by Douglas Watt
‘I am heading for Lammersheugh where a woman is held on suspicion of being a witch. With God’s help I will seek out the Devil’s Mark.’
Scougall was excited by the subject matter. ‘How many witches have you known, Mr Kincaid?’ he blurted out.
Kincaid smiled. ‘If you mean how many I have pricked, Mr Scougall, I believe it be more than five hundred.’
‘How do you find the Devil’s Mark?’
‘The Mark is insensible. I use a pin about this size.’ Kincaid held his thumb and forefinger about two inches apart. ‘It is slipped beneath the skin. If no blood appears and the accused feels nothing – it is the mark of Satan. It may be found on any part of the body, but it is most commonly located here.’ He indicated the inside of his thighs. ‘Or at the base of the spine. But I have found marks on every part of man and woman.’
‘Do they ever resist you?’
‘Sometimes they do. Then they must be held down or tied down, especially if they are men. They often curse me, screaming that I will pay for my good work. Others succumb without opposition. Many whimper like animals.’
‘Who is the woman you attend in Lammersheugh?’ Scougall probed.
‘I do not know her name, sir. Word reached me in Tranent that my services were required. I must follow the money, as they say. There is always work for me in the Lothians.’
Kincaid drew up his horse. ‘I take the road here.’ He indicated a track heading southwards towards the hills. ‘Haddington is but a mile distant. I bid you good day, Mr Scougall.’
Scougall watched Kincaid proceed down the track. His thoughts turned to MacKenzie and he reflected that there was real danger in the parish of Lammersheugh.
CHAPTER 18 - The Latterwill of Lady Lammersheugh
THE WALLS OF the stuffy chamber were lined with bookshelves crammed with large ledgers and an assortment of legal texts. Gideon Purse sniffed loudly and cleared his throat. From behind thick spectacles, his eyes darted round the room, making sure that everyone was listening. His audience sat in an arc of wooden chairs and stools in front of his large desk. MacKenzie was beside a small sash window which looked down on the High Street of Haddington.
There was a knock on the door.
‘Come in,’ said Purse, annoyed by the arrival of a latecomer.
Scougall made his apologies, crossed the room and sat on a stool beside MacKenzie.
‘My horse proved difficult to handle,’ he whispered.
‘It was good of you to come so quickly, Davie,’ MacKenzie replied in a low voice. He waited until Scougall had settled himself. ‘Note down as much you can in shorthand. It may prove invaluable.’
Scougall withdrew a small leather notebook and a pencil from his bag. A slither of excitement passed through him at the prospect of utilising the skills he had learned from Shelton’s Tachygraphy. MacKenzie had scoffed when he had told him what he was studying as if it was just a passing whim. But here he was making good use of it.
‘Lady Girnington, gentlemen. I believe we are all present. Thank you for coming this morning,’ the lawyer sniffed again, ‘to hear the latterwill and testament of Grissell Hay Lady Lammersheugh, relict of Alexander Hay of Lammersheugh, who died on the twenty-second day of October, the year of God 1687. I will read the document in its entirety as requested by my client. If you have any questions please wait until I have finished.
‘“The following is the testament dative and inventory of debts and sums of money pertaining to umquile Grissell Hay, Lady Lammersheugh, relict of the deceased Alexander Hay of Lammersheugh, faithfully written by Gideon Purse, writer in Haddington, conform to this letter dated at Lammersheugh and subscribed on 6 October 1687.
‘“The inventory of goods is as follows: money lying in cash in Lammersheugh House £500; household plenishings in Lammersheugh House £2,000; books in the library of Lammersheugh House £500; other sundry goods £50. Debts resting to the defunct by the Laird of Woodlawheid conform to his bond £666 13s 9d, by the tenants of Lammersheugh in unpaid rent £300. Summa of inventory and debts owed to the defunct £4,016 13s 9d.”’
He cleared his throat again. ‘“Debts owed by the defunct. To servants for their fees and bounties: John Murdoch for one year’s fee £50; Elizabeth Murdoch for one year’s fee £50; Bessie Hodge and Agnes Smith maidservants for one year’s fee £25 each. To Archibald Muschet conform to his two bonds of £5,000 and £3,000, in total £8,000. To Lady Girnington conform to her three bonds of £2,000, £10,000 and £5,000, in total £17,000. To John Murray merchant in Haddington conform to his bond of £1,000. To Andrew Hunter merchant in Edinburgh conform to his bond of £5,000. To John MacKenzie, advocate in Edinburgh, for legal expenses £500. The defunct’s funeral charges £20. Summa of debts owing by the deceased £31,670. Therefore, the debts exceed the goods by £27,653 6s 3d.”’
The lawyer moved one sheet of paper across his desk and picked up another. ‘I will now read the latterwill,’ he said, sniffing loudly again.
‘“I, Grissell Hay, Lady Lammersheugh, being of sound mind, leave to my sister-in-law Lillias Hay, Lady Girnington,”’ he raised his head to meet the eyes of a large woman in a billowing blue velvet dress sitting directly in front of him, ‘“The Dutch clock that sits on my mantelpiece in my chamber.”’
Scougall gawked at the huge figure, reflecting that she was repulsively fat. MacKenzie’s elbow gently reminded him that he was to note everything down. Lady Girnington maintained an air of indifference.
‘“I leave to Adam Cockburn of Woodlawheid the engravings in the library at Lammersheugh which my late husband collected on his journey to Europe as a young man.”’ MacKenzie noted a finely dressed man nod to Purse.
‘“I leave to Mr Cant, minister of Lammersheugh, for his troubles in instructing my daughter Rosina Hay, the Bible published in Paris in 1555, to be found in the library at Lammersheugh.”’
The minister nodded to the lawyer, and then looked at Lady Girnington. He noticed MacKenzie watching him.
‘“I leave to Archibald Muschet, merchant in Lammersheugh, the sum of £100 for his loyal service to the House of Lammersheugh.”’ A soberly dressed merchant shook his head in an aggrieved manner.
‘“I leave to Theophilus Rankine the sum of £100 to be administered by him on behalf of the poor and sick of the parish.”’ A gaunt figure with sunken cheeks, also dressed in black, nodded to Purse.
‘“I leave to my loyal servant John Murdoch, who has served the House of Lammersheugh for forty years, the sum of £200 and an annual rent of £50 from the lands of Lammersheugh in his retirement. I leave to his wife Elizabeth Murdoch, also a servant of the House of Lammersheugh, the sum of £50.”’ MacKenzie recognised Murdoch from his visit to the house. His head remained bowed, eyes fixed on the floor.
‘“To my beloved Janet Cornfoot who has served me through all the days of my life and who has been a beam of light unto me, I leave the sum of £200.”’
‘She cares more for her servants than her kin,’ Lady Girnington scoffed. Her refined accent had little suggestion of a Scottish brogue.
‘I am not quite finished, my lady. “To my husband’s legal agent in Edinburgh, Mr John MacKenzie, advocate, Clerk of the Court of Session, I leave the small picture which hangs in the library at Lammersheugh. And to his daughter Elizabeth MacKenzie…”’ The mention of the name took Scougall by surprise. He felt his face redden. He hoped that no one, especially MacKenzie, would notice. ‘“…to his daughter Elizabeth,”’ the lawyer repeated, ‘“I leave an exquisite emerald to be found in the box in my chamber.”’
MacKenzie’s elbow nudged Scougall again. ‘Record every word, Davie,’ he whispered.
‘The sums of money will be distributed later today. The legacies will be surrendered in Lammersheugh House at midday tomorrow.’
Scougall was perplexed, but continued writing until he had recorded every word. He looked down with satisfaction at the tightly packed symbols in his notebook.
Lady Girnington indicated to the man beside her that he was to
help her to her feet. When he rose Scougall noticed he was as tall as MacKenzie, but considerably heavier in build. He placed a large hat with a long black feather on his head, before helping her from the chair. ‘Great dishonour is done me by that woman, Mr Purse. Collect my clock for me. Good day, gentlemen.’
The others rose to their feet as Lady Girnington left with the large man. Murdoch, MacKenzie and the fashionably attired laird remained seated. Scougall found himself rising involuntarily, but he was held down by MacKenzie’s hand.
‘She did not show much sympathy for her sister-in-law, Davie. Come, I have much to tell you.’ MacKenzie appeared to have lost the good humour which he had shown in Musselburgh.
They had to wait while Lady Girnington descended the stairs. As they emerged from the front door onto the High Street of Haddington, the laird was waiting for them. He wore a large hat with a feather protruding from a black ribbon, a long periwig and a silk suit.
‘I am Adam Cockburn of Woodlawheid, a close friend of the family.’
‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance, sir. I am John MacKenzie. This is my assistant, Davie Scougall.’
‘You were Alexander’s man of business in Edinburgh. He spoke fondly of you,’ Cockburn said in a friendly but serious manner.
‘I am here to settle the affairs of the estate. Recent events complicate the picture.’
‘The parish is afflicted by madness, Mr MacKenzie.’
‘You speak of Euphame.’
‘Indeed. You could not meet a more delightful young woman. She has been greatly wronged. As was her mother.’
‘I believe your son found Lady Lammersheugh’s body, Mr Cockburn?’
The laird hesitated. ‘Yes. At the Devil’s Pool.’
‘What of Janet Cornfoot? I found her body last night.’
‘She was infirm. A seizure of some kind is suspected. The sheriff-deputy will no doubt take a statement from you at some stage. Justice moves slowly in these parts.’
‘Who is the sheriff-deputy?’
‘Colonel Dewar of Clachdean – he left with Lady Girnington. He does not carry out his duties with the celerity we might wish.’
MacKenzie did not seem disposed to divulge the details of what had happened in the cottage: ‘I wonder if you could do us a service, Mr Cockburn. I want to see the place where Lady Lammersheugh’s body was found. There are a number of aspects of this affair with which, from a legal point of view, I am not happy.’
‘I can take you there this afternoon on my way back to Lammersheugh. Let us meet in the Bell at two o’clock, if that is convenient.’ The laird removed his hat, bowed and departed down the street.
MacKenzie waited until he was out of earshot before turning to Scougall. ‘Let us find somewhere we can talk.’
They wandered down the busy High Street, stopping by a low wall at the end of a row of houses with a view of undulating rigs leading to the Lammermuir Hills. MacKenzie described what had occurred since he left Musselburgh. Scougall was disturbed to hear about the death of Janet and the arrest of Euphame.
‘How was she killed, sir?’
‘I am not sure, Davie. I could find no signs of violence. She may have died of natural causes, but the timing is highly suspicious. I found this on the floor beside her chair. I am sure it was not there when I left the cottage to pursue the intruder.’ He removed the feather from his pocket and handed it to Scougall. ‘It could have been blown to where I found it by a draught when the door was opened, of course.’
‘Why would a killer carry a feather with them?’ Scougall was thinking aloud.
‘Why do you think, Davie?’
‘It may have fallen from a hat.’
‘That is quite possible. A feather is a common accessory to a cap or hat.’ He took it from Scougall and examined it closely. ‘We must take notice of the head-gear of all we meet. Now, tell me everyone who had a feather in their hat in Purse’s office.’
As Scougall had been concentrating on recording the lawyer’s words, he had paid little attention to the dress of those in the room. ‘I can only recall the hat of Mr Cockburn.’
‘Good, Davie. I noticed that Colonel Dewar also had a feather in his hat, as did Lady Girnington. It may be nothing, but it is all we have at the moment. I do not believe that Janet died of natural causes. She told me that someone had tried to scare her the previous night. The appearance of an Edinburgh advocate at her cottage may have sealed her fate.’ MacKenzie looked south across the brown rigs which gave way to muirland before rising to the hills. White clouds were drifting across their rounded tops. ‘The affair is darker than I had expected. We have two deaths and a young woman accused of the gravest of crimes. Euphame Hay is in great danger. It may already be too late to save her. She does not look as if she has a strong constitution.’
The accusation against Euphame troubled Scougall. Mothers and daughters had been known to sell themselves to Satan together. If Lady Lammersheugh was a witch it seemed to him likely that Euphame was one also.
‘Do you think that the same person killed Lady Lammersheugh and Janet?’ he asked, trying to lay aside his train of thought.
MacKenzie ignored the question. ‘We have much to do. First we must visit the Devil’s Pool, then speak to all those involved. I fear we have little time. Euphame has already been shattered by the death of her mother. She may not survive long in prison. We need to get her kin to stand caution for her.’
Scougall summoned up the courage to say what was on his mind. ‘What if Euphame is a witch, sir?’
‘There are no witches, Davie!’ MacKenzie replied gruffly.
CHAPTER 19 - The Pricking of Euphame Hay
‘I THANK YOU for your quick response, Mr Kincaid.’ There was a slight echo from Cant’s voice from the church bell which hung above them. He was standing with Rankine and Muschet in the steeple of Lammersheugh Kirk.
Euphame Hay was sitting on the floor with her back against the wall. She recognised the new arrival. She knew what his leather bag contained. John Kincaid was the son of John Kincaid, pricker of witches. He had terrified the children of the parish with his repulsive father when she was young.
She vomited onto the floorboards and found she was unable to move her arms or legs. In horror she watched a dark stain seep through the sackcloth as she lost control of her bowels. She prayed to God, not the harsh God of these men, but the one she had glimpsed in the New Testament. Was such a God dispelled from this blighted land? She looked at Cant. He had been welcomed to Lammersheugh House as the spiritual guide of her sister. Now he was overseeing her torture. She felt a terrible breathlessness. The tightness across her chest was unbearable. She tried to scream, but could not.
She had been kept awake the whole night, a servant appearing every ten minutes to rouse her with a stick if her eyes were shut. She had no blanket or cushion on which to rest her head. She was forced to sit against the cold stone wall, drawing her knees into her stomach, pulling the stinking sackcloth round her.
Even when they did not use harsh words, she knew they sought to break her, make her confess to being a witch, to planning evil deeds and fornicating with the Devil. She could never confess to that – whatever they did to her. She had not lain with any man. Now she never would. She would never be a mother. Never hold a bairn in her arms. That thought was the saddest of all. They had broken her life, destroyed it. If she lived, what man would want her? She recalled his handsome face. He would not have her as his wife now. No man in Scotland would. The image of a burning stake appeared in her mind, the fire taking her soul, roasting her to nothing. They had said that she might sleep if she confessed she was a witch; if she confessed to lying with Satan; if she confessed that her mother had introduced her to him; if she confessed that they planned to kill Lady Girnington using witchcraft, creating a wax doll in her image.
‘Hold her down.’ Kincaid’s calm words struck like a hammer. His tone was workmanlike compared with the nervous banter of the others. Two servants lifted her by the armpit
s. She was a lithesome thing. That was how her father had described her. They carried her to the centre of the room where she looked up into the bell, trying to read the inscription. But the words made no sense. She felt her nerves were full of bees, stinging everywhere inside. She retched; the bile dripped down her chin onto the floor, staining the boards bright yellow. She recalled yellow flowers in the garden at Lammersheugh – the beauty of summer, the view of the hills from her chamber. How could she account for such good things against this?
Kincaid withdrew a leather bundle and unrolled it in front of her on the floor. He selected a metal pin of about two inches in length and tested its sharpness against the skin of his thumb.
Raising her head, Euphame watched him approach. But her fear had subsided. Hatred gave her strength. She discovered that she could move her arms again.
She closed her eyes and thought of the garden again. Her father laughing as he picked her up, throwing her into the air. She fell back towards him, secure in the knowledge she would be caught in his strong arms. She loved him. She must hold on to that. He was a good man. He did not hunt witches.
‘Hold her down!’
Kincaid’s breath was on her cheek.
CHAPTER 20 - The Devil’s Footprints
THE DEVIL’S POOL, an expanse of black water, moved slowly towards a channel where it became a vigorous burn that ran northwards towards Haddington and the Firth of Forth.
‘This is the Devil’s Pool, gentlemen,’ Cockburn said, leading the way round the edge of the water towards the boulder on the north side.
‘Why is it so called?’ Scougall ventured.
‘It is said that witches meet the Devil here, Mr Scougall. But such stories are no more than superstition.’
‘That is where my son says he sat.’ The laird pointed to the boulder. ‘Let us take a closer look.’
They continued uphill to a spot where they could cross the burn by hopping over a few small stones. It was an easy ascent of a couple of feet onto the large rock. On the two sides facing the pool, the boulder was only a couple of feet above the water, but the drop on the other sides was about five feet. Its top was flat, about nine feet square, large enough for them to stand on together. MacKenzie’s slightly bulging eyes observed the scene carefully. He turned to complete the view – the birchwoods to the west, the pool, the channel, the muir, then up to Lammer Law, perhaps five hundred feet above them. It was a lonely spot. He could understand why the boy came here. Childhood memories came back to him, happy times fishing with his foster brothers, before the country fell into civil war.
