CHAPTER 15 - A Cottage in the Woods

THE EVENTS OF the afternoon added urgency to MacKenzie’s steps as he made his way through the gardens of Lammersheugh House in the gloaming. He would usually have taken time to examine the plants in the long border against the wall, but his horticultural interests were relegated to the back of his mind. The arrest of Euphame placed everything in a different light. He had no time to lose.

He found the gate at the end of the wall. A path led across the muir and over a small brig into the darkness of the woods. After about fifty yards it bifurcated. He took the right fork. The gurgling of a burn could be heard on the left, but he could see little in front of him beyond a few feet, so he kept his head down, fearing he might trip over a tree root. After about half a mile he came to a glade where a small cottage could be seen in the half light, a line of smoke drifting into the sky from the chimney. It was an old stone dwelling-place with a little garden surrounded by a low wall. A birch tree shimmered silver and two rowans stood like sentries at the gate. Light glimmered at one of the windows.

He knocked three times, as instructed. A dog barked. There was a short delay before the door opened and Janet peered out. ‘Come awa in, Mr MacKenzie – come in. It’s a cauld nicht.’

After sniffing his leg, the dog returned to the fire. ‘Please be seated, sir.’

He sat on the chair, but realising it was the only one in the cottage, rose to his feet.

‘No, sir, I insist. My auld body is a twisted root. I cannae sit at rest sometimes. I will pour us some ale.’

She disappeared into the shadows at the other side of the room. A candle on the table beside the chair was the only source of illumination. He noticed a box bed in a corner, a black cauldron by the fire and a long wooden table.

‘You no longer live at the house, Janet?’

‘No. I hae a wee annual rent granted in ma auld age. The cottage is ma ain until I dee. Ma family are gone, sir, deid or gone, at least fae roond here. I still hae some on ma mither’s side in Perthshire. She was a Gaelic speaker like yoursel.’

‘Where was she from?’

‘A village near Blair. I hae never been there. She came sooth tae the Lowlands when she wis a girl. Ma faither widnae let me speak her tongue. He said it wis the language o beasts. So I hae only a few wirds o Gaelic. But she taught me much else besides. She had the second sight. I hae some o her skill.’

MacKenzie smiled. ‘It is a shame you cannot speak Gaelic. What of the rest of your family?’

‘Ma faither wis a servant o Tweeddale’s at Yester. I served at Aikwood afore Grissell was born and stayed wi her. Ma man served the House of Lammersheugh. He died in the year the rebels rose against the King.’

‘Was that in 1666 or 1679?’ asked MacKenzie.

‘It wis 1666. They were a bundle o grim craws. Oor parish still crawls wi em, wirms like Marion Rankine. Looking doon their noses at ye. Aye tellin folk what tae do. I hae nae time for ’em, Mr MacKenzie.’

‘Then we will get on well, Janet. I have little liking for fanatics. Who is Marion Rankine?’

‘She is the sister o thon session clerk, Theophilus Rankine. Hae ye ever heard sic a name, Theophilus – lover o God I’ve been telt it means, but they are sic a joyless pair o crimmers. They are aw up tae somethin, mind, I’m sure o it.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve seen strangers in the parish. Folk oot at nicht up tae nae guid. I hae seen them wi my ain een. Only last week there were three cairts on the Haddington Road at midnight.’

‘What were they carrying?’

‘I dinnae ken. It wis somethin which was to be kept secret. But they couldnae hide it frae Janet Cornfoot. I often walk in the wids at nicht. And ither things, Mr MacKenzie – strange screams at nicht.’

‘What kind of screams?’

‘Wailin sounds, like spirits cryin fir release.’

MacKenzie wondered how reliable she was as a source of information. ‘You have no one else, Janet?’

‘Ma lad went aff tae sea twenty year ago an ne’er returned.’

‘How old are you?’ He saw that she enjoyed the chance to talk. It was an old lawyer’s trick. Put a person at ease with a few questions about themselves, then down to work.

‘I dinnae ken. I wis aye telt I wis born in the year guid King James came back tae Scotland aifter winning the English Croon. That wis in 1617, which wid mak me sixty-nine or seventy. What is certain is I’m an auld cailleach. Is that not what you say in Gaelic!’ she chuckled.

‘Your Gaelic is good, Janet.’ MacKenzie felt that he could not withhold the events of the afternoon any longer. His expression became serious. ‘I’m afraid I have bad news, very bad news. Euphame has been taken to the steeple, suspected as a witch, to be questioned by the session tonight.’

The old woman had to support herself against the chair on which MacKenzie sat.

‘Ma Phamie tain like pair Grissell!’ she gasped. ‘When will it end, Mr MacKenzie? Folk accuse each ither of onything under the sun.’ She stood beside him trembling.

MacKenzie helped her into the chair. There were tears in her eyes. ‘I should hae done mair. I promised Grissell I wid look aifter them…’

‘I will do everything in my power to free her, Janet. This afternoon I wrote to my kinsman, Rosehaugh, who has much experience of such cases. I will appeal to Euphame’s kin to stand caution for her, although I know she has few relatives alive.’

‘Grissell’s parents are baith deid. She had nae brithers or sisters. Nae close kin foreby Lady Girnington. And she will be of nae help.’

‘I will appeal to her ladyship to intervene. Also to Tweeddale, although I understand he is in London.’

‘It will be nae guid, sir. The girls hae naebody – nae kin tae come tae their aid. The end o the hoose o Lammersheugh has lang been prophesised.’

‘I know that some put great store by prophecy and second sight Janet, including many in my own clan. I do not,’ MacKenzie said firmly. ‘We cannot know what is to come.’

The old woman said nothing.

‘I realise the news is a great shock,’ he continued, ‘but I must ask you some questions about what has been happening in Lammersheugh. It is very important that you tell me everything you know. The slightest detail may help to secure Euphame’s release.’

‘Ye are richt, sir. I hae muckle tae tell, muckle indeed. Some of it I hae ne’er spoken of tae anither, as I promised Grissell. Where shall I begin?’

‘Tell me first of the death of your mistress.’

‘She drowned, Mr MacKenzie. It was nae accident. She feared fir her life as ye ken frae the letter. She wis slain. I’m sure o it.’

‘Tell me all you know.’

‘Four days ago I attended her in the morning. Although I bide in ma cottage I spend maist days at the hoose. She ate naething for breakfast. She wisnae hersel. She asked Murdoch fir her horse tae be made ready and refused tae tell me whaur she wis bound. I was sure she had a meetin o some kind, a meetin of importance.’

‘When did she leave?’

‘Sometime in the early mornin, perhaps an hour aifter dawn. I settled tae ma knittin and spent the day leisurely, as they say. Little did I ken what wis happenin as I sat wi ma needles. In the late afternoon in comes John Murdoch sayin a body has been found at the Devil’s Pool up on Lammer Law. I kenned richt awa it wis Grissell’s. I saw her there, a bleak picture in ma mind. I blurted this out, but John says they didnae ken. Some men frae the toon had left tae fetch the body.

‘She was brocht hame in the darkness. It was Grissell sure enough, drowned in the Devil’s Pool, found by Woodlawheid’s boy, who had wandered up there in the afternoon. He swore that he had seen Satan in the wids. But I ken it was a man whae killed her.’

‘What man?’

‘I dinnae ken, sir. I cannae see everythin clearly, nae yet. But I will.’

‘What do you mean, Janet?’

The woman closed her eyes to concentrate. ‘I see them at the pool. I cannae say whae’s wi her. I cannae see his face. It is the curse o the gift. Sometimes it shows only hauf the truth. I see Grissell and a man.’

‘Who is Woodlawheid?’ enquired MacKenzie.

‘Adam Cockburn is the Laird o Woodlawheid. He wis a great friend of Lammersheugh. But he is married tae a puir creature whaes lost her mind. He was aye givin Grissell his counsel an I’m sure he would hae liked to gie her mair. His laddie, George, says that the Deil called tae him at the Pool aifter he found the body.’

‘How old is the boy?’

‘Aboot ten years auld, a guid laddie.’

‘Did you notice anything about Grissell’s body when it was brought back?’

‘She wis ice cauld frae the water. There wis one thing – a mark on her temple, a small bruise about here.’ The old woman indicated with her forefinger. ‘Also, her pearl necklace wis missin, the yin gied tae her by Alexander which she aye wore.’

‘Anything else?’

‘No, sir. Only the saft body I had cared for since she was a bairn.’ The old woman’s voice began to break. ‘They dinnae believe she was killed, Mr MacKenzie.’

‘Who do you mean?’

‘The sheriff-deputy says it was an accident. She slipped on a rock and fell intae the water – she couldnae swim.’

‘Who is the sheriff-deputy?’

‘Colonel Robert Dewar of Clachdean. A vile beast.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘He’s a cruel, hertless sodyer back frae the wars, a bottle licker wi little interest and nae siller, weel kent fir whoring whaurever and whaunever.’

‘I am sorry, Janet, very sorry that I must keep asking questions at such a time. Do you know anyone who might want to harm her?’

‘You have heard the accusations made by Margaret Rammage, that Grissell was at a meetin wi the Deil. Margaret was an ignorant dolt.’

‘I am aware of the delation. How were relations between Grissell and Lady Girnington?’

‘She ne’er approved o Grissell. She thocht her an ill match fir her brither, who wisnae interested in the family’s standing. She couldnae unnerstaun Grissell’s nature. She wis happy wi her bairns. Naething else mattered tae her. Whit did she care fir the interest o the Hoose of Lammersheugh? Lady Girnington wis aye tellin her how the weans should be brocht up. After the laird’s death it wis whae she should marry; then matches fir Euphame an Rosina. Grissell hated few things in the warld, but she hated her. But tae use witchcraft? Never the day, sir.’

‘Who was Lady Girnington suggesting that she marry?’

‘The colonel hissel. Lady Girnington and Clachdean are thick thegither. I dinnae ken why. She was aye pushin the match. I ken that Grissell shuddered at the very thocht o him touchin her.’

‘Who is the woman who made the accusations?’

‘Margaret Rammage wis a servant at Aikenshiels. She is now burned tae dust.’

‘Is she from Lammersheugh?’

‘She lived in Headshaw, beyond Clachdean. Margaret deponed before the session that she’d seen Grissell in a green silk gown at a meeting wi other witches in the wids during the summer. She telt aboot dancin wi the Deil and how a paintin wis made o Lady Girnington, roastit wi brandy and pins stuck in it.’

The wind gusted down the chimney. The dog’s ears pricked.

‘How could I hae forgotten!’ Janet suddenly straightened herself in the chair. ‘The news of Euphame has distracted me. I promised Grissell I wid tell ye things I should hae telt ye at the beginnin when ye came in. All yer questions trauchled ma auld mind.’

‘Please tell me now, Janet. Take your time.’

The old woman closed her eyes, conjuring from memory the words she had been told. As she spoke she imitated the cadences of her mistress’s speech, so it was as if Grissell herself was speaking in the dark cottage.

‘“I could not write these words for fear my letter would fall into the wrong hands. Listen to Janet Cornfoot my old servant.”’ She opened her eyes and spoke in her own voice briefly: ‘that wis what she said, Mr MacKenzie,’ before continuing to imitate Grissell. ‘“Listen well to what I say in my latterwill and testament. Listen well. It will direct you to my commonplace book where everything is explained. It must not pass into the wrong hands. Janet will give you the key to the closet in which it rests.”’

The old woman opened her hand to reveal a metal key about an inch long. She handed it to MacKenzie before continuing: ‘“Read my words carefully. See where my eyes come to rest. ”’ She hesitated for a moment then repeated: ‘“Read my words carefully. See where my eyes come to rest.”’ Janet raised her head, indicating the end of Grissell’s message. ‘Now I hae said ma piece.’

MacKenzie put the key in his pocket. ‘I am baffled, Janet. Do you know where the book is?’

‘I do not, sir. I didnae ken she kept one.’

There was a noise outside. The dog barked. A scraping sound could be heard at the door. Janet looked fearfully at MacKenzie. ‘There was somebody here yestreen, tryin tae scare me.’

He withdrew a small dirk from his jacket. Turning from the old woman, he walked slowly towards the door. He could hear something behind it – a muffled knocking. The dog, held back by its mistress, continued to growl as he crossed the room.

When he reached the door, he stopped. A gentle tapping could be heard. Raising his knife, he pulled the handle. Someone was attaching a dark shape to the lintel. It looked like a carcass about the size of a dog. A masked figure sped into the night.

MacKenzie pushed through the body of the animal, sharp bristles prickling against the side of his face, and followed into the blackness of the woods. After stumbling on for about fifty yards, he tripped on a root and fell to the ground. Fortunately he dropped the dirk a safe distance away. Bewildered, he lay in the pitch black, trying to determine the direction in which the person had fled. But he could not tell. After catching his breath, he decided to return to the cottage. He pulled himself to his feet, picked up his dirk, and headed back through the trees.

After a short distance the light from the window came back into view. He slowly retraced his steps, his senses pricked by fear.

As he entered the garden he remembered the animal hanging from the lintel. When he reached the door he saw that the creature was a badger, fresh blood still dripping from a neck wound. He put his finger to the deep gash, then cut the cord and tossed the body into the earth beside the door.

‘I did not catch him, Janet!’ he shouted as he entered.

There was no answer. The old woman was slumped in her chair.

He knew at once that she was not asleep. Walking towards her, his eyes darted round the dark interior. He lifted her head back carefully, but when he released his grip it sagged forward. He felt for a pulse on her neck. There was none. He had been out of the cottage for only a few minutes. There seemed to be no indication of strangulation. Removing her bonnet, he pulled up her long grey hair, checking the back of her neck. There was no wound, no suggestion of a struggle. He wondered if the shock of finding the badger had been too much for her. The cottage was just as he had left it. Except that Janet was dead and there was no sign of the dog.

Then he noticed something lying on the stone floor beside the chair. It had not been there when he had sat by the fire. He picked up a striking blue feather about nine inches long.