Testament of a Witch

by Douglas Watt

  Summer turned to autumn. A letter which I enclose dated 10 September 1686 arrived written in a formal tone by Lady Girnington, reiterating her suggestion. It is short and to the point. It chilled me to the bone for I foresaw that she would not let the matter rest. She was set on a course. I knew then that she hated me. I had always suspected that she did. She must have known that I had only feelings of disgust for Clachdean. I sensed she was gaining pleasure from my pain.

  I did not do anything for a few days. Then I summoned up the courage to reply. I wrote a short letter, eschewing the turmoil of emotion that welled up inside me, pleading my case, arguing that he was not a suitable match for me. A copy of the letter dated 17 September 1686 is also enclosed.

  Again there was a period of silence. I waited anxiously each day for a reply, but none came. I hoped that the matter was over, that Clachdean had tired of the thought of me and was seeking a match with another poor woman.

  But there was to be a further twist to my misfortune. I received a visit from Mr Muschet, merchant in Lammersheugh. I thought it concerned a financial matter as my husband was indebted to him for substantial sums. But before we had exchanged pleasantries, or I had time to offer him a glass of wine, he blurted out a proposal of marriage. He hinted that the debts which he held over the house would be redeemed if I agreed. He said that if I refused, action in the courts was certain. I knew well I could little afford this. However, I had to be politic and pleaded mourning as before. Muschet did not fill me with the disgust that I felt for the colonel. I felt nothing for him. I considered a match to a merchant beneath me and dishonourable to the House of Lammersheugh.

  On 17th November 1686 I was in Haddington purchasing provisions. Lady Girnington’s coach appeared in the High Street. Her footman descended and asked me if I would speak with her ladyship. I was caught off guard and could think of no excuses, so I was obliged to step into her coach.

  ‘I will carry you home, my dear,’ she said. I agreed, feeling that to object would be impolite. I told my servant to return to Lammersheugh with my coach and I found myself alone with her. I had seen little of her since my husband died. I noticed that she tended more and more to grossness of the body. She was so large that I wondered how she was lifted into the coach. I was very nervous. But she seemed biddable enough, talking of the King’s policies, which she wholeheartedly opposed, expanding upon the imminent danger of the rule of Antichrist. She kept saying how Scotland required reformation. I know little of politics. My father was much taken up with such affairs, fighting for King Charles in the Civil Wars which led to our family’s ruin. I smiled and said nothing.

  Then she raised the subject of the recent witch trials in Fife. It was a topic to which I had given little thought. She told me that she feared for the parish. She had warned her servants to be vigilant lest Satan tempt them. She asked me how my servant Janet was. She did this in such a way as to hint that she might be suspected of witchcraft. Janet is known in the parish for her remedies. I believe she was questioned by the session in the 1660s. I ignored these insinuations. I said Janet was well in her retirement, enjoying her little cottage and looking after the girls.

  I felt Lady Girnington was biding her time. Sure enough, as we approached Lammersheugh she told me in a calm voice that she had received my reply. She was very disappointed that I would not consider Clachdean. She considered him a fine match. He was perhaps a bit rough round the edges, but like all husbands he would be improved by a little management. She spun other lies about him which she had already told me. I said that I could not under any circumstances marry such a man.

  As I prepared my skirts to step out of the coach she took hold of my cuff, digging her nails into my wrist, saying angrily to me: ‘We must find another way to persuade you then, my dear.’ I looked straight into her eyes. Behind the make-up, which was lavishly applied, I could see a smouldering hatred. I knew that she aimed to destroy me for no other reason than that her brother had loved me and that she had no children of her own. I said nothing, but took leave. I walked into the house without saying farewell, passed straight to my chamber and stood for a long time looking down on the gardens.

  I concluded that I had to make plans. I could not let events overwhelm me. But I did not realise to what lengths they would go to destroy me.

  Again there was silence for a time, perhaps a couple of months. I prayed to God with all my heart that I had heard the last of the matter. But I knew that it would not be. Sure enough, another letter arrived from the colonel, dated 12th February 1687, which I enclose. It reiterates his proposal of marriage, stating that it would be the last time an offer would be made on such generous terms.

  I did not reply. I knew that they would not give up, but I could not have guessed how low they would stoop. I had imagined that Lady Girnington might call in a debt owed by my husband in order to encourage me to look more favourably on the colonel in the way that Muschet had done.

  A month passed. I received a letter from Muschet informing me that because he had not received a formal reply to his offer, he was initiating proceedings for recovery of debt. He was sorry that he was forced to take such action, but he needed money for trading enterprises. This distracted me for a short while as I made enquiries about raising funds to pay him.

  Then one grey afternoon when the girls were out riding, Murdoch told me the colonel called upon me. When he was shown into the chamber, I could see that he no longer wore the mask of decency. I smelled drink on him as soon as he came close. He asked me if I had received his letter. I said that I had, but that I had already given him my answer. A written reply was not necessary. Did I not think that he warranted a response as a gentleman, he said. Growing angry, he cursed me in words which I cannot commit to paper. I was appalled by the outburst. I called Murdoch to escort him out of the house. But my old servant did not come. I shouted louder. Still no one came. I screamed for help. Still there was no one.

  I walked towards the door so that I might shout down the corridor. Perhaps someone in the kitchen would hear me. But the colonel grabbed me and threw me violently to the ground.

  It is with the greatest difficulty that I write what followed. My hand shakes at the pen as revulsion rises within me. The colonel held me down, touching me lecherously. I began to scream. He thrust a hand over my mouth. I fought as hard as I could. But he would not cease. He was like an ox on top of me. I could do nothing to push him away.

  I can hardly write what happened. But I must do so. I must put down on paper the crime as testimony of the evil done me. I was ravished in my own home by Colonel Robert Dewar, Laird of Clachdean. When he was done with me he wiped his slavering lips and his manhood with a filthy handkerchief. He smiled, saying something like: ‘The session will sanction our match now that I have bedded you,’ as he pulled up his breeches. He left without saying anything else.

  I smoothed down by dress and saw to my hair. I called for Murdoch again and again. At last he came, saying that the colonel had told him of a dreadful accident on the road. He had searched all the way down to Semple’s Dyke. But there was none. He asked me if I was well. I said I wanted my evening meal brought to my chamber. I retired thither, feeling disgust for what had been done to me, wondering how a creature created in the image of God could act in such a way. I believe that Satan visited me in the shape of Clachdean. I shed tears for my fate and that of my daughters.

  I will freely admit that rage for revenge coursed through my veins. My mind was in turmoil. I did not know what I should do. Should I tell someone? It was as if my life had been destroyed again. There was nothing I could do to escape my fate.

  Later in the evening Janet came to me. I did not tell her yet what had happened, but I told her of the offer of marriage by Clachdean and Lady Girnington’s encouragement. As I shed tears of despair, my old servant brought me comfort, holding me until I fell asleep. When I awoke in the morning and recalled my rape, I knew that I must collect evidence. I offer this statement and letters as proof of the gu
ilt of Lillias Hay Lady Girnington and Colonel Robert Dewar, Laird of Clachdean.

  Again events took a course which I had not anticipated. Another letter from Lady Girnington arrived, dated 24th May 1687. It had been drafted carefully. I believe it must be read in the same way. The hints are clear. I was to be accused of witchcraft if I did not follow their wishes. If she heard nothing from me in a week she would act on allegations against me made by Margaret Rammage, a confessing witch from Aikenshiels who was a servant of her tenant.

  The effect of this letter can easily be imagined. I sank into a pit of despair. Even in the darkest days of my grief was I not so afflicted. I lay in my chamber for two days unable to move from bed. Finally, I mustered up courage. Alexander came to me in a dream, telling me what I should do. I realised that I could not delay. I arranged a meeting with Purse in Haddington to make changes to my latterwill and testament. He is close to Lady Girnington. I do not trust him. I penned this statement and bound the letters together. I hid them in Janet’s cottage. I had to ensure that they did not fall into the hands of my enemies. I could not even tell Janet of their existence, lest she was questioned and their whereabouts extorted by torture. Lady Girnigton’s power extends far throughout the sheriffdom. I had only a week to make preparations so that evidence survived, whatever happened.

  May God be my judge.

  Signed, Grissell Hay, Lady Lammersheugh

  Dated, Lammersheugh 12th September 1687

  CHAPTER 60 - A Final Thread

  4 November 1687

  EUPHAME HAY WAS helped out of the coach by her sister. She was a shattered vision of the young woman MacKenzie had met after the funeral. Her skin was a thin yellow sheet across her face, her body emaciated. But she was alive. They had to be thankful for that. He had thought that she would die in the Tolbooth. But here she was, walking painfully towards them.

  MacKenzie took her hand as she spoke in a weak voice: ‘I thank you for all you have done for my family, John. You have risked your life to save us. I will never forget it.’ Tears formed in her eyes. MacKenzie had to swallow to contain his emotion. ‘My mother’s faith in you was proved right.’ Then turning to Scougall she added, ‘Rosina has told me of your bravery also, Mr Scougall. I thank you with all my heart.’

  Scougall’s face reddened. Unable to think of anything to say, he nodded nervously.

  MacKenzie intervened to save him further embarrassment. ‘We are delighted to see you back home, Euphame. You have been through so much, literally to the gates of hell and back. None of us can imagine what you have suffered. The evil done to you and your mother is beyond comprehension. I hope that one day our nation will free itself from such barbarity.’

  A painful smile returned to her face: ‘I hope you are right.’

  ‘Now you must rest,’ said Rosina, taking her sister’s arm and leading her towards the door of the house.

  Euphame moved slowly, greeting Elizabeth Murdoch who was also in tears. She stopped beside George Cockburn: ‘Thank you for your notes, Geordie. They brought me some comfort when I had lost hope. One of the guards passed them to me in the steeple. He did not wake me as he should. I clung to these shards of goodness as they were all I had.’

  The sisters entered the house, followed by the servants.

  ‘Settle our account with Porteous, Davie. We leave for Edinburgh,’ said MacKenzie.

  Scougall strode off confidently, overjoyed by the prospect of their return. Geordie ran away to play in the gardens, leaving MacKenzie and Cockburn alone.

  ‘I must also thank you, John. The girls will be safe now. I will see to that.’

  ‘Davie and I will always be indebted to you, Adam. I must apologise again for the way in which we entered your house. But desperate times call for such actions. Let us walk for a while in the gardens. There is something I must ask you.’

  MacKenzie’s eye was taken by the herbaceous border as they wandered down the lawn. He had given horticulture little thought since his arrival in Lammersheugh. ‘The Tulip Tree,’ he spoke appreciatively. ‘I have a specimen at The Hawthorns. You must visit us there… all of you. Your wife would benefit from a little Highland hospitality.’

  Cockburn smiled. ‘I thank you.’

  MacKenzie walked on a few paces before continuing in a leisurely tone, ‘There is a thread which hangs loose. It is unsettling my mind.’

  ‘What do you mean, John?’

  ‘The thread is hanging from your jacket, Adam,’ MacKenzie smiled.

  ‘Me, sir!’

  MacKenzie looked at the laird intently, but spoke in a friendly manner. ‘I am going to pose a question which you do not have to answer.’ He waited for a moment before continuing: ‘Were you at the Devil’s Pool on the afternoon Grissell died?’

  Cockburn did not speak.

  ‘There is evidence, of course. The pistol that Davie found was yours. The initials AH are your father-in-law’s – Andrew Hamilton of Broadwood. I believe Geordie saw his own father calling in anguish from the trees. Am I right?’

  Cockburn continued to gaze up towards the hills. It was a fine cloudless November morning. At last he turned to MacKenzie. ‘You are right, John. I was there on that terrible afternoon.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I will tell you what happened. But I must ask that it should remain between us as friends.’

  ‘As a friend you speak in the strictest confidence.’

  The two men continued to walk along the border. ‘I have not been entirely truthful with you,’ continued the laird. ‘Please forgive me. I must begin with myself. My marriage is a loveless one. It was a match dictated by others. My wife has been ill for a long time. The deformities appeared gradually. I have grown fond of her, but I do not love her. I never have.’ He hesitated, looking up again at the hills. ‘I have always had feelings for Grissell – what man would not? I kept them to myself. She and Alexander were childhood sweethearts. I was a friend on their periphery. But following his death we saw more of each other. I now understand she sought someone who might help her out of the dreadful circumstances which she found herself in. I am ashamed that I had my own selfish motives. I witnessed the pain of her mourning. At first I remained at a distance. I tried to comfort her as best I could.

  ‘But I could not control my emotions. I began to think of nothing else but her. When I woke in the morning she was always there in my thoughts. She was the only thing that I lived for. My desire was inflamed. I confess I have committed adultery a thousand times in my mind. I was haunted by her.’

  ‘She finally gave in to my pathetic pleadings. Of course that was not enough for me. How could it be, for a man who had been denied love for so long? I relished each kiss she planted on my lips on that evening. I was bewitched, a man possessed. In love, if you will. I was in love for the first time in my life. I could do nothing to quell the feelings. I did not want to do anything. It was ecstacy.’

  The laird closed his eyes, recalling Grissell’s embrace.

  ‘I see now that this was the last thing she needed. She was concerned with her own life and her daughters. But love is a wave which overwhelms us. There is nothing that I could do to stop it.’

  MacKenzie nodded sympathetically.

  ‘I met her on the twenty-second of October at the Devil’s Pool. I confessed my love for her again. I told her that I would do anything for her, give up everything, travel to the ends of the earth for her. But she rejected me. She said it was too dangerous. She had set other plans in motion. She was going away to another land. I asked her where she was bound. She would not say. We argued. I attacked her with cruel words. I was relentless with all the selfishness of a man in love. We both shed tears. Then finally in her desperation she blurted out that she was with child. At first my heart rejoiced at such news. But she held that she must leave Lammersheugh. I pleaded with her, holding her so tightly that her necklace broke and fell onto the rock where we stood. We argued bitterly again. She screamed that she wanted to be alone. I departed for the village. But on my way down I realised
that I still held the bonnet that I had taken from her head in my distraction. I retraced my steps to return it.

  ‘As I approached, I saw she was on the rock, looking down into the pool. The next moment she was gone! She had launched herself into the water. I knew she could not swim. She had sought escape from the evil of this world in the other land she had spoken of, for herself and her unborn child.

  ‘I ran as fast as I could. The climb seemed to last for ever. When I reached the pool, I could not see her. I launched myself into the ice-cold water. It was a number of minutes before I found her submerged in the middle. I dragged her to the side. I tried to revive her. I spoke to her, attempting to coax her back from death with words of love. But it was to no avail. She was gone to the other land that she had spoken of. Now, perhaps, she is at peace with Alexander.

  ‘I knew not what I should do. I was paralysed with indecision. I realised that if she was found at the water’s edge there would be questions. So I pulled her back into the pool and let her drift, giving her soft cheek one last kiss. She floated slowly with the current across the water and under the trees.

  ‘I cursed my existence. I stared down at the pistol in my hand, the one given to me by my father-in-law on the day of my marriage and I came close to blowing my brains out. I stood for a long time pondering the simple beauty of its craftsmanship, feeling that an end to my troubles was in my hands.’

  MacKenzie touched the laird gently on the arm.

  ‘But my reverie was broken by the sound of someone approaching. I ran for cover in the woods, crouching behind some bushes. You can imagine my shock when I saw my own son appear. I crawled deeper into the trees, watching him on the rock. I saw him notice Grissell’s body and throw a stone. He then ran round. I knew not what I should do. Grief and guilt overwhelmed me. I called out for him to come to me. The words that escaped from my mouth did not sound like a human voice. My throat was so twisted by despair. He ran away fearing I was the Devil.