His Bloody Project

by Graeme Macrae Burnet

  ‘I discern from the colour in your cheeks that you have spied the maiden in question,’ he said, pointing the stem of his pipe in the direction of the two figures. ‘Let us resolve this question once and for all.’

  I had no desire to resolve any questions and greatly regretted having disclosed my thoughts about Flora in the first place, but Archibald had already set off, his arm clamped firmly around my shoulders. As we approached the two figures, I protested that I did not think that I was in any condition to properly converse.

  Archibald waved away my objections. ‘Nonsense,’ he declared. ‘Your situation has arisen precisely because you have failed to express yourself. If your tongue is now loosened by ale, all the better.’

  We cut across the centre of the field, so that by the time Flora and her companion rounded the corner of the pitch, it appeared that we were meeting them quite by chance. They were so engrossed in conversation that they did not notice us until we were only a few yards away. It was by that time quite impossible, short of running away, to avert our meeting. Archibald began loudly discoursing about the grandeur of the landscape and our small place within it, and affected great surprise when we almost collided with our prey.

  ‘Hello, Roddy,’ said Flora.

  She did not seem in the least disconcerted by our appearance and I felt all of a sudden that perhaps all was not lost between us, and that seeing me in the company of such a fine fellow as Archibald Ross, she might revise her opinion of me.

  Archibald feigned surprise that Flora and I knew each other and prevailed upon me to introduce him. I did so, and Flora then introduced her friend as Ishbel Farquhar. Archibald made the same low bow as he had to my sister and declared that, had he known that such pretty flowers grew in Culduie, he would have long ago taken up residence there. The two girls looked at each other and communicated some secret thought with their eyes. Archibald then asked if we might accompany the girls on their turn around the grounds and they made no objection. Archibald, having explained his position with the ghillie, pointed out some features of the house and described in entertaining terms some aspects of the life that went on there. Flora then volunteered that during the summer months her mother worked in the kitchens and that she had herself been employed there. It irked me that Flora thus connected herself to the life that Archibald led. The two of them fell to discussing various members of the household, and Flora was greatly amused by the descriptions and anecdotes which my friend related. Ishbel and I followed in silence and the more Flora tittered at Archibald’s conversation, the blacker my mood became. As we reached the outermost limit of the field, Archibald broke off from what he was saying and suggested we continue towards the burn, which, he declared, was most picturesque at this time of year. Our companions agreed and we continued past some outhouses towards the woods which grew around the river. Archibald then asked how long Flora and I had known each other. Flora replied that we had been neighbours all our lives, but, as I had always been such a solitary boy, it was only in these last few months that she had come to know me. Archibald replied to the effect that I was quite a character and while many young men were happiest listening to the sound of their own voices, I was an altogether more thoughtful individual. He then expressed the opinion that it was a pity that Flora and I would not have the opportunity to become better acquainted on account of my imminent departure for Glasgow. Flora conveyed some surprise at this remark.

  ‘But what of your father’s croft?’ she said.

  ‘I have lately had a change of heart,’ I muttered.

  Flora looked askance at me. ‘And what do you intend to do in Glasgow?’

  Archibald answered on my behalf: ‘There is no end to the opportunities there for an enterprising young fellow like Roddy.’

  At this Flora and Ishbel glanced at each other and began to laugh. We reached the stone bridge that traverses the burn. The sunlight filtered through the canopy of trees and sparkled on the water. We came to a natural pause and stood the four of us on the path looking at one another for some moments. Then quite suddenly Archibald took Ishbel by the arm and led her onto the bridge, saying that there was something he would like to show her. They leant over the water, their bodies quite close together and Archibald pointed to something in the river and spoke in hushed tones to her. Flora and I stood looking at each other. I felt most ill at ease and conscious of my state of inebriation. Over Flora’s shoulder I saw Archibald look towards me and with a movement of his head spurred me to action.

  I asked Flora if she would like to walk a little farther with me. She did not object and we set off along the path by the burn. After some yards, I could not resist the temptation to look over my shoulder at Archibald, who was by that time leaning in so close to Ishbel that his lips might have been touching her neck. Flora too glanced over her shoulder, as if she did not wish to be out of sight of her friend. Although we had been alone together before there was now a tension between us which had not previously existed. I expected Flora to make some remark or other, but she did not do so, and, as I could think of nothing to say, the silence thickened between us. The path was narrow and we were obliged to walk so close together that Flora’s sleeve brushed my arm. Remembering Archibald’s advice, I told Flora that her dress was very becoming. Presently the path reached a dip which was thick with mud. Flora took the opportunity to propose that we turn back.

  I suggested instead that we might sit down for a moment. There was a large rock by the burn and this we used as a bench. Not wishing to let the silence grow between us again, I told Flora that Archibald and I had earlier visited the inn and shared some tankards of ale.

  ‘I can see that you have been drinking,’ said Flora, ‘and I can only imagine what your father will do when he finds out.’

  I responded by saying that my father need never know and, in any case, it was worth it to spend some time in the company of such a fine fellow as Archibald.

  Flora then said that she did not like him and that she did not think he was a suitable friend for me. I was quite offended on my friend’s behalf, but I did not say so and we once again lapsed into silence. Perhaps Flora sensed that she had hurt my feelings, for it was she who spoke next.

  ‘So you have had a change of heart?’ she said, referring to our earlier conversation. ‘I thought you were quite married to Culduie.’

  Perhaps it was her use of the word ‘married’ that loosened my tongue, but I then embarked quite spontaneously on a declaration of my feelings.

  ‘It is not Culduie to which I wish to be married, but you,’ I said. ‘I would go to Glasgow or to Canada or anywhere to be with you.’

  Flora looked quite taken aback. The colour had risen to my cheeks and I immediately regretted my outburst.

  ‘Roddy,’ she said, ‘I am quite sure that when you are older you will find a wife, but it will not be me.’

  I felt tears spring to my eyes and in order that Flora would not see them, I took her by the shoulders and buried my head into her hair. For a moment I felt the skin of Flora’s neck against my lips and inhaled her smell. I felt a great coursing in my groin. Flora pushed her elbow into my chest and shoved me from her with some violence. She then slapped me hard across the face and, in my shock, I slipped from the rock and landed on my backside in the moss. Flora got to her feet and ran off through the trees. I lay there for some time with my hand to my cheek. Eventually I sat upright and wiped the tears from my face with the sleeve of my shirt, before retracing my steps along the path. Archibald was waiting for me by the bridge, smoking his pipe. To my relief, Flora and Ishbel had gone.

  I felt terribly downhearted by what had occurred, but Archibald seemed to find it very amusing. As we made our way back towards the village he recounted the incident over and over again, with ever more elaborate embellishments, so that I greatly regretted confiding in him. I kept my eyes fixed on the road beneath our feet. Flora was right, I was no more than a silly boy. Archi
bald must have seen that I was downcast, for he ceased his bantering and put his arm around my shoulder.

  ‘Come on, old chap,’ he said. ‘All the better for you to strike out for Glasgow unencumbered.’

  I was in no mood to listen to his commiserations, not only because his words seemed quite hollow, but also because I felt he had played a quite deliberate role in my rejection. I tried to shrug off his arm, but he kept me in a firm grip. Tears stung my eyes. Archibald came to a sudden halt and we stood face to face. I turned my head away, expecting him to mock me, but he did not do so, instead, making a series of apologies for his insensitivity towards what he called my ‘finer feelings’. I felt somewhat appeased and wiped the tears from my face with the back of my hand.

  ‘What you need, my friend,’ he said, slapping me on the shoulder, ‘is a good jug of ale.’

  I forced a smile and we set off again towards the inn. I took the shilling Jetta had given me from my pocket and showed it to him.

  ‘We shall get as drunk as lords,’ Archibald declared.

  The inn was even more crammed with bodies than before, but Archibald navigated the throng with ease, dragging me behind him by the sleeve of my jacket. A fiddler and accordionist were playing reels in the corner. Before long we were settled at a table with tankards in our hands and I felt considerably cheered.

  ‘To them that like us!’ Archibald cried.

  All the men around us raised their tankards and repeated Archibald’s toast and I felt proud to be in the company of such a fellow. I regretted telling him that I would be leaving for Glasgow, as I wished to remain friends with him and meet him every evening at the inn to quaff great quantities of ale. We were soon singing and swilling our beer with gusto. I had no idea of the price of a pint of ale or whether my shilling would meet the cost, but I was quite indifferent to such considerations. Archibald climbed onto a chair and led the company in a song and was roundly cheered. Tankards appeared in our hands with great frequency and I felt a surge of fellow-feeling towards my compatriots. The incident with Flora and the miseries of my family were quite forgotten. I had discovered the union of men. In order to express my high spirits, I climbed onto a table and poured a tankard of ale over my head. I then began to jig to the fiddler’s tune, hoisting my hands above my head and spinning like a top. The men below stamped and beat time on the tables until I lost my footing and crashed to the floor. I picked myself up to great cheers and continued my jig. It was at that moment that I saw Lachlan Broad standing before me with several of his kinsmen. I felt suddenly foolish and ceased my capering. The stamping which had accompanied me petered out. Voices called upon me to continue, but I had no wish to make a further spectacle of myself. My shirt was soaked through with ale and my hair was plastered to my head.

  Lachlan Broad took a single step across the floor towards me.

  ‘Come on, Roddy Black, do not stop on my account.’

  He called to the musicians to strike up a tune. The men around me were clapping for me to begin, but I remained fixed to the spot. Lachlan Broad took a pot of ale from one of his kinsmen and, to great applause, threw it over my face.

  ‘A dance, boy!’ he bellowed. Aeneas Mackenzie stamped a rhythm on the floor behind him, snorting like a pig. Lachlan Broad whipped the crowd into a greater frenzy with his arms.

  I flew across the room at him. He met me with an outstretched palm and pushed me back across the floor. I landed on my behind in a tangle of legs. Arms dragged me to my feet and propelled me back towards Broad. This time he met me full in the face with his fist. I sank to the floor, then got up and swung my fists wildly at him. There were roars of approval and much laughter. The constable caught me a blow in the midriff and as I crumpled towards him he brought his boot up between my legs. The wind was all knocked out of me and I lay on the floor struggling for breath. Archibald came to my side, but Lachlan Broad shoved him roughly away. Then he knelt beside me and whispered in my ear, ‘I’ll have your old man off his croft by the year’s end, you filthy Erse shite.’

  Then he dragged me to my feet and, gripping me by the lapels, threw me violently across the room. I landed on my back on a table, sending ale flying every which way. I was hauled to my feet and expected Broad to come at me again, but he had had his sport and turned back to his huddle of kinsmen, who raised a loud toast to the Mackenzie clan and drained their tankards.

  I awoke the following morning in a ditch by the road, not far outside Applecross. My clothes were soaked and there was a painful throbbing in my temples. I lay there awhile, but could remember nothing more of the evening than what I have already related. A crow observed me from the verge.

  ‘What are you after?’ I said.

  ‘I was thinking I might make a breakfast of your eyes,’ he replied.

  ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you,’ I said.

  I crawled out of the ditch onto the road and got to my feet. The crow followed my progress attentively, as if not yet convinced he would not have his feast. I swung my boot at him and he flapped a foot or two into the air before settling on his former spot. It must have been very early in the morning, for the dew clung thickly to the grass and there was not a sound in the air. I set off towards Culduie. I felt quite indifferent to the reception I would receive on my return. The morning was not cold, but on account of my wet clothing I shivered all over. As the events of the previous day came back to mind I felt dreadfully ashamed and resolved to accept any punishment from my father without complaint. I did not see a soul on the road and as I approached Culduie no one was yet at work on their land. I thought perhaps that my father might still be a-bed and I could return to the house undetected, but this was not to be the case. As I made my way along the road at the foot of the crofts I felt something beneath my arm, I opened my jacket and found Jetta’s shawl still lodged there. It was nothing but a sodden mass of fibre. I stepped onto the shore and looking around to check that there was no one observing me I threw it in the sea. It unravelled in the water and snagged among the tentacles of sea-ware that rode the swell.

  My father was at his breakfast when I stepped over the threshold. He neither looked in my direction nor said a word. There being nothing else for me to do, I lay down on my bunk and remained there the entire day.

  * * *

  This morning, after his usual enquiries regarding my wellbeing, Mr Sinclair asked whether I might be willing to meet a gentleman whom, he said, had travelled some distance to see me.

  ‘Have my crimes so elevated me,’ I asked, ‘that gentlemen now seek out my company?’

  Mr Sinclair smiled thinly at my remark and informed me that it might benefit me to receive this gentleman. I naturally agreed, in the first place, as I did not wish to displease my advocate, but also as it is hardly the right of a prisoner to choose his guests. Mr Sinclair seemed pleased by my decision and went out into the passage where the visitor must have been waiting. The two men entered together and as neither wished to take the seat at my writing table, we all three remained standing, myself beneath the high window, Mr Sinclair by the table and the gentleman at the foot of my plank bed to the right of the door. Mr Sinclair introduced the visitor as Mr Thomson and explained that he was a most eminent practitioner in his field, although I do not believe he specified what field this was. I confess I found this gentleman’s countenance quite repellent and he must have felt similarly, for he gazed upon me with an expression of unveiled repugnance. He was a tall man – he had to stoop to pass through the door – with sharp features and small, blue eyes. He was dressed in a black suit with a white shirt fastened so tightly round his neck that folds of slack skin spilled over his collar. He was hatless and his hair was wispy and grey and no longer grew on the uppermost parts of his skull. He kept his hands clasped over his chest, the middle finger of his right constantly worrying a thick ring set with a green stone on the fourth finger of his left.

  He then addressed Mr Sinclair. ‘He is certai
nly of the low physical type one would expect. Do you find him generally alert when you visit? Does he sleep a great deal?’

  Mr Sinclair appeared uncomfortable to be questioned this way. ‘I find him extremely alert and to the best of my recollection I have never found him asleep.’

  The visitor made a little clicking sound with his tongue. ‘He is likely disturbed by the grating of the key in the lock.’

  He took two tentative paces towards me as though he was afraid I might spring at him. He stooped his head and spent some minutes running his eyes over my face and the rest of my person. I stood quite still, believing that there must be some reason beyond my grasp for his rude behaviour. Nevertheless, I felt like a piece of livestock. At length, he drew away and retreated in the direction of the writing table. He tapped the fingers of his left hand on the sheets stacked there.

  ‘And these are the pages you say he has been composing?’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Mr Sinclair. ‘He has been working tirelessly on them.’

  Mr Thomson gave a little snort through his nose. ‘I very much doubt that we will find anything of interest contained there. I suspect, Mr Sinclair, that you are guilty of some naivety in your approach to your client, but I suppose that speaks well of you.’

  He then flicked through a few of the pages. I had a strong urge to step across the room and snatch them from him, as I had no wish for him to read the words I had written and believed that were he to do so, it would be for the sole purpose of scoffing at my ill-composed sentences. I did not do so, however, as I did not wish to confirm the negative impression the gentleman seemed to have formed of me.

  He then pressed the tips of his fingers of his two hands together and asked my advocate if he might leave the two of us alone for a few minutes. Mr Sinclair assented and made to quit the room. Mr Thomson arrested him with a motion of his hand.

  ‘Do you believe the prisoner to be a danger to your person?’ he said in a low voice.