Knowledge of Sins Past (Murray of Letho Book 2)

by Lexie Conyngham

  ‘Where’s Mr. Tibo?’ asked Joe Baillie. Murray wrote his name down, and noted his prickly grey hair, his truculent expression, and where the last two fingers on his left hand were missing, an old injury. He seemed to be the leader of the party.

  ‘I have not asked Mr. Tibo to attend this evening. I happen to know he is quite busy at the moment, and I was not aware that it would be necessary. Would you prefer to wait until he is available?’

  ‘Nah,’ said Joe. ‘I was only asking.’ There was no hostility in his tone, and Murray wondered if the truculence were simply habitual.

  ‘And how is the season this year, gentlemen?’ Lord Scoggie asked. ‘Did John Walker find a sixth man for his boat in the end?’

  ‘Aye, he did, your lordship. His son came back from the whaling after all, and not so bad as he was said to be. He had lost a couple of fingers, like myself.’ He held up his hand. ‘Caught in a harpoon rope, just the same. So he’s back on the boats.’

  A few minutes’ discussion followed on the quality of the season’s herring, until Lord Scoggie had been fully informed. Murray was already impressed by how much he knew of the lives of these men.

  ‘So, gentlemen,’ Lord Scoggie went on at last. ‘What seems to be the problem?’

  ‘Well, it’s no our problem, or it wasn’t till last night,’ Joe began. Murray tried to pay attention, succeeding better than the young man with the scratched face, Hugh Farquhar, who was gazing at the books all about him with hungry eyes. Murray knew that look.

  ‘What happened last night?’ prompted Lord Scoggie. Murray had the impression that he already knew. He leaned back in his high chair, a benevolent monarch tending to his subjects. Murray, hunched over his notebook at the over-high table, felt like a schoolboy taking his dominie’s dictation. Across the acreage of the table, Joe Baillie drew his thoughts together for his story.

  ‘Someone left a pig at the end of the harbour,’ he announced at last. Murray thought that this was the beginning of the story, but after a second realised that it was the highlight. A pig, of course, and these were St. Monance fishermen. A pig on the harbour was disastrous.

  ‘When you say someone left a pig on the end of the harbour,’ said Lord Scoggie carefully, ‘do you mean you think that someone brought it there deliberately? It didn’t just escape and wander down the hill?’

  ‘Of course someone brought it there deliberately, your lordship,’ said Joe, his anger just under control. ‘Why would an escaped pig just wander down to the harbour – and tether itself? Someone brought it – and we reckon we ken who.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Lord Scoggie, not entirely encouragingly. The matter was serious. As far as fishermen were concerned, pigs were ill-bringing creatures. As far as the fishermen of St. Monance were concerned, they were the unchanciest beings on the face of the earth, devil-begotten, foul, filthy hellthings that carried with them the greatest of misfortune. Up the hill, away from the harbour and the delicate, fragile boats, pigs were just farmyard animals that had the decency occasionally to provide a nice side of bacon or a few roast trotters. The fishermen did not see it that way, and never touched a pig from their birth to their death if they could possibly help it.

  ‘See, we think it must be someone from up the hill, your lordship,’ interrupted the man called Richard Shaw. The light from the oil lamps glinted off his bare head. In his youth he might have helped to kill the whale that fuelled them. ‘There are those up the hill who would do something like that, and know what it would do to us.’

  ‘Aye, indeed,’ said his lordship. ‘So did any boats go out today?’

  ‘Not one, your lordship,’ said Joe, nodding. ‘How could we? And the herring skipping past, and the Edinburgh boats waiting off the shore to buy them from us on the way home, and not a boat outside the harbour. You ken we can’t touch them.’

  ‘Aye, that’s right,’ agreed Lord Scoggie. He picked absently at his teeth, and Murray wondered if he was still tasting his breakfast ham. ‘But the thing is, gentlemen, why would you think that someone from up the hill would do something like that?’

  The three fishermen looked at each other in surprise.

  ‘Just for devilment, your lordship. They’re up to anything up the hill – your lordship excepted, of course,’ Joe added, with a little nod of his head, which Lord Scoggie acknowledged with a straight face. Murray had a sudden vision of Lord Scoggie steering a pig down to the village, cackling through the dark – disturbing.

  ‘But a pig is an expensive thing, Joe. Why would any of them go to the trouble of taking one down to the harbour, perhaps exposing it to harm on the way?’

  ‘It’s harmed now, anyway!’ Murray heard Richie Shaw mutter under his breath, but Joe nudged him hard.

  ‘Well,’ he said reluctantly, ‘it’s maybe that there’s been a wee dispute. Over a wedding. ‘You ken, mixed marriages always bring trouble.’ He looked to Lord Scoggie as if to emphasise that they were both reasonable men, who understood these things. Lord Scoggie’s face went blank, waiting for a fuller explanation. Joe pondered for a moment. ‘It’s that Hugh’s sister here went and married one of the fellows from up the hill, and now she’s left him, that’s all, and they’ve lost her, and more fool them.’

  ‘Your sister ... she married one of the Kinkell cousins, did she not, Hugh?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Hugh, drawn back from his contemplation of the bookcases, nodded sharply. His face was dark. ‘Chrissie was always a wee bit wilful, you ken, your lordship. She would hear no arguments against Sandy Kinkell, the wee slinking fellow. It near killed my father, letting her go to him.’

  ‘And now she has come home, wilful once again,’ remarked Lord Scoggie. There was an odd little shiver amongst the men across the table, as though something had gone swiftly unspoken between them. Richie Shaw shuffled, apparently taking something out of his pocket under the shield of the table, though Murray could not see what it was. In a moment he put a pipe to his mouth, then took it away again, not feeling comfortable smoking there. ‘Tell me,’ Lord Scoggie said, fingering his brandy glass, ‘how does Sandy Kinkell feel about her departure?’

  ‘We wouldn’t know,’ Joe explained. ‘I’d imagine he’s no so pleased.’

  ‘I seem to remember that the wedding was peaceful enough.’

  ‘Oh, aye,’ said Richie Shaw with some emphasis, ‘the wedding was peaceful enough.’ Again he seemed to confine his remarks to the table in front of him, mumbling. Lord Scoggie looked sharply at him. Then he appeared to remember something.

  ‘The first child was christened ... a month ago, was it not? A boy. I remember the minister mentioning it.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Joe Baillie, his face closed. Hugh was starting to look dangerous, a frightening thing in one so apparently scholarly. Lord Scoggie watched him carefully, and let the silence lie for a long moment.

  ‘Am I right in thinking that the christening was not so peaceful?’ he asked at last. The three fishermen tried not to look at each other. Lord Scoggie tapped hard on the table with the base of his glass. ‘Tell me about the christening,’ he said, quietly.

  ‘They served pork,’ said Joe Baillie at last, looking sick at the memory. ‘They invited us all up there to dinner with them, and fed us pork. Some of the fellows didn’t know – they would never have tasted it, the poor lads. They ate some. We’re keeping them off our boats altogether till next years, though one of them is already dead – fell off the harbour on a windy day. John Walker’s youngest, you’ll have heard.’ Lord Scoggie nodded sadly, but did not comment. ‘Sandy Kinkell was in the midst of it, of course. He knew well enough what he had done, though he claimed he had no idea. But we could see them all laughing in the yard.’

  ‘That was not well done,’ Lord Scoggie agreed, looking solemn. ‘If they agree with you or if they don’t, they should not have done it. But how did young Chrissie take this insult against her own family?’

  ‘Chrissie ...’ Joe looked exceptionally pained, and Hugh had his head in his hands on th
e edge of the table. ‘Chrissie ate the pork.’

  ‘Willingly?’

  ‘Oh, aye. Licking her lips and saying she loved the taste of a nice piece of pork. That’s what Sandy Kinkell has done to her, see? He’s twisted her round to an up the hill way of thinking, abandoning the ways of her own people.’

  ‘My father couldna speak for a week,’ put in Hugh, with tight lips. ‘When he could, he said he’d never speak to her again. He said he’d rather she’d married a foreigner than a man up the hill, for foreigners had more sense of natural decency. And he knew some of them on the whaling ships, so he would know.’

  Joe nodded in agreement, and Richie Shaw fiddled mournfully with his pipe.

  ‘I doubt, then,’ said Lord Scoggie, with an air of innocence, ‘that you would let this insult go unavenged?’

  ‘Well, no,’ said Hugh, before Joe could poke him under the table. Hugh stared at Joe, then looked back at Lord Scoggie. ‘That’s to say, well, it was enough to say we’d never speak to her again.’

  ‘But it was about this time, surely, that your sister left her husband who has such influence over her, and came home to live?’

  ‘Aye, that would be right,’ admitted Joe, not meeting Lord Scoggie’s eye now. He was on a losing streak, and he knew it.

  ‘Now, tell me, Hugh, as a decent man,’ said Lord Scoggie, leaning forward alarmingly in his high chair, ‘did your sister come home of her own accord?’

  ‘She did, your lordship,’ said Hugh bravely, though it did not last long. He fingered the scratches on his face. ‘She sort of did. She only yelled out a bit.’

  ‘That was before we got the bitty bag over her gob,’ remarked Richie, helpfully, then looked dismayed.

  ‘You kidnapped her, didn’t you?’ Lord Scoggie accused them sternly. ‘You took her away without her permission or the permission of her lawful husband. I’m afraid that was not the right thing to do, either. You’ll have to give her back.’

  ‘We will not!’ cried Hugh, leaping up. Murray set down his pen and stood up slowly. He was a foot taller than Hugh, and half the width again in the shoulders, and Hugh was at heart a sensible man. He flung himself back down and Murray also sat. Lord Scoggie looked away from the whole incident, as if embarrassed. Joe, on his side, glared at Hugh who had the decency to look abashed.

  Lord Scoggie went on.

  ‘Your sister Chrissie is lawfully wed, in the eyes of the church, to Sandy Kinkell, and they both seem happy with the arrangement. You can’t stand against that.’

  ‘What about the child, though? We canna let her bring up a child eating pigmeat,’ said Joe reasonably. ‘The boy is a grandson of Tom Farquhar, a grandson of fishermen. What if he shakes off the Kinkell taint and grows up a fisherman himself?’

  ‘Well, consider, Joe,’ said Lord Scoggie. ‘If the boy is as true a descendant as you claim, he will be called to the sea and he’ll eat no more pork. If he is not, and he is a true son of Sandy Kinkell, then he’ll be a weaver and will eat pig with the rest of them up the hill, and you will not even desire to stake a claim to him. But in either case, he will not benefit from having his mother’s folk and his father’s folk at odds, for then he might not take to either of you, and run away to be a soldier.’

  Joe sat back in his seat, the other two following his action. Joe considered, while Richie fiddled nervously with his pipe and Hugh sat still and tense. Murray stretched his hand out, flexing the muscles. Both his pens were blunt.

  ‘Aye, I suppose it’s right enough, your lordship. Lads, we’ve got to let her go back.’

  ‘After all the trouble we went to to take her?’ asked Richie in disbelief. ‘She near had my eye out with her fingernails that night.’

  ‘She’s causing enough trouble in the house,’ Hugh admitted at last. ‘She and my father still aren’t talking, and she flung a dish of stew over me last night.’

  ‘There’s your answer, then, gentlemen. I shall ask Mr. Tibo to step by to your father’s house, Hugh, and see if they need for anything. Thank you for calling. There will be ale in the kitchen before your walk home.’ Lord Scoggie nodded graciously from his throne, a gesture combining acknowledgement of their respect and an indication of the door. The men rose, shuffling round the chairs, suddenly tall again as they moved away from the table. Murray went to open the door for them, ready to show them out and not bother Naismyth. At the door, Joe paused and looked back.

  ‘Your lordship, is it a true thing that Major Keyes is coming back to these parts soon?’

  Lord Scoggie, who had returned his attention to the brandy glass, glanced up quickly and caught his eye.

  ‘Yes, Joe, it is. He is expected tomorrow.’

  For a moment longer, they met each other’s gaze. Then Joe and his colleagues left the room, in silence.

  Chapter Five

  ‘There he is, look!’

  Robert’s feet performed a little tattoo on the flagstones as he pointed frantically at a movement out along the lane. Henry peered in the same direction.

  ‘No, it’s not, you fool. It’s old Wyllie taking his plough horse home.’

  ‘It’s not! It’s Major Keyes on horseback.’

  Murray saw where they were looking.

  ‘I’m afraid Henry’s right, Robert. Anyway, I imagine Major Keyes will arrive from the main road, not from the village – don’t you?’

  Murray had been trying to teach history in the school room, but it had been impossible: the house was in a fluster, and at every sound, from steps on the stairs to the front door closing, the boys ran to the windows and stared anxiously down at the empty driveway. In the end, it made more sense to borrow the old brass telescope from the library, relic of some Scoggie who had served his time in His Majesty’s navy, and take the boys up the west tower under the guise of learning how to survey land. Murray’s memory of this was fairly haze, but his pockets were stuffed with trigonometry. The narrow walkway around the tower’s topmost spike was safe but usually out of bounds, and had the virtue of keeping the boys pretty much in one place while they watched out for their cousin.

  ‘Anyway,’ Henry was saying, in his slightly pedantic way, ‘he won’t be on a horse. How could he ride with only the one leg?’

  ‘I bet he could, with practice,’ Robert objected. ‘All he needs is a good mounting block.’

  ‘He’ll be in a carriage.’ Henry was definite.

  ‘What kind of hero arrives in a carriage? I bet he’ll be on a horse.’

  ‘He’ll need a carriage for all his luggage. Army officers have tons of luggage. What do you think baggage trains are for?’

  ‘That’s for the men,’ insisted Robert, who had a strong bent towards romantic impracticality. ‘The men need all kinds of things. Tents, and things, don’t they, Mr. Murray?’

  ‘Yes, they do, but so do the officers.’ Robert turned away in disgust. ‘Officers need all kinds of important luggage,’ Murray went on, trying to soften the blow. ‘They need tables to spread maps on, and clean uniforms for going to balls and revues, and a tent to have conferences in with their fellow officers, and all the comforts of home while they’re in winter quarters.’

  ‘Balls and revues?’ said Henry scornfully.

  ‘Maps?’ added Robert. ‘Conferences? What about fighting?’

  ‘You don’t carry much luggage when you’re actually in battle.’

  Henry looked as if he knew better but chose not to lower himself to argue. Robert was also unimpressed. Murray wondered how he had managed to annoy both of them.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Tell me what is the lowest point of land you can see from here.’

  ‘Why would he need luggage coming here, anyway?’ Robert persisted, while Henry applied himself to the telescope. ‘He won’t need to look at maps, and there won’t be any balls or revues, and there’s a table in his room that Bea’s put flowers on, and if he really wants to have a conference there’s always the library.’

  ‘He might want to look smart while he’s here, in his b
est uniform.’

  ‘That would be good,’ Robert admitted, ‘but I don’t see why he’d bother.’

  ‘Because he’s going to marry Deborah,’ said Henry, handing him the telescope. Robert nearly dropped it.

  ‘Marry Deborah? Our Deborah?’

  ‘I heard Mamma say so.’ Henry turned to Murray. ‘The lowest bit of land would be the bottom of the lake, but we can’t see it.’

  ‘Why would he marry Deborah? I mean, he’s a hero ...’

  ‘She’s very pretty.’

  Murray’s statement was regarded with immediate suspicion by the boys.

  ‘Pretty? But she’s Deborah.’

  ‘But it might be quite good to have a hero for a brother. I mean, when we go to university it’ll sound very good. The other boys won’t have one. And he could help me get a commission.’ Robert was already starting to see the bright side.

  ‘Father won’t let you go into the army, will he, Mr. Murray?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Murray. ‘It’s an honourable occupation for a younger son. My brother has a commission in the Royal Regiment.’

  ‘Major Keyes is in the 73rd. Highlanders,’ said Robert clearly, with the unmistakeable meaning that it was the only possible regiment to serve in.

  ‘Not with only one leg, though,’ added Henry.

  ‘But it was his regiment.’

  ‘Of course it was, and a very fine regiment, too.’ Murray tried to make peace. Surely these boys were ready for university? ‘Robert, if you were attacking Scoggie Castle with a troop of infantry, which direction would you come from?’

  It was effective. Robert had the telescope to his eye in an instant, back straight, in his mind already Sir David Baird debating the siege of Seringapatam – now that he had finally found it on the schoolroom globe. Murray had found accounts of the battle in some old newspapers in the library, and Robert had studied them with more attention than he usually gave to his history work. Murray was sure that through his telescope he was now seeing jungle, and ferocious natives guarding strangely-carved walls and elaborately-worked gates. Henry sighed, impatient for his turn again, and leaned over the wall of the walkway, staring into the distance, tapping the toes of his shoes on the stonework.