‘Yes, sir. He said that he had fled because he feared for his safety and that of the ladies who had witnessed the murder. However, he could not bear to leave his brother behind and so he loaded his body into the carriage and drove off.’

  ‘Very good, thank you.’

  Bellhouse glowered at the defence advocate. ‘Mr Irvine.’

  ‘Thank you, my Lord. Captain, where was the pistol? Did Sir Gavin show it to you?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Then where is it? It is not listed as an exhibit, so where is it? Did you search for it in Carluke, at the spot where the alleged murder allegedly took place?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Was it in Mr McGill’s possession when you arrested him?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Was it in his house?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge.’

  ‘So all you are really telling the jury is that you saw Sir Gregor Cleland and that he was dead?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I suppose so.’

  ‘And we thank you for it, Captain,’ Bellhouse intoned from the Bench. ‘And you are also able to tell us, without fear of contradiction, that he was shot?’

  ‘Indeed, my Lord.’

  ‘But you are not in a position to deny the obvious conclusion, that McGill destroyed the pistol after shooting Sir Gregor.’

  ‘No, sir, I am not.’

  ‘Or did not run away?’ Irvine added. ‘And having committed this calumny, that McGill simply waited in his home, and waited to be seized. You cannot deny that either?’

  ‘Mr Irvine!’ Bellhouse screamed. ‘You will not interrupt me, sir, otherwise, advocate or not, I will hold you in contempt of this High Court and you will return to the Calton Jail along with your client! You will be seated, and you will not rise again until you are told!’

  Mathew was astonished by the Lord Justice Clerk’s lack of impartiality; he hoped that the jury would feel the same, but when he looked at them all he could see on their faces was fear.

  ‘I will now call Sir Gavin Cleland,’ the Lord Advocate announced.

  The baronet was brought into court from the witness room and was sworn in. ‘Good morning to you, sir, on this grievous occasion.’ He paused ‘I understand that you buried your poor murdered brother last Saturday afternoon.’

  ‘I did, sir.’

  ‘Was the funeral well attended?’

  ‘It was, sir. I was pleased that so many came to pay their respects.’

  ‘Did their number include Mr Mathew Fleming, the present employer and benefactor of the accused?’

  ‘Yes, Mathew was there.’

  ‘And what was his attitude to you?’

  ‘He was most courteous, sir. He did me the honour of holding the second cord on my brother’s coffin, the one that faced me, as we lowered poor Gregor into his grave.’

  ‘Did he indeed?’ Douglas exclaimed, turning slowly to look at the public benches. ‘The jury may read into that what they will.’

  A ball of fury blazed in Mathew’s stomach. He saw Irvine start to rise to his feet, only to be frozen by a stare from Bellhouse.

  ‘Tell us what happened to your unfortunate brother,’ the Lord Advocate continued, ‘the Sunday before last, Sir Gavin.’

  ‘He was murdered most foully, sir, shot in the head by the prisoner, in a cowardly attack. First he pulled me from my horse and seized my pistol and then he rushed up to Gregor and fired, from no more than two or three feet away.’

  ‘The defence may suggest that he was provoked by your brother whipping his son, for scaring his horses. What say you to that?’

  ‘The horses were startled, sir, by some foolish lads, and Gregor did react hastily, but I would ask the jury, does that justify his murder?’

  ‘Indeed,’ Bellhouse muttered from his lofty seat.

  ‘Mr McGill was an employee of your family at one time, was he not?’

  ‘He was favoured by my father, yes, but to be frank his work was shoddy, and Gregor was advised to dismiss him by our factor, not long after he inherited the estate. He did so, but in a kindly way; he allowed him to remain in his cottage.’

  ‘Yet McGill still bore ill will towards you?’

  ‘He did, Mr Douglas, as several affidavits testify.’

  ‘Yes, I have seen them, and copies have been given to the jury. The Crown does not see the need to call them all as witnesses. What they say is clear enough.’

  Innes Irvine gasped, audibly; Bellhouse heard him. ‘And I agree with the Crown,’ he barked. ‘These folk are not vital witnesses, so we will not waste their time by bringing them here to repeat what they have already written down. Continue, sir. Did the panel say anything as he attacked your brother?’

  ‘He screamed in rage and exultation, my Lord, but I was too shocked to remember what was said.’

  ‘What did he do then?’ Douglas asked.

  ‘He seized the boy, his son, and ran off, towards the kirk.’

  ‘Did he take the pistol?’

  ‘He did, sir. He took it and he threw it down the well in front of the church. It would be there still, had not Mr Armitage, my factor, and I, while the village was at worship on Sunday, dropped buckets down until we retrieved it. If I may . . .’

  The Lord Advocate nodded, and Cleland reached inside his coat and produced a short-barrelled firearm.

  ‘This is the pistol that killed my brother. Armitage will attest to the find if the court wishes.’

  ‘Then let’s hear him,’ the judge ordered.

  An usher left the court and reappeared soon after with Philip Armitage in his charge. Mathew frowned. Armitage was a stern man, and his master’s voice on the estate, but he had never struck him as a liar. Under oath, he repeated Cleland’s story; Irvine rose to cross-examine, but Bellhouse waved him down.

  ‘A simple matter of corroboration,’ he declared.

  ‘May I then examine Sir Gavin, my Lord?’

  ‘If you wish,’ the Lord Justice Clerk sighed.

  Cleland resumed the witness box. ‘Is that what really happened, Sir Gavin?’ he asked.

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Is it not the case that while my client did remonstrate with Sir Gregor over his son being whipped, he fired no shot?’

  Douglas rose to his feet. ‘Then who did, my Lord?’ he asked. ‘There is no defence of impeachment.’

  He had them, and Mathew knew it. Irvine could not accuse Cleland, nor even imply his guilt.

  ‘No there is not,’ the judge agreed. ‘The question falls and so do you, sir. Sit down and let us hear the final witnesses.’

  The Lord Advocate remained standing. ‘In this, sir, I crave the court’s indulgence. Miss Smith, Sir Gregor’s betrothed, has been so overcome by this tragedy that she has been committed to a sanatorium in the north of England, in the care of physicians and of her paid companion, Miss Stout. However their testimony is very clear in the affidavits that are before the jury, and I beg that these be admitted in evidence.’

  For the first time, Bellhouse seemed to hesitate. ‘Do you realise what you are asking, Mr Douglas? The panel has the right to face his accusers.’

  ‘That is true, my Lord, and he has already faced Sir Gavin and Mr Armitage, and the earlier witnesses. But I would suggest that these ladies have been so shocked by the awful thing they witnessed . . . my Lord, Miss Smith found her beloved’s blood and brains on the hem of her skirt . . . that it would be cruel to inflict the horror upon them again. However, if the court wishes, we can adjourn and I will summon them.’

  ‘No,’ the Lord Justice Clerk intoned, ‘let their affidavits serve.’

  ‘Then that concludes the Crown’s evidence.’

  ‘Very good.’ Bellhouse looked up at the wall clock. ‘We will adjourn for fifteen minutes. Keep the panel under guard.’

  Mathew wanted to stand and rail against the injustice he had seen, but with an effort he held on to his temper. All he could do was smile at David as he sat in the dock, ashen-faced.

  ‘What can we do?’ he asked, as he joined Johnston and Irvine at the far end of Parliament Hall.

  ‘Very little,’ the advocate admitted. ‘They have been more clever than we could have anticipated. This is all going one way.’

  ‘Then David must tell his own story. He is such an evidently good man that they must believe him, more so with Barclay to speak for him.’

  Johnston’s gaze fell to the floor. ‘There we are lost, sir,’ he murmured. ‘I summoned your minister yesterday as a witness, but he has declined.’

  ‘He has what?’ Mathew’s shout was so fierce that two promenading advocates jumped with fright.

  ‘He sent back the message that he was unable to attend. He gave no reason.’

  ‘Then damn him. A small part of me feared this; I believe I know the reason for his reluctance. My own testimonial will have to suffice.’

  ‘Sir,’ Innes Irvine murmured, ‘I do not recommend that you give evidence. Douglas and Cleland have you hamstrung with the evidence of your conduct at the funeral . . . unless you can deny it absolutely.’

  ‘That I cannot do, I’m afraid,’ he admitted.

  ‘Then you would be painted as two-faced, and not credible to the jury. It would deflect from any good Mr McGill might do himself.’

  ‘Then he is truly on his own. Innes, please go to him and explain why nobody can speak for him.’

  The advocate hurried off to the other end of the hall, to confer with his client. Shortly afterwards the macer’s cry was heard once more and Lord Bellhouse returned.

  The defence case was short and in no way sweet. To Mathew’s horror, when David McGill was called to give evidence, he remained seated and shook his head.

  ‘You have nothing to say in your defence?’ the judge asked him.

  ‘There is no point,’ the prisoner replied. ‘The Lord Advocate and this court, both are set against me. Any attempt to declare my innocence would do no good and would only endanger others. So I will sit silent, and let the jury hang an innocent man on the word of a pack of liars under the eye of a compliant judge.’

  Bellhouse’s response fell not far short of a scream. ‘For that insult I would hang you twice!’

  Then he turned to the jury. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said in a calmer tone, ‘you have heard the facts in his case, and short and simple they are. Sir Gregor Cleland is dead of a pistol ball in the brain. Three witnesses have sworn that it was put there by the accused, a man with malice towards him, aforethought and evident. No form of defence has been put before you, and that silence is eloquent in itself.

  ‘There are three verdicts open to you, as you will know, but your duty is clear. Go and do it now in the room provided, and dinna be long about it.’

  Once again Mathew looked at the jurors, searching for any sign of defiance in their faces, but again he could find none. He checked his pocket watch as they filed from the court, and again when they returned. Less than six minutes had elapsed.

  Bellhouse glowered at them as they sat. ‘Have you a verdict?’

  The largest among the fifteen rose to his feet, a slab of a man who might have been a blacksmith away from the court, or more likely a merchant butcher, given the quality of his clothing. ‘We have, my Lord. We find the panel guilty as libelled.’

  ‘Is that the verdict of you all?’

  ‘It is, my Lord.’

  ‘Thank you. You are all discharged from further jury service.’

  The Lord Justice Clerk turned to his macer and snapped his fingers, but the man knew what was expected of him, and had already produced the black cap, which was in fact no more than a simple square of black cloth. He stepped forward, and then, in accordance with a custom imported from the English courts, he placed it on top of the judge’s wig in token of the sentence about to be passed.

  David McGill had risen to his feet unbidden. Bellhouse glared at him, with a cold, hard killer’s expression, one that Mathew had seen in battle all too often, and, he acknowledged, had probably worn himself.

  ‘You have been found guilty of the particularly heinous murder of a gentleman, unprovoked and in the presence of ladies. You will be taken from the Calton Jail in three days’ time, to the public scaffold in the Lawnmarket, where you will be hanged by the neck until you are dead. May God have mercy on your soul, be He so minded.’

  ‘My soul needs no mercy,’ McGill replied, ‘for it is blameless in this matter. As for yours, my Lord Bellhouse, if there are such things as heaven and hell, it is unlikely that we will meet again, for I expect to walk on green fields, while you will surely roast forever in Auld Nick’s pit.’

  ‘You’ll be there before me,’ the judge grunted. ‘Take him away.’

  He climbed down from the bench, and fell into step in formal procession behind his macer. As he passed, Mathew called after him, ‘At least your lunch will not be served cold, my Lord. Enjoy it.’

  Bellhouse spun half round to face him, only to be greeted with a smile and a courtly bow. His mouth twisted into a snarl, but he held his tongue and left the hall.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  ‘THREE DAYS,’ DAVID MCGILL murmured, with a sad, thin smile. ‘They don’t keep a man hanging around, do they?’

  Mathew stayed silent. Twenty years earlier, two years before Waterloo, he had stood guard over a soldier sentenced to be shot at dawn for the rape of a Spanish woman, and that victim had tried to keep his spirits up through humour. As the sun rose, though, he had pissed himself in his fear and had to be tied to the post with three ropes so that the firing squad could be sure of its target. He shuddered at that grim memory and hoped that his friend would be sustained in his courage when the moment came . . . if the moment came, for he had not given up hope.

  ‘Mathew,’ David continued, ‘you will find my affairs in order. You will be the executor of my estate, such as it is. I am glad your friend the governor has allowed us this conversation, for there are things I need to say.’ Mathew had gone straight from the court to the jail, where Stevens had taken the humane view that a condemned man could receive who he liked, when he liked.

  ‘I beg you to look out for my children. Jean is young yet, but do not let her grow up thinking of me as a bad man. As for Matt, I fear for him; he has his mother’s spirit and is the very boy to do something rash. Please restrain him as best you can.’

  ‘Hah,’ Mathew grunted, looking up from the table and into David’s eyes. ‘He may have to restrain me if the worst happens. I have power, the power that wealth confers on a man, and I will use it. The likes of Douglas and Bellhouse might be beyond me, but Cleland is not. I will crush that man like the pilliwinks; he will shit his breeks and beg for mercy before I am done with him.’

  ‘Not on my account, please,’ his friend begged. ‘The Lawnmarket must not have you too.’

  ‘Oh, it will not. Cleland has planted the seeds of his own destruction. All I will do is nurture them and help them grow. Worry not for your son either; I will treat him as my own, and Jean too.’

  ‘And Lizzie,’ David murmured. ‘Look after her too. For fifteen years I’ve felt badly about coming between you two.’

  ‘Then you must stop that now. You have been . . . Bugger it!’ he snapped. ‘I will not speak in the past tense. You are a perfect husband to her, a better match than I would have been. You have devoted your entire life to her, whereas even if my good friend Sir Victor had never written that hasty letter, I would not.

  ‘You may believe that my business success and my losing Lizzie are linked in some way. I know that others do, but it is not so. I would have been driven in the same way even with her as my wife, and she would have suffered for it. There is a phrase I like that Stockley uses of his expensive and fanciful daughter. He says she is “high maintenance”; so, in a different way, is Lizzie, as we both know.’

  David smiled. ‘That she is, but she will hurt nonetheless.’ He grasped Mathew’s arm. ‘Please do not tell her of this, not until Friday is gone and I am dead. It is better she knows nothing until everything is done. Keep Matt close to you and keep her in ignorance.’

  He nodded. ‘Agreed, but I will tell her nothing for I have not given up hope yet. If there is anything to be done I will do it . . . although I confess I do not know what that might be.’

  ‘Then do it, but keep me in ignorance too. I have three days, in which I must compose myself and make my peace with God. Bring my son to see me, but that is all.’

  ‘I will do that. Is there a chaplain here?’

  ‘Mr Stevens says so. I tell you, that man was upset when he heard my fate.’

  ‘If only the law in this city was as upright and honest as him.’

  ‘Those you found for me have done their best. Mathew, I would like to pay them from my own resources.’

  ‘That is one request I will not grant. There is no man in the world closer to me, so their efforts have been in my interests as well as yours. Now I must go to consult with them again, before Matt returns from his journey to the seashore and I have to tell him the news.’

  Johnston was waiting for him in the hotel salon when he returned. ‘Sir,’ he said even before they were seated, ‘my profession owes you an apology for what you saw today. It was judicial murder.’

  ‘Not yet,’ Mathew pointed out. ‘The sentence has not yet been carried out. And even then, I would not call it murder. Yon Bellhouse is as evil a man as I’ve seen, but I do not believe that the Lord Advocate would collude with people he knew to be perjurers.’

  ‘Yet he was keen to see Mr McGill convicted. That I do not understand.’

  ‘Nor do I, or why Bellhouse was so cooperative with him. Is there any way left, Paul, by which they may be thwarted?’

  ‘No,’ the solicitor admitted. ‘Before I left Parliament House, Mr Irvine asked for leave to appeal, but this was rejected. Nobody crosses Bellhouse, not even his peers. Mr Fleming, it would be dishonest of me to suggest that any hope remains. We have failed our client and the rope is as good as round his neck.’

  ‘You have failed no one. I know how the cards were dealt against us; when the impeachment was blocked, David was finished. Bellhouse hastened the process, that was all. I will not give up hope while David is alive, but there is one other service I would ask of you, on his behalf.’