Mathew's Tale (19 page)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

‘T
HE WHOLE SITUATION, IN
a nutshell,’ Innes Irvine exclaimed. ‘Cleland is after the hand of the Lord Advocate’s daughter, and seems to be in favour. No wonder Douglas was so keen to see a conviction, and so determined to squash the impeachment. Had that been successful, even if it had led only to a not proven verdict, which would not have put Cleland in the dock himself, the scandal would have splashed upon the steps of thirty-three Heriot Row.’

‘But what of Bellhouse?’ Mathew asked. ‘He was blatantly complicit in the rush to injustice. How do you explain that? The law in Edinburgh seems more than a little incestuous to me. But of course, old Bellhouse and Douglas are kin?’

Paul Johnston shook his head, as he looked out on to Hanover Street. The three had gathered in his chambers, on Mathew’s summons on Wednesday morning. ‘Your perception is correct, Mr Fleming. There are families who more or less control the courts. Bellhouse, he has a son, Douglas’s cousin, who is not that much longer at the Bar than Innes here, yet who is being favoured already.’

‘As am I,’ Irvine said.

‘Indeed?’ the solicitor murmured, curious.

‘Yes. I was summoned by the Crown Agent this morning. He asked me to act as advocate depute in the trial of a highway robber next month. I would not be leading the prosecution, but even to act as a junior at this point in my career, that would be a marker to all.’

‘Did you accept?’ Mathew asked.

Irvine smiled. ‘I told him I would have to consult my diary.’

‘Then do so, and tell him you will take the brief. You did your best for David, and you are still doing it, by being here at all. Douglas would not be offering this if he thought you a fool.’

‘Some may think I was suborned.’

‘Then they would be eedjits and not worthy of consideration. Paul and I know the truth, and that should be enough for you. Take your chance, man.’

The advocate nodded. ‘With your blessing, I may. But let us not get ahead of this situation. Your discovery last night opens a small window of hope, sir.’

‘How can we get through it?’

‘There is one way. It also involves incest of a sort, I am afraid. My grandfather was a solicitor, with a considerable practice. Fifty years ago or more, he gave an important instruction to a junior advocate, Edward Cooper. It was a defence in a capital trial and, unlike myself yesterday, he succeeded. It was the making of him and he never forgot it.

‘That man is now Lord Cooper, the Lord Justice General and Lord President of the Court of Session. He knows of me, for I bear my grandfather’s Christian name. When I was called to the Bar and presented in court, he sent me his good wishes afterwards in a private message.’

‘All very good,’ Johnston said, ‘but where does it take us, and how does it help our client?’

‘Armed with Mr Fleming’s discovery,’ Irvine answered, ‘I am prepared to go to Lord Cooper privately and tell him what we know. He is an old man, and he is rarely seen on the Bench these days, but every lawyer in Scotland knows of his reputation for probity. When he hears how this case has been conducted, and of the connection between Douglas and Cleland, I believe it probable that he will order a stay of execution, to give us time to petition the court and, if necessary, the King himself.’

‘Is that a proper course of action?’ Mathew asked.

‘No, it is highly irregular and Lord Cooper may well refuse to hear us, but with Mr McGill’s forthcoming appointment in the Lawnmarket, it is something I am quite prepared to do.’

‘Even if it has an adverse effect on your career?’

‘If I did nothing, it would have an adverse effect on me as a man,’ the young advocate declared.

‘Then let us see if we can squeeze through your window. You say we should call on him at home?’

‘Yes, he has been unwell, and absent from Parliament House for three weeks. It may be better that we call on him informally; there will be no one to bar our way, and word will not get to Bellhouse and Douglas, as it would if we approached the Lord President’s clerk.’

Mathew rose to his feet, but Johnston remained seated. ‘It is almost lunchtime,’ he pointed out. ‘We might get a better reception if my Lord Cooper is well fed.’

The three dined themselves, in a basement tavern on the corner of Hanover Street and Rose Street, where Johnston seemed to be well known, but Mathew had little appetite and was impatient to be on the move. When, finally, Irvine declared that it was time to go, he paid the bill and led the way back up to the street, taking the steps two at a time.

‘Where does Lord Cooper live?’ he asked Johnston, as they waited for the advocate to join them after relieving himself.

‘In Moray Place. Not a long walk; indeed, nothing in the New Town is a long walk.’

With Irvine’s comfort restored, they set off, Johnston striding out in the lead, turning into George Street and following it until they reached Charlotte Square, then heading downhill, through Forres Street and into Moray Place.

For all his urgency earlier Mathew paused, to look around. It was a great circle of stone town houses: some boasted pillared frontages, and all were four storeys, piled on top of basements; he guessed that the servants were housed below street level, and perhaps also on the top floor, if the household was wealthy enough to justify an extravagant staff.

Johnston led them towards the grandest house of all; Mathew thought they had reached their destination but their leader strode on. He stopped before one of the less ostentatious buildings . . . then exclaimed, ‘Oh! Oh my! I hope that does not mean what I fear it does.’

The shutters on the ground floor were closed, as were all the others save for one above the blue-painted front door, in the centre of which there hung a black crêpe wreath.

The trio stood on the pavement outside, staring at the grim intimation.

‘Should we . . .’ Johnston ventured.

‘Of course,’ Irvine snapped. He stepped towards the door but was only halfway there when it opened. A black-clad man, who looked to be in his mid-forties, stood there; he wore a wig, and at first Mathew took him for a servant, until he spoke.

‘Young Innes,’ he said. ‘I saw you from the window above. You will have guessed what has happened. You and your friends, please come in.’

‘Who is he?’ Mathew whispered.

‘Lord Cooper’s oldest son,’ Johnston murmured, ‘also named Edward and King’s Counsel. He is the Vice-Dean of the Faculty of Advocates, because of his father more than anything else. He will become a judge, no doubt, but he is nowhere near the Lord President’s stature.’

They followed him indoors, through a dark hall and into a room at the rear, which was unshuttered.

‘My father died this morning,’ he told them. ‘He caught a summer cold a month back, and it saw him off. We did not broadcast the severity of his illness, in case we were overwhelmed by well-wishers.’

‘I am very sorry,’ Irvine said. ‘Please accept our condolences.’

‘Thank you,’ Cooper replied, looking at Mathew. ‘Mr Johnston I know, of course, and this, unless I am misinformed and there is another formidable man of similar appearance, is Mr Fleming, who has been making a considerable stir around the court these past few days.’

He extended his hand to Mathew. As they shook, he said, ‘I hear you are about to lose a friend, and I guess that was what brought you here. I was at Parliament House yesterday afternoon, and heard whispers about a trial in the morning. Whispers only,’ he added. ‘My father has been on the periphery for some time, and the inner circle have been keeping me at arm’s length.’ He looked at Irvine. ‘I take it you were hoping for my father’s intercession.’

The advocate nodded his reply.

‘Then I am sorry for you, for there is no influence left in this house. With the death of the Lord Justice General, until a successor is appointed, the Lord Justice Clerk is the highest figure on the Bench, and as you know that is Bellhouse himself. Whatever grounds you may have for further proceedings, I will wager they will fall on deaf ears.’

‘How soon will that appointment be made?’ Mathew asked.

‘Not before my father’s funeral, which will be in St Giles on Monday. But it could be today and it would not help you. It is decided already; Bellhouse is too old to take office himself, so someone else will step up. As Scotland’s man in Westminster, the Lord Advocate makes the choice for confirmation by the King. Douglas intends to nominate . . . himself. He will be my father’s successor; when he is done with the post, it will pass to Bellhouse’s son. That bargain was struck some time ago.’ Cooper frowned. ‘I am sorry, gentlemen, sometimes our court shames me.’

‘Yet you do nothing about it!’ Mathew exclaimed, regretting his anger as soon as the words were out. ‘No, sir,’ he said, at once. ‘I apologise; you are newly bereaved, and you are one man. The corruption I have seen here goes very deep. Thank you for receiving us; I hope you will speak to others about what happened yesterday, and that when you are a judge yourself, you will be the better for it.’

In the street outside, Irvine was crestfallen. ‘I am sorry. I had real hope that Lord Cooper might have interceded. Indeed, had he been alive I am sure he would have. Strange,’ he mused, ‘that house felt empty, and yet a month ago, with the old man alive, there would have been such a feeling of power about it.’

‘I keep telling folk in this city,’ Mathew said, ‘that they do not understand power. The power of the law has David by the neck at the moment, but let us see if the power of the people can help. Paul, I want you to find me a printer, one who can work fast and, most important of all, can be trusted to keep his mouth shut, whoever comes asking. If you can, have him call on me this evening. He will be a last resort though; I have one more card to play before I reach him.’

Johnston nodded. ‘I can guess what you mean, and I know the very man. His name is Blackwood and his discretion is legendary.’

‘Good. I have a sense here that I may be setting out on a long campaign, but I will not give it up, even if Friday goes ill. I cannot be in Edinburgh for ever, but you know this city and I want you to act as my agent. I will give you instructions as time goes on, but here is the first. I want those women found, those two who condemned David. “Gentlewoman of Knutsford, Cheshire”, indeed,’ he spat. ‘By her actions she is no such thing, nor is her maid. Their disappearance is too convenient and too facile. I want to know who they are, where they are, and what they are; then I want them brought before me. I have another task for them also, but that will be the priority.’

‘I can employ sub-agents on your behalf, Mr Fleming,’ the solicitor said, ‘but it will be costly.’

‘That will be nothing to me. You are all in a cocoon in this place; there are different rules outside and different values.’

‘Very good, but if they are found, I am not sure I can have them brought to you against their will.’

‘Oh, but you can. For there is one thing that everyone has forgotten and that I had not considered myself, not until now. With my office under the Crown I became a magistrate in the County of Lanark. I can issue you with a warrant.’

‘What would be the charge?’

‘Murder, by perjury. That should get their attention, and loosen their tongues. Now,’ he continued, ‘back to your office. I want to send a letter to London, by the swiftest means possible, and I need a place to write.’

‘I can arrange that. To whom do you want to send it?’

Mathew’s good eye was ablaze with the rage that he had contained, mostly, until that point. ‘To Sir Victor Feather, Member of Parliament and confidant of the Duke of Wellington, lately Prime Minister, and likely to be again. I have been patronised by these bastards long enough, gentlemen. I will show them what influence really is.’

Chapter Twenty-Nine

M
ATHEW HAD RUN OUT
of hope for his friend’s life, but he kept that truth within himself as he strode along the High Street, in search of the office of the
Register
newspaper. His letter to Feather was written and in the hands of the post office, with the promise that it would be delivered by the weekend.

He found the newspaper’s office almost opposite St Giles, near the mouth of Advocates’ Close. He strode into the musty place; it smelled of oil, ink and metal and he pitied those who had to work there.

‘I would like to speak with the editor,’ he told a shirtsleeved man who greeted him.

‘Mr McCulloch is not here, sir,’ the other replied. ‘He is on his annual holiday in Dunbar and will not be back for another week. Can I help? I am his deputy; my name is Jonathan Mackay.’

‘I have a story to tell you,’ Mathew began. ‘It concerns a trial, or rather a travesty, that took place yesterday in yon place across the street. It has left a man facing the gallows, even though he is innocent.’

‘You say he is innocent,’ Mackay retorted, ‘but if it is the affair I anticipate, that of the murderer McGill, our court reporter said that the verdict was unanimous. He told me that the hearing was brief and that he offered no defence. Like as no’, our report of his execution will be longer than that of his trial.’

‘Did your reporter also tell you of Lord Bellhouse’s performance?’

Mackay’s eyes narrowed. ‘He said that the Lord Justice Clerk was unusually tetchy, even by his standards, and that he had precious little patience . . . as in, none at all . . . with the prisoner’s advocate.’

‘There is more to it than that, much more. There was collusion between him and the Lord Advocate to convict my friend.’

‘Then why do you no’ take it back to the court?’ the journalist asked.

‘We would, but there is little time, and little point now that Lord Cooper is dead, and Bellhouse sits temporarily in his place.’

Mackay seemed to turn rigid. ‘Cooper is dead?’

‘Yes, he died this morning. I am not long from his house in Moray Place.’

‘Then take your story back there, sir. Or take it to the
Scotsman
or the
Glasgow Herald
. Take it anywhere, but away from here. I do not want to hear it. I do not even want to ken your name.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ He was astonished. ‘Is this not the newspaper set up to fight the obsequious nature of the Scottish press, as its founders proclaimed? And yet you turn away a true tale. When did you join the ranks or the arse-kissers?’

‘So they did say, sir, and so we have been. But with Cooper gone, Douglas will preside over the court with old Bellhouse by his side. Now you come in here hinting of a plot between them. We have to live in the real world, Mr Fleming . . . yes, I do know who you are . . . if we are to survive at all. Please go away, and take your scandal with you.’

‘Very well,’ Mathew replied, ‘but know that I think you a cowardly wretch, and that you have lost a reader and made an enemy in a single sentence.’

His anger dissipated as he made his way back to the Waterloo Hotel; he did his best to drive the looming prospect of Friday morning from his mind, and to focus on the day ahead, but it proved impossible and as he walked his imagination was full of terrible images.

Matt was waiting for him when he reached the hotel. ‘When can I see my father?’ he asked.

‘I had faint hopes that you would have seen him today, at liberty, but those are gone. We will visit him tomorrow in the afternoon, for as long as the governor will allow. If you have to say goodbye, and I can no longer deny that is likely, you must appear as brave as you can before him.’

‘Will my mother not know by now? I heard a vendor calling out the story not long ago.’

‘Your mother will not know, for she will see no newspapers. I gave that order before we left, in case things went wrong.’

‘Mathew,’ the young man moaned, ‘is there no more to be done?’

‘Only one thing: people must know the truth. I have tried one way but found it blocked by cowardice, now I will turn to the other. Go to your room now, please, and wait. I am expecting a visitor.’

The printer Blackwood arrived an hour later; Mathew received him privately, in his own room, and wasted no time on niceties. ‘I wish to publish a pamphlet,’ he said, ‘and to have it distributed to as many people as you can print copies. It will be anonymous and its source should not be obvious. It will tell the true story of an act of shame by the highest court in our land and of a man unjustly condemned to death.’

‘Is it defamatory?’ his visitor asked. ‘I have principles, sir.’

‘No, because every word is true. It will be anonymous, but those against whom it is directed will know the source.’

‘Will they act against you? If its printing is traced to me and I am questioned, I must answer honestly. By that I mean I canna protect you.’

‘I will not need your protection. No one will move against me; they wish this affair to end with the scapegoat, and to be forgotten as quickly as possible.’

‘Do you have a text?’

‘Yes. Here it is.’ He handed over a document that he had drafted in Johnston’s office, with the solicitor’s guidance. ‘How soon can it be on the streets?’

‘Tomorrow morning, if I work overnight.’

‘The afternoon will do, then more at the Lawnmarket, on Friday morning. I am told that hangings draw a great crowd in Edinburgh, and I want them all to have something to read while they are waiting for the drop.’

‘Consider it done, sir,’ Blackwood declared, confidently. ‘It will no’ be cheap though. Should we no’ discuss cost?’

Mathew took a roll of five-pound notes from his pocket and peeled one off, then another. ‘Tell me when to stop,’ he said.

He had reached four, when the printer called out, ‘Enough. That’ll be fine, sir.’ He smiled. ‘If I’m asked how I came by these, I’ll say I won them at the cards.’

‘You are a gamer?’

‘Oh aye. I love the card tables. No’ that I’m very good at it. I cover my stake usually but no’ much more. I have friends tho’, that mak’ their living from it, and a good one at that. The club where I play is full o’ rich folk whose common sense vanishes as soon as they step over the door. After a glass of brandy and some time upstairs with a hoor, they’re easy pickings, and they never know when to stop.’

‘Where do you play?’

‘In a club in St Bernard’s Crescent. You’d be welcome there, sir, I’m sure, although I suspect you’d no’ be as easy parted from your money as most.’

‘That might be the case; or it might not. I played in the army, to pass the time, but I have not lifted a card since then. The tables cause too much trouble, even between comrades in arms.’ He paused. ‘However, I would be interested in meeting your friends. How many of them are there?’

‘Three. Jimmy, Pilmar and Kenneth: they dinna go in for surnames.’

‘Can you contact them easily?’

‘Pilmar, I can; he can pass on any message.’

‘Then ask them to call on me here at three o’clock tomorrow, if they would be so kind.’

‘Will you be providing the cards? They might not like that.’

Mathew shook his head. ‘That is not quite the game that I have in mind.’