Mathew's Tale (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

‘H
OW DID DAVID TAKE
the news?’

‘Philosophically, Mr Fleming, is as good a reply as I can offer,’ Paul Johnston replied. The two were having breakfast in the Waterloo Hotel, on the morning of the trial. They were alone; on Mathew’s instructions Ewan Beattie had summoned the coach early in the morning and had taken a most unwilling young Matt on a trip into Haddingtonshire, with the town of North Berwick as their destination.

As he would not be giving evidence at the trial, Mathew wanted him as far from Edinburgh as possible while it ran its course, and as the youth had never seen the sea in his fifteen years, he had decided that it offered as much of a distraction as was possible.

‘We still have a chance, though?’

‘We are in the hands of Innes Irvine, and to an extent the judge. We are all agreed it would be too risky for the boy to have given evidence, and so all we have to rely on is our advocate’s skill in exposing the three Crown witnesses as liars. If that can be done, and David gives a good account of himself under cross-examination, then with you and the minister as character witnesses, the jury may hesitate to convict him. It is a fact that many jurors as individuals do not like to take a man’s life; that is why the Not Proven verdict is so popular in Scotland. That is, I believe, the best we can hope for.’

‘Then let us be about it.’

They left the hotel and walked, along North Bridge Street and up the High Street to Parliament House; the distance was a little more than half a mile, but neither man said another word. Mathew was deep in thought and it was evident that Johnston was gripped by anxiety.

Just as they passed St Giles Cathedral they were overtaken by a black, armoured cab, windowless, with a padlocked door in the side. It was drawn by two very large horses, because of its obvious weight. A man sat beside the driver and two more on a board at the rear, all four clad in warder uniforms.

‘God be with him,’ Johnston murmured as it passed.

They had barely entered Parliament Hall before Irvine was at their side. ‘They are starting already,’ he said, a little breathlessly. ‘Our trial was second on the list, but Bellhouse has changed the order. His macer told me he has a lunch engagement and was concerned that the other might run on too long.’

‘Then let us make His Lordship’s belly rumble,’ Mathew growled.

He took his seat on the public benches, which were almost empty, as the two lawyers made their way into the well of the court. A door opened to his left, and David McGill was led in; his ankles were in shackles, and each of his wrists was handcuffed to a warder. They walked him past the fifteen-man jury, and into the dock, a square structure with spikes at its four corners, then freed his hands.

‘Court!’

The cry boomed out; the court officials and lawyers all stood and Mathew followed suit. He turned and saw a short-jacketed, black-gaitered man, holding a ceremonial mace against his right shoulder, and leading a hook-nosed figure with a wig and a red robe, trimmed with ermine. As the small procession passed the statue of Duncan Forbes, Lord Culloden, Lord Bellhouse gave a brief nod in its direction.

The judge would be in his late sixties, Mathew estimated, as he watched him clamber stiffly on to the Bench, the highest seat in the hall. His cheekbones were prominent and his eyes were cold.

‘Be seated,’ the macer barked, and every person was, apart from David McGill.

Bellhouse looked down at the tiny figure who faced him on his right. ‘My Lord Advocate,’ he said in a high reedy voice, ‘you may proceed.’

James Douglas rose to his feet; a short journey, Mathew thought, stifling a smile that came upon him almost unawares and defied the solemnity of the situation.

‘Thank you, my Lord Justice Clerk. We are here today to try this man, David McGill, for the wicked murder of his former employer, Sir Gregor Cleland, master of Cleland Estate, Carluke, in the County of Lanark. The facts are clear and will be set out by witnesses, and so I need say no more at this time. Let them speak.’

Douglas called his first witness, Mr Leo McGuire, of the Royal College of Surgeons. He testified that he had examined the body of the victim and had determined that he had died from a pistol shot, the ball having lodged within his brain. As he spoke, he reached into his pocket and took out a small round pellet, which he brandished, dramatically.

‘I have it here, the fatal missile.’

The Lord Advocate smiled at the jury. ‘I have no further questions.’

As Innes Irvine rose to his feet, Mathew saw that he was trembling, but his voice was steady. ‘How do you know it was a pistol shot, sir?’ he asked.

McGuire blinked, and stared at him. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I am sorry, I thought my question was clear. How could you tell it was a pistol shot? Were you shown the weapon that was used allegedly, in this alleged crime?’

‘No, sir, of course not.’

‘Then what you are telling the jury is not of your own knowledge, but is in fact hearsay.’

The surgeon gulped, as Irvine pressed on. ‘Sir Gregor died from a pellet in the brain, that is undeniable, given your expertise. But could that pellet not have been fired by a musket, from a distance? Might it even have come from a slingshot, such as David used to slay Goliath?’

‘Mr Irvine!’ Lord Bellhouse’s cry cracked like a whiplash across the court. ‘What is the purpose of this foolish questioning?’

‘The truth, my Lord,’ the young advocate replied. ‘A man is on trial for his life, a good man, an elder of the kirk. Surely the jury is entitled to hear facts, not opinions?’

This is good
, Mathew thought.
He is trying to muddy the water, to create doubt from the beginning
.

‘It does not need to hear fanciful hypotheses,’ Bellhouse snapped, ‘nor a character reference for the panel. Sit down, sir. Mr McGuire, I thank you; you are excused. Lord Advocate, call your next witness.’

Douglas stood, with a small bow towards the judge. ‘Thank you, my Lord, for that intervention. I call Captain Thomas Prentice, of the Lanark militia.’

The man who stepped into the witness box was around Mathew’s age; he knew him, although not well, having met him on one or two occasions at functions connected to his own lieutenancy. Prentice was a professional soldier, but a soft one; he had never set a military foot outside Scotland, nor faced a disciplined enemy.

‘I was summoned to Cleland House, by an urgent messenger,’ he told the jury, ‘on the instructions of Mr, now Sir, Gavin Cleland. He showed me the body of his brother, and told me what had happened. But that was clear; he had been shot in the head, in a fatal spot.’

‘Did he tell you why he had removed the body from the scene of the murder?’ Douglas asked.

‘Yes, sir. He said that he had fled because he feared for his safety and that of the ladies who had witnessed the murder. However, he could not bear to leave his brother behind and so he loaded his body into the carriage and drove off.’

‘Very good, thank you.’

Bellhouse glowered at the defence advocate. ‘Mr Irvine.’

‘Thank you, my Lord. Captain, where was the pistol? Did Sir Gavin show it to you?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Then where is it? It is not listed as an exhibit, so where is it? Did you search for it in Carluke, at the spot where the alleged murder allegedly took place?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Was it in Mr McGill’s possession when you arrested him?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Was it in his house?’

‘Not to my knowledge.’

‘So all you are really telling the jury is that you saw Sir Gregor Cleland and that he was dead?’

‘Yes, sir, I suppose so.’

‘And we thank you for it, Captain,’ Bellhouse intoned from the Bench. ‘And you are also able to tell us, without fear of contradiction, that he was shot?’

‘Indeed, my Lord.’

‘But you are not in a position to deny the obvious conclusion, that McGill destroyed the pistol after shooting Sir Gregor.’

‘No, sir, I am not.’

‘Or did not run away?’ Irvine added. ‘And having committed this calumny, that McGill simply waited in his home, and waited to be seized. You cannot deny that either?’

‘Mr Irvine!’ Bellhouse screamed. ‘You will not interrupt me, sir, otherwise, advocate or not, I will hold you in contempt of this High Court and you will return to the Calton Jail along with your client! You will be seated, and you will not rise again until you are told!’

Mathew was astonished by the Lord Justice Clerk’s lack of impartiality; he hoped that the jury would feel the same, but when he looked at them all he could see on their faces was fear.

‘I will now call Sir Gavin Cleland,’ the Lord Advocate announced.

The baronet was brought into court from the witness room and was sworn in. ‘Good morning to you, sir, on this grievous occasion.’ He paused ‘I understand that you buried your poor murdered brother last Saturday afternoon.’

‘I did, sir.’

‘Was the funeral well attended?’

‘It was, sir. I was pleased that so many came to pay their respects.’

‘Did their number include Mr Mathew Fleming, the present employer and benefactor of the accused?’

‘Yes, Mathew was there.’

‘And what was his attitude to you?’

‘He was most courteous, sir. He did me the honour of holding the second cord on my brother’s coffin, the one that faced me, as we lowered poor Gregor into his grave.’

‘Did he indeed?’ Douglas exclaimed, turning slowly to look at the public benches. ‘The jury may read into that what they will.’

A ball of fury blazed in Mathew’s stomach. He saw Irvine start to rise to his feet, only to be frozen by a stare from Bellhouse.

‘Tell us what happened to your unfortunate brother,’ the Lord Advocate continued, ‘the Sunday before last, Sir Gavin.’

‘He was murdered most foully, sir, shot in the head by the prisoner, in a cowardly attack. First he pulled me from my horse and seized my pistol and then he rushed up to Gregor and fired, from no more than two or three feet away.’

‘The defence may suggest that he was provoked by your brother whipping his son, for scaring his horses. What say you to that?’

‘The horses were startled, sir, by some foolish lads, and Gregor did react hastily, but I would ask the jury, does that justify his murder?’

‘Indeed,’ Bellhouse muttered from his lofty seat.

‘Mr McGill was an employee of your family at one time, was he not?’

‘He was favoured by my father, yes, but to be frank his work was shoddy, and Gregor was advised to dismiss him by our factor, not long after he inherited the estate. He did so, but in a kindly way; he allowed him to remain in his cottage.’

‘Yet McGill still bore ill will towards you?’

‘He did, Mr Douglas, as several affidavits testify.’

‘Yes, I have seen them, and copies have been given to the jury. The Crown does not see the need to call them all as witnesses. What they say is clear enough.’

Innes Irvine gasped, audibly; Bellhouse heard him. ‘And I agree with the Crown,’ he barked. ‘These folk are not vital witnesses, so we will not waste their time by bringing them here to repeat what they have already written down. Continue, sir. Did the panel say anything as he attacked your brother?’

‘He screamed in rage and exultation, my Lord, but I was too shocked to remember what was said.’

‘What did he do then?’ Douglas asked.

‘He seized the boy, his son, and ran off, towards the kirk.’

‘Did he take the pistol?’

‘He did, sir. He took it and he threw it down the well in front of the church. It would be there still, had not Mr Armitage, my factor, and I, while the village was at worship on Sunday, dropped buckets down until we retrieved it. If I may . . .’

The Lord Advocate nodded, and Cleland reached inside his coat and produced a short-barrelled firearm.

‘This is the pistol that killed my brother. Armitage will attest to the find if the court wishes.’

‘Then let’s hear him,’ the judge ordered.

An usher left the court and reappeared soon after with Philip Armitage in his charge. Mathew frowned. Armitage was a stern man, and his master’s voice on the estate, but he had never struck him as a liar. Under oath, he repeated Cleland’s story; Irvine rose to cross-examine, but Bellhouse waved him down.

‘A simple matter of corroboration,’ he declared.

‘May I then examine Sir Gavin, my Lord?’

‘If you wish,’ the Lord Justice Clerk sighed.

Cleland resumed the witness box. ‘Is that what really happened, Sir Gavin?’ he asked.

‘It is.’

‘Is it not the case that while my client did remonstrate with Sir Gregor over his son being whipped, he fired no shot?’

Douglas rose to his feet. ‘Then who did, my Lord?’ he asked. ‘There is no defence of impeachment.’

He had them, and Mathew knew it. Irvine could not accuse Cleland, nor even imply his guilt.

‘No there is not,’ the judge agreed. ‘The question falls and so do you, sir. Sit down and let us hear the final witnesses.’

The Lord Advocate remained standing. ‘In this, sir, I crave the court’s indulgence. Miss Smith, Sir Gregor’s betrothed, has been so overcome by this tragedy that she has been committed to a sanatorium in the north of England, in the care of physicians and of her paid companion, Miss Stout. However their testimony is very clear in the affidavits that are before the jury, and I beg that these be admitted in evidence.’

For the first time, Bellhouse seemed to hesitate. ‘Do you realise what you are asking, Mr Douglas? The panel has the right to face his accusers.’

‘That is true, my Lord, and he has already faced Sir Gavin and Mr Armitage, and the earlier witnesses. But I would suggest that these ladies have been so shocked by the awful thing they witnessed . . . my Lord, Miss Smith found her beloved’s blood and brains on the hem of her skirt . . . that it would be cruel to inflict the horror upon them again. However, if the court wishes, we can adjourn and I will summon them.’

‘No,’ the Lord Justice Clerk intoned, ‘let their affidavits serve.’