Death of a Chief

by Douglas Watt

  ‘Let us not commence a debate on the ethics of moneylending, Davie. It is perhaps a subject we could return to when we have discovered the identity of the killer.’

  Both men fell silent. MacKenzie rose from his desk and began to wander round the chamber deep in thought.

  ‘You were a creditor, sir. I am afraid my eyes passed over your name when I first glanced at the paper,’ said Scougall hesitantly.

  ‘Yes, that is so, Sir Lachlan owed me a few pounds. But you might say I have already written the sum off. He did not often ask to borrow from me, perhaps realising I could not provide him with sound legal advice if I was too concerned with the recovery of my money – I regarded this as a mark of respect. I could live with a sum of two thousand pounds Scots – but two thousand pounds Sterling would have been a different matter.’

  ‘And Mr Primrose and Mr Hope were also creditors of the chief,’ commented Scougall.

  ‘Yes. It is no surprise that Primrose was a creditor. Sir Lachlan has borrowed from every lawyer whose hand he has shaken. Many advocates and even some notaries have been forced to take him to court over the years. This list unfortunately only comprises those who are owed money now. It gives no hint of the long and tortuous route by which these debts have been bought and sold, before coming into the hands of the present owners, or of the many court cases that have been fought against Sir Lachlan for the recovery of debt. But it is all we have. The sum that Hope is owed is not great and may have been in return for services rendered.’

  ‘What services do you mean, sir?’

  ‘I am only thinking aloud, Davie: a man prone to powerful desires of the flesh may have found it useful to have had some firepower as a back-up – firepower to threaten anyone who might be inclined to inform his wife. A Highland chief is still viewed by many as a useful ally and worth paying for.’

  MacKenzie sat down opposite the young notary, once more calm and focused.

  ‘Davie, what do you make of James Sovrack?’

  ‘I have never heard the name before.’

  ‘Nor I. It is the only name on the list I do not recognise. The sum owed to this individual was very substantial.’

  ‘Perhaps a merchant from London?’ suggested Scougall.

  ‘Possibly. Sir Lachlan made many journeys there over the years. Or he may be from France, the United Provinces or even Dublin. As I have already told you, I travel to Dalkeith this afternoon to attend the betrothal celebrations of Boortree’s daughter. While I am busy there you must make yourself useful. I have a task for you to complete before we leave for the Highlands tomorrow morning. I want you to ask the Edinburgh writers of your acquaintance, including the venerable Mr Dallas, if they have heard of this James Sovrack. You might also question some of the merchants, for if he is a businessman of any standing they would presumably have heard of him. Then you may return to your office, but make sure you are prepared for an early start tomorrow.’

  The door opened and Elizabeth MacKenzie entered dressed in a white gown. She sat at the table beside Scougall. Her proximity caused his thoughts about the murders to melt away. He was delighted to see her again.

  ‘Good morning father, Mr Scougall. I hope you do not mind if I join you for breakfast?’

  ‘Of course not, my dear. Davie and I have just completed our business. I must be off to the Session. Davie, please finish your breakfast in the company of my daughter.’

  MacKenzie kissed her and left the chamber before Scougall had finished the mouthful he was chewing. Elizabeth poured some milk and cut a slice of bread. He was desperately trying to think of something to say, but as usual in such circumstances nothing sprang to mind that did not seem ridiculous.

  ‘Are you always so quiet, Mr Scougall?’ she asked.

  ‘I fear that the range of my conversation is not broad, Miss MacKenzie. I can only discourse freely on a few subjects – the art of the notary public and golf. Such things might easily become tiresome,’ he responded, infuriated at his own lack of social finesse.

  ‘Do not worry, Mr Scougall,’ Elizabeth replied, ‘I am sure that I can talk for us both. But let us forget such pleasantries.’ She pulled her chair closer to the table and her voice fell to a whisper. ‘I want to know more about the murders. Everyone in town is talking about them. All my friends think I can supply them with the details they crave because I’m the daughter of John MacKenzie. But my father tells me nothing, absolutely nothing! He keeps too much to himself. It is always the same – never sharing his cares with me, and I know he has many. Please tell me what you have learned about the murders of Sir Lachlan and Mr Jossie.’

  Scougall was surprised by the realisation that he did, after all, have something to say that would interest Elizabeth.

  ‘Your father is doing all he can to determine the identity of the killer, but does not have sufficient evidence to come to any definite conclusions. Last night, after we were summoned to the Nor’ Loch by Mr Stirling, we returned to Jossie’s shop and disturbed an intruder who knocked me to the ground and fled down the close. Unfortunately your father and I were not fast enough to catch him and he escaped.’

  Scougall basked in the knowledge of having captured Elizabeth’s full attention.

  ‘We returned to the shop and,’ he couldn’t help embellishing his own role in the events of the previous evening, ‘your father and I made an examination of the scene. Your father thinks Jossie was killed at the door. He found what might be an important clue, a brooch in the shape of a fish which was possibly dropped by the killer during the murder of the apothecary.’

  ‘You must find the person who has lost this brooch, Mr Scougall!’

  ‘It would seem so, although I have seen nothing of its like before – it was about this size.’ Scougall indicated with his fingers the dimensions of the brooch. ‘It appears to be a herring – a silver herring – a silver darling.’ The word ‘darling’ seemed to linger on his lips and his face began to colour.

  ‘And are you knowledgeable about the jewellers’ art?’ asked Elizabeth.

  ‘No! My mother does not wear jewellery and she has forbidden my sisters from doing so.’

  ‘That is a great shame for your sisters and your mother, Mr Scougall. Perhaps I can help. I am acquainted with most of the city’s jewellers… I can see you disapprove.’

  Scougall’s eyes were taken with the silver chain that hung round her neck. How wonderful it looked! Perhaps Mr Grave was wrong in his pronouncements against such items. He shook his head in confusion.

  ‘I will ask my friends if they have seen any such brooches. We meet this afternoon. I shall be in Edinburgh for a few days to look after my father’s chambers while he is in the Highlands and to keep Meg company. If I find out anything I will send you a note. That is, if you do not mind.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  Scougall was greatly pleased at the thought of receiving a written communication from Elizabeth.

  ‘Now, you must excuse me. I hope it will not be long till we meet again.’

  CHAPTER 13

  An Engagement Feast

  MACKENZIE MADE HIS way on horseback down the long avenue of newly planted trees. He could not help feeling somewhat bemused by the splendour of the Boortree family’s new abode, which had been designed for them by Sir William Bruce. The old castle had been an impressive building for its time and had provided more than enough room for the large entourage of servants and kinsmen who were in permanent residence. The new mansion was on an entirely different scale: there were perhaps three times the number of rooms and an equivalent escalation in the number of household servants. MacKenzie was worried about the impact of this on his friend’s finances. The Earl had been unable to secure sufficient funds in Edinburgh and had been forced to borrow from London merchants and lawyers at high interest rates. A splendid edifice had been constructed – of that there could be no doubt – but it rested on very flimsy financial foundations, and any crisis in the family, or decline in the Earl’s income, could bring significant pro
blems.

  MacKenzie had advised his lordship on many occasions to restrain his spending, but his advice had gone unheeded. Had MacKenzie not seen the kind of houses being built by the English aristocracy around London, his lordship had argued? How could he be expected to entertain the noblemen of England in a cold and leaking edifice like Boortree Castle? It was unthinkable. How was he to marry his daughter to the son of an English aristocrat if he could not demonstrate the wealth and prestige of the Scottish nobility? It was a matter of national pride and would further the union between the kingdoms of Scotland and England.

  MacKenzie chuckled to himself. He could not understand the unedifying attempts of Scottish nobles to imitate their southern neighbours. They should remember that Scotland was a small and poor country. Borrowing on this scale to secure an English marriage could only endanger the future of her noble houses and the independence of the kingdom – but the attractions of the Court in London were great. He remembered his first visit to the city, in 1651, on his way to the Continent to study law at Leiden. He had enjoyed a blissful summer in the English capital – a time of wine, women and song; he had seen with his own eyes the beauties of the day and had lost his virginity to an unemployed actress. It seemed like another world, another life – long before he had met his wife – an early chapter of joy.

  Putting such thoughts from his mind, MacKenzie climbed the steps to the entrance. He was, after all, attending a celebration and not a meeting to discuss the Earl’s finances. As he approached, he had counted twelve rectangular windows on each floor. The corners were adorned with high pillars of a classical style and a small portico surrounded the front door. The overall effect was one of symmetry and proportion. To his taste it was a little dull. He preferred the spirited vernacular design of his own much smaller dwelling.

  MacKenzie was welcomed by a servant dressed in English livery who spoke with a southern accent. English servants – another needless expense, MacKenzie thought. The entrance hall was impressive: two marble staircases rose on left and right, curving round to meet at a doorway above. A cupola allowed an infusion of light so that the ornate classical carvings and huge portraits of flamboyantly dressed men and women came to life.

  He was led into a richly decorated reception room where the celebration was being held. It was almost full; conversation rose and fell above the music of a virginal. A small man in a large wig, dressed in a long blue velvet coat came forward to welcome him.

  ‘John MacKenzie, my favourite lawyer! I have missed our little discussions these last two months.’

  He shook MacKenzie’s hand vigorously and looked up at him, for the Earl was not much more than five feet tall.

  ‘My Lordship, I too have missed your company, but I must first congratulate you on your daughter’s engagement. May I say that the exquisite web you have spun has caught the English fly.’

  ‘My future son-in-law would not take too kindly to being called a fly.’ The two men laughed. ‘Now John, you must congratulate Helen yourself. Here she is.’

  A young woman dressed in a magnificent scarlet gown appeared from behind her father. MacKenzie kissed her and passed on his good wishes. After a few pleasantries she ran off to talk with other late arrivals who appeared more interesting than an old Edinburgh advocate.

  ‘What is the news from town, John? The murder of Sir Lachlan is the only subject of conversation in these isolated parts of the Lothians. Are they close to catching anyone? I must keep my voice down, for Ann MacLean is here with Dunbar’s daughter. Her brother, who I must say is a very serious young man, is also in attendance.’

  ‘I fear the Crown Officer’s men make little progress, your lordship, but I am devoting much of my own time to discover the perpetrator of this dreadful crime. I have been asked by the kin to investigate on their behalf. After all, I was with Sir Lachlan the night before he was killed.’

  ‘Here John, take a glass of wine.’ A silver tray was presented to MacKenzie by a smartly dressed servant. ‘Let us drink to the swift apprehension of the person responsible.’

  MacKenzie and the Earl raised their glasses. ‘Alas, I must make myself a useful host. If I do not speak to you later – there are after all three hundred guests here today – we will meet next month to discuss business as usual. Until then, John.’

  MacKenzie looked around, nodding now and again at guests he recognised. He was not in the mood for general conversation. There were only two people in the room with whom he wanted to speak. At last he caught sight of Ann MacLean in the throng and made his way towards her.

  She was dressed in black and gave a nervous smile as MacKenzie greeted her. He had already met Isabella Dunbar and he took her hand. ‘I am George Scott,’ said the tall man standing beside her.

  ‘Of the family of Drumsheugh?’ asked MacKenzie.

  ‘That is right, sir.’

  ‘This is John MacKenzie – who was my father’s legal man in Edinburgh,’ Ann said.

  ‘And how are you, Ann?’ asked MacKenzie. He was a little surprised that she and her brother would attend such a gathering so soon after their father’s death.

  ‘I am well, Mr MacKenzie, though I do not relish the long journey to Glenshieldaig. I will be pleased to return south when my father has been buried.’

  ‘Of course,’ said MacKenzie, turning his intense gaze from Ann to George Scott and back again.

  ‘Is there any word from Mr Stirling? There are rumours that the demise of an apothecary is somehow connected with my father’s death.’ Ann’s tone was cold, as if she was forcing herself to make polite conversation.

  ‘I fear that Mr Stirling’s investigations are still at an early stage, but Mr Scougall and I are putting our wits to the test and I think we are making some headway.’

  ‘Why should you and Mr Scougall be so presumptuous to take on such a role? With whose authority do you act?’

  ‘I act with the authority of your own kin, as appointed by your brother. I was also your father’s friend, Ann, and it is my duty as his friend to do all I can to bring his killer to justice.’

  ‘That is very noble of you, Mr MacKenzie,’ interjected George Scott, trying to defuse the tension. ‘I am sure that Ann did not mean to offend – she is still very upset.’

  ‘I understand. Perhaps I should not have spoken about your father’s death at what is, after all, a celebration. But, how shall I put this, Sir Lachlan’s demise must be an advantage to you both!’

  Ann MacLean’s face reddened and a flash of fury lit up her eyes. She took her friend by the hand and dragged her away. ‘Come, Isabella, I care not to be cross-examined. Mr MacKenzie should be mindful of his status.’

  ‘I am sorry, Mr Scott – my questioning was perhaps a little rough.’ Scott was above six feet in height and dressed smartly. MacKenzie noticed the glint of a small silver dagger hanging beneath his waistcoat. He was not going to let this opportunity slip.

  ‘Mr Scott. I believe you and Ann are soon to be married?’

  The young soldier was rattled and did not answer for a few moments.

  ‘I believe you intend to throw me with your lawyer’s manner, Mr MacKenzie. But I am not in court and I do not have to say anything on that matter.’

  ‘I must apologise. An old lawyer’s habit which I should retain for the Session.’ Scott had more wit than MacKenzie had anticipated. ‘Then if I may ask you a less intrusive question. I have heard that you follow the profession of soldier?’

  ‘You are correct, sir.’

  ‘Do you intend to continue with your career in the military?’

  ‘It is the only one I know, but my days of fighting for foreign kings are over. I wish to take a commission in an English regiment.’

  ‘Very patriotic,’ replied MacKenzie sardonically.

  ‘Our family estates are still saddled with debt and I must earn money somewhere.’

  ‘Of course, Mr Scott – a problem faced by many families. If I may ask but one further question. Is it true that Sir Lachlan once threaten
ed to kill you?’

  Scott hesitated for an instant.

  ‘You have been well informed, sir. We had many disagreements and on one occasion he did say that force might be used if I did not stop seeing Ann. Sir Lachlan often spoke before he thought. He viewed my family as socially inferior and our match as dishonourable. For him love had nothing to do with it.’

  ‘And life is now much more agreeable for you since his death?’

  Scott flinched visibly.

  ‘I must now negotiate with a new chief. I do not know if he will be any more willing to accept me as brother-in-law as his father was to welcome me as son-in-law.’

  ‘I wish you well, Mr Scott.’ MacKenzie bowed his head and took his leave, for he had spotted Primrose out of the corner of his eye, and he wanted to talk with him.

  CHAPTER 14

  Scougall Takes an Evening Stroll

  DAVIE SCOUGALL CAREFULLY wrote the final clause of the instrument of sasine that he had been working on for most of the afternoon in his small office. It was unusual for him to take so long over a document. He normally focused all his attention on the work at hand and was able to complete a fine instrument in an hour. But his mind was distracted. So much had happened to him in the last few days and he was trying to make some sense of it all. He felt that he had crammed more into the last week than the previous twenty-four years. During his long apprenticeship with Mr Dallas, he had divided his time between ten-hour sessions with the pen and a few hours at the golf in the early evening. Dallas had been a hard taskmaster and had demanded unstinting accuracy, but he had become fond of him and it had been a pleasant visit that morning. Those days now seemed years away; a life belonging to a stranger, although it was only three weeks since MacKenzie had walked into his office, introduced himself, and informed him that he required the services of a reliable writer and that he, Davie Scougall, came highly recommended by the venerable notary Mr Hugh Dallas. He had been overjoyed at the prospect of regular work for such an important advocate. But since then his life had been turned upside down and there had been no time to sit back and reflect. His agitated mind was telling him to relax and spend a few more hours on the Links. But how could he when he was on the trail of a murderer? And now he was to travel with MacKenzie into the Highlands to attend the funeral of a chief. He thought it might be prudent to send his mother and father a letter telling them where he was going, lest something should happen to him on the journey. He dared not think what his mother would say when she heard about his destination. His grandmother would be appalled. It was she, after all, who had filled his young head with tales of lawless clans. He must find some time after his return to visit them all in Musselburgh.