CHAPTER 27

City of Fear

SCOUGALL LOOKED DOWN from his window in Mrs Baird’s lodgings onto the High Street. Despite the early hour of the morning, there were armed men and soldiers roaming up and down. A canon was being dragged by a team of horses up to the castle. Some were leaving the city with their possessions packed in carts or on the backs of horses and ponies, heading for friends and relatives in the country. Others were preparing the city’s defences for an attack by Dundee. The city walls were being repaired, ditches dug outside the walls, defences inspected by the councillors. Fear was in the air, intensified by the news of Gourlay’s killing. Suspected Jacobites had been taken into custody in the castle. Scougall had heard that David Drummond was one of them. King William was decried in taverns and coffee houses. Pamphlets circulated describing the slaughter of MacKay’s useless army, putting the fear of God into supporters of the Revolution. The Presbyterians were particularly fearful. A Jacobite army would show them no mercy. Gourlay was just the start of the slaughter.

Scougall was anxious. He imagined the slaughter of MacKay’s troops in the Highlands. A description of the rout was in the morning’s Gazette. He pictured the marauding Highland Army descending on the Lowlands, just as Montrose had taken his Papist Irish south forty years before. It was a grim prospect, the prospect of carnage. What would happen if Edinburgh fell to Dundee? Montrose’s troops had raped and pillaged in Aberdeen for days. If James was re-established on the throne, MacKenzie and Stirling might be reappointed to their old positions as Clerk of the Session and Crown Officer. But what would happen to him? At least he had not been involved in politics in recent months. He was, however, known to favour Presbytery over Bishop. It was all an awful mess. Why was he born at a time of such bitter division? Could Christians not come together peaceably to solve their differences? And there was also another nagging fear. Had Stein, if it had been him in the tunnels below the city, recognised them?

Scougall was also worried about Elizabeth. Was she riding south at that very moment with her arrogant husband? Might Ruairidh return to the Hawthorns at the head of the King’s soldiers? Groaning aloud, he turned from the window and slumped on his bed. Dropping his head, he put his hands together and began to pray, earnestly: ‘Please preserve her, oh Lord. Please return her safely to her father. Take me instead, oh Lord.’ He opened his Bible which sat on the small table beside his bed and read some passages randomly. The words had a calming effect on him. God would look after them. Trust in God. His mind drifted back to the case.

A message arrived from MacKenzie. He was to meet him outside the Tron Kirk immediately. Scougall was glad to get out of the confinement of his room and left to meet him at once. They walked down to Gourlay’s howff together. MacKenzie said nothing the whole way, a cold look of determination on his face. Outside Gourlay’s, Scougall was surprised to see him take a pistol from his cloak. MacKenzie did not usually carry one.

‘Quick, Davie! Keep close behind me.’

Gourlay’s dismembered corpse had had been removed, but bloodstains were visible on the stones around the door. They entered the howff and walked down a dark corridor which led deep into the establishment. The place was still busy despite the killing of its patron. They passed through another chamber and descended a couple of steps into a private snug. MacKenzie hid the pistol under his cloak. There was a man sitting alone at the small table. Scougall was shocked to see it was Adam Scobie who looked up in surprise. ‘Excuse me, gentlemen. I’m here to see a friend.’

‘Close the awning, Davie,’ ordered MacKenzie calmly.

Scougall pulled the dirty curtain across the entrance. ‘I’m meeting a friend here, gentlemen. You must excuse me,’ said Scobie.

‘You’re meeting Mr Jabb, I believe,’ said MacKenzie, standing in the way.

‘I am, sir. How did you know? He’ll be here shortly. If you could please leave me.’

‘I sent the note requesting a meeting here, Mr Scobie. I addressed it to Kyle,’ said MacKenzie taking out his pistol and placing it on Scobie’s chest. Scougall was confused about what was happening, MacKenzie had kept him in the dark, but he moved down into the snug and stood in the corner. He felt himself begin to sweat. He remembered there was a dirk in his pocket in case he needed it. ‘Search him, Davie!’

Scougall reluctantly moved towards Scobie. ‘Stand!’ barked MacKenzie.

Scobie raised himself slowly and held up his arms. Scougall searched him. There was a knife in his pocket and a pistol hanging from his belt. Scougall put them on the table out of reach. He frisked him again to make sure there was nothing else.

‘You were ordered to follow Aeneas MacLeod by Dalrymple,’ suggested MacKenzie.

Scobie said nothing.

‘You’re known as Kyle. You’re one of Dalrymple’s spies. I have it from your master.’

Scobie sat back down. ‘I had no choice, sir. It’s the only way I could earn a living. Please put your pistol down.’

MacKenzie did not flinch. The pistol remained pointed at Scobie’s chest.

‘All suspected Jacobite leaders are being watched,’ continued Scobie, anxiously. ‘I hold nothing against you, Mr MacKenzie. I know you’re not one of the Loyal Gentlemen. But you are close to Stirling and you know Drummond and there’s also your chief Seaforth. There are many other MacKenzies who are enemies of King William. Dalrymple wanted to make sure you were not a threat. I assure you you’ve now been taken off the list.’

‘I have no involvement with Jacobites, Mr Scobie. As you well know, I’m working for a client. I’m only interested in the fate of Aeneas MacLeod.’

‘You would not use that on me here surely, sir.’

MacKenzie cocked the weapon and smiled. ‘You’re right. I probably would not. But it might go off accidentally. It would not kill you, of course. But it might hit your leg.’ He pointed the gun down at Scobie’s black leather boot. ‘It would be very painful. It might curtail your spying activity for a while. You’d be forced to live off your earnings from the law. I judge they are not great. I do not want to know about the Jacobite group. I don’t care about the politics of it.’

‘I’m not privy to Dalrymple’s policies,’ replied Scobie defensively. ‘I only provide information for the government. I write reports for him. Dalrymple determines the policy. He decides if suspects are to be imprisoned or…’

MacKenzie waited for Scobie to finish the sentence but he did not. ‘Imprisoned or what?’ he asked.

‘Or… extirpated,’ said Scobie in a whisper.

‘All I want to know is what happened to MacLeod? Was he extirpated on the orders of Dalrymple?’

‘No. I don’t believe so. Look, if I tell you what I know, will our conversation remain secret? Dalrymple does not need to know we’ve spoken. After all, MacLeod is no longer a threat. I’ll tell you what I know about him.’

MacKenzie’s tone shifted. He spoke calmly. ‘I’m no friend of Dalrymple, Mr Scobie. What you tell us will not find its way back to him.’

Scobie slumped back and MacKenzie sat beside him but kept the pistol pointed at his leg.

‘Dalrymple sought me out after I left Mrs Hair’s office. The position was secured for me by relatives, Dalrymple’s tenants in the west. I was on MacLeod’s trail for weeks. I noted all his meetings in the city and at houses in the country. He gave me a merry dance all over the Lothians. One night, about a week before the storm at around midnight I saw MacLeod enter the Tollbooth with Stein.’

‘Was he taken by force?’

‘Stein and one of his men. MacLeod was drunk. They attacked him in a wynd. They beat him unconscious and dragged him inside.’

‘What happened next, Mr Scobie?’

‘He didn’t come out again. He didn’t come out again… alive.’

‘Stein killed him?’

‘I don’t know if Stein did it himself or one of his men. I know it happened in the Tollbooth during the night. I have no evidence of the actual act. I witnessed MacLeod’s entrance and exit. I’ve no doubt in my mind about what happened to him. I stood watching for hours in the chill night. At about four in the morning, a cart came to the side door of the Tollbooth. A heavy object was carried out by a couple of guards and dumped in the back. The men joined the carter at the front. I followed them out of the city and on to Craigleith. From cover in the woods, I watched them dig a hole and dump a body in it. They then made their way back to the city. I returned to the Tollbooth. I found bloodstains on the cobbles outside the door. The body must have been dripping blood. Since that night there was no sign of MacLeod until his body was found.’

‘Stein killed MacLeod,’ said Scougall from the corner.

‘Yes. Stein is the killer, Davie. I believe Stein killed MacLeod and then the carter Christie to cover his tracks. But who was pulling the strings? Who ordered Stein to kill MacLeod?’

‘I don’t know that, gentlemen,’ said Scobie, defensively. ‘You must believe me when I say it.’

‘Was it on Dalrymple’s orders, Scobie?’ asked MacKenzie, moving the pistol closer to Scobie’s leg. Scougall hoped to God that MacKenzie would not use the gun on him, even if he was a spy.

‘As I said already, I’m not privy to government policy. I write reports and deliver them to Dalrymple. He knew MacLeod was important in Jacobite circles,’ replied Scobie earnestly.

MacKenzie put the gun down on the table and turned to Scougall: ‘Who was it, Davie? Who gave the order to kill MacLeod? Was it Dalrymple for political reasons or Mrs Hair because of his assault on Betty? Was it Drummond or Dewarton because of Jacobite rivalries? Or did Stein kill him for his own reasons?’

Scougall’s mind was filled with possibilities but he had to admit to himself that he had no idea.