The Fireraisers

by Malcolm Archibald

  'No,' Willie said. 'It's nothing like her.'

  'Show him Middleton as well.' Watters felt that fate was closing that window of hope.

  'I demand you release me,' Ware nearly shouted.

  'Why did your group set fire to Mr Beaumont's mills?' Watters asked the direct question.

  Ware lifted her chin in sudden defiance. 'I am not ashamed of that act,' she said. 'I am proud that our association struck a blow for the freedom of the slaves in the Southern States.'

  'I see.' Watters was not used to his suspects immediately admitting their guilt. 'How many mills did you set fire to?'

  Ware rose from her seat and lifted a hand in the air. 'We set two of the monster's mills ablaze. We will continue to fight against those men who willingly support slavery by trading with the slave states.'

  Duff pushed her down with a painful thump.

  'Well,' Watters said. 'You'll have to do it from a prison cell then for by wilfully fire-raising, you put the lives of scores of men, women, and children at risk, as well as damaging private property.'

  'No jury will convict us when they hear our reasons,' Ware said.

  'I would not be too sure of that.' Watters recognised that Ware's convictions were as strong as Varthley's had been. 'Is the unfortunate fellow who died on Lady of Blackness anything to do with your organisation?'

  Ware looked confused and then shook her head. 'We did not kill him.'

  'All right.' Watters believed her. 'Has your organisation ever operated outside Dundee?'

  'No.'

  'Do you have any association with India?'

  'No.' Ware looked directly at Watters.

  'Take her away,' Watters said. 'Charge her with fire-raising.'

  Watters had been a policeman for long enough to know that Ware was not lying. She was pursuing a just cause but with the wrong methods. Watters looked up as Scuddamore brought back Willie.

  'No luck, Sergeant,' Scuddamore said.

  'Youse cannae find her, can you?' Willie scoffed. 'You're no good are you?'

  'Come with me, you wee scoundrel.' Scuddamore dragged Willie away.

  'Bring in Kelly.' Watters wondered if Willie was right.

  Kelly was white-faced and trembling as Duff thumped him down on the hard chair. Watters stared at him for a long three minutes without saying a word. When tears appeared in Kelly's eyes, Watters passed over a sheet of paper and a pen and ink.

  'We are going to charge you with fire-raising,' Watters said. 'We might also charge you with intimidating or attempting to intimidate Charlotte Beaumont and being connected with the murder of an unknown seaman in Lady of Blackness.'

  'Murder?' Kelly had an educated voice. 'I did not murder anybody!'

  'Who put you up to the fire-raising?' Watters asked.

  'I don't know his name,' Kelly said. 'He came to our meeting with a woman.'

  'Describe them both.'

  Kelly's descriptions matched that of Varthley. 'They told us not to do anything until they gave us equipment, but we got our own.'

  'Equipment? What sort of equipment?' Watters pounced on the word.

  'I don't know.' Kelly shrugged. 'That's all the man said.'

  'All right, what were you doing at the wedding of Charlotte Beaumont?'

  Kelly looked away. 'Nothing.'

  'That's true. You were doing nothing because I saw you. What would you have been doing if I had not seen you?'

  'I wanted to see them,' Kelly spoke slowly. 'I wanted to see what these slave-supporting monsters looked like.'

  'What did they look like?' Watters was genuinely curious.

  Kelly shook his head. 'I don't know,' he said. 'I thought I would see the evil in them, but they looked just like everybody else.'

  'You can't tell wickedness,' Watters agreed. 'You look like a sensible young man, yet here you are, involved in fire-raising and murder.'

  Kelly looked up, eyes wide. 'I already told you that I did not murder anybody.'

  Watters held Kelly's gaze for a long minute. 'I believe you.' He tapped the paper and pen. 'Write down all you have told me, with every detail of your organisation.' He signalled to Duff. 'Take over here, Duff.'

  Back at his own desk, Watters sighed. Although he had arrested the group who had started the fires and the man who had intruded on the Beaumont wedding, he felt nagging unease. He was no further forward in the case of the murder on Lady of Blackness. This case was like a game of chess, except he was trying to checkmate both the king and queen. All he had managed to do was remove some of his opponent's pawns. Unfortunately, he did not know who his opponent was or what his or her final objective might be. The only sure thing was that this case was not yet closed.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: DUNDEE: OCTOBER 1862

  When Watters entered the drawing room, Amy was sitting sewing, pale-faced but composed. Mr Beaumont stepped closer to his daughter when Watters told them he had arrested and interviewed both Varthley and Kelly.

  Beaumont squeezed Amy's hand. 'So this creature Varthley was not acting alone?'

  'Indeed not, Mr Beaumont. It seems he was part of a group that called themselves the Dundee and Forfarshire Anti-slavery Alliance. There were only six of them, and they believe that you are trading with the Confederate States of America.'

  Watters waited for a comment before continuing. He did not know all of Beaumont's commercial interests but was quite sure that he would trade with the Devil if it meant turning a profit.

  'I have done that,' Beaumont agreed calmly. 'I have bought cotton in Charleston, South Carolina and sold jute products to the South as well as the North.' He shrugged. 'That's business, but I haven't sent a ship to the South for upwards of a year now. What with the Federal blockade and so on, the level of profit is just not worth the risk.' He gave a wry smile.

  Watters glanced at Amy. 'This group have been targeting you, sir. They were also involved in setting fire to your factories.'

  'Have they, by God!' Beaumont looked up angrily.

  'Indeed.' Watters did not give details of the interrogation process or the mysterious American and woman. 'We have every single member of the group in custody, Mr Beaumont.' Watters nodded to Amy. 'We are holding them very secure, so there is nothing for you to worry about, Miss Beaumont. We have charged the group with fire-raising. I don't expect they will see the outside of a jail for many years.'

  'Thank God.' Beaumont held out his hand to Watters. 'You have relieved me of a great deal of anxiety, Mr Watters, and I cannot thank you enough.'

  'It was my duty, sir.'

  'We heard what you did to Varthley, Mr Watters.' Amy put a small hand on his arm. 'You dragged him, all unclothed, from his house.' She giggled. Her eyes were huge as she considered the scene. 'All unclothed! Then you threatened to shoot him. Tell me, Mr Watters, would you have done the same for your lady wife?'

  Watters held her eyes. 'I would, Miss Amy.' That was true. He would have done exactly the same if Varthley had attacked Marie, except that he would have used a loaded gun and blown the man's head off. The thought of anybody attacking Marie made his blood run cold.

  * * *

  'Sergeant,' Scuddamore hurried up the moment Watters returned to the police office, 'do you remember that jacket you brought back from the dead house?'

  'The deceased's clothing,' Watters corrected.

  'Yes, Sergeant. Well, the jacket has a unique style.'

  'Is it?' As a married man, Watters had no spare money for stylish clothing. He bought for practicality and wore what was hard-wearing.

  'Yes, Sarge.'

  'Sergeant.'

  'Sorry, yes, Sergeant. You can't buy a jacket like that in this country; it's an American style made in New York.' Scuddamore sounded quite excited.

  Watters nodded. 'That could be interesting. Our dead man could be an American, or he could have visited New York at some time in the past.' That might tie in with the mysterious American. It might also be connected to Beaumont's association with the Confederate states, although New York was in
the North.

  'Thousands of seamen visit New York,' Scuddamore said. 'He could be a seaman.'

  'Would that coat be expensive?' Watters asked.

  'Yes, it's good quality.'

  'Then we can discount an ordinary seaman then, with their starvation wages. Our dead fellow might have been an officer, perhaps even a ship's master.' Watters sighed. 'Or he could have had nothing to do with the sea at all. He had soft hands, as I recall. We are back to the same question, was the dead man connected in some way to the fires in Dundee?'

  Scuddamore shrugged. 'I doubt we'll ever know, Sergeant. Our flat corpse was in Calcutta, thousands of miles away, and our only tangible link is Jones, who's disappeared.'

  'America.' Watters said. 'That must be our connection. It's Beaumont's trade with America. We have a dead man with an American jacket while an unknown American throws golden boys around at local idiots who think they can end slavery in America by burning down mills in Dundee.' Watters looked up as Duff appeared.

  'Sorry to disturb you, Sergeant. The old man wants you.'

  'Try that again, Duff.'

  'Superintendent Mackay sends his regards, Sergeant, and asks if you could attend him at your earliest convenience to keep him informed of the latest developments.' Duff drew himself to attention. 'I think he means now, Sergeant.'

  'I am sure he does.' Watters pushed himself upright. 'Scuddamore will keep you informed of the latest developments, Duff.' He sighed. Pursuing a case was sufficiently tricky without Superintendent Mackay interrupting him every few minutes. 'We'll get together later and work out what's best to do.'

  'Sergeant Watters,' Mackay had listened to Watters report without any visible emotion, 'I had hoped that rounding up that gang of scoundrels would have closed this case, but your American link spoiled that idea, and now we have a further complication.'

  Watters nodded. 'What would that be, sir?'

  'When Mr Beaumont returned home last night, he found that an intruder had been in his house.'

  'Did he, sir?' Watters wished that Mackay would just get to the point rather than talking around the subject.

  'Not only that,' Mackay said, 'the intruder invaded Mr Beaumont's bedroom and left a tailor's dummy in the bed, covered in a shroud as if ready for burial.'

  Watters nodded. 'That's unpleasant.'

  Who would have done that? The mysterious woman or the American? It can't have been my abolitionists as they are all locked up.

  'Exceedingly so,' Mackay said. 'It is as ugly a threat as I have met in my career, Watters. I have posted men at Mount Pleasant. I advised Mr Beaumont to live elsewhere, but he said he would be damned if he'll bow to threats of that nature.'

  Watters felt a glimmer of respect for Beaumont. 'He's a brave man.'

  'Yes, brave but foolish. However, Mr Beaumont does not wish to expose his younger daughter to the same danger.'

  Watters nodded. 'He seems exceedingly attached to her, sir.'

  'Mr Beaumont mentioned your previous work with his daughter.' Mackay leaned back in his chair. 'He was impressed with the speed you acted with Varthley.'

  'Is that so, sir?' Watters wondered what pill Mackay was preparing beneath the sugary compliments.

  'It is so, Watters. Mr Beaumont asked specifically that you act as guardian to his family, Watters.'

  There's the pill. How bitter will it be? 'What does that mean, sir?'

  'It means that you will take Amy Beaumont away from Mount Pleasant House and guard her until this whole sorry business is concluded.' Mackay drummed his fingers on the desk. 'I know it's not your usual type of duty, but Mr Beaumont is one of our most influential citizens. I hope you will treat his trust as an honour.'

  Watters fought his dismay. 'I'm a detective sir, not a nursemaid! I have a case to solve.'

  'Not any longer, Sergeant Watters. I will put Sergeant Anstruther on the case. As from now, you are the bodyguard for Beaumont's younger daughter.'

  'Anstruther is a thorough policeman, sir, but not a detective. He'd be better looking after Beaumont's family. Anyway, I know the case far better than Anstruther does.'

  'Mr Beaumont asked for you, Watters, and what Mr Beaumont wants, he gets, including our full cooperation.' Mackay's face closed into a frown. 'A few days ago, you chased down and arrested a completely innocent woman merely because she was foreign. I can't recall Sergeant Anstruther making such a mistake.'

  Watters nodded. He could not argue with that fact. He altered his attack. 'There's my wife, sir. If I am to look after the Beaumont girl, she will be alone.'

  'I'll instruct the duty constable to keep an eye on her.'

  'Yes, sir.' Fighting his frustration, Watters bowed to the inevitable. 'Where do you wish me to take Miss Amy?'

  'You will be aware that Mr Beaumont has considerable properties scattered around Dundee.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'His estate is quite large but not compact. It includes the lands immediately around Mount Pleasant House, with holdings elsewhere, including property at the fishing village of Nesshaven. Do you know it?'

  'Not well, sir. I've never been there.'

  'Nesshaven is a tiny place only a few miles north of Broughty Ferry.' Mackay looked up. 'Ness House is not as large or as luxurious as Mount Pleasant.'

  'I am sure it is a beautiful property, sir, compared to where Mr Beaumont's workers exist.'

  Mackay shook his head. 'I was doing some digging myself, Watters, and between you and me, Patrick Anderson, the director of the Dundee Bank, believes that Beaumont has some financial problems.'

  'Does he, sir?' Watters had seen much genuine hardship in his time and knew that the majority of people in Dundee existed in one- or two-roomed homes in unsavoury tenements. Financial problems for such as Beaumont probably meant that he had to drink only one bottle of wine at a sitting rather than two.

  Mackay sensed Watters's cynicism. His mouth set in a hard line. 'Report to Mount Pleasant as soon as you can, Watters.'

  'Yes, sir. And the case? The murder and the fire-raising?' Watters tried one last time.

  'I am sure Sergeant Anstruther will keep you apprised of all that happens. That's all. Dismissed.'

  Watters closed the door firmly. Was that the end of his involvement in the case? Was he now relegated to babysitting duties while Sergeant Anstruther did the real work? Watters shook his head. I'll be damned if that will happen. Running upstairs, he thrust into the duty room.

  'Scuddamore! Come here! I need a word!'

  CHAPTER TWELVE: NESSHAVEN: OCTOBER 1862

  'In you go!' Surging grey waves thundered onto the beach, exploding in a roar of surf that engulfed the small group of fisher folk. When the next swell came, it nearly submerged the women but only splashed the men that sat on their shoulders. Spindrift rose high, splattering the tall masts as the men clambered into the boats, grabbing at gunwales for support.

  'Push!'

  Freed of their masculine burden, the women bent to their next task, putting their shoulders to the rough wood of the hulls and shoving the boat into the sea. Twice waves thundered in, completely covering the women, but they persevered, slithering on the bands of shingle between the sand until the boats were tossing on the choppy water. The women staggered back, rubbing sore shoulders and easing the strain on their backs. When they reached the beach, the youngest fell onto all fours gasping. An elderly matron helped her up. They stood for a moment, wringing the worst of the water from their long blue gowns as they watched the boats row out to sea, but when the fishermen raised their sails, the women slowly returned to their homes. Only the youngest turned to ensure that the boats were safely past the ridge of rocks known as the Sisters.

  Watching from the driving seat of the gig, Watters shook his head but said nothing. Dressed in his hard-wearing, brown tweed suit, he had collected Amy Beaumont from Mount Pleasant at dawn that morning.

  'I don't like the idea of Amy being alone in that draughty house at Nesshaven,' Beaumont had said.

  'There will be s
ervants,' Watters said. 'And I'll be there.'

  'Girls need female company,' Beaumont said. 'I sent for Elizabeth Caskie to keep her company.' He smiled. 'I'm sure you won't mind having two young people rather than one.'

  'It's probably easier that way.' Watters tried to hide his increasing dismay.

  'Good man.' Beaumont's smile could not mask the concern in his eyes. 'Take care of her, Watters.'

  'I will, sir,' Watters promised. Suddenly, this job assumed new importance. Rather than trying to solve a crime that had already happened, he had the duty of protecting a young life. 'She's safe with me.'

  'I hope so. Take my spare chariot, Watters. I have it ready for you.'

  The drive to Nesshaven, with two not-quite-awake, grumpy young women, had been trying, but now the girls were taking more of an interest in life.

  'You see what I mean?' Amy spoke to Watters as if he were to blame for all the ills of mankind. 'These fisher people are not like us. We'd be better at home.'

  'You're safer out here.' Watters rapped the reins against the flank of the horse, driving it over the ford of the Corbie Burn. They splashed onto the muddy track that was the only way in or out of the village and rolled on until Watters pulled to a stop outside the single-storied building that claimed to be the lodge for Ness House.

  'You ladies sit here for a few moments while I speak to the gatekeeper.'

  'Can't we at least leave the chariot, Sergeant?' Amy asked. 'We do not require a chaperone to walk a few dozen steps.' Her voice was cold, her eyes narrow and unforgiving. 'My father had no business sending you here with me.'

  'He is merely looking after you. As I am.' Watters understood Amy well enough not to tamely submit. 'Remember what happened in Newport.'

  'Yes, Sergeant Watters,' Amy said.

  The gatekeeper was short and surly with red-grey, mutton-chop whiskers.

  'I am bringing these ladies to Ness House.' Watters tapped his cane against the man's barrel chest. 'I don't want anybody else arriving at the house except tradesmen you know personally.'

  'Who might you be?' The gatekeeper did not look the sort of man to be easily intimidated.