His Bloody Project

by Graeme Macrae Burnet

  * * *

  Our crops grew poorly that summer. I cannot say if this was for the want of sea-ware on our land or due to some other cause. My father had taken the view that we would have a poor harvest and so tended the croft less diligently than usual. When Kenny Smoke commented on the weeds growing in our furrows, Father shrugged and said, ‘What’s the use? The land is exhausted.’

  It seemed to me that it was not the land that was exhausted, but my father. I spent many days working on Lachlan Broad’s projects. There were first the days that I was myself obliged to give. Then, as my father’s state of health meant that he could not usefully be employed in heavy labour, I worked in his stead. In addition to this, I sometimes laboured for half a shilling a day in lieu of others who were busy with more profitable occupations. I turned over everything I earned to my father and was glad to contribute something to the family’s income. Nevertheless, labouring for Lachlan Broad was an irksome business. There was rarely a moment when the constable or his brother were not strutting about like great roosters, ensuring that none of us paused to take breath or wipe the sweat from our brows. Even when Broad was absent we worked relentlessly, fearful that he would suddenly appear and order us to give another day’s labour for our idleness. This constant toil meant that I had little time to tend our own crops and, as a consequence, there would be less to eat in the black months.

  One evening Lachlan Broad paid us a visit to inform us that it had come to his attention that our croft had fallen into a state of neglect. It had become a favourite expression of his to say that such and such a thing had ‘come to his attention’. It perpetuated the notion that whatever anyone did or said would be noted and reported back to him, a notion which ensured a high degree of compliance with whatever decrees he issued. It also led people to look askance at their neighbours and treat them with a degree of suspicion hitherto unknown in our parts. On this occasion, Broad fined my father ten shillings and reminded him that the proper upkeep of the croft was a condition of his tenancy and that if he could not meet his obligations, the factor would have no choice but to review his tenure. In order to raise the funds to pay this fine, I was obliged to labour further on the roads and by-ways and as a consequence the croft fell into an ever more shameful state.

  A few days after this latest visit from the constable, my father remained seated after Jetta had cleared the table. I had the impression that he had some announcement to make and I was not mistaken. After filling his pipe and lighting it he informed us that he intended to seek an interview with the factor. I asked him for what purpose. My father ignored my question and stated that he wished me to accompany him, as I was an intelligent boy and would not be bamboozled by the factor’s words. I was discomfited at this admission of my father’s limitations and protested that he was the equal of the factor, or anyone else for that matter. My father shook his head and said, ‘We both know that that is not true, Roderick.’ He then said that he intended to go to Applecross in two days’ time and that if I had agreed to labour for Lachlan Broad I should find someone to work in my place or make my excuses in advance. He then got up and took his place in his chair by the window.

  From the outset, I felt that no good could come from my father’s plan. No one from our parish had ever sought a meeting with the factor, and when individuals were summoned to see him, they did so with great trepidation. Father may have reckoned that our lot could hardly be worsened, but I did not doubt that when his visit was brought to Lachlan Broad’s attention, he would not hesitate to avenge himself in some way.

  Father and I set out for Applecross early in the morning. Lachlan Broad, it transpired, had gone to Kyle of Lochalsh on some business or other and I realised that my father must have chosen this day for our visit with this in mind. The day brought the great contrasts in weather to which we are accustomed in our parts. By the time we reached Camusterrach, a squall had soaked us, before the skies abruptly cleared and the sun began to dry our clothes. As we approached Applecross, however, the skies darkened again and the rain began to fall in large, weighty drops. My father did not react to these changes in the weather. Indeed, I could not say with any certainty that he even noticed. He continued at a steady pace, his arms rigid by his sides, his eyes fixed on the road a few yards ahead. We did not discuss our forthcoming business, so that I still had no real conception of what my father intended to say to the factor or what role he wished me to play. I secretly hoped that the factor would not be at home, or would refuse to receive us, and we could return without having further provoked the powers that be.

  The factor’s home was to the rear of the Big House. We took a circuitous route around the grounds, my father no doubt wishing to avoid being challenged for trespassing on the laird’s property. When we reached the grey stone two-storey house, my father tapped the brass knocker with a timidity that did not augur well for our interview. Presently a housekeeper appeared. She looked at us as if we were tinkers and asked what we wanted. My father removed his cap, even though the woman was a servant and no better than he, and replied that his name was John Macrae of Culduie and that he wished to speak with the factor. The housekeeper then asked if we had an appointment. She was a scrawny woman, with a pinched mouth and long nose, who clearly believed that her employment in the factor’s house made her the better of a crofter. My father replied that we did not. The woman closed the door without a word and left us standing on the threshold. As it was still raining we huddled in the small vestibule. It is difficult to say how long we remained there. Certainly enough time elapsed for my hopes to rise that the factor was not at home. I was about to express this thought to my father when the door opened again and we were invited inside. The servant showed us into a wood-panelled study and told us to wait. A fire was roaring in the hearth, but neither of us dared to stand near it to dry our clothes. Instead we stood in the centre of the floor where our presence would give least offence. On the walls either side of the fireplace were paintings of distinguished gentlemen, dressed in fine clothes. I recognised Lord Middleton in one, sitting in an armchair with a gundog at his feet. In front of us was a large desk of heavy dark wood. Arranged on the surface were some writing implements and a number of thick leather-bound ledgers. The wall to our left was entirely lined with shelves of books.

  The factor arrived and, to my surprise, greeted my father with some warmth. My father made a cringing bow before him, twisting his cap nervously in his hands. I stood for some moments at his shoulder, trying to appear at ease, my own cap clasped in front of me. The factor was shorter than I remembered, but had a pleasant, open face, with dense whiskers growing on his cheeks. The hair on the top of his head was sparse, but what was there was wiry and unkempt, unlike that of the other educated men I had met.

  ‘And who might this be?’ he asked, gesticulating towards me.

  My father told him and he looked curiously at me for some moments as if he had heard something about me, which I sincerely hoped he had not. The factor took a seat behind his desk and looked at my father, expecting him to explain the reason for his visit. As my father did not do so, the factor then turned his gaze to me. I could not speak on my father’s behalf, however, as he had not advised me of what he wished to say. Some more moments of silence ensued. From the corner of my eye, I saw my father glance towards the factor from beneath his brow.

  ‘Mr Macrae,’ the factor began, his tone still jovial, ‘I trust you have not walked all the way from Culduie to partake of the warmth of my fire.’ He laughed a little at his own joke, before continuing,

  ‘Much as I enjoy parlour games, I cannot guess what mission brings you here, so I must oblige you to state your business.’

  My father glanced at me. I thought that he had lost his nerve, or did not understand what was being asked of him, but after clearing his throat he said in a low voice, ‘Perhaps you have heard something of the troubles we have been having in Culduie?’

  ‘Troubles?’ said the factor.
‘I have not heard of any troubles. What troubles?’

  ‘Various troubles, sir.’

  ‘I have heard of no troubles. On the contrary, I hear only good reports of the improvements taking place in your township. Have you spoken to your constable of these “troubles”?’ He pronounced this last word with a peculiar emphasis, as if it belonged to a foreign language.

  ‘I have not.’

  The factor furrowed his brow and look askance at my father.

  ‘If you are experiencing difficulties, you must speak to Mr Mackenzie. I cannot imagine that he would not feel slighted to know that you had come to me without first seeking his assistance. It is the role of the constable to address any problems you might have. I cannot be concerned with the minutiae of ...’ He let his words trail off with a dismissive gesture of his hand.

  My father said nothing. The factor drummed his fingers on the table.

  ‘So?’

  My father raised his eyes a little from his feet.

  ‘I have not spoken to Mr Mackenzie about these troubles because Mr Mackenzie is the source of the troubles.’

  At this the factor burst into laughter which did not strike me as genuine, but rather as a way of conveying the absurdity of my father’s words. When he allowed his laughter to subside, he let out a great sigh.

  ‘Would you care to elaborate?’ he said.

  My father, to my surprise, was not entirely cowed by the factor’s laughter. ‘It is true that relations between myself and Mr Mackenzie are strained, but I would not presume to involve you in such things.’

  ‘I should think not, Mr Macrae. It is my understanding that Mr Mackenzie is carrying out his duties with a dedication that has been sorely lacking in recent years. And since, if I recall correctly, he was elected unanimously, I can only assume that he is doing so with the support of your community. If some private differences exist between yourself and the constable, then ...’ He threw up his hands and let out a loud puff of air.

  ‘Of course,’ said my father.

  ‘So if you have not come to vent some personal grievance, I suggest you tell me why you are here.’ The factor’s jovial manner had given way to impatience.

  Father twisted his cap in his hands and then, as if realising that this action did not contribute to a favourable impression, abruptly ceased and placed his hands at his sides.

  ‘I wish to see the regulations,’ he said.

  The factor looked at him curiously for a few moments, and then turned his gaze towards me, as if I might be able to explain my father’s words.

  ‘You wish to see the regulations?’ he repeated slowly, his hand stroking his whiskers.

  ‘Yes,’ said my father.

  ‘Of which regulations do you speak?’

  ‘The regulations under which we exist,’ he said.

  The factor shook his head curtly. ‘Forgive me, Mr Macrae, I’m not sure I follow.’

  My father was now quite confused. Clearly he had not expected to meet with any such obfuscation and naturally he assumed the fault was his for not expressing himself with sufficient clarity.

  ‘My father,’ I said, ‘is referring to the regulations under which our tenancies are governed.’

  The factor looked at me with a serious expression. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘And why, may I ask, do you wish to see these “regulations”, as you call them?’

  He looked then from myself to my father and I had the impression that he was amusing himself at our expense.

  ‘So that I might know when we are transgressing them,’ my father ventured eventually.

  The factor nodded. ‘But why?’

  ‘So that we might avoid any black marks against our names or penalties for breaking them,’ said my father.

  At this the factor leaned back in his chair and tutted loudly.

  ‘So, if I understand you correctly,’ he said, clasping his hands under his chin, ‘you wish to consult the regulations in order that you might break them with impunity?’

  My father’s eyes were downcast and I had the impression that they were becoming quite watery. I cursed him for placing himself in this situation.

  ‘Mr Macrae, I applaud your audacity,’ said the factor, spreading his hands.

  ‘What my father wishes to express,’ I said, ‘is not that he seeks to disobey the regulations, rather that by properly familiarising himself with them, he might avoid breaking them.’

  ‘It seems to me,’ persisted the factor, ‘that a person wishing to consult the regulations could only wish to do so in order to test the limits of the misdemeanours he might commit.’

  My father was by this time quite lost and to bring an end to his distress, I told the factor that our visit had been misguided and we would not trouble him any further. The factor however waved away my attempts to bring the interview to an end.

  ‘No, no, no,’ he said, ‘that will not do at all. You have come here, first of all, making accusations against your village constable, and, secondly, with the stated aim of seeking to avoid punishment for breaking the regulations. You cannot expect me to let matters rest at that.’

  The factor, seeing that my father was incapable of further discourse, now addressed himself entirely to me. He pulled his chair closer to his desk, selected one of the ledgers and opened it. He turned a few pages and then ran his finger down a column. After reading a few lines, he returned his gaze to me.

  ‘Tell me, Roderick Macrae,’ he said, ‘what are your ambitions in life?’

  I replied that my only ambition was to help my father on the croft and to take care of my siblings.

  ‘Very commendable,’ he said. ‘Too many of your people have ideas above their station these days. Nevertheless, you must have thought about leaving this place. Are you not minded to seek your fortune elsewhere? An intelligent young man like yourself must see that there is no future for you here.’

  ‘I do not wish my future to be anywhere other than Culduie,’ I said.

  ‘But what if there is no future?’

  I did not know how to respond to this.

  ‘I will tell one you thing quite frankly, Roderick,’ he said, ‘There is no future here for agitators or criminals.’

  ‘I am neither of these things,’ I replied, ‘and nor is my father.’

  The factor then looked meaningfully down at the ledger in front of him and tipped his head to one side. Then he loudly closed the book.

  ‘Your rent is in arrears,’ he said.

  ‘In common with all our neighbours,’ I replied.

  ‘Yes,’ said the factor, ‘but your neighbours have not presented themselves here as if they are somehow the injured party. It is only due to the lenience of the estate that you remain on the land at all.’

  I took this warning to imply that the ordeal was over and nudged my father, who had been standing those last few minutes as if in a trance. The factor stood up.

  I turned to go, but my father stood his ground.

  ‘Am I to understand then that we may not see the regulations?’ he said.

  The factor seemed amused rather than angered by my father’s question. He had taken three or four paces from behind his great desk, so that he now stood only a few feet from us.

  ‘These regulations that you speak of have been followed since time immemorial,’ he said. ‘No one has ever felt the need to “see” them, as you put it.’

  ‘Nevertheless …’ said my father. He raised his head and looked the factor in the eye.

  The factor shook his head and gave a little laugh through his nose.

  ‘I’m afraid you are labouring under a misapprehension, Mr Macrae,’ he said. ‘If you do not take the crops from your neighbour’s land, it is not because a regulation forbids it. You do not steal his crops, because it would be wrong to do so. The reason you may not “see” the regulations is because there ar
e no regulations, at least not in the way you seem to think. You might as well ask to see the air we breathe. Of course, there are regulations, but you cannot see them. The regulations exist because we all accept that they exist and without them there would be anarchy. It is for the village constable to interpret these regulations and to enforce them at his discretion.’

  He then waved us towards the door with a dismissive wave of his hand. I suddenly felt that since my father had brought us here, there was no sense in leaving without properly expressing our grievances.

  ‘If I may return to the troubles my father spoke of,’ I said. ‘What my father truly wishes to convey is that, through his enforcement of these regulations, Lachlan Broad has waged a campaign of harassment against our family.’

  The factor looked at me with an expression of incredulity. ‘A campaign of harassment?’ he repeated, appearing rather pleased by the phrase. He took a few steps back and leaned against the desk. ‘That is a most serious allegation, young man, a most serious allegation indeed. Those in power cannot be permitted to abuse their office, can they? Nor, of course, can individuals be permitted to make unsubstantiated claims about their superiors. You had better, therefore, tell me what this “campaign of harassment” has consisted of.’