CHAPTER 5

The Royal Coffee House

THERE WAS A PAINED expression on Scougall’s face the next morning as he sat drinking coffee with MacKenzie and Stirling. He was reading a piece in the Gazette.

Edinburgh Gazette 10 July 1689

‘An Awful Explosion in the Canongate’

Robertson’s Land in the Canongate was utterly destroyed last night by an awful explosion of gunpowder at ten of the night. The noise of the terrible explosion was heard as far away as the towns of Colinton, Currie and Liberton. The tenement destroyed belonged to merchant Abraham Slight. In the blast, many inhabitants of the city were slain, including Slight himself, his wife Jessie, and servants Alexander Silverman and Ann Taylor. Also among the dead were merchant Andrew Dunlop, Helen Dunlop his daughter, Robbie Dundas writer and Donald MacDonald, Town Guard.

It is suspected that barrels of gunpowder stored in the cellar underneath the tenement caused the explosion. Some say the powder was bought by Slight to supply MacKay’s army in the north. Others on the street who the Gazette has spoken with believe it is the work of Jacobites, who discovering where the powder was stored, ignited it like Guy Fawkes and his conspirators, to engender mischief within the city by attacking the government of William and Mary, proclaimed King and Queen a few months ago.

Several others in the tenement and a few passers-by on the High Street were injured in the blast, some are still in danger of their lives.

Lord Advocate Dalrymple has asked that any intelligence about the incident be passed to his office immediately. He told the Gazette all his efforts would be applied to finding out who was behind the dreadful event and bringing those responsible to justice.

Scougall put the paper down on the table. MacKenzie picked it up and began to read.

‘Robert Dundas is known to me, sir. Not a close acquaintance, not a friend, but a contemporary. I’ve known him since we began our apprenticeships. Such a dreadful end to a promising career.’

‘Awful, indeed, Davie.’ MacKenzie’s eyes quickly scanned the story. ‘Why do you think he was in the house at the time?’

‘I believe he worked for Dunlop. He was probably overseeing some business. He was a well-regarded writer.’

‘Dunlop and Slight were rich merchants. This will rock the foundations of the community.’ MacKenzie carefully re-read the piece, sipping from his coffee cup now and again. ‘Was it a terrible accident or a plot to destabilise the city?’ He was impressed by the speed the publication offered the details to the public, despite the confusion of the last twelve hours. A rational intelligence was observing events, recording them, packaging them and selling them. He smiled at Stirling as he handed the paper to him, tapping him on the thigh. ‘Our services will not be required this time, Archibald – the Advocate will have little use of suspected Jacobites like us. Do you know anything about Jabb who publishes the Gazette, Davie? I hear he’s one of your Presbyterians.’

‘He’s a newcomer to the city,’ replied Scougall, slightly annoyed by MacKenzie’s jibe at his religious position. ‘Not a Presbyterian, but a non-conformist from London. The Gazette sells well. Everyone is hungry for news, especially about Dundee’s fortunes in the North. I’ve heard the first print run sold out in two minutes this morning. But it cannot be right to make money from the misfortune of others.’

‘Now he has a real story for his readers. Any news from the North, Archibald?’

Stirling scanned the small print below the piece about the explosion. ‘Let me see, John. A body has been found at Craigleith Quarry after the storm. Cause of death unknown. News from the North: nothing new. The armies follow each other in a merry dance. MacKay was camped near Inverness to rest his troops, before following Dundee into the mountains. His aim is to crush his army of savages. Do we face civil war again?’

MacKenzie’s face darkened. ‘This is civil war and it has spread to Edinburgh already. We thought it was over when the Duke of Gordon surrendered the castle. I pray it will not be as long and bloody as the last one, which I remember only too well. I was a bairn of three when it began and a man of twenty-five at the Restoration. A generation of devastation. A dark time, especially in the Highlands. So much blood shed. Women and children slain, old clan rivalries ignited and inflamed, killings justified by religious conviction, troops slaying with no regard for human life. And here we are again. Armies marching back and forth like the days of Montrose.’ MacKenzie was struck again by a question that kept haunting him – was the restoration of the legitimate King, the Stuart King James, worth so much bloodshed? Was it not better to be rid of the House of Stuart for good? They had failed to bring peace and security to Scotland. Father and son had taken their people to the precipice of Hell and pushed them into it. But he thought of the religious enthusiasts who supported William, the beneficiaries of the Revolution. Scotland was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, neither option appealing. James was a useless king and a Papist one at that. How would he ever be welcomed back by his people if he continued to follow a religion followed by a tiny minority which was anathema to the majority? There was little chance his son would be brought up a Protestant as an exile in the French court.

A feeling of despair washed through him. Scotland was bitterly divided again, which did not bode well for the future, especially relations with England. England would benefit from the division. The country would be manipulated by duplicitous politicians, English and Scots. Many were calling for a closer union, especially the Presbyterians, as a way of locking the two Protestant realms together. Scotland would become a conquered province! The fate of Elizabeth was caught up in the morass. She was perhaps already wed to the arrogant Ruairidh MacKenzie. Anger replaced despair. He thought of thrusting a dirk into Ruairidh’s abdomen. But violence only bred violence. How quickly could man become a blood-thirsty beast! He must not let his rational self be conquered by desire for revenge. Hatred would solve nothing. It would also cloud his judgement when he needed lucidity more than anything.