Graeme Burnet - His Bloody Project

‘I did not come here to make accusations, John,’ he said. ‘If I have expressed myself clumsily, forgive me. I have come, on the contrary, in a spirit of reconciliation. Under normal circumstances the fine for this morning’s transgression would be ten shillings. However, in light of the fact that, as you rightly point out, sea-ware has been taken from the shore since time immemorial and that, when I drew attention to your error, you returned the sea-ware to the shore, I am prepared to waive the penalty on this occasion.’

If Lachlan Broad thought that my father might thank him for this act of charity, he was mistaken.

‘I would rather pay the ten shillings than be in your debt.’

Lachlan Broad nodded. ‘I respect that, but as there is no ten shillings to pay, you need not count this as a favour for which you should feel indebted.’

He drummed his fingers once on the table as if to indicate the satisfactory conclusion of the matter. He appeared to be about to take his leave, but then paused as if another thought had suddenly struck him.

‘Of course,’ he said, ‘your need for sea-ware remains.’

‘I have no wish to take that which does not belong to me,’ said my father.

‘As I have been trying to explain,’ said Broad, ‘it is not a question of taking what does not belong to you, it is merely a matter of following the proper procedures.’

‘I have heard quite enough about procedures and regulations these last months.’

‘That’s as may be, but the procedures exist and they must be followed. In this case, all that is required is that you make an application to the factor that you wish to collect sea-ware from the shore for the purpose of spreading on your croft. Such an application may be made through the factor’s representative.’

‘You mean to yourself,’ said my father.

Broad indicated with a slight nod of his head that this was indeed the case.

‘Given the understanding we have reached this evening,’ he said, ‘I can see no reason not to accept an oral application and I can assure you that such an application would be looked on favourably.’

My father’s thin lips twitched, but he said nothing. After some moments a plump hen appeared, silhouetted in the doorway, and thrust its head over the threshold as if it was looking for its companions. Its left leg was suspended in the air, curled underneath its breast like a withered hand. Then, not finding what it was looking for, it retreated and disappeared from view. Lachlan Broad shrugged and said, ‘I take it then that you wish to make no such application.’

He then bid us good evening in a manner suggesting we had just spent a convivial hour in each other’s company, and took his leave. I have no doubt that he felt greatly pleased with himself and I felt at that moment a terrible hatred of him. He was for sure a clever fellow and my slow-witted father was no match for him.

Father remained at the table and spent the rest of the evening staring blankly towards the empty byre. There being nothing to say about what had passed, I took myself outside and sat on the bench there. The hen that had lately appeared at the door was now pecking at the dirt between the houses. Some minutes later, Lachlan Broad emerged from Mr Gregor’s house and without looking in my direction set off along the village, calling next at the house of Kenny Smoke.

The following morning at low tide there was a general gathering of sea-ware from the shore and by evening it had been spread on all the crofts, save our own. My father passed no comment on the proceedings and went about his business as if nothing was amiss. Some days later I heard him remark to Kenny Smoke as they shared a pipe on the bench outside our house that there was no way of knowing whether sea-ware brought any benefit to the crops. It was merely something that the people did out of habit, because their fathers and grandfathers had done so before them. Kenny Smoke replied that the same could be said of many of our practices.

* * *

Mr Sinclair calls on me here quite frequently and I have come to enjoy his visits. The first time he entered my cell I offered him my bed to sit on, but he looked at it with some disdain and remained standing with his back to the door. He suggested that I make myself comfortable, but I thought it improper to sit in the presence of my superior, so I stood in the corner beneath the high window. He was dressed in a tweed suit and brown leather brogues quite ill-suited to his dismal surroundings. His complexion was fresh and his hands pink and soft. I would estimate him to be around forty years old.** He spoke in the measured, elegant manner of a gentleman.

** Andrew Sinclair was sixty-two years old at the time.

Mr Sinclair informed me that he had been appointed as my advocate and that it was his duty to represent me to the best of his ability. He then told me that he was very pleased to make my acquaintance, and the idea that a gentleman would address a wretch like myself in such a manner struck me as so comical that I began to laugh quite uncontrollably. He waited for me to recover my composure, then informed me that anything I told him was confidential, before explaining the meaning of the word ‘confidential’ in the manner of a schoolmaster addressing a backward pupil.

I told him that there was no need for him to explain the meaning of this or any other word and, furthermore, that I had no need of his services. He replied that if I wished to have another advocate, it could easily be arranged. However, it was not the identity of my advocate which was at issue, I explained, rather that I did not require the services of any advocate, as I had no intention of denying the charges against me. Mr Sinclair looked at me for some moments with a serious expression. He told me that he understood my position, but the law required that I be represented in court.

‘I have no interest in what the law requires,’ I replied. ‘The law is nothing to me.’

I do not know what possessed me to speak to him in this ill-mannered way, other than a dislike of being told what was or was not required of me. In addition, I felt a degree of mortification at being in the presence of a gentleman while the contents of my bowels lay in a pail by my feet, and I heartily wished him to leave me alone.

Mr Sinclair drew his lips together and nodded slowly.

‘Nevertheless,’ he said, ‘it is my duty to advise you that to dispense with counsel would be quite contrary to your interests.’

He sat down on my bunk and adopted a more conversational tone. He explained that I would be doing him a service if I would be so good as to allow him to put a few questions to me. Feeling somewhat repentant, I indicated that I had no objection and he seemed pleased. The gentleman had treated me with unwarranted courtesy and I had no reason to cause him any trouble.

Mr Sinclair then proceeded to ask me some general questions about my family and the circumstances of my life, quite as if we were two equals getting to know one another. I answered his questions truthfully, but without elaboration, as I could not see that the particulars of my life in Culduie could be of interest to him or anyone else. Nonetheless, Mr Sinclair had a gentle, pleasing manner and I began to warm to his company. If nothing else, our dialogue served to break the monotony of the day. The longer we talked the stranger it seemed that he should converse with me as if the circumstances were quite normal; rather than the fact that he, a gentleman, was engaging in discussion with an uneducated murderer. I wondered if perhaps he had not been informed of my crimes; or if I was not in prison at all, but in an asylum and Mr Sinclair was one of my fellow inmates. However, as the general part of our conversation reached its conclusion, Mr Sinclair came to the point of his visit.