CHAPTER 9

A Conversation with Archibald Stirling

MACKENZIE PUT DOWN the news sheet and called for more drinks. He was sitting at his usual table in the Periwig Tavern with Scougall and Stirling. It was mid-morning and there were only a few customers inside. ‘What do you make of the Gazette as a publication, Archibald?’

Stirling eyed the news sheet suspiciously. ‘I care little for it, John, although I hear it sells well. Everyone is hungry for the news it supplies, although, I must say, a somewhat one-sided account, particularly of events in the Highlands. It’s abundantly clear the author does not favour the true King. Some say Jabb is a creature of William, sent north to help his cause, a spy in the pay of the government, with all expenses paid. I believe those who support the old King must counter his assertions but it’s difficult when the government licences all publications.’

MacKenzie nodded, then asked: ‘Donald MacDonald was killed in the explosion and Captain Stein injured. I presume you know them both?’

Stirling looked distracted for a moment. He drank some ale and belched, before dabbing his lips with his neck cloth. ‘Captain Andrew Stein goes by the name of Stein, just Stein. He was a soldier by trade, a tough man, with long experience of war and capable, very capable. MacDonald was a useless imbecile good for two things only – drinking a hogshead of wine and pissing it down a vennel! He was feeble in a fight and could not shoot straight, even with his own member!’

‘There are many such men in the Highlands and Lowlands, Archibald,’ chuckled MacKenzie. He reflected that Stirling was in a particularly morose mood. Seated on the other side of MacKenzie, Scougall watched Stirling’s long, pale face. Scougall reflected that Stirling had aged since leaving office. The colour had drained from him; his enthusiasm for everything lacking, his cynicism raised to a new pitch.

‘Stein’s been with the Guard a couple of years,’ Stirling continued. ‘He fought in various battles, the names of which I cannot recall; some say with Claverhouse himself. He’s one of the few in the Guard who can handle a sword and musket. Most are worthless creatures like MacDonald, barely able to speak a word of Scots. Stein is a different kettle of fish. He has experience of the killing business from his time as a soldier. I was surprised he sought the position of Captain. I’m sure he could’ve taken more lucrative work in the retinue of a nobleman or another country’s army as a mercenary. He told me he had sickened of soldiering, all the slaughter and mayhem and taking orders from officers who had paid for commissions. He demonstrated how he could swing a sword and hit a target with a musket at fifty yards. I had no hesitation in employing him and promoting him to captain and, although the rest of the crew moaned about his sudden rise, they were soon taking orders without question.’ Stirling took up his tankard again and laughed. ‘It’s one of the few benefits of retirement – I no longer have to supervise that rabble. I was the one blamed for their incompetence. No one ever had a good word to say about them. Not only were they incompetent, they were completely duplicitous. They took bribes from anyone with a bawbee. Stein continues to improve them by training them in the use of weapons and establishing some discipline. It will do the town good, perhaps.’

‘Do you think he was a target of the explosion?’ asked Scougall.

‘I don’t think so, Davie,’ replied Stirling. ‘The Gazette says he was passing by and injured by chance. He was probably just unlucky. If there was a target, which is uncertain as it could’ve been an accident – it was either Dunlop or Slight – rich men with enemies.’

‘I’m well acquainted with Slight. I thought he dealt mostly in cloth. The arms trade is surely new for him,’ replied MacKenzie.

‘Many merchants hope to benefit from our present difficulties. If the war in the north lasts, or spreads to the Lowlands, the demand for powder will explode. Excuse the pun. The price will rise precipitously. Merchants here buy powder and arms in Amsterdam to sell to the government. Some hold onto their stock, expecting the price to rise further. The profits of the trade are significant.’ Stirling sighed, laconically. ‘There’s always someone who benefits from war. War is the father of all things, as Thucydides tells us.’

‘And here we are in a state of war again,’ said MacKenzie, the smile gone from his face. ‘We have had our fair share of strife in the Highlands, as you know well, being a scholar of the civil war years, Archibald.’

‘I make little progress with my History,’ Stirling sighed again. ‘Is there any news of Elizabeth, John?’

‘Nothing, Archibald. Nothing since the sighting a couple of months ago. My clients in the north are only interested in the armies in the mountains. I’ve no word from her, which worries me greatly, but I’m sure Ruairidh will appear on the scene at some point. He’ll put his head above the parapet, no doubt looking for money. When he does, I’ll hear about it, and I’ll be after him.’

‘And I will help you, sir,’ added Scougall, defiantly.

‘Of course, thank you, Davie.’ MacKenzie patted Scougall’s arm. ‘You’re a loyal friend.’ He turned back to Stirling, ‘Now, there’s another matter I want to discuss with you, Archibald. You’ll no doubt have heard of the death of Aeneas MacLeod, son of MacLeod of Rhenigidale and foster-son of MacLeod of Dunvegan. I’ve been asked to investigate his death by his father. The family believe Dalrymple cares little about finding the killer. They fear he’s too busy with political business.’

Stirling put down his tankard. He had a pained expression on his face and his hand sought the side of his abdomen. ‘A terrible shock for the family, John. It brings a tear to my eye to think of the young writer, not much older than Davie here, slain violently and buried in an unmarked grave.’ Stirling grimaced again, holding his side. ‘I need to visit a physician soon.’

‘Make sure you do. You look worse each time we see you.’ MacKenzie waited for a few moments until the pain in Stirling’s side eased, then continued. ‘It’s an interesting case. A vile killing, a disgraceful murder, of course. But from a purely selfish standpoint, I’ve agreed to help. I hope it will take my mind off Elizabeth until there’s definite news. Did you know the deceased, Archibald?’

Stirling removed his hand from his side and let out a long sigh. ‘I knew him not. But I’ve heard much about him. He was an ambitious young man and, apparently, a dedicated servant of Mrs Hair. Did you know him, Davie?’

‘I did not know him well. I knew of him. I met him a couple of times. I must admit I did not take to him. But it was maybe because he was a Highlander. It was a few years ago when I had dealings with him. I now look more favourably on all things to do with the Highlands.’

‘We must begin by examining the body and then visiting Mrs Hair’s office,’ said MacKenzie. ‘What do you make of Mrs Hair, Archibald?’

‘I’ve known her for years, although at a distance. I was an acquaintance of her first husband Robert Kennedy.’ Stirling went on to explain Mrs Hair’s troubled life and experiences with her two husbands. ‘She was left hugely indebted at his death. Her second husband, a younger man, a druggist called Hair also died young. She has proved herself a careful business woman and amassed a considerable fortune. It’s said she’s now worth thousands a year, which puts her among the richest in the city. Who would have thought a woman could have achieved so much and such a diminutive one? I’m not sure how she’s done it but I wish I had followed her careful management. The world of finance is a complete mystery to me. As a trader in debts she is unpopular, but she does not appear to care. She has no desire to obtain a position on the city council, even if she could get one, so she does not get bogged down in the petty intrigues required to become a councillor. She has often been seen to benefit from the misery of others.’ Stirling sipped his wine and a cold smile broke on his pale face. ‘I may be forced to borrow from her myself before this marriage settlement is completed. She’s one of the few lenders who can still provide funds.’

MacKenzie noticed Stirling’s grimace and wondered if he was in some kind of financial trouble, but before he could question his friend further about his affairs, Scougall asked: ‘How has she prospered while others have failed?

‘She is adept at buying and selling bonds,’ replied Stirling. ‘She benefits from those struggling with debt. She’s often bought bonds when no others dared at very low prices, when it was thought the debtor would never repay interest or principal. She has sold the same bond at a high price when everyone sought to buy it back. She’s invested in property all over the city and in surrounding estates, from which she earns rents, and uses as collateral for borrowing at low interest rates herself. She encourages her tenants to improve their lands and takes some of the higher yields. She owns estates further afield in Stirlingshire and Linlithgowshire and I’ve heard as far away as Glasgow. She has stakes in the American trade, and trade to the Baltic and France and Spain, with shares in vessels sailing regularly from Leith. She earns a healthy income from all these sources. Scores of men and women have borrowed from her over the years, including myself. I’ll say this about her. She’s strict in her terms but provides money quickly. She funds foreign trade. She funds domestic trade. She lends to lawyers and nobles and doctors and soldiers and writers. She does not base her lending on social position, rather on ability to repay. She’s avoided making too many loans to the nobles who are always tardy in repayment and have been the undoing of many money men. She never provided funds for the Duke of York or King Charles. This policy has proved very wise. She’s a great facilitator of trade across this nation.’

‘She’s a miraculous woman. Have you borrowed from her recently?’ asked MacKenzie.

‘No, John. I’ve found other sources for my present expenditure. She’s one of the few moneylenders in this city I’m not indebted to, I’m sorry to say.’ Stirling turned to Scougall: ‘I advise you to be careful if you ever have a daughter, Davie. Do not be influenced by delusions of grandeur. Above all, stand up to your bedfellow. Seek a match for your daughter within the means of your family. Then you will have little to do with debt. A life without debt. There is a place a man could live happily! The fellow who came up with debt was no doubt Auld Nick himself!’

‘It’s said MacLeod leaned towards the old King,’ said Scougall, hesitantly changing the subject.

‘Is that such a sin?’ replied Stirling, frowning, and staring down at the dregs in his tankard. ‘There are many in this city and across the land, indeed across the kingdoms of Scotland, England and Ireland, who despise William and his treacherous wife, Mary, who turned against her own father. Are we all to be slain for holding such views? We did not ask for any glorious revolution. We despise it. Are we all to be persecuted? Are we all to have our throats cut and our bodies dumped in the country? Are we all to be followed everywhere by Whig dogs! Look yonder!’ Stirling pointed at a cloaked figure at a table on the other side of the tavern sipping from a tankard of beer. ‘That hound is on my tail. He follows me everywhere. What a waste of time and money! And who pays his wages? The government. And who pays the government? Those who pay taxes – like you and me.’ Scougall felt a twinge of unease. The previous year he had suffered as a friend of the Presbyterians, now he found himself sitting among Jacobites. He despised the divisiveness of politics, the stark choice between two positions, neither of which were comfortable.

‘Is there anything else you know about MacLeod that might help us, Archibald? Putting aside political issues, just viewing his death as a case of murder,’ asked MacKenzie.

Stirling called for another cup of ale. ‘There are still a few men who talk to me since my fall from office, but, alas, not as many as before. I no longer have money to distribute as bribes. They are less keen to give anything away for free. But some still speak to me, old acquaintances, often accidently. There’s always talk in taverns, if you know where to listen, if you know who to listen to, and if you want to listen. It’s an old habit of mine to pay attention. I know most of the rogues in this city who stick to the place like lichen on a rock. They may know something of MacLeod’s fate – if he crossed one of them, or crossed someone else. I’ll keep my ear to the ground and let you know if I hear anything.’

‘What are your thoughts on Mrs Hair in relation to MacLeod’s murder?’

‘She’s scrupulous in her business dealings,’ replied Stirling. ‘But many men dislike women rising so high. Do you think MacLeod was killed as a way of getting at her, as a way of damaging her interest?’

‘It’s possible, I suppose,’ replied MacKenzie. Then his thoughts were distracted by Stirling who suddenly called out: ‘Ah, here they are at last!’

Two finely-dressed women approached the table. The younger one wore a startling ruby gown. Scougall observed her close resemblance to Stirling, she was clearly his daughter. He assumed that the shorter woman next to her, also fine-looking, was Stirling’s wife. Stirling appeared agitated by their appearance. He rose painfully to his feet. ‘May I introduce Davie Scougall. Margaret, my wife, and Arabella, my daughter. They are in town to buy material for the wedding dress. A wedding is a never-ending expense, gentlemen! And that fool over there will no doubt follow us all the way to the tailor’s shop! I’m sorry I don’t have more time to help with the case, John. I wish it was different. I wish it was like the old days!’