Seaton 03 - Crucible of Secrets

by S. G. MacLean

‘And this was the practice of their fraternity?’

  ‘I believe so. And I expect,’ he continued, ‘that this new-found fascination with what is fundamental to us and to the universe would explain also his interest in Vitruvius.’

  ‘I see that.’ I knew that the Hermetics venerated Vitruvius and his views on architecture as the greatest of sciences, necessarily encompassing all forms of human knowledge and endeavour. And the greatest architect of all was God, the universe His divine and perfect creation of which each one of us was an interlocking part. We would all come together to realise the perfect vision of His creation, if only the secret behind it could be understood. No more war, no more illness, no more hunger, no more hatred, drought or famine. ‘But what has all this to do with Robert Sim? With brotherhoods?’

  Carmichael chewed at his bottom lip a moment. ‘I cannot say for certain that it has anything at all to do with Robert Sim, but as to fraternities – well, at the end of his discourse on the promises of Hermetic knowledge, John asked me tentatively if, in the course of my studies abroad, I had ever come across any who might have been of a secret society of Hermetists, in pursuit of this knowledge. I told him I never had, and that should I have done, I would have counselled them to look to the world they can see, and not try to conjure the secrets of a world beyond their senses.’

  ‘What was his response?’

  He shrugged. ‘He was disappointed, I think. He told me that should I ever reconsider my views, he would be there to listen. At the time I thought he meant nothing more than companionship, friendship; the idea that he meant some sort of actual brotherhood never entered my head.’ He put the lavender down on the bench. ‘Is there such a fraternity here?’

  Mindful of John’s evident terror, his pleading that I should forget he had ever spoken of it, I answered Andrew Carmichael as honestly as I could. ‘He has not told me that there is.’ In my mind, however, I was now certain that there was, and that John Innes and Robert Sim had been amongst its number. What I had to do, and what Andrew Carmichael could not help me with, was discover who else had been in their brotherhood, and what danger they might thereby have placed themselves in.

  I thanked Carmichael for his time and asked that he keep a close eye on John’s health and state of mind, and let me know if he worsened. He promised that he would, and we parted at the gate to the Mediciner’s manse, two men now uneasily aware that they might be friends, if the one could forgive the other for having married the woman he loved, and the other in turn forgive him for having loved that woman in the first place.

  NINE

  Women’s Tales

  Once back in the New Town I made directly for William Cargill’s chambers in Huxter Row, behind the Town House and the sheriff court. The last stalls of the Monday market were being packed up now and the traders returning to their homes and yards, leaving the dogs, gulls and indigent to scavenge what they could from what was left. I passed the tolbooth, the burgh prison, ignoring the cries of those inside who extended their purses through their barred windows in the hope of passing charity, and then turned down the vennel to the small, turreted building where William and his fellow advocates rented rooms. The vennel was busy and the entrance hall to the advocates’ chambers busier: the sheriff and his deputes would sit in court the next day to hear the grudges and grievances of inhabitants of the shire, one against the other, to listen to the arguments of procurators for one party and against another, and to direct juries of the defendants’ peers and neighbours.

  As I was about to enter William’s rooms, I found myself flattened to the wall by the sweep of four retainers of the laird of Tolquhoun, followed by the laird himself, dragging his young son, briefly a student of mine, almost by the scruff of the neck. The laird took notice of me at the last minute.

  ‘Ah, Mr Seaton is it? I would that I had never put this scoundrel to that damned college of yours. I should have sent him for a soldier instead, if the soft heart of his mother had not intervened. My purse would be all the fuller and that of your friend William Cargill a deal lighter. Good day to you, sir.’ And he pushed the sullen boy ahead of him, and out into his last evening of freedom in the town of Aberdeen.

  William was rubbing the backs of his hands over his eyes when I went without knocking into his rooms. He looked up with a start as I closed the door behind me, and sank back in relief when he saw that it was me.

  ‘It has been a long day then, my friend,’ I said as he reached for a bottle of Madeira wine and two glasses.

  ‘You can have little idea. I swear to you, Sodom and Gomorrah would have been spared, had the good Lord but waited for a look at Aberdeen.’

  I sat back and sipped at my Madeira. ‘I thought you lawyers spent your days on dry and dusty disputes over boundary walls, the incursions of beasts onto the corns of neighbours, the testaments of the dead.’

  ‘Some lawyers do, Alexander, some do. But it has fallen to my lot, it would seem, to be beset with the miscreant offspring of every landed family in the north.’

  I laughed. ‘And who would pay for Elizabeth’s fine new linen if they went elsewhere?’

  He held up a hand. ‘Please, Alexander, do not start me on that. I have had Duncan rumbling in my ear for nigh on a fortnight about the wanton profligacy of it, the claims of the kirk and the poor upon my every last shilling. Anyhow, enough of my petty troubles. Do you make any progress in your investigations?’

  And so I told him what I knew, of Robert Sim’s change in habits over the last six months, his taking of books from the library, his night-time ventures, and that I thought John Innes was in some way involved. Strangely, he did not seem altogether surprised to learn of Robert’s clandestine wanderings, but the mention of John Innes’s name gave him greater pause for thought.

  ‘John? Are you certain?’

  ‘I am certain of very little, but he is far from himself, and what Andrew Carmichael told me suggests that John also has taken to night-time wanderings over the last few months. As to this talk of fraternities, I do not know what to make of it. It is not something I am in a hurry to pass on to the burgh authorities. Talk of secret societies is apt to make the wrong people jump to the wrong conclusions.’

  ‘You are right there.’ William went to his door and called through to his clerk that he was not to be disturbed for the next ten minutes.

  ‘What have you heard? Is there something you give credence to?’

  ‘I am a lawyer. I give credence to nothing other than that my name is William Cargill and that I live in the burgh of Aberdeen. But as to what I have heard regarding Robert’s murder that might have some possible connection to the truth – well, of course, there might have been the motive of robbery, but what would a common thief know of the value of one book as against another? And there is no coin or plate or plenishing of any worth to be found in the Marischal College library. The actions of an angry father or jealous lover I would also have discounted, were it not for what you have just told me about Robert’s movements, alongside another rumour I heard today.’

  ‘What rumour?’

  ‘That the kirk session will soon hear an accusation of adultery made against Rachel Middleton.’

  ‘The physician’s wife? William, you are in jest.’ Rachel Middleton was the wife of the young doctor I had seen the previous morning just as I was leaving Robert Sim’s lodgings. She was not native to Aberdeen, but had lived here several years, in a house left to her by her brother, a master stonemason. She and her husband did not move in the circles familiar to me, and I could not have said I knew either of them well, but in all the time I had lived in the town I had never heard a whisper of scandal against her.

  ‘The reputation of a young woman is not something I care to jest about, Alexander, even with you.’

  ‘But on what grounds? That she is – well – womanly of figure and does not mix much in the town, from what I know? That her brother Hugh left her wealthy?’

  ‘That may well be what fires the malice, but it seems there may
be grounds to suspect her virtue. It is rumoured that Robert Sim was a frequenter of her house on more than one evening when her husband was not there, after the drummer had gone through the town and the clocks struck nine, and that he was not the only one.’

  ‘Surely you cannot think John …?’

  ‘I do not know what to think, but John is a man, like the rest of us.’ He looked at me sharply. ‘I have heard no other names, mind, only rumours of other men besides Robert, and you tell me his throat was cut with a scalpel?’

  ‘It is what we found, and Principal Dun thinks it is very likely the murder weapon.’

  ‘Well, Rachel Middleton’s husband is a physician, is he not?’

  I remembered again the startled look on Richard Middleton’s face as he had met me in the pend to the old brewster woman’s yard. ‘And he might have … because of his wife. But surely …’

  ‘In truth, Alexander, I do not know what to think. What I know of the man says it is hardly likely.’ He got up and stretched his arms. ‘Anyway, I have had enough of this place and its troubles for today. Come home with me and make an early supper with us. Sarah and the children will still be there, I am sure – Elizabeth was determined that the sorting of old linen and the choosing of new would make a day’s work at least.’

  The bells of the Grayfriar’s Kirk had just tolled five as we turned on to the Broadgate, the college buildings rising up to our right behind the houses fronting the street. We were about to cross over to Guest Row when a commotion from the gates of the Marischal College took our attention. I recognised the voices, but could scarcely believe my ears, or indeed the evidence of my own eyes, when I saw the cause of the disturbance: Matthew Jack, his face scarlet and contorted with fury, was being bodily removed from the college grounds, the porter and one of the burlier college servants having each an arm as they hauled him through the gates. Beyond, in silence, Principal Dun watched, his face as cold and unmoving as stone. A scuffed wooden chest and a leather satchel I knew to be Jack’s were, I saw, already on the street. One of my fellow regents stood by the principal and spoke for him.

  ‘Your business here is finished, Matthew Jack. It will be made known that you are no longer to consider yourself a regent of this college, and henceforth you are not permitted entry within its gates. You will be handed over to the magistrates of this town should you ever seek to enter here again.’ And then the gate was shut, and principal, regent, porter and servant gone from view, leaving only Matthew Jack on the street with his miserable belongings, ranting at the gate that had just been barred to him.

  ‘You think to silence me, Patrick Dun, but I will not be silenced. I know what I know, and that will I make known, and then we will see who is brought before the magistrates and, aye, higher authorities, and how many remain in your college!’ And then, the spittle still on his chin, he slung his satchel over his shoulder and began to drag his chest down towards town, and I knew not what shelter.

  William stood, silent and astonished before turning to me. ‘Good God, Alexander, the expulsion of Matthew Jack from the college, and, God-willing, the town, is a thing much to be desired, but over the heads of what has this happened today? What is the man raving about?’

  I shook my head. ‘Nothing that I know of, but as to his expulsion, I can guess.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He near enough maimed some of the boys today for the fight down on the Links on Saturday. As hebdomodar it was his right to punish them, but what he did in the college courtyard this morning was beyond all natural justice. I am not greatly surprised that Principal Dun has taken this course. Well, this will cut short my investigations, such as they are. The college cannot sustain the lack of two regents as well as the librarian, with the examinations so close.’

  William turned away from the college. ‘No doubt you’re right, and you’ll be much wanted within those walls over the next few days. But come back with me tonight; give some of your time to the children – and to Sarah.’

  ‘Has Elizabeth said something?’

  All William’s ease of manner was gone from him now, and he struggled under my question. ‘She thinks … that things between you are not as they once were.’

  His awkwardness was matched by my own, and at first I did not know how to answer him. ‘It may be that I have been staying too long at the college, that I have left her alone too often. But the summer vacation is almost upon us, and then I will make things right.’

  He put an arm on my shoulder. ‘I’m sure that you will. Now let us leave the town to its own business a while, and see what dramas the world behind my door has waiting for us.’

  Little more than five minutes later, I was through William’s door and being threatened with a description of the new linens to be ordered. The weaver, a pleasant-looking fellow a few years younger than myself, with something of a twinkle in his eye, was introduced to me as Bernard Cummins. His name was something familiar to me, but I did not know why. He was making ready to leave, and I didn’t trouble myself much over where I might know him from. Taking me for William, who had been caught up by a fellow advocate a hundred yards from his door, Cummins assured me that his prices would be fair, and that should any of his work not meet with the lady’s expectations, she would be under no obligation to take it, and I under none to pay for it. I expressed great relief at this, explaining that I was but a college regent, and not the wealthy master of the house.

  ‘Ah, but you have been blessed greatly by Fortune in other ways,’ he said, smiling over at Sarah before taking his leave of Elizabeth and setting out into the street, his very profitable order tucked in his pocket.

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘he will set the ladies’ hearts a-flutter, I am sure. I see he will beguile his way into all the wealthy houses of Aberdeen, and empty the coffers of many an unwary husband by his charms.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Elizabeth, flushing. ‘It is just that his years away from Scotland have taught him proper manners as well as better weaving. Sarah and I are in two minds as to whether to send you and William to Holland, to acquire there by example what nature has left wanting.’

  ‘Indeed, I would not waste your time on that, for William has been often to Holland, without any improvement that I can see, and I am sure that what has done him so little good would do me none whatsoever.’

  I spent a few minutes more in the kitchen, as Sarah told me all the news of the day, before taking a copy of the weaver’s order through to William’s study, as Elizabeth had asked me to. As I approached the door, snatches of an unusual sound reached my ear – a man’s voice, singing, in a tongue I could only guess to be the French. I pushed open the door carefully and walked quietly into the room, only to come on William’s aged manservant, Duncan, bent over a case of instruments which he was lovingly cleaning. The old Presbyterian looked up with a start, caught in mid-verse.

  ‘Well, Mr Seaton. I – I did not hear you come down the corridor. I had not expected anyone. Mr Cargill …’

  ‘William will be a few minutes yet. He has been caught up with some business on the street.’ Some devilment in me would not let this chance for mischief pass. I set the papers carefully down on William’s desk. ‘Do you know, as I came close to the door I thought to find some troubadour in the room, or my friend the music master of Banff at the very least, so sweet were the sounds coming from here.’

  Duncan’s face and neck became suffused with scarlet. I pressed on.

  ‘French, was it not?’

  He took a deep breath, through gritted teeth, and then his shoulders sagged and I instantly regretted making fun of the old man.

  ‘Aye, French it was. It is many years since I have heard or spoken the tongue, but today, as I was cleaning Dr Cargill’s instruments, it took me back. The sunlight coming through the window and the summer sounds of the birds, they all took me back. All foolishness, an old man’s foolishness.’ He picked up the small, silver medicine goblet he had been cleaning and returned it to its place in the box.

&nb
sp; I tried to picture him, over thirty years ago, not a young man even then, but a few years older than I was now, servant to a wealthy Aberdeen merchant, in France to see to the buying of wine. In an inn in Besançon one evening, they had come across a group of young medics, freshly graduated from Basel. Amongst them had been James Cargill, William’s uncle, a young man from Aberdeen who had left the burgh a poor scholar, and would return a fully qualified physician. The merchant had greatly taken to the young doctor, and while he himself had further south still to go, he had sent his servant, Duncan, back north with the young man, fearful of the troubles that might befall him alone on the journey. And from that day Duncan had been a servant to the Cargills, and would be now until the day he died. He shut the case and locked it away in its usual cupboard, along with the notebooks and letters that had lain there fifteen years, since William’s uncle’s death.

  William’s arrival brought us both a welcome release from the awkwardness.

  ‘So, is the fellow gone?’ he asked, as he breezed in, setting his hat on its nail by the door.

  ‘Who?’ I asked.

  ‘The weaver fellow. Am I safe from having to pretend I care about linens?’

  ‘To me, at least. He went about two minutes after I arrived. He left that for you.’

  William picked up the copy of the order and blanched a little. I leant towards him and whispered in his ear, ‘The touch of lace on the pillows will help you sleep especially well, apparently.’

  He glared at me, and filed the paper away with other household expenses.

  Later, in our own home, once the children were sleeping, as Sarah and I lay together I told her of my day.

  ‘I thought it was only the matters of the library that you had to see to,’ she said.

  ‘I did not know how to tell you that I was to probe into Robert Sim’s secrets, his private life. I do not like to look into another man’s life.’

  She was lying with her back to me and I had my arm around her waist. I could not see her face. ‘Better, perhaps,’ she said at last, ‘than to look into your own.’