‘I’ll take it, Mr Guillemot. It’s very kind of you.’
Guillemot removed his hands and allowed Scougall one last look in the mirror.
‘You’ve chosen wisely, sir. Let me put it in a box, so you can take it home.’
Scougall’s previous purchases were restricted to books, golf clubs and featheries. In a single day he had bought a suit, shoes and wig. In his mind he saw himself parading through the shops of Covent Garden. One day he might have his own coach and horses.
‘Don’t forget my generosity… when the time comes,’ Guillemot said casually as he presented him with the box.
‘How do you mean, sir?’
‘If I need help in the association… but I see you understand me… say no more. I can rely on you.’
Scougall was not sure what he meant.
‘I’ll see you again soon.’ Guillemot gave him a knowing nod which reminded Scougall that he had intended to question him about the killings. It seemed a bit ungrateful to turn to the subject of murder after the bargain had been made.
‘The demise of Dr Black is terrible,’ he said as he rose to his feet.
Guillemot nodded gravely. ‘It’s a tragedy, n’est pas? The Papists show no end to their cruelty. They’ll kill, slaughter and maim the Protestant. But the news from London is good.’
‘Are you a friend of Morrison?’
‘I know the young gentleman. We’ve made a number of business transactions.’
‘What’s the nature of your business?’
‘We haggle on price, as all merchants do. I want to pay low, he asks high.’
Scougall did not know Morrison traded in wigs. He didn’t know much about his interests. ‘Grimston’s a strange fellow,’ he added.
‘Lammington and Grimston are neighbours in the border lands. Both seek to rise. This will be their chance – a new king on the throne distributing offices and pensions. Those supporting the old King will fall, leaving the field open. I’m with Lammington. As you are also,’ he said knowingly.
‘I don’t side with either…’ Scougall finally realised the meaning of his remark.
‘I only ask that you vote with him when the time comes.’
‘Vote?’
‘If there’s a vote in the association. It’s important we support Monsieur Lammington. Grimston has no interest in trade. Religion is everything to him. It’ll be better for us, as men of trade, if Lammington’s our leader.’
Scougall had already paid his pound. He felt like he’d been bought.
‘I’ve heard Lammington’s a usurer?’ He adopted MacKenzie’s method of provocation. It was pure supposition based on Seaforth’s belief that he was active in the money market.
‘He’s just a merchant who helps those without cash. He lent me a small sum, so I could establish my business. I came to Edinburgh with nothing.’
‘I’ve heard he threatens those who don’t make repayment on time.’
‘I’ve never been in that position, Mr Scougall. But a moneylender must be forceful or some will never repay. Monsieur Lammington’s an honourable man. Grimston, on the other hand, is a relic of the past.’
‘What of Quinn?’
‘Quinn is a foreign man like me. He’s suffered, as has his sister. I’m told the Papists seek revenge in Ireland and many Protestants flee Dublin. Those in the north, who are of Scottish descent, seek help from their brethren here. William is petitioned to come to their aid.’ He paused for a moment before adding: ‘Quinn is also with Lammington.’
‘Then it seems Lammington has most support. Where did Black and Thirlsmuir stand?’
‘Thirlsmuir stood for himself, a rival of Lamminington and Grimston. I know not who Black favoured.’
‘I hope it’ll be over soon. I support the aims of the association, but I want peace.’
‘I could not agree more, sir. Violence is not good for the trading interest. Who thinks of wigs when everything’s uncertain? But a great change awaits the Kingdom – a glorious transformation. Monsieur Lammington assures me of that.’
‘I hope you’re right. Do you know Craig and young Johnston well?’
‘You’re inquisitive, Mr Scougall.’
‘It’s just my legal training, Mr Guillemot.’
‘Johnston’s a firebrand with all the hot-headedness of a fool. Craig works tirelessly for the House of Pittendean, putting family interest before any other. The great men use them to direct the mob as they are well-connected with the youth of the town. I’m with you and Quinn and Morrison. We’re men of business who want to build a better future for this land. It makes sense for us to be on the right side when revolution comes.’
27
An Awkward Request
‘I CAN SEE FROM your expression you’re not pleased to see me, Davie.’
‘It’s not that, Elizabeth. It’s not safe for you in Edinburgh at this time.’
‘Not safe! I’m to remain in the country while my friends suffer here,’ she said defiantly.
‘I’m only repeating what your father’s told me. I’ve advised my own family to stay at home until calm returns.’
‘I’ve no time for calm. I need your help. I hope you’re still my friend.’ She said this adamantly, staring intently at him with her piercing blue eyes.
They had communicated secretly before by letter when she had used him as a way of finding out about her father’s affairs. However, on this occasion Scougall was already in such trouble he wanted no other reason to sour his relationship with MacKenzie. Before he could say anything else she was sitting beside him at his desk.
‘Do you know my mother died on the day I was born?’
Scougall did not know what to say.
‘She was newly married,’ she continued. ‘She was looking forward to life. She was anticipating the joy of motherhood.’
‘I’m very sorry, Elizabeth,’ was all he could think of saying, although he knew it sounded trite.
‘Yesterday I saw a premonition of my own death.’
He did not like the way the conversation was heading.
‘I saw myself dying in childbirth just like her, leaving my son alone in the world.’
‘That will not happen to you. You’ll be fine,’ Scougall said, although the thought of her having a child with Ruairidh MacKenzie was abhorrent.
‘I love him, Davie. My father’s accepted the match, although I know he had doubts because of Seaforth’s finances. Everything was almost settled. I would lie with him in Brahan Castle on our wedding night.’
The thought of them lying together in a cold keep was disgusting.
‘Then yesterday I received a letter. At first I wondered what romantic subterfuge had encouraged him to have someone else, perhaps his man, write the address. But my joy was short-lived.’
She opened her purse. He did not want to read it, but he had no choice.
My dear Elizabeth,
You must forgive me my dearest love. These are trying days for all of us and we must all make difficult decisions. I’ve not been entirely open with you. When I was last in France, I was converted to the Catholic faith of my brother. It’s the old faith of Scotland, the one followed by all Scots until the reformers turned us from our natural course.
I wanted to tell you at The Hawthorns but my brother bade me say nothing as negotiations were at a sensitive stage. Now, alas, I fear we will never marry.
You may have heard of the terrible events in Edinburgh. Kingsfield was killed by a young convert to my religion. I was known to the assassin from secret meetings. These were harmless prayer sessions but we were discovered by the mob. Father Innes was brutally assaulted and Father Pryde taken into custody to be tortured.
I’m now a hunted man. If I’m caught, I’ll be tortured too, despite my brother being a privy councillor. They believe I had something to do with the Duke’s death and suspect me of involvement in the killing of Thirlsmuir.
I can assure you my love that I’d nothing to do with these murders. But the mob calls for
Papist blood. If I’m apprehended I’ll be torn to pieces.
I can assure you that my conversion has made me a better man. I’ve confessed all my sins and am at peace with God. A great weight is lifted from my shoulders. I hope in time you’ll come to realise the Church of Rome isn’t to be feared, but is a vessel of God’s love through Jesus Christ.
I pray you can forgive me for keeping this from you. I dearly hope we may still marry. I assure you of my love for you and respect for your father. I ask you to apologise to him and I hope one day to call him father-in-law.
I cannot say where I’m bound. Once I’m in safety I will write.
Your loving cousin,
Ruairidh MacKenzie
When Scougall looked up, he saw she was crying. He was sorry for her pain, but felt nothing but hatred for him. ‘I’m sorry, Elizabeth. I fear he may have fled abroad already.’ He dared not say he knew he was still in Edinburgh.
‘I want your help to find him, Davie.’
‘But, Elizabeth… your father wouldn’t want me to… I’ve no idea where he’s bound…’
‘You’re to be my eyes and ears in Edinburgh. I know you’re working closely with father. I need to know where Ruairidh’s going.’
‘You can’t… you mustn’t go after him… it would be folly… if you married him… it would be…’
‘I will follow him. I must follow him. I’ll be his wife even if we have to live in exile. I love him, Davie. Do you not understand? I’ve no choice.’
‘But you’ll be marrying a Papist against your father’s wishes!’
‘I care not if he’s a Papist!’
‘He’s betrayed you. He’s treated you with disrespect. He’s a foolish…!’
He realised he had overstepped the mark. He had spoken with venom, but he could not help it. He knew in his heart that Ruairidh MacKenzie was a rogue.
‘I didn’t know you had such strong feelings for him,’ she replied coldly.
He wanted to tell her it was because he cared for her. He wanted to say that she was the most beautiful creature in the world. He had always loved her, ever since he first set eyes on her that day at The Hawthorns. But he could not.
‘I’m sorry, Elizabeth. I can’t help you find him.’
‘Then I have misjudged you, Mr Scougall,’ she said bitterly. ‘I see we’re not friends, after all. You’re prejudiced against him because of his religion. You’re no better than the members of the mob who roam the streets. I bid you good day.’
He pleaded with her to remain so they could talk further, but she stormed out, slamming the door behind her. He knew in his heart that he had done the right thing. He would never help her find a Papist husband.
28
Questions Over Coffee
AFTER A LONG search MacKenzie found Lammington sitting on his own at a table in a corner of the Serpent Coffee House in Brotherstane’s Wynd.
‘Will you take a cup of coffee with me, sir? I need to speak to you on a legal matter.’
Lammington raised his head. He looked surprised but nodded affably, moving along the bench to let MacKenzie sit beside him.
‘What do you want with me, Mr MacKenzie?’
MacKenzie smiled. ‘How have you found Edinburgh since your return… from exile?’
Lammington looked at him carefully. ‘I like it very much. I now worship as I wish. It’s been a long hard struggle. I have… our King to thank for that.’
‘Are you a supporter of King James?’
‘I support his policy of toleration. Now, I’m very busy today, sir. What do you want of me?’
‘I’m working for a client. I’m investigating the killings of Black and Thirlsmuir. I believe they might be connected to the assassination of Kingsfield.’
Lammington eyed him suspiciously. He took a long draw on his pipe and exhaled slowly. ‘I’ve heard both were fine men taken in their prime. Why would you want to ask me about them?’
MacKenzie moved closer to him on the bench and dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘I hear they’re members of your little gathering.’
‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘They both attended your association; a club of like-minded gentlemen, a group of Presbyterians who plot against the King. I want to find out if it’s a coincidence both were slain?’
‘They were well known as loyal servants of Presbytery. Black was recently imprisoned in the castle by the government. Thirlsmuir was a leading man of the realm. But I didn’t ken them weel.’
‘Have you ever met them?’
‘I may have passed a pleasantry with them but I’ve never had dealings with either. Your intelligence is mistaken, MacKenzie.’
‘Do you know Cockburn of Grimston?’
‘I ken him, but I’ve little to do with him. His family hold land just to the north of my own. We are both returning exiles. My estates were forfeited and sold to another. I hope to have the transaction rescinded by parliament, but it’s a slow process. Perhaps you don’t understand me. Trade is my passion. I’ve returned frae exile to improve my lands by applying the methods of the Dutch in agriculture and to grow my trading interests. I’ve no stomach for politics.’
‘Are you acquainted with James Guthrie, minister?’
‘I’ve heard a couple of his sermons. He’s not amongst the first rank of preachers.’
‘What about Peter Guillemot and Andrew Quinn?’
‘I’ve never heard of them.’
‘Archibald Craig?’
‘He was Thirslmuir’s man of business. He’s known to me but not intimately.’
‘What of young Robert Johnston, student at the college?’
MacKenzie could tell that Lammington was trying to contain his anger as he puffed quickly on his pipe.
‘I’ve nae time for such meetings. If you ask me, the Papists are responsible for the killings. They’re still protected in the Abbey. All I want is to settle my affairs so I can return hame and live at peace on my lands.’
MacKenzie could tell that Lammington was itching to leave, but he had him trapped behind the table. ‘I’ve heard you’ll benefit from the killings.’
‘I’m unaffected by their deaths. Who is the client you represent?’
‘The mother of Alexander Stuart.’
‘You shouldnae waste your time representing Papists.’
‘His mother is no Papist.’
Lammington took his hat, indicating that he wanted to be gone. But MacKenzie did not rise to let him pass. ‘I’m told you have extensive moneylending interests.’
‘That’s public knowledge. I provide credit on security. I put idle funds tae work for the benefit of all. Many lawyers are engaged in the same business.’
‘They are, sir. Indeed I’ve sums lent out myself. It’s just I’ve heard you are willing to lend to those with poor credit.’
Lammington looked unsettled. ‘I lend a little to such men and charge a higher annual rent for the risk – that’s the principal of sound business.’
‘Do you lend to Papists?’
Lammington was silent for a few moments. ‘I’ve provided money to a few over the years.’
MacKenzie nodded knowingly, wanting to leave this in the air. It would not look good for a worthy Presbyterian to be known as a lender of last resort to the servants of Antichrist.
‘Did you lend to Thirlsmuir or Black?’
‘I’ve already telt you, Mr MacKenzie. I was not well known tae them. I’ve other business to attend to. I thank you for the coffee.’
‘There’s just one more thing, sir. Did you visit Maggie Lister’s house on 26 November… the day on which Black was killed?’
MacKenzie detected a flash of panic in his eyes.
‘Ah, Maggie Lister’s where Black was found.’ Lammington took up his pipe again. ‘I’m a man like any other, Mr MacKenzie.’
‘Could you confirm you were there on the day he was killed.’
‘I was there in the early evening. Indeed, I recommended the establishment tae Black.
I arrived about four o’clock and left an hour later. I was with a whore named Janet Stratton, a fine wench. I swear I saw nothing of Black.’
MacKenzie rose from the bench allowing him out. He sat for a while deep in thought as he finished his coffee. He now had to track down his neighbour Grimston. It proved easy to find his favourite drinking den in a close off the Cowgate where he took a bottle of wine at the same time every afternoon.
MacKenzie took up position in a corner and waited. At three o’clock Grimston arrived with his servant. MacKenzie was in luck as the laird took the table beside him. He was relying on the fact that Grimston did not know him. MacKenzie glanced over at the large knuckles of Grimston’s right hand as he sat clutching his glass like a claw. He sipped his wine and pretended to attend to the papers in front of him while focusing all his attention on what Grimston said to his man.
Grimston took a pamphlet from his pocket. ‘Look at this, Syme.’
‘I cannae read, sir.’
‘I ken you cannae. I’ll read it for you… listen. The King’s fled London like a poulet… the time approacheth. The time’s at hand. We’ll have our glorious revolution, will we not? I’ve waited lang. I’ve worked haird. I’ll nae let the likes of Lammington tak the prize. What’s he done tae deserve such accolades? I fought on the battle field for Christ Jesus, while he sat in a change house lending money tae ony who sought mammon.’ He took a long swig of claret. ‘I must hae something on him… to persuade the ithers of his sinfulness… to show his true character.’
A youth approached Grimston’s table.
‘What do you have for me, Johnston?’
MacKenzie took up his quill. He did not pen a brief, but noted the exact words spoken by Grimston. It was a useful trick which made it look like he was distracted by work. Here was a bit of luck at last, he thought, the opportunity to listen to a conversation between two members of the association. All he had to do was sip his claret.
Pilgrim of Slaughter Page 14