Mathew's Tale (15 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four

M
INDFUL OF HENRY STEVENS’
advice, Mathew stayed in the hotel for the rest of that day and all of the next, reading and working on business papers that he had brought with him for such quiet moments.

He was visited by Paul Johnston in the early afternoon. ‘The bill of impeachment is prepared,’ the solicitor told him. ‘Irvine will lodge it with the Crown Office tomorrow morning.’

‘Why the morning?’ Mathew asked.

‘In truth, I do not know,’ the cadaverous Johnston confessed.

‘Are you happy with our counsel? Tell me straight now.’

‘I confess that I would rather we had been able to instruct King’s Counsel. But I like young Innes; his learning is evident and his enthusiasm for the case is in no doubt. However he is a debutant in court and he is being forced to enter the most difficult defence of all. He is also going to be facing the best opponent that could have been placed before him. James Douglas may be cunning and hugely ambitious, but he is undeniably a gifted advocate. He is also a man who knows how to pick a winner. As a defence counsel he always managed to avoid the obvious losing cases. As a prosecutor he has never failed to secure a guilty verdict. He has put the rope round the neck of many a man, and more than one woman.’

Mathew felt his heart sink.

‘However,’ the solicitor went on, ‘I have done some further investigation and have discovered that it is also true that he has never prosecuted a case in which a special defence has been lodged. In his time as Lord Advocate, and as Solicitor General before that, every time such a plea has been intimated, the indictment against the accused has been withdrawn.’

Mathew sat upright in his chair. ‘Is that so?’ he exclaimed. ‘Why would he be so compliant?’

‘He would, because such a defence is never offered lightly and because it implies either malice towards the accused or incompetence in the office of prosecutor. If James Douglas sees even the possibility of defeat on the horizon, he cuts and runs. He is said to be formidable at the card tables for that very reason; he takes no risks.’

‘Then we have a chance. Tell Innes to lodge the defence as quickly as possible, in the hope that we can have David home for the weekend.’

‘There is no chance of that; tomorrow is a vacation day in the court; it will take a judge to order his release and there will none available.’

‘Damn it!’ Mathew snapped. ‘Still, it may be no bad thing if my Lord Advocate has an extra day or so to muse on the possibility of defeat.’

Johnston left soon afterwards, bearing a banker’s draft to cover his fees and expenses and those of Irvine, as soon as a note was submitted by Baird, who also served as collector for his stable.

Mathew passed the rest of the afternoon alone, for young Matt and Beattie had been despatched on a mission. They returned just before six o’clock.

‘We have watched that house all day,’ the coachman told his master, as he collapsed into a chair, a mug of ale clutched in his hand. ‘Sir Gavin came out in the morning, but only tae take the air. He went no further than the coffee house at the road end, and after half an hour went back hame.’

‘No sign of the women?’

‘None. And no sign o’ him after that either. An hour ago, I sent the young man here round the back tae check the stabling. The coach and horses were there in the morning, but nae mair. Ye’ say his brother’s burial is on Saturday, sir? It may be he’s gone hame already.’

‘The chances are he has. Since I intend to be there too, and since we cannot visit David, there is no point in our cooling our heels here. We will leave too; there will be enough light this evening to see us home.’

Mathew settled their bill at the hotel and reserved the same rooms from Sunday onwards. When their rig was brought to them, it was evident that the horses had been well fed and cared for. The carriage had been cleaned also, for it bore no signs of its previous journey.

The summer weather was holding good, and so Beattie decided that they would return by a different route, along the Glasgow toll road, which ran through Midcalder and intersected with the track that linked the wards of Lanarkshire. It was not without hills, but they were less steep than on the Lang Whang, and so they made better time.

Lizzie was in the younger children’s bedchamber, settling them down for the night when she saw the approaching carriage, a quarter mile off. Calling to Hannah, she rushed downstairs and outside.

When Beattie reined in the horses and only Mathew and young Matt climbed out of the coach, her face fell. ‘You are alone,’ she murmured.

‘We are, Mother,’ her son replied, ‘but don’t let that dishearten you. Mr Johnston, the lawyer, has given us good reason to hope for the best outcome.’

‘Come inside and tell us about it,’ Hannah instructed. ‘Ah’ll tell the cook tae conjure up some supper. Ye look fair famished.’

‘We are,’ Mathew agreed. ‘Mr Beattie will eat with us, after we have all washed off the dust of the journey, for the countryside is very dry. He has been a great help in our expedition.’

Half an hour later, around the table, he gave the two women an account of their days in the capital city. ‘The place where David is lodged is grim, but not inhumane, so you need not fear for his well-being.’

‘I only fear this trial, Mathew,’ she replied.

‘Then rest easy tonight, for as your son says, we have a good prospect of success. We will return on Sunday, and with luck will be back the very next day, with David alongside us. In the meantime, I have a burial to attend. Sir Gregor Cleland is being laid to rest, on Saturday, I’m told.’

‘Can I go too?’ young Matt asked.

‘Absolutely not. I will not have you anywhere near Gavin Cleland.’ He paused. ‘Lizzie,’ he said, ‘I was precipitate; I am sorry for it. You are his mother and that decision is yours to make, not mine.’

She frowned. ‘Maybe, but it is no different. Matt, a wicked calumny though it is, your father is charged with taking the Laird’s life. With that unresolved, it would not be wise for you to attend the funeral. Nor me, for that matter; if I saw Gavin Cleland I could not be trusted to stay silent, any more than you could.’

‘What makes you think I can?’ Mathew murmured. ‘I will take no provocation from that gentleman. However I will offer none either, and I doubt that even he would choose to mar such an occasion with an argument.’

The next day was a strange one for all of them; they were in limbo, unable to do anything to help David, but unable to free their minds of his predicament. After breakfast, Mathew glanced at his watch. ‘Ten minutes to nine,’ he said, ‘ten minutes to the lodging of the special defence; let us hope that it gives James Douglas food for thought, and that he acts true to type.’

He spent the rest of the day on a hectic tour of his business, riding to Netherton to inspect the leather factories and make sure that his temporary arrangement was working, then on to Coatbridge. Sir Graham Stockley was in the office when he arrived; he was surprised to see his partner.

‘Mathew,’ he exclaimed. ‘What brings you?’

‘A desperate need to keep myself busy,’ he replied. ‘Also I had a need to breathe some honest air, after the week I have had.’

‘On your trip to Edinburgh? What business did you have there that it disturbs you so much?’

Mathew told him the story from start to finish.

‘My,’ he said. ‘I had heard of the death of the fellow Cleland, and that they had a suspect in charge. A violent criminal, the
Register
said yesterday. Your manager, Mr McGill, you say?’

‘Yes, ridiculous though that may sound. And he is innocent, however harshly he is defamed by the Edinburgh press.’

‘It is no surprise that he would be,’ Stockley snapped, bitterly. ‘That newspaper is a mouthpiece for the princes of the city, and be in no doubt, James Douglas is one of those. The most powerful man in Scotland, they say. I have met the man; he makes my flesh creep. Bellhouse is the judge, you say?’

‘Yes. We can only hope that he is fair.’

‘Do not build those hopes too high, my friend. Let’s hope your impeachment does the trick and the case never gets to trail. Do you know who Bellhouse is?’

‘He is the Lord Justice Clerk.’

‘He is also James Douglas’s uncle. There is no greater bastion of nepotism than the Scottish Supreme Courts.’

Mathew kept his partner’s worrying revelation to himself when he arrived back at Waterloo House. Instead he was as positive as he could manage. ‘We must plan, Lizzie,’ he said over dinner, ‘for the future. When David comes home he will be welcome here also, but I am sure you will both wish to have your own roof over your heads.’

‘Yes, but I have no idea where that will be. I would not go back to the estate cottage even if Gavin Cleland begged us on his knees, although there is no chance of that. There is nothing within my family. When my mother died, Uncle Peter moved my cousin Daphne and her family into her house, for he owns it. He has no other property, though, other than the shop.’

‘Peter cannot continue there for much longer, surely,’ Mathew observed. ‘He is an old man now, well past seventy, and from what I hear, getting no help from your cousin, whose dog of a husband, Cleland’s gamekeeper, keeps her rushed off her feet.’

Her eyes blazed, suddenly. Across the table, young Matt seemed to stiffen in his chair. ‘Gerald Grose?’ Lizzie retorted. ‘Please do not speak of him to me. After the Sheriff’s men had taken David away, he was one of the men who threw our furniture into the street and smashed it with hammers. A kinsman of mine and yet he did that on his master’s orders. Gamekeeper indeed! A brute and a bully, that is what he is.’

‘Mmm,’ Mathew murmured. ‘I was not aware of that. Next time I see Mr Grose at the kirk, he and I will have words that he will not enjoy.’ He stared into his water glass for a few seconds, as if he was anticipating that meeting.

‘But back to your uncle,’ he continued, suddenly. ‘He has no children, apart from Daphne, who can barely run her own household, as you say. There is nobody to whom he can hand on his business, and he does not have wealth enough to be able to afford to close it and retire, although John Barclay tells me he would dearly love to do so. He has a problem, it seems.’

‘But not one that worries me too much,’ she said.

‘Why not, Mother?’ young Matt asked. ‘He is your uncle, after all; should you not be sad that he is in such a predicament.’

‘And he is your great-uncle, but does he ever treat you as such when you go into his shop?’

‘No, but why should he when you ignore him? Only my father and I go in there, you never do. As for the man Grose, when I am a bit more grown, he will pay with his teeth for what he did to us, as will everyone else who acted against my father, but your uncle had nothing to do with it, for all that you are so against him; or my grandmother either. She died when I was eight, yet I never met her. Why?’

‘Stop right there,’ Mathew told him; his voice was raised, an almost unique occurrence. ‘Your mother’s feelings towards them,’ he continued, more gently, ‘they are part of an old story, one that is none of your concern; take it from me that I understand her completely, and do not fault her for them.

‘As for your plans for Grose, you are speaking as he would himself. Out of respect for your parents, and for me, for that matter, you should be above his level. If I wanted, I could hire my own men, ex-soldiers who work for me in Netherton and Coatbridge, and have them beat the living shit . . . excuse me, ladies . . . out of the coward and those who were with him last Sunday.

‘But that would be wrong, legally and morally; moreover, it would not be sufficient. I have my own plans for those people, and what I do to them will not be something that will wear off in a week, as would the effects of a thrashing. It will be something that will be with them for the rest of their lives. So let me hear no more of such talk from you.’

He clenched his right hand into a fist. ‘You do not fight people with this,’ he paused and tapped the side of his head, just above the temple, with one finger, ‘when you can do much more damage with this. All it takes is a little patience, and that is what you must learn.’

‘And where did you learn that, ma son?’ Hannah asked.

‘From you, Mother. Where else?’ He turned back to Lizzie. ‘I have a solution to your uncle’s problem, and to yours, if you are agreeable. I believe in investing my wealth prudently, but for the good of others when I can. I know what a fair price would be for Peter Wright’s shop, as a business, and for the property. I am sure he would sell. If I bought it, would you run it for me? You helped your uncle before Matt was born, so you know how the business works. The profits would be yours, and from them you would pay me rent; your brain would be occupied and you, David, Matt and Jean would have that roof over your head.’

She stared at him. ‘Are you so wealthy you could do that?’

‘Of course,’ he laughed. ‘You have no notion of how wealthy I am.’

‘Mathew, I don’t know . . .’

‘No, you don’t, I agree. This is not a decision I expect you to make on your own, but with David, when he is released. However,’ he smiled, ‘I have a fair idea of his response.’

The idea of buying Wright’s shop had come to Mathew out of the blue, but he retired to bed that night resolved to instruct his lawyer to take the first steps towards that end.

In the morning he rose and dressed in his best black. ‘You will come to the service too, Ewan,’ he instructed Beattie. ‘After all, you did work for the Cleland family, and so it would be respectful. There is also the point that another pair of eyes in the kirk would do me no harm.’

They arrived at the church at one minute after noon, for a service that was scheduled to begin at half past the hour, but they did not go inside; instead they stood in the kirkyard in a prominent spot. Mathew wanted to be early so that he could observe the demeanour of those who attended, and also so that he could be observed himself.

Not that there were many people to be seen. All of the subsequent arrivals appeared to be estate employees, or workers on tenant farms. But one in particular attracted his attention: Gerald Grose, who arrived with his wife, Lizzie’s cousin Daphne. He remembered her from their youth; she was two years younger than him, but had not aged well. Her face was lined and there were dark, saggy bags under her eyes.