by Douglas Watt
CHAPTER 56 - The Genealogy of Girnington
MACKENZIE WAS STRUCK by the quiet beauty of the Girnington estate. Amongst such tragedy it was an island of tranquillity. Cockburn knocked loudly on the door.
A couple of minutes passed before Leitch answered. ‘Her ladyship is not able to see anyone this morning.’
Cockburn grabbed him by the throat, pushing him back indoors. MacKenzie and Scougall followed. The servant was thrown across the hall.
Lady Girnington was being attended by her maids. ‘What do you mean by this interruption?’ she squealed at Cockburn’s appearance. Her jaw dropped further as MacKenzie and Scougall entered, but she said nothing.
‘You are surprised to see us alive, your ladyship.’ MacKenzie’s voice held no hint of deference.
‘I do not wish to receive guests in my current state of dress.’
‘Then you have not heard the news of last night?’
‘I have heard nothing of last night, Mr MacKenzie. I do not follow the Papist superstitions of All Hallow’s Eve. I leave that to others.’ She looked at Cockburn.
‘Then I am the bearer of sad news, Lady Girnington.’
‘What is that news?’
‘Your son is dead!’
Scougall and Cockburn turned in surprise and stared at MacKenzie.
‘I have no son, sir.’ Scougall noted a slight hesitation in her reply.
‘Madam, your son, Colonel Robert Dewar, Laird of Clachdean, lies dead by the road. He ambushed us last night at Rooklaw Tower. Fortunately, Mr Cockburn came to our rescue before we joined the dead in the parish of Lammersheugh. Clachdean was wounded in the fight, but escaped. He bled to death during the night.’
‘I have no son.’
‘The Laird of Clachdean is your illegitimate son.’
‘I have no son!’ her voice began to betray emotion. ‘I have no son! A woman should have a son!’ Her voice broke, her head dropping forward, tears on her red cheeks. ‘I have no son!’
‘The colonel is not the son you may have wished for. But he is your flesh and blood, tied to you by the bonds of kinship.’ MacKenzie assumed the formal tone he often adopted in court: ‘If I might take a few minutes of your ladyship’s time, I will explain myself. A number of pieces of evidence pointed to this conclusion.’
When Lady Girnington looked up there was still defiance in her eyes.
MacKenzie continued. ‘There was, first, the physical resemblance between your ladyship and Clachdean. Some might attach little importance to this. I always pay close attention to characteristics shared by family members. Many of the MacKenzies of Ardcoul have a slight squintness of the eye. I observed that you and Clachdean have a similarity of expression. You also tend to grossness of the body. I was struck by the portrait of your brother’s family at Lammersheugh. Although Alexander was a close friend, I could not remember his face clearly. When I looked on the painting I was reminded of Clachdean. Not conclusive, of course, but suggestive of a genealogical connection between you.’
‘Really, Mr MacKenzie. Such nonsense…’ she mocked.
‘There were also financial arrangements between you. The instrument of sasine conveying the lands of Clachdean to Dewar indicated that you had underwritten the transaction. Why would you lend money to such a spendthrift? You are a careful manager of your estates. It suggested to me some other more intimate link between you.’
MacKenzie was standing beside her. He suddenly lunged forward. She screamed as her wig came away in his hands to reveal a bald head. ‘Baldness also runs in families. Your brother Lammersheugh was bald by the time he was twenty-five. I knew this as his friend. There is not a hair on Clachdean’s head.’
She grabbed the wig and put it back on. ‘All right, enough of your games. The colonel is my son. I will explain. I was a young girl in London. Although you may not believe it,’ she turned to Scougall, ‘I was a beauty adored by all men who saw me, a rival of Lady Lauderdale. I hoped to marry an English Earl, not a Scottish one. The sons of the English nobility courted me.’ Her eyes sparkled as she spoke of her past glories. ‘But I was ravished by a poet who wooed me with words of love. I was much taken with poetry then, fool that I was. I was left with child at fifteen. My father, to avoid a scandal, removed me from London, forced me to return to the bleak fields of Scotland. I gave birth to a boy, but I was not allowed to keep him. He was passed to others to be brought up, distant relatives of a lower standing. I was only allowed to see him a few times over the years. I married, but I was not blessed with children. I wed an old man who was impotent. I sought out younger men. They also failed me! A legitimate son was denied me. Can you imagine that Mr Scougall? A girl who thought she would wed an English nobleman, reduced to such a fate.’
Scougall wondered why she was addressing him. His face turned red.
Lady Girnington sighed deeply. ‘Clachdean is not to blame. He was sorely abused by the man who brought him up as father, beaten viciously from a young age, shown little love by his foster mother. He left to become a soldier when he was twelve. I never saw him again for twenty years. Then I learned that he had bid for the lands of Clachdean. I sought to make amends. I helped him to fund the purchase and put his name forward when the position of sheriff-deputy became vacant.’ She looked down at her hands. ‘He was treated badly by the House of Lammersheugh. I must have his body attended to. Despite everything, I still have the feelings of a mother.’
‘In good time, my ladyship,’ said MacKenzie.
‘I have made my confession. You have caught out an old lady. There is no crime in mothering a bastard!’
‘I believe not, but we are not only concerned with Clachdean. The life of a young woman hangs in the balance.’
‘How am I connected with the fate of Euphame?’
‘You are very much involved. If I may describe to you what I believe has happened in the parish of Lammersheugh.’
Lady Girnington took a deep breath. ‘It seems I have no choice. But the sheriff will not be pleased when he finds I have been treated in this manner.’
MacKenzie began to walk round the room, gesticulating as if addressing a jury. ‘For long I was perplexed by the events here. A young widow found drowned, her daughter accused of witchcraft. I was confused, until I realised there were two plots in the parish. The plots were connected, but not intimately so, although they involved many of the same characters.
‘Firstly, there was a plan to be rid of Lady Lammersheugh so that the lands of Lammersheugh might be controlled through escheat, or by marriage of a daughter to Clachdean. This was initially carried out by legal, then I believe, by criminal means.’
MacKenzie hesitated for a moment. Lady Girnington shook her head.
He continued: ‘The smear of witchcraft is impossible to wash away. The threat was enough to terrify Grissell; the delation of a confessing witch irresistible evidence. Grissell took her life to escape the humiliation. I believe Margaret Rammage was offered money to include Grissell in her delation. She no doubt felt that her poor family would benefit after she herself was executed. Euphame’s name was added later, probably after more money was offered. Helen Rammage, ill-advisedly, became ostentatious in spending it. She paid with her life, just as her sister had done.’
‘Grissell was a fool! She might have married the colonel and avoided such unnecessary…’ snapped Lady Girnington.
‘Why did you do it? The Lammersheugh estate would be in your hands. The Clachdean estate was already under your control. You would be a force to be reckoned with in the shire. The life of Grissell and her daughters meant nothing to you. But there was another reason. You were beautiful like Lady Lammersheugh once. She was blessed with two fine daughters. You had Clachdean. You hated her.’
‘Ridiculous supposition!’
‘And there was another plot. No doubt such reprehensible plans are being hatched across the kingdom. Indeed, a nest of vipers inhabits Lammersheugh, waiting for their moment to settle old scores. You had many to settle, Lady Girningt
on! The list of plotters is long. It includes Rankine, Muschet, Purse, Cant, Sinclair and his brother. But I believe the strings were being pulled from Girnington House. Your greater influence from the control of Lammersheugh would elevate your standing under a new regime. Perhaps you would be rewarded with a marriage to an old Scottish earl! It would go someway to compensate you for your disgrace as a young woman.’
Lady Girnington shook her head. ‘This is not the kirk session, Mr MacKenzie. You will not force me into a confession with your fine words.’
‘I did not expect you to make any confession. The High Court will try you, assess the evidence and make their decision.’
‘You have no evidence,’ she said defiantly.
MacKenzie indicated to Scougall and Cockburn that it was time to leave. ‘I bid you good day, madam.’
‘I hope your daughter enjoys her exquisite jewel,’ she said bitterly.
MacKenzie stopped. ‘Why of course, Davie!’
CHAPTER 57 - Back in the Library
MACKENZIE LOOKED AT the wall where the portrait of Lady Lammersheugh had hung. He saw himself at The Hawthorns reading her letter and then in Janet Cornfoot’s cottage. He spoke aloud: ‘See where my eyes come to rest. Read my words carefully. See where my eyes come to rest.’ He moved backwards until his legs were against the top of the desk, his head at a level where the painting had been. He looked across the room to the bookcase full of leather bound volumes on the other wall. He noticed a copy of Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy, a work in which he had spent many delicious hours.
‘Find Lady Lammersheugh’s will in your notes, Davie.’
Scougall withdrew his notebook, flicked through the pages and began to read slowly from the shorthand. ‘“I Grissell Hay, Lady Lammersheugh…”’
‘Move to the section on my bequest,’ he said impatiently.
‘“…to 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 I leave an exquisite emerald, to be found in the box in my chamber…”’
MacKenzie repeated aloud: ‘an exquisite emerald… an exquisite jewel.’
‘That’s it, Davie! Ekskubalauron by Sir Thomas Urquhart, published in London in 1652. The subtitle of the work is ‘The Discovery of a most exquisite Jewel.’ He walked across the room and took the book from a shelf.
Rosina appeared at the door as he opened the volume. He quickly removed a small piece of paper which he slipped into his pocket and gave Scougall a sharp look, indicating that they should move the conversation away from literature.
‘Wine is on its way, gentlemen. You will have to excuse me. I must see to the return of John Murdoch’s body.’
‘Is he dead?’ Scougall was perturbed.
‘He died last night under the pricker’s examination. His old heart was not strong enough.’
‘The list of the dead grows too long,’ said MacKenzie solemnly.
Rosina bowed her head slightly and left.
MacKenzie walked to the window. He took the paper from his pocket. ‘Look – a map, Davie!’
‘What does it show?’ asked Scougall.
It was simply drawn, but its message was clear. A dotted line followed the path from Lammersheugh House to Janet Cornfoot’s cottage. MacKenzie opened his other hand to reveal a small silver key.
CHAPTER 58 - A Discovery in the Cottage
SCOUGALL TRIED TO apply MacKenzie’s method of observation as they made their search, concentrating on each object in turn, shutting out all other thoughts. He observed the fireplace, the chair, the table, the kitchen implements – a black kettle, a small cauldron, a few spoons. He got down on his knees to examine the cold flagstones. MacKenzie was also on the floor. Scougall got to his feet again and opened the closet. It was empty.
‘We must think, Davie. We have been directed here for a reason. Everything has been planned by Grissell.’
‘What if the book has already been found?’
MacKenzie ignored him. ‘What did Grissell leave Janet?’
Scougall tried to remember Purse’s words. But he could not. Withdrawing his notebook he read: ‘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.’
They raised the candles together, the wooden beams of the cottage appearing above them. Scougall climbed uneasily onto the table in the centre of the room. His head was just above the main beam. He brought his candle along the upper side, but could see nothing out of the ordinary.
He moved over to the edge of the table to examine where the beam joined the wall. A small raised section of wood jutted out slightly at the far end. ‘There is something here, sir.’
He had to come back down so that they could push the table against the wall. At the side of the beam he noticed a thin hole about half an inch long.
‘Pass me the key, sir.’
He shifted his weight as he took it, almost unbalancing himself as he moved backwards. It was a perfect fit. A small flap, about six inches long and two broad, dropped forward as he turned it gently. Placing his hand inside the thick beam, he removed a book which he handed down to MacKenzie.
‘Make sure that is all!’
Scougall moved his fingers around the secret chamber. There was something at the back. He pulled out a bundle of letters, held together by a piece of scarlet ribbon.
‘Is that everything, Davie?’
He felt round each corner carefully. ‘Yes!’
‘Close the flap and lock it.’
Scougall did as he was told, then climbed down.
‘What are they, sir?’
MacKenzie opened the volume and read the words on the first page:
‘The Testament of Grissell Hay of Lammersheugh.’
‘We have already heard her testament,’ said Scougall looking confused.
MacKenzie flicked through the pages. ‘It is the commonplace book in Grissell’s hand. The evidence we require is in here.’
CHAPTER 59 - The Testament of Grissell Hay
I, LADY LAMMERSHEUGH, solemnly swear that what follows is a true account of events befalling me since the death of my beloved husband, Alexander Hay of Lammersheugh, who died on the 12th day of December 1685.
I put these words down on paper not for pleasure, nor for the remembrance of days past, but as a true testament of the evil done me by Lillias Hay, Lady Girnington, my sister-in-law, and Colonel Robert Dewar, the Laird of Clachdean, who have conspired violently against me and my children.
The loss of my husband was a terrible affliction for us. He was a young man in his prime, snatched away. But God will have His purpose. He was only buried a few hours when there was the first hint of discord between myself and my sister-in-law. Lady Girnington spoke to me in the kirkyard of Lammersheugh on the very day that he was lowered into the earth. As we returned from the graveside, she proposed a transaction which disturbed me so much that I was forced to retire to my chamber. Without the slightest consideration for my recent widowhood, she informed me that a match with Robert Dewar of Clachdean would be of great benefit to the houses of Lammersheugh, Girnington and Clachdean, joining them together in an estate of power within the sheriffdom.
Colonel Dewar is a man whom my husband and I have always held in the lowest regard. His life of debauchery was never secret; his whoring in Edinburgh and London, his licence with servants and other women in the parish is well known. His bastards, whom he does little to support, are spread far and wide. The thought of marriage to this man, to whom I would be forced to give my body, was too much for me to bear.
At my next meeting with Lady Girnington I expressed reluctance to follow her advice. She was angry with me and called me a fool. She said that a match with Clachdean was a sound one. I would do no better as my best years were behind me. The marriage would benefit my daughters, raising the House of Lammersheugh and providing the girls with better husbands. I replied that
I would not marry him, that I was content to remain a relict. I would look after my bairns and remember the sweet memories of the time with my dear husband. I hoped that such a frank declaration would mark the end of the matter. A number of weeks passed. I was left to my mourning, my heart breaking anew each day as I awoke with the dawn, my grief as bitter as bile.
About a month after the burial, the Laird of Clachdean called on me. He had put on his best suit, dusted down his wig. He was civil enough. For my part I was civil to him – though I could not bear the sight of the brute. The thought of him as my bedfellow was repulsive as I watched him across the table as we dined together. He spoke to the girls, smiled at them, asking them little questions, each one piercing me. I saw his game readily enough.
When the girls left to walk in the gardens, I could tell he was about to say something of importance, for his hands grew agitated. He stammered that he would like to marry me. He would, of course, wait a reasonable time. The match would be a fine one for me, the girls, and the House of Lammersheugh. He added that it would also please Lady Girnington. I think he realised at once that he should not have said this. I did everything I could to cover the feelings that rose within me as I looked upon him – gross and lecherous, his vast stomach like a great stone hanging over the table. I said that I was still in mourning, that I could not yet decide upon the matter, that in a few months I would be in a better way to look to the future. I sought to buy time. My answer appeared to satisfy him, for my words were not said harshly. I kept my true feelings concealed and he left in reasonable humour. But his kiss on my hand sent needles through me.
Thereafter I gave the matter of marriage little consideration. I was busy with the estate which I had paid no attention to before. I met my tenants and their families. I made plans for the future, attending to repairs of the house and the education of the girls. Perhaps six months went by, maybe more. Specks of light appeared in the grey despair that had enveloped me since Alexander’s death. I gained hard-won pleasure from my work on the estate and I saw my children grow into fine young women. And in my dreams Alex came to me each night. I lived for our trysts when he took me in his arms again. We walked over the hills together as we used to do, up onto Lammer Law to look down on the world beneath us.
