyes.

  'And?' Murdoch had not clawed his way to a Dundee police sergeant without knowing how to read men. 'What else, George?'

  'Beaumont, Willie. Jimmy Gall, the boat builder, tells me Beaumont is having this ship built at Rogers's for the foreign buyer.'

  'Then your answer's as plain as a drunken prostitute at a Free Kirk sermon, Dode. Ask Beaumont straight. He's a businessman, not an idiot. I doubt that he would build a ship for the French, no matter how much money was involved. You can't trust these Frogs. Remember the last Napoleon Bonaparte? They're a bad lot.' Murdoch cleared the table with a rapid display of skill that left Watters in despair. 'This night's costing you a fortune, George. Another game?'

  'Better not.' Watters paid his dues. At a sixpence a game, he was losing a quarter of a day's pay with every two games that Murdoch won. 'You're in form today, Willie. But keep your ears open for me, will you? In case there are any strangers in town.'

  'This is a nautical town, George. There are hundreds of strangers!' Murdoch laughed. 'Aye, I know what you mean. I'll watch out for anything suspicious. More importantly, I'll ask the better half too; Ruthie never misses a trick, sharp as a needle, my girl!'

  * * *

  'I believe these are yours, Watters.' Mackay passed over the wallet of lock picks. He sat silently, waiting for Watters to comment.

  'Yes, they are, sir. Where were they found?'

  'In the covered shed at Rogers' Yard,' Mackay said. 'It seems that somebody broke in. Perhaps they were trying to steal a ship.'

  'That's been done before, sir.' Watters placed the wallet in his pocket.

  'Not by you, I hope. Did you find anything interesting?' Mackay's Caithness accent was pronounced as he leaned forward.

  'I did not have time, sir.' There was no point in lying to Mackay. 'As soon as I got into the shed, three dogs attacked me.'

  'I heard the watchman fired a shot as well,' Mackay said dryly. 'He boasted that he chased away a whole band of desperadoes, half a dozen at least.'

  'It was dark, sir. He would not see clearly.'

  Mackay grunted. 'I don't approve of my officers acting outwith the law, Watters, however noble their intentions. Why were you there?' His fingers drummed on the table as Watters told him about Beaumont financing the ship for a foreign owner, William Caskie's conversation with the French and Belgian arms manufacturers, and Caskie's presence on the French coper.

  'Who was Caskie meeting?' Mackay's question was direct.

  'I don't know, sir,' Watters admitted.

  'You found nothing in Rogers' Yard.'

  'No, sir. The workmen believe the ship is being built for either the Emperor of China or of France.'

  'We know the China idea is nonsense,' Mackay dismissed the suggestion out of hand. 'I am not happy about this business at all, Watters. I sent you to guard young Amy, not to play tomfool games in a shipbuilding yard or go pleasure boating.'

  'Yes, sir.' Watters lifted his head. 'I wish to solve this case, sir, even if others may not.'

  'And what the deuce does that mean?' Mackay's face turned an angry red.

  Watters avoided a direct answer. He needed to keep his position. 'I believe that there are people in Dundee who are not being as helpful as they should, with Mr Beaumont possibly among that number. I think there is a political angle here with either France or one or other of the American powers involved.'

  Mackay's frown deepened. 'You are a sergeant of police, Watters, not a politician or a diplomat.' His fingers rapped urgently on the desk and then stilled as he closed his hand into a fist. 'Your duty is to ensure the safety of Amy Beaumont. Sergeant Anstruther is now pursuing the supposed murder on Lady of Blackness. If you happen to chance upon anything political, bring it to me. I will notify Sir John Ogilvy and let him deal with the government side of things. We will stick to what we know.' Mackay's index finger recommenced the tapping. 'Do you understand, Watters?'

  'Yes, sir,' Watters agreed.

  'Good.' Mackay relaxed a little. 'Now that's cleared up, I can tell you that Sergeant Anstruther is no further forward with the murder case or the fire-raising. He would be happy to hand the case back to you.'

  'Yes, sir.' Watters nodded. 'My men, Duff and Scuddamore, have interviewed the people of the Dundee and Forfarshire Anti-slavery Alliance again and again without lea
rning any more. They don't know the identities of the man and woman who paid them.'

  Mackay nodded. 'Are you convinced that they are guilty of fire-raising?'

  'Yes, sir. They admit freely that they set the fires in the factories; they seem quite proud of it.'

  'Why?'

  'The same reason as before, sir; they say that Beaumont is dealing with the Confederate states, the slave states.' Watters shook his head. 'Mr Beaumont told me that he stopped trading with the South over a year ago.'

  Mackay sighed. 'These Alliance people are blasted idiots. They've endangered the lives of scores of mill workers because a couple of foreigners told lies about a Dundee businessman. Now they'll spend months or maybe years in prison.'

  'As you say, sir, they are blasted idiots.' Watters had no sympathy for people who pushed forward their ideas at the expense of innocent people. 'They could easily have been murderers as well.'

  'Have you found that fellow Jones yet?'

  'No, sir.' Tempted to remind Mackay that he had been babysitting Amy Beaumont in Ness House, Watters thought it politic to keep his tongue still.

  'Do you have any fresh ideas, Watters?'

  'Jones could be on board any ship sailing from any port in Britain under a different name.'

  Mackay grunted. 'Keep searching. He could be the key to the whole thing. What's your next move?'

  'I am moving in six directions at the same time, sir. I have the mysterious American, the even more mysterious foreign woman, the French coper, the ship being built at Rogers' Yard, Richard Jones and Captain Isabella Navarino.' Watters forced a smile. 'If you could spare another couple of men…'

  'We're overstretched as it is,' Mackay interrupted. 'Indeed I'm thinking about pulling Duff and Scuddamore into other duties. Since you arrested the Dundee and Forfarshire Anti-slavery Alliance, there have been no further arson attempts or attacks on the Beaumont household. I'm beginning to think the foreign woman and the American are figments of that group's imagination.'

  'There was the mannequin in Beaumont's bed, sir…'

  'I'm wondering if we all overreacted to a child's joke. Probably one of the younger daughter's friends.' Mackay dismissed the incident with a wave of his hand. 'I can't see you solving the Calcutta business now, Watters. As you say, your man Jones will probably have already shipped out.'

  Watters shook his head. 'I don't agree, sir. I don't think we've reached the bottom of this case yet.'

  Mackay's fingers began to drum once more. 'What do you have in mind?'

  'I'm still stuck in Ness House with young Amy, sir, but I've ordered Scuddamore and Duff to watch Rogers' Yard for any foreigner, particularly any French-looking foreigner.' Watters grinned. 'Not that I know how to tell a Frenchman from anybody else.'

  Mackay stood up. 'You can leave Ness House, Watters. Mr Beaumont wants his daughter back. Apparently, Mr Beaumont's elder daughter is returning home tomorrow, and he would like you to bring Amy back to greet her sister. Mr Beaumont also thinks the threat is gone now if it ever existed.'

  Watters thought about Isabella Navarino and the French vessel. 'Yes, sir.' He headed for the door.

  'Watters,' Mackay called him back. 'I'll give you one week. You have seven more days to find something positive, and then I will call a halt to this case. That is all.'

  Seven days. Watters felt as though Marie was correct, and Mackay was moving him from pillar to post so that he could not delve too deeply into the Lady of Blackness murder.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN: MOUNT PLEASANT: NOVEMBER 1862

  Watters had never seen Mount Pleasant so illuminated before. Every tree on the curved driveway was decorated with a lantern, while torches flared at the entrance gates and the main door. Carriages massed in front of the house, outside the stable block, and filled the courtyard. Most of the coaches were modern, with dark paint gleaming under the lights, but Watters saw a pair of open chaises that were entirely unsuitable for night-time travel in a Scottish autumn, a light, low-wheeled calash, and even an ancient cabriolet, with its spokes painted in alternate red and yellow to contrast with the black leather hood. The woman who creaked out of the cabriolet looked as ancient as the vehicle, but she refused assistance to mount the stairs, and she tapped her ivory fan against the footman's chest while exchanging pleasantries.

  A harassed driver cracked his whip over the head of a latecomer. 'Move that damned chariot! You're blocking the driveway!' Then he noticed the angry look from the dismounting guests and touched a hand to the brim of his hat. 'Begging your pardon for the language, ma'am!'

  'I should think so indeed!' Elizabeth Caskie reproved him, looking every inch her twenty-two years as she picked her way through the horse droppings. 'I've never heard the like!' More dignified than many women twice her age, Elizabeth ascended the stairs with a flick of her crinoline.

  With many of the servants being hired for the day, Watters asked details from Morag.

  'It seems to be getting more common nowadays, Sergeant Watters. Each businessman has to outdo the other with fancy balls and whatnots. Mr Beaumont has to keep up with the rest, so he allowed Amy to arrange this one.' Watters remembered Amy and Elizabeth writing scores of letters. He also recalled that Beaumont was said to have financial problems.

  Morag raised her eyes. 'Oh, for the old days when we could just jog along happily without all this tomfoolery! And the servants! Mr Beaumont had to bring them in just for the evening. Goodness knows what sort of people they are. Not respectable at all, these ones, and maidservants that don't want to wear their cap!'

  'I'm sure you'll cope, Morag,' Watters sympathised.

  'Cope? Oh, I'll cope all right, but I just wonder when we'll get to bed tonight. And how much silver will be left in the house when it's all done! Here! You!' Morag raised her voice to admonish a young servant who was mangling the cloak of a guest. 'That's no way to handle a gentleman's clothes! Give it here before I box your lug for you!' She shook her head to Watters. 'Honestly, they've no idea! Give me your coat and hat, Sergeant, and then you'd better get along to see Mr Beaumont. He's up in his study, keeping well out of the way!'

  Watters nodded. 'I'll get up to him in a moment. Do you have a list of the servants that I can see? I must check them over.'

  'Oh,' Morag frowned, stopped to berate a young girl for her clumsiness, and delved in a drawer. 'Here, Sergeant, names and references, or what they call references nowadays.'

  'Thank you. I'll look these over when I have seen Mr Beaumont.' Escaping from the hubbub below, Watters mounted the stairs to Beaumont's study, with its portraits of his daughters and late wife on one wall and the bookcases on another. The window overlooked the Tay, where glittering lights told of ships moored in the Roads, smeared now by a slow-falling drizzle.

  'Ah, Sergeant. Are the girls all right?' Beaumont looked up from a pile of papers. 'I'll be down to greet the guests in a moment.' His smile was weary. 'I'm afraid I am not the best of hosts.'

  'The girls are safe and happy,' Watters said. 'They stopped at Pitcorbie House to change on the journey.'

  'Good, good.' Beaumont looked distracted. 'Amy arranged this damned ball to welcome Charlotte home and invited all sorts of people.' He shook his head. 'Elizabeth thought to invite some of her friends too. I gave permission, but it's damned inconvenient.'

  Watters raised an eyebrow. In his opinion, Amy was milking her father of everything she could get purely to impress Elizabeth.

  Beaumont continued, 'I allowed Amy to make whatever arrangements she saw fit and forgot clean about the thing until today, and I have a business meeting planned with Mr Holderby.'

  Watters raised an inquisitive eyebrow. 'The American vice-consul?'

  'We have business matters to discuss.'

  'Yes, Mr Beaumont.' If Beaumont were trading with the Southern States, he would hardly be likely to meet Holderby, Watters reasoned. After all, Holderby was at Charlotte's wedding, while Bulloch, the Confederate's agent for purchasing shipping, knew William Caskie, not Beaumont. Watters kn
ew that nothing quite made sense here. There were still too many pieces missing to form a true pattern.

  Watters had seldom heard such a noise as filled Mount Pleasant House. Every one of the hundred guests seemed intent on outdoing the others in loud speech and laughter. He saw Holderby at once, a tall, slender figure who watched from a corner of the great hall, bowing to the ladies with tremendous dignity. Taking up a position in the corner, hard against one of the Doric columns that supported the domed ceiling, Watters sighed. He had intended ensuring Amy and Elizabeth were safe, then leaving quickly, but with Holderby present, together with a dozen unknown servants, he thought it better to remain.

  The guests clustered in groups around the buffet meal that Amy had arranged, with the men discussing business while the women compared fashions, literature, servants, and men. Watters looked up with interest when William Caskie arrived with Charlotte on his arm. He eased closer to listen when they passed.

  'You said you would be here all day!' Charlotte's whisper was forceful, but William countered with a quick jerk on her arm.

  'Something came up. Business! I have to meet somebody.'

  'William! I hardly saw you in Paris. At least I thought I would see some of you at home. You are meant to be my husband after all!'

  Then the couple swept past. Watters saw Beaumont descend from the upper levels, smiling with the effortless grace of a perfect gentleman.

  'Mr Beaumont.' Watters moved through the press of guests, wishing that he had time to at least change before mingling with such a crowd. He had worn the same clothes all day and was ridiculously underdressed for the occasion. 'If you try and stay with Mr Holderby, I will attempt to sheepdog the others. Perhaps Mr Caskie could help?' Watters wondered if William Caskie's meeting was with Isabella Navarino or one of the foreign gun manufacturers.

  Beaumont nodded. 'I would not count on William. He seems to be having a little trouble with Charlotte at present.' Beaumont shook his head. 'God save us all from headstrong women, Watters! I'll stay with Holderby, as you suggest.' He glanced over his shoulder. 'Where the devil is Cattanach? Have you seen my clerk, Watters?'