Death of a Chief

by Douglas Watt

  ‘That only leaves Campbell of Glenbeg.’

  ‘Yes – and it appears that Glenbeg has absconded! He was not found in his miserable lodging in Craig’s Wynd when Stirling’s man went to fetch him and he was seen by one of the city guards leaving by the West Port in the early morning. Glenbeg is a man on whom good fortune has not shone, Davie. As the fourth son of Duncan Campbell of Glenlochy, he was granted the lands of Glenbeg by his father and spent heavily on building a fine castle on the banks of Loch Beg. But he borrowed too much to fund the construction. Those who lend to such men have much to answer for. His great appetite for wine, the table, and other vices plunged him into a quagmire of debt. Impoverished, he opposed his own clan in the Covenanting Wars. This was the action of a very desperate man, for bonds of kinship in the Highlands have a peculiar power. It is very rare for someone in his position to act against his own clan. He became a friend of Sir Lachlan’s during those dark days – they fought together at the bloody slaughter of Inverkeithing – and he followed him into exile with King Charles. His love of the table was insatiable. Chluicheadh e h-uile bun rùdain deth, as we might say in Gaelic – he would play his very knuckles off. He even owed Sir Lachlan money. His melancholic temperament drove him into an abyss of debauchery. It’s said that to pay off his debts he sought the intercession of necromancers and sold his soul to the Devil. But the truth is more prosaic: he raised his tenants’ rents. Finally he was forced by his own clansmen, many of whom were creditors, to give up his lands. George Campbell, a merchant from Inverary to whom he owed large sums, gained possession of his castle. Since then, Glenbeg has wandered the world begging an existence, friendless except for Sir Lachlan. Perhaps the chief recognised in him a kindred spirit, or saw in him what he himself might have become.’

  ‘But do you really think he killed Sir Lachlan, sir? I know from my own experience that a man who is ruled by the bottle can be dragged very low and commit acts of abomination. My uncle was a respected merchant from Musselburgh who had prospered in the fishing trade. But his ship was wrecked one night in a terrible storm and he lost everything, as he was not insured. This misfortune drove him to drink and he began to violently mistreat my dear aunt. One night, he was seen cursing the sea in a stream of obscenities, when he slipped and fell into the icy water. He must have struck his head on a rock. There was no saving him. His body was recovered the next day. The drink did that to him. Perhaps it has rotted the soul of Glenbeg and driven him to murder the only man who showed him kindness.’

  Scougall at once regretted saying quite so much on the subject of his uncle and was relieved when MacKenzie remained focused on the case in hand.

  ‘Tell me, when we were shown the body of Sir Lachlan, did you notice anything in his chamber?’

  ‘I’m afraid my eyes were transfixed on the corpse. I could take in nothing else.’

  ‘I was much the same. The sight of Sir Lachlan’s body was deeply disturbing to me. I had known him for many years and although he was a difficult man, I counted him as a friend. However, I forced myself to examine the chamber, for it was highly likely that little had been disturbed since his death. The first thing to catch my eye was an empty wine glass, lying on its side. It had been knocked over and some red wine spilt onto a book – one of Sir Lachlan’s favourites, I believe, a manuscript account of the conquests of Alexander the Great. My eye was then attracted by the papers on the table beside the bed. Legal documents – charters, instruments of sasine and bonds, which bore the appearance of having been examined in haste. They were in a heap which would have made any good notary despair. Some were even lying on the floor. This suggests to me that, after killing Sir Lachlan, the murderer made a hasty search of these documents. I know that the chief was generally careful in the organisation of his papers and so I had a brief look at them. They were all concerned with Sir Lachlan’s case before the Session against Menzies of Pitcairn. A full examination of the documents will be required to determine if any are missing. Perhaps you could make an inventory of them tomorrow, Davie?’

  MacKenzie, who had been gazing at his garden as he spoke, looked Scougall full in the face.

  ‘You seem puzzled,’ he commented.

  ‘I am annoyed with myself, sir. I can remember nothing of the scene, not even the clothing worn by Sir Lachlan. You have recalled so much.’

  MacKenzie patted his companion gently on the back.

  ‘We have spoken enough of such matters. The sun is almost setting and I still have to show you the rest of my garden. Let us take the evening air and talk of other things.’

  As the light faded and the sky became imbued with a violet hue, MacKenzie led Scougall once more through his beloved garden, trying to instil into the sceptical young man the mysterious joys of horticulture, telling him the Latin names of particular plants and the difficulty or ease with which he had nurtured them. He stopped beside a patch of dark blue irises and pulled one of the blossoms towards him. ‘Here is Iris germanica, a native of the Mediterranean region, which has been cultivated longer than any other. An amazing plant. The stems rise at incredible speed in the spring, bursting forth into these tongues of colour.’

  Although of the opinion that a love of gardening is only truly inspired in those who have already experienced human love, in a way of which Scougall was ignorant, MacKenzie continued in this vein until they returned to the front door. Scougall had tired of horticulture. His thoughts had drifted from plants to MacKenzie’s daughter. He hoped dearly, despite his shyness, that she had not retired to bed.

  ‘We will rise early tomorrow,’ said MacKenzie as they entered the house. ‘We must be back in Edinburgh before the town is awake. You will accompany me to Mr Hope’s manse, which is on our way, and then I will dispatch you to Mr Primrose’s lodgings, where an inventory of Sir Lachlan’s legal documents is to be found. Primrose will help us draw up a list of the chief’s creditors. I intend to pay another visit to Mr Stirling and then if the weather is clement, I suggest we retire to the Links for some recreation. What do you say, Davie?’

  Scougall nodded appreciatively at the prospect of an afternoon’s golf. MacKenzie’s servant, an old man with a long face who said nothing because he spoke little English, showed him to his chamber.

  CHAPTER 8

  Breakfast at the Manse

  MACKENZIE’S MAN SUMMONED Scougall to breakfast with a loud knock on his door. After a hurried meal of bread and ale, the young notary found himself back on his horse, disappointed not to have had the opportunity to say goodbye to Elizabeth, who had retired to bed early the previous evening and had not yet risen.

  John Hope’s manse was a two-storey dwelling surrounded by an ancient graveyard, was on the outskirts of Edinburgh. The small stone church, a simple rectangular building with a squat, square spire, was a stone’s throw from the front door. The two lawyers left their horses at the gates and proceeded along the path which meandered through the gravestones.

  ‘Cemeteries have much to teach us about family history,’ said MacKenzie. ‘Amongst those buried here is your famous divine Zacharias Grundy. On another occasion we must return and search for his monument.’

  MacKenzie continued his discussion of the historical importance of funerary monuments until they reached the manse, then his tone changed. Scougall had not heard him speak with such earnestness before.

  ‘Now, Davie, I must ask you not to be shocked by the manner in which I address Mr Hope. It is only the old lawyer in me. An advocate’s questions can seem cruel. It is sometimes necessary to use harsh words to disarm your opponent,’ he said, in a voice devoid of its usual conviviality.

  A servant showed them into the dining chamber where Mr Hope was enjoying, to Scougall’s astonished eyes, a breakfast on the scale of a small feast. In addition to a plate of smoked fish, there were eggs and Scots collops.

  The minister indicated that they should join him at the table. After masticating on a particularly large mouthful of fish, he wiped his mouth with a white cloth, smiled and
addressed them.

  ‘Now, Mr MacKenzie, Mr Scougall, this is indeed a pleasure, although it is God’s will that we meet this morning under a cloud of mourning for our dear departed friend. He was indeed a fine man. Brave, generous…’

  MacKenzie cut in, ‘Mr Hope. I too regret that our visit is not a social call. You were seen returning to Sir Lachlan’s lodgings an hour after departing from us on the High Street. Tell me what you know about Sir Lachlan’s death.’

  ‘I know nothing sir… I saw nothing!’ said the minister, highly disconcerted.

  ‘I suggest that you close the door, Mr Hope,’ the advocate continued, ‘lest other ears hear our business.’

  The minister paled. He rose, stumbled to the door and quietly shut it. The only sounds in the small chamber were the occasional crackle from the fire and the strained breathing of the corpulent man of God.

  ‘Mr Hope, I suggest you begin with our departure on the High Street,’ MacKenzie said with a look so penetrating that it was almost a glare. ‘Please explain to Mr Scougall and myself your reasons for returning to Sir Lachlan’s lodgings at such a late hour.’

  ‘I can assure you both,’ Hope said, almost whispering, ‘that I had nothing to do with the dreadful death of our dear friend. The reason I returned is of… a most delicate nature, which, if it was to become public, has the power to cause much pain to my dear wife and family.’

  ‘I will do my best to withhold the details from the Crown Officer. Now tell us, how long you have been acquainted with Smith’s servant girl?’

  Scougall, almost unable to bear the tension of the interrogation, felt himself start to tremble even although he was a mere observer.

  Hope closed his eyes and his large Adam’s apple made a number of journeys up and down before he placed both his plump hands on the table – the fat, soft hands of a minister. He tried to recover his composure, made a brief prayer to God, and told MacKenzie and Scougall his story.

  ‘After we parted, I made my way down Fish Market Wynd and entered the Targe Tavern, where I waited for perhaps an hour. I then retraced my steps to Sir Lachlan’s lodgings. You must understand, Mr MacKenzie, Mr Scougall, the Devil had caught me off-guard after too much wine and had inflamed my passion. Besides, Mrs Hope has, how shall I put it, little interest in easing my cares. There was only one thing on my mind as I re-entered Smith’s house. I have a particular weakness, gentlemen. May God forgive me – yes, a particular weakness. Peggy had left the door on the ground floor open for me. I climbed the stairs and on reaching the first floor where Smith and his family have their residence, I heard the door being opened. I hastened onto the next floor as quietly as I could. Peggy’s room is at the top of the house and there she was waiting for me. God forgive me, for I did lose the world when I took her in my arms. Afterwards, I lay a while, listening to my heart beat with such vigour I feared it might burst. I am no longer a young man. I heard the Tron Kirk bell strike three times and left the young lady to her slumber. As I came down the stairs, I heard footsteps coming from Sir Lachlan’s chambers. I did not want to be seen so I hid in the shadows. The figure descended in an instant. I cannot say who it was. All I saw was the sweep of a dark cloak. I waited until I heard the person leave the building and then made my way down and escaped into the night.’

  ‘Could you say if the figure you saw was a man or a woman?’ asked MacKenzie.

  ‘I supposed it was a man.’

  ‘There was nothing else you noticed about the figure?’

  ‘Nothing – it was very dark.’

  MacKenzie continued to stare intently at the minister, his face revealing no hint of his private emotion, for the minister’s words had triggered the recollection of another midnight tryst, many years before. Desire, or the memory of desire, returned, as it did less now; the feeling still cut through him like a knife. He shut his eyes for a moment, then turned to Scougall.

  ‘Come, Davie, we have taken up enough of Mr Hope’s time. He has sermons to write!’

  ‘My account will not pass beyond these walls, will it, MacKenzie?’ asked the minister.

  ‘I will do my best, Mr Hope, but I cannot promise.’

  Hope placed his hand on MacKenzie’s knee and his eyes seemed to implore him.

  The two lawyers were shown out of the manse by a servant and as they walked back towards their horses, MacKenzie said with a smile, ‘Davie, I did warn you that I might launch a ferocious attack.’

  ‘I had not imagined you would address a man of God in such a manner,’ murmured Scougall. ‘Nor that Mr Hope would confess so readily to his sins. How did you know he was seen returning to Sir Lachlan’s lodgings?’

  ‘I did not know: I supposed. If you had made a close examination of the footwear of the guests you would have noticed that Mr Hope was the only person wearing buckled shoes. When you meet a man, always pay as much attention to his feet as to his face – you will learn much. This fact, together with knowledge of the character of our good minister, left me convinced that the person seen by Mr Smith on the stairs was Hope. It is well known in certain circles that he has strong passions after drink and his wife is not obliging. But alas, we have discovered the identity of one figure only to find ourselves with another night prowler to identify.’

  ‘How do you know that Mr Hope is telling the truth sir?’ asked Scougall, still more impressed by MacKenzie’s observational skills. ‘And why would Peggy consent to lie with such a man?’

  ‘We do not know for certain, Davie, but then, there is nothing that we can know for certain. I will talk with Peggy later today. I am sure that, with a little persuasion, she will provide us with information which may or may not corroborate the minister’s account. As for her apparent predilection for men of the Kirk – such men have an appeal for some women. No doubt, Hope provided her with something in return. Now I must visit the Parliament House to talk with Mr Stirling and you must visit Mr Primrose and enlist his assistance in drawing up a list of Sir Lachlan’s creditors. I ask that you take great care in producing it. Let us meet on Leith Links at three o’clock.’

  CHAPTER 9

  A Round on the Links

  SCOUGALL STOOD MOTIONLESS, head down, eyes fixed on the small ball on the ground between his feet. He slowly raised his club, then swung in a long graceful arc, striking the ball high into the clear blue sky. He watched it fade to the right and kept his eyes on it until it came to rest.

  ‘It is an honour to watch you swing a golf club,’ said MacKenzie, who placed his own ball on the ground and struck it in a less dignified fashion. It sliced to the right, bouncing about eighty yards away and landing in some longer grass. As they headed off towards MacKenzie’s ball, he enquired how Scougall had fared with Primrose.

  ‘I found him in the Advocate’s Library preparing a case. He provided me with an inventory of Sir Lachlan’s legal papers and a list of creditors which he had completed for the case against Menzies, and then I went straight to Mr Smith’s house, where Hector MacLean gave me access to his father’s documents. I spent the next hour closely examining them and am pleased to inform you that they are all present.’

  ‘Interesting. It would seem that our killer did not find what he was looking for. What of the list of creditors?’

  ‘I will show it to you later,’ replied Scougall. ‘There are twenty-two major creditors.’

  ‘I too have made profitable use of my time. I spoke again with Mr Stirling and he revealed the contents of Lawtie’s report on Sir Lachlan’s death. The cause of death was indeed poison, most likely that which is used to destroy vermin. The appearance of the corpse apparently bore all the hallmarks of this deadly agent.’

  MacKenzie played his second shot, making better contact with the ball and sending it high into the sky. As they strode off towards Scougall’s ball he continued: ‘I also visited the house of Sir David Dunbar to determine the veracity of Ann MacLean’s account. Dunbar was a loyal supporter of King Charles during the Civil Wars. Sir Lachlan and he have been close friends since th
ey spent time in exile together on the Continent. Sir David was at his country seat near Haddington, but I was entertained by his daughter, who assured me that Ann did spend the entire evening with her. She described the terrible scene when Gregor McIan broke the news of her father’s death. On my way out, I struck up conversation with the Dunbar family coachman, a fellow Highlander from Ross-shire. I learned, after slipping him a few pennies, that he had taken Ann to the Pleasance on the evening of her visit, to meet George Scott, an officer in Johnstone’s regiment. The coachman was told to wait for her. She spent about an hour at Scott’s lodgings, from around nine o’clock until ten, and then returned to Dunbar’s house.’

  ‘If that is so, she could not have played any part in her father’s murder,’ said Scougall as he addressed his ball and hit a second glorious shot. ‘But what of the character of George Scott?’

  ‘As far as I know, Scott is a diligent soldier. We must find out more about him. I believe that Sir Lachlan stood firmly against Ann’s marriage to him. Scott has little money and few political connections. I will speak to my kinsman Kenneth Chisholm, who serves in Johnstone’s Regiment.’

  MacKenzie was preparing to play his third shot when he was distracted by shouts in the distance. Archibald Stirling’s servant was calling for him. When the old man reached them, he stood for a few seconds to catch his breath before being able to speak.

  ‘An urgent message from Mr Stirling, sir. He wishes that you meet him as soon as possible at the Nor’ Loch. A body has been found!’

  CHAPTER 10