Broad chuckled to himself. ‘I think we are all aware of the regulations. It does not become you to feign ignorance of them.’
My father inhaled sharply through his nose. His pipe was gripped so tightly in his fist that his knuckles had turned white.
‘I regret that you have wasted a morning’s labour,’ said Broad, ‘but I must ask you to return this sea-ware from whence it came.’
‘I shall do no such thing,’ said my father.
Lachlan Broad exhaled slowly and made a clicking sound with his tongue.
‘As your village constable I would advise you to do as I suggest. I am giving you the opportunity to rectify this transgression without levying a fine, which I know you can ill afford to pay. And I am quite sure you would prefer to resolve this matter without the involvement of the factor.’
He took a step back from my father, then gave him a pat on the shoulder and said, ‘I shall leave it to you. I have no doubt you will make the correct decision.’
Then he made a sign to his brother and the two of them made their way back to the village. My father snapped his pipe in two, then cast the pieces on the shore and crushed them under the heel of his boot. Then he told me to return the sea-ware to the shore, and strode off back towards the house.
That same evening, Lachlan Broad paid a visit to our house. My father was sitting in his chair gazing out of the window and must have seen him approach, but when Broad stepped over the threshold, he lowered his eyes to the book on his lap and pretended to be unaware of his presence. Jetta looked up from her chores and upon seeing him her eyes widened and she inhaled sharply, her lips parted. Lachlan Broad looked at her intently, but did not greet her. He then knocked on the door jamb to gain my father’s attention and asked if he might have a few words with him. My father returned his gaze to his book and affected to finish the passage he was reading. He then stood up and took a few paces towards Broad.
‘No doubt if I were to refuse you entry to my house,’ he said, ‘you would point out that it is not my house at all, but the property of the laird, and as such I have no right to impede you.’
Lachlan Broad laughed heartily as if my father had made an amusing joke. ‘I’m sure we have not yet reached the point where we would refuse each other the hospitality of our homes.’
He then slapped him on the arm as if they were the best of friends and, keeping his hand about my father’s shoulder, steered him towards the table. ‘I would be loath to think that our conversation this morning might tarnish our good relations.’
To this my father made no reply, but he did not resist Broad’s manoeuvre. The two men sat down at the table – my father at the head, Broad on the bench with his back to the door, so that his face was lit only by the orange glow of the fire. He appeared eager for the atmosphere to be convivial. I was standing with my back to the dresser. He enquired after my health and, not wishing to displease him, I replied that I was quite well. He asked me if I was not going to join them at the table. I looked to my father and, as he did not object, I did so. Broad then gestured towards the swee and in an excessively jovial manner said, ‘Jetta, is there not a strupach to greet the weary traveller?’
Jetta looked to my father, who made no sign one way or the other. She thus took it upon herself to prepare tea, and while she did so Broad directed a number of questions towards her, all in a most affable tone. Jetta replied politely, but with a minimal expenditure of words and without once raising her eyes to him. I noticed, however, that her cheeks were quite crimson as she placed the cup before our visitor. She then, at my father’s behest, retired to the back chamber. Broad took a sip of his tea and let out an appreciative sigh, as if he had indeed travelled a great distance to reach us.
‘John,’ he began, leaning forward, ‘I fear the incident on the shore might have provoked some ill feeling in you. I thus thought it wise to apprise you of my view of this morning’s occurrence, so that you might understand that I had no alternative to acting as I did.’
As my father made no response, he continued, ‘I only ask that you consider the consequences of allowing you to gather the sea-ware.’
‘Families have gathered sea-ware since time immemorial,’ said my father, ‘and I recall no consequences, as you call them.’
‘That is of course true,’ said Broad, ‘but perhaps I have not expressed myself clearly. It is not, in itself, the gathering of the sea-ware which is at issue. The issue is the absence of the proper authority to do so. Had I allowed you to continue with your harvesting this morning, would that not have been taken – by individuals less scrupulous than yourself – as an indication that it was acceptable to gather sea-ware as and when people wished? I could hardly have allowed you to continue and then tomorrow ask Mr Gregor to desist. He would quite rightly object that I had allowed you to gather sea-ware, so why should he not do the same? The regulations, I’m sure you would agree, must apply equally to all.’
Here he spread his great hands in front of him as if to suggest that what he had said was irrefutable.
‘Now, while I appreciate the inconvenience of returning the sea-ware to the shore, I am sure that you can see that had I not acted as I did, I would have been sanctioning all such unauthorised gathering of sea-ware. As you rightly point out, such gathering has long taken place unchecked, but while you might think there are no consequences to this, I would contend that the consequence is the general flouting of the regulations of which we have all been guilty. As I was elected to the position of constable with the express purpose of restoring order, had I overlooked this morning’s transgression, I would make a mockery of my regime.’
He paused for a sip of tea and placed the cup delicately back on the saucer. My father’s eyes followed the motion of his hand. A period of silence ensued, which it was clear that my father was not going to break. Lachlan Broad turned to me and said, ‘Your father is a man of principle, Roddy. I fear I have not convinced him of my good intentions.’
I did not reply, but cast my eyes to the table to avoid his gaze. He then addressed my father again, his tone now betraying a sense of exasperation.
‘Perhaps you feel that my application of the regulations is fanatical, or that I obtain some personal gratification from the exercise of these powers. I can assure you that nothing could be further from the truth. It is quite true that, in itself, the gathering of sea-ware is a trifling matter, but if it is permissible to take sea-ware from the shore, would the people not be correct in concluding that it is also permissible to take fish from the rivers or deer from the hillside?’
‘I do not see that the two things are comparable,’ said my father.
‘But they are,’ said Broad, wagging his forefinger to emphasise the point. ‘I would not assume to instruct a devout man like yourself on matters of theology, but the Eighth Commandment does not, I believe, make any distinction between the theft of a large item and a small one.’
‘Do you accuse me of stealing?’ said my father quietly.
‘I accuse you of nothing,’ said Broad, with a wave of his hand, ‘but it is difficult to see how the taking of something which does not belong to you could be otherwise construed.’
My father considered this for a few moments before stating that if Broad had said his piece, there was no reason for him to remain any longer.
The constable did not stir from the bench. He drank the last of his tea and ran the back of his hand over his mouth. His fingers remained at his face for some moments, smoothing his moustache.
‘I did not come here to make accusations, John,’ he said. ‘If I have expressed myself clumsily, forgive me. I have come, on the contrary, in a spirit of reconciliation. Under normal circumstances the fine for this morning’s transgression would be ten shillings. However, in light of the fact that, as you rightly point out, sea-ware has been taken from the shore since time immemorial and that, when I drew attention to your error, you returned the
sea-ware to the shore, I am prepared to waive the penalty on this occasion.’
If Lachlan Broad thought that my father might thank him for this act of charity, he was mistaken.
‘I would rather pay the ten shillings than be in your debt.’
Lachlan Broad nodded. ‘I respect that, but as there is no ten shillings to pay, you need not count this as a favour for which you should feel indebted.’
He drummed his fingers once on the table as if to indicate the satisfactory conclusion of the matter. He appeared to be about to take his leave, but then paused as if another thought had suddenly struck him.
‘Of course,’ he said, ‘your need for sea-ware remains.’
‘I have no wish to take that which does not belong to me,’ said my father.
‘As I have been trying to explain,’ said Broad, ‘it is not a question of taking what does not belong to you, it is merely a matter of following the proper procedures.’
‘I have heard quite enough about procedures and regulations these last months.’
‘That’s as may be, but the procedures exist and they must be followed. In this case, all that is required is that you make an application to the factor that you wish to collect sea-ware from the shore for the purpose of spreading on your croft. Such an application may be made through the factor’s representative.’
‘You mean to yourself,’ said my father.
Broad indicated with a slight nod of his head that this was indeed the case.
‘Given the understanding we have reached this evening,’ he said, ‘I can see no reason not to accept an oral application and I can assure you that such an application would be looked on favourably.’
My father’s thin lips twitched, but he said nothing. After some moments a plump hen appeared, silhouetted in the doorway, and thrust its head over the threshold as if it was looking for its companions. Its left leg was suspended in the air, curled underneath its breast like a withered hand. Then, not finding what it was looking for, it retreated and disappeared from view. Lachlan Broad shrugged and said, ‘I take it then that you wish to make no such application.’
He then bid us good evening in a manner suggesting we had just spent a convivial hour in each other’s company, and took his leave. I have no doubt that he felt greatly pleased with himself and I felt at that moment a terrible hatred of him. He was for sure a clever fellow and my slow-witted father was no match for him.
Father remained at the table and spent the rest of the evening staring blankly towards the empty byre. There being nothing to say about what had passed, I took myself outside and sat on the bench there. The hen that had lately appeared at the door was now pecking at the dirt between the houses. Some minutes later, Lachlan Broad emerged from Mr Gregor’s house and without looking in my direction set off along the village, calling next at the house of Kenny Smoke.
The following morning at low tide there was a general gathering of sea-ware from the shore and by evening it had been spread on all the crofts, save our own. My father passed no comment on the proceedings and went about his business as if nothing was amiss. Some days later I heard him remark to Kenny Smoke as they shared a pipe on the bench outside our house that there was no way of knowing whether sea-ware brought any benefit to the crops. It was merely something that the people did out of habit, because their fathers and grandfathers had done so before them. Kenny Smoke replied that the same could be said of many of our practices.
* * *
Mr Sinclair calls on me here quite frequently and I have come to enjoy his visits. The first time he entered my cell I offered him my bed to sit on, but he looked at it with some disdain and remained standing with his back to the door. He suggested that I make myself comfortable, but I thought it improper to sit in the presence of my superior, so I stood in the corner beneath the high window. He was dressed in a tweed suit and brown leather brogues quite ill-suited to his dismal surroundings. His complexion was fresh and his hands pink and soft. I would estimate him to be around forty years old.** He spoke in the measured, elegant manner of a gentleman.
Mr Sinclair informed me that he had been appointed as my advocate and that it was his duty to represent me to the best of his ability. He then told me that he was very pleased to make my acquaintance, and the idea that a gentleman would address a wretch like myself in such a manner struck me as so comical that I began to laugh quite uncontrollably. He waited for me to recover my composure, then informed me that anything I told him was confidential, before explaining the meaning of the word ‘confidential’ in the manner of a schoolmaster addressing a backward pupil.
I told him that there was no need for him to explain the meaning of this or any other word and, furthermore, that I had no need of his services. He replied that if I wished to have another advocate, it could easily be arranged. However, it was not the identity of my advocate which was at issue, I explained, rather that I did not require the services of any advocate, as I had no intention of denying the charges against me. Mr Sinclair looked at me for some moments with a serious expression. He told me that he understood my position, but the law required that I be represented in court.
‘I have no interest in what the law requires,’ I replied. ‘The law is nothing to me.’
I do not know what possessed me to speak to him in this ill-mannered way, other than a dislike of being told what was or was not required of me. In addition, I felt a degree of mortification at being in the presence of a gentleman while the contents of my bowels lay in a pail by my feet, and I heartily wished him to leave me alone.
Mr Sinclair drew his lips together and nodded slowly.
‘Nevertheless,’ he said, ‘it is my duty to advise you that to dispense with counsel would be quite contrary to your interests.’
He sat down on my bunk and adopted a more conversational tone. He explained that I would be doing him a service if I would be so good as to allow him to put a few questions to me. Feeling somewhat repentant, I indicated that I had no objection and he seemed pleased. The gentleman had treated me with unwarranted courtesy and I had no reason to cause him any trouble.
Mr Sinclair then proceeded to ask me some general questions about my family and the circumstances of my life, quite as if we were two equals getting to know one another. I answered his questions truthfully, but without elaboration, as I could not see that the particulars of my life in Culduie could be of interest to him or anyone else. Nonetheless, Mr Sinclair had a gentle, pleasing manner and I began to warm to his company. If nothing else, our dialogue served to break the monotony of the day. The longer we talked the stranger it seemed that he should converse with me as if the circumstances were quite normal; rather than the fact that he, a gentleman, was engaging in discussion with an uneducated murderer. I wondered if perhaps he had not been informed of my crimes; or if I was not in prison at all, but in an asylum and Mr Sinclair was one of my fellow inmates. However, as the general part of our conversation reached its conclusion, Mr Sinclair came to the point of his visit.
‘Now, Roderick,’ he said, ‘some days ago a dreadful crime was committed in your village.’
‘Yes,’ I replied, not wishing him to continue. ‘I killed Lachlan Broad.’
‘And the others?’
‘Them too,’ I said.
Mr Sinclair nodded slowly. ‘You are not saying this in order to take the blame for another person?’ he asked.
‘No,’ I said.
‘And did you act alone in this enterprise?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I acted entirely alone and as I have no intention of denying anything, I have no need of the services of an advocate. I do not repent my actions and whatever happens now is a matter of indifference to me.’
Mr Sinclair gazed at me for some moments after my little speech. I did not know what was in his mind, for I have not been much in the company of the educated classes and their manners are quite different from my own
people.
Eventually he said that he appreciated my candour and asked my permission to visit again the following day. I said that he was welcome to visit whenever he wished as I had enjoyed talking to him. He replied that he had enjoyed talking to me too. Then he struck the door twice with the flat of his hand and the gaoler, who must have been waiting outside all along, turned the key in the lock and let him out.
Mr Sinclair has indeed continued to visit and I admit that I have come to look forward to his company and regret my rudeness to him on that first day. It is a mark of his superior breeding that he has been prepared to overlook my ill manners. As my cell has now been furnished, at Mr Sinclair’s insistence, with a table and chair for me to write at, our time together has become a little more comfortable. Mr Sinclair sits on the rickety chair by the desk while I sit on the bunk or on the floor beneath the window. My advocate’s eyes often wander towards the pages I am writing. It was on his second or third visit that he suggested I make a record of the events leading up to my crimes and he seems pleased that I have taken to the task wholeheartedly. One afternoon, as he ran his thumb through my pages, he told me that he was curious to know what was contained in them. I am discomfited by the idea of an educated man perusing my crude text, but I told him I was only writing it because he had asked me to do so and he was welcome to take away the pages whenever he wished. He replied that he preferred to wait until I had finished and that it was important for me to continue as if I was writing neither for him nor for any other audience.
Mr Sinclair seems to me to be a man of great patience. He begins each day by asking me the same questions regarding my general comfort and whether my meals are adequate. He has said several times that it would be possible for a meal to be brought to me from a local inn, but I reply that I am quite accustomed to plain fare and there is no need to go to any inconvenience on my behalf. This morning, however, our conversation took a quite different turn. Mr Sinclair has, in general, avoided discussion of the details of the murders themselves. Today, however, he pressed me on the issue of what was in my mind at the time I committed them. I replied that my only thought was to deliver my father from the injustices visited upon him by Lachlan Mackenzie. Mr Sinclair probed at this point for some time, re-phrasing his questions over and over until I felt that he was trying to catch me out, but he did not succeed in doing so.
His Bloody Project Page 9