Death of a Chief
Page 9
‘I have been very busy with work these last few days – I wanted to ask you about Jossie’s murder. It is rumoured that he met his end by the same hand as Sir Lachlan. Have you heard anything about Stirling’s enquiries?’
‘I fear he has left most stones unturned and the ones he has turned have revealed little,’ said MacKenzie in a serious tone. ‘Davie and I, at the request of the kin, have been examining the evidence in an attempt to determine the identity of the person behind our good friend’s death.’
‘And what have you discovered?’ Primrose asked eagerly.
‘Let us say that progress is being made.’
‘I fear,’ said Primrose, ‘that Glenbeg killed Sir Lachlan in a debauched fit. It is well known he is a man of unstable character and I have heard it said he is wanted for the murder of a soldier in the United Provinces.’
Scougall was disturbed to hear this allegation against Glenbeg again. From Peggy’s mouth it had seemed more like sensational gossip. As a statement by an advocate it was a different matter. He shivered to reflect that he had sat in such company at Sir Lachlan’s table. Robert Campbell had barely spoken during the meal, despite having consumed a substantial quantity of wine. He remembered him looking intently at his cards as if the answer to the mysteries of the universe were to be found there.
‘I have heard a version of this many times before, Mr Primrose, and it is different at each telling,’ smiled MacKenzie.
‘It is perhaps an old wives’ tale,’ Primrose responded, ‘but there may be some truth in it. Now, gentlemen, you must excuse me. I leave for Culross, where I must attend to family affairs – I’ll make my way to Glenshieldaig from there. I understand that you also travel to the Highlands. I bid you safe journey.’
The crowd had now dispersed and only a few figures remained on the street. John Smith and his wife stood at their front door, looking pale and distraught, talking to Mr Hope.
Scougall was eager for an opportunity to tell MacKenzie of his discoveries of the previous evening but Stirling now approached. He was looking worried.
‘My Lord Advocate has spoken with me about the murders and is not well pleased with the little I have discovered so far, John,’ he announced. ‘He has political concerns at the moment, fearing his enemies may oust him from his position. I have sent my men to Jossie’s shop to examine the scene of the second crime but I must admit I am baffled. Have you or Mr Scougall had any further ideas?’
‘Davie and I continue to grapple with the facts – we now have official sanction from the kin of Sir Lachlan. The other night we went to the shop, where we disturbed an intruder who knocked Davie to the ground on trying to escape. We chased the fellow, but he was too fast for us and we lost him on the High Street. When we returned to the shop, I made a thorough examination and discovered two things – the last four pages of Jossie’s ledger had been torn out, and this small brooch, which was lying on the floor.’
MacKenzie removed the brooch from his pocket and gave it to the Crown Officer.
‘It should remain in your hands, Archibald. It may have been dropped by Jossie’s assailant, or it may have been lying on the floor for weeks. Mr Jossie did not keep a clean shop. I intend to engage in further research this morning. Then Mr Scougall and I leave for the Highlands to attend Sir Lachlan’s funeral. I feel confident we will learn more at Glenshieldaig. I will keep in contact, if I may, by post, and inform you of anything pertinent I learn.’
Stirling told them he was also travelling to the Highlands and that he would make his way in the company of Mr Hope and Mr Primrose once the latter’s business in Culross was concluded.
The Crown Officer then turned to Scougall and smiled.
‘Is this your first journey to the Highlands? I do hope you will be well armed.’ He waited for a troubled look to appear on the young notary’s face before continuing, ‘Do not worry Mr Scougall – I only jest with you. I have spent many a fine week fishing and hunting on the lands of Campbell of Glenmore – Sir Colin Campbell was a client of mine. You may be surprised by what you find. I even took a few words of Gaelic back with me.’
MacKenzie and Stirling laughed but Scougall did not see the joke.
‘It was the policy of our good King James to extirpate the barbaric tongue and I must concur with him,’ he expostulated. ‘Education of the Highlander in good Scots would certainly hasten the progress of civilisation there!’
‘Come, Davie, you still have much to learn despite the progress you have made in the law. I look forward to revealing a different picture to the one etched deep by Presbyterian divines and your grandmother’s fireside tales.’
When Stirling departed Scougall did not let the opportunity slip. MacKenzie listened attentively as he described his walk down Steel’s Close, his discovery of bloodstains, witnessing Mrs Smith’s distress in St Giles and his interview with Peggy.
‘And my evening ended as Mr Smith passed me on the High Street with a very worried expression on his face.’
‘Well done, I am glad you have been so busy,’ replied MacKenzie. ‘The Smith household would appear to be in a state of some distress. It’s unclear whether this is the effect of Sir Lachlan’s death or if there is some deeper cause. As I have said, we must keep Mr Smith and his wife in our thoughts.’
MacKenzie was impressed by Scougall’s efforts. He was showing considerable initiative.
‘I also have another confession to make, sir, and I do not know if you will be well pleased with me,’ Scougall went on. ‘At breakfast yesterday I mentioned to your daughter that you had found a brooch in Jossie’s shop and I described it to her. Last night I received a short note from her informing me that a jeweller by the name of John Nisbet in Bell’s Wynd stocks similar brooches and is selling them at a price of five shillings.’
It was as though a sheet of glass had fallen through MacKenzie’s joviality.
‘It would appear you have made something of an impression on my daughter. Davie, I must advise you in future not to pass on information that I have shared with you in confidence to any others, not even to Elizabeth, nor to Stirling and his men. For when we let loose a minnow, a dogfish may return to bite us!’
Scougall was wounded by MacKenzie’s rebuke. It was the first time he had displeased his new master and he felt shamed. He realised that he must tread more carefully as far as Elizabeth was concerned.
But MacKenzie’s good humour soon returned and he continued in a more conciliatory tone, ‘What I mean, Davie, is that we must be careful that the evidence we have collected does not find its way into the hands of Sir Lachlan’s killer. It may prove vital if we are to have the murderer prosecuted. So I recommend caution. A lawyer must know when to hold his peace and when to speak out. But do not look so worried – you have the eagerness of youth. I will write to Elizabeth tonight, requesting some more details and advising caution, for we are fishers in drumlie water. Now you must show me these bloodstains before we leave.’
CHAPTER 20
Queensferry
THE TWO LAWYERS stood on the shore; MacKenzie gazed northwards across the water, enjoying the cool breeze on his face, watching the shadows of clouds move briskly over the hills. Scougall stared down at the pebbles beneath his feet and kicked some into the water. He picked up a flat stone which caught his eye and sent it skimming over the surface of the grey, counting seven times before it disappeared into the sea.
‘You throw a fine skimmer,’ said MacKenzie and smiled to himself. He had taken to his young assistant. There was something endearing about his lack of pretension. He had tenacious qualities and much promise. His views were certainly rough hewn and some stood in direct opposition to sound reason, but he would be influenced by a little philosophy. MacKenzie realised that he enjoyed his company very much. He wondered if this was what a father felt towards a son. The image of his own sons came to him, stillborn twins in their tiny coffins. How desolate life could be. But there was still goodness in this bleak world. When he was engaged with in an intri
guing case like this one, the pit lay in the distance and his mind danced in the light.
Scougall picked up another stone and this time threw it as high as he could. It seemed to hang for a few seconds in the blue, before it fell against grey cloud, disappeared, and plopped onto the surface of a wave.
‘It’s here at last!’ MacKenzie pointed to the small boat heading towards them. ‘Now our journey can begin.’
The ferry arrived at the small quay within minutes and, once three merchants had disembarked, the two lawyers boarded. MacKenzie paid the ferryman and they took their places on a wooden bench.
‘Now, Davie, let me share some of the latest information I have unearthed. Yesterday I met George Scott at Boortree House. He struck me as a serious young man. He is determined to marry Ann MacLean. I then spoke with my kinsman Kenneth Chisholm, who supplied me with some interesting details about his family. George is a younger son of Sir David Scott of Drumsheugh – a landowner of some substance in the south-west, who was strong for the king in the civil wars. Their story is similar to many families of that time. Sir David was an enterprising man who had many ideas about how to increase the produce of his lands. But all his projects, like so many of that ilk, returned little or nothing. His business ventures were ended by the disruptions following the signing of the National Covenant in 1638. A staunch supporter of the king, he had been awarded a monopoly of pearl fishing in his local rivers by King Charles’ father, our good King James, and even though the rivers provided but a handful of pearls over twenty years, the dignity Sir David attached to his gift encouraged his loyalty to the monarch.’
MacKenzie, who until then had been staring back in the direction of Edinburgh, turned his gaze on his young friend. Scougall was not looking his usual self. He had taken on a greyish pallor so that it seemed the grey water of the firth was reflected on his face.
‘Are you feeling unwell, Davie?’ asked MacKenzie.
‘I fear I am ill as a result of the motion of this boat, sir. But please continue with your history of the House of Drumsheugh, so that I may be distracted from this terrible nausea.’
MacKenzie promptly obliged.
‘Sir David was strong for King Charles, as I have said, and he and his eldest sons fought with Montrose in that grim series of battles between the King and the Covenanters in the 1640s. I have read a number of accounts of these tragic encounters and spoken to a few of those, including Sir Lachlan himself, who fought and survived them. It was a time when the veins of our country were opened and much blood spilt. A close scrutiny of the causes of this war would prove a useful exercise, Davie. Archibald Stirling might provide you with a list of sources. As I think I mentioned, he is an enthusiastic student of the period.’
Scougall groaned. MacKenzie took that as a cue to continue his narrative.
‘Sir David’s eldest son was slain at the Battle of Kilsyth and two others died at Philiphaugh. Years in exile on the Continent followed. George Scott, the youngest of the family, was not born until 1654. At the Restoration the family recovered their estates but the lands had been ravaged in the ’40s and ill-managed since. They still labour to this day to improve their rents. Like Sir Lachlan, Drumsheugh was caught in a web of debt. The surviving sons were scattered to the four winds to make their fortunes outside Scotland. George returned to Europe and pursued a career as a soldier of fortune, fighting for any government that would pay his fee. He eventually came back to our shores last year after many adventures, and met Ann MacLean in Edinburgh. It seems that on one occasion Sir Lachlan threatened George in public that his life was in danger if he continued to see his daughter.’
MacKenzie stopped talking as Scougall made a choking sound, flung himself round and retched violently into the waters of the firth. MacKenzie moved over beside him and patted his back.
‘There, Davie, you’ll feel better now. Luckily we’ll be striking dry land in a few minutes!’
Scougall continued to groan as he lay on the bench on his stomach, his mouth over the edge of the boat in case he vomited again. Cold sea water splashed onto his face, providing some relief.
They soon reached the Fife shore and MacKenzie helped him off the ferry. Scougall staggered up the path towards the old inn, where horses were for hire. He found a grassy verge, lay down flat on his back and closed his eyes. MacKenzie, laughing loudly, sat down beside him.
‘You told me your uncle was a seaman. There is little sea blood in your veins!’
‘I have never been one for water, sir. I cannot swim and that was the first journey on a boat I have ever made. I hope it will be my last.’
‘Then I think we may be forced to return by another route, Davie.’
Scougall was lying on a bank surrounded by wild flowers, resting his head on the palms of his hands and staring up at the clouds drifting across the blue. He remained in this position for a few minutes, thanking God he had decided to follow the profession of notary and not become a merchant plying the Baltic trade as had been discussed in the family – a dry office was preferable any day.
‘I’m beginning to feel myself again, sir. You were telling me of Sir Lachlan’s threat. Both George or Ann MacLean, or both of them, might have wanted rid of him to marry at leisure.’
MacKenzie was lost in horticultural thoughts, admiring the architectural magnificence of the tiny bluebell and noticing a decaying primrose flower beside Scougall’s head.
‘Yes, Davie,’ he murmured.
‘I was convinced that Ann MacLean was involved from the start…’
‘Perhaps, Davie,’ interrupted MacKenzie, recollecting himself, ‘but as yet we have no proof. And would it not have been easier for the two lovers to elope rather than commit such crimes? There were two other men present at Sir Lachlan’s lodgings on the night of his death, to whom we have not as yet given our full attention – Mr Primrose and John Smith. They are of course upstanding citizens of Edinburgh, that goes without saying, and I do not wish to link their names unnecessarily with these heinous crimes, but we must examine their characters if we are to have a complete picture. You must never leave any stone unturned when you are concerned with murder; that is the lesson I have learned from my years as a lawyer. Smith is by all accounts an honest burgess, an elder of St Giles, a member of the burgh council and is well-liked by all I have spoken to. He is regarded as an astute man of business, who is generally fair and honest in his dealings. However, I have found two points of grievance between him and Sir Lachlan. The first we know already. He was owed considerable sums of money and had only seen small amounts paid back. I have also talked with Smith’s servant girl Peggy. After some encouragement she readily confessed to her liaison with the good Mr Hope. She also informed me that on a number of occasions she had heard Smith and Sir Lachlan discussing a possible marriage between Hector and Smith’s daughter Jean. As we might expect, Sir Lachlan was steadfast against such a match on the grounds that he considered a merchant, even a rich one, to be far beneath his position in society. Smith apparently applied pressure, threatening to take the chief through the courts to recover his debts but Sir Lachlan could not be persuaded. Peggy told me it was the only time that she has ever heard her master lose his temper.’
‘But would such a matter drive Mr Smith to the desperate act of murder?’ asked Scougall, whose natural colour was beginning to return. ‘And did Smith and his wife not witness a figure ascending the stairs after we had left the lodgings on the night of Sir Lachlan’s murder?’
‘Regarding your first point, Davie, I agree it seems unlikely that a man of Smith’s exemplary character would be driven to such extreme action. There are, after all, wealthier matches for his daughter. And Sir Lachlan, even though he was a friend of many years’ standing, was not always easy and obliging. But on your second point, many a wife has lied for her husband. We must not rule him out of our thoughts entirely. Now, here are our horses. At least some colour has returned to your cheeks. We must travel with speed if we are to make Perth by nightfall.’
CHAPTER 21
A Highland Tryst
A SMALL FIRE burned beside a Highland burn. The sky was steel grey and on both sides of the glen sheer slopes rose to high mountains. A long black ridge was visible to the west and the eastern peaks were encased in snow. A rudimentary path snaked northwards to disappear in the mist about a mile away. The wind was blowing strongly and sleet had begun to fall. Around the flickering flames were five hunched figures, dressed in dark plaids and old bonnets, their filthy, bearded faces suggested they spent most of their lives in the open.
Each man was concentrating on the task at hand: consuming an evening meal, for a sheep had recently been slaughtered and roasted on the fire. The remains of its carcass lay a few feet away from where they ate. The men did not speak to each other. It had been days since their last proper meal and it was their intention to devour as much as they could. They did not know when they might enjoy such a feast again.
A sudden noise in the distance disturbed their lonely repast. One of them stood up to get a better view as a rider appeared over a small knoll a couple of hundred yards to the south. The rest remained seated and only raised their eyes. The knives they were using to slice off pieces of meat flashed in the firelight.
The sun dipped below the western ridge and the glen darkened. When the horseman reached the fire, he dismounted and uttered a greeting in Gaelic. He was wearing the same dismal attire, but unlike his comrades was beardless. On his neck a long scar was visible, curving from his gullet up to his chin and round onto his cheek. He was handed a lump of greasy mutton, which he began to eat ravenously, the juices dripping from his toothless mouth down his chin and onto his plaid.
It was a few minutes before he began to speak and by this time the others had filled their stomachs to the point where they could eat no more. He removed a small leather pouch from under his plaid and poured the contents onto the ground beside the fire. Long screams of exultation rose into the glen and were lost in the wind. The silver coins were picked up carefully, each one held tenderly and examined for authenticity. They were then placed in a small pile. The men stared at their prize for a few moments until the latecomer carefully divided up the spoils.