Graeme Burnet - His Bloody Project

One evening Lachlan Broad paid us a visit to inform us that it had come to his attention that our croft had fallen into a state of neglect. It had become a favourite expression of his to say that such and such a thing had ‘come to his attention’. It perpetuated the notion that whatever anyone did or said would be noted and reported back to him, a notion which ensured a high degree of compliance with whatever decrees he issued. It also led people to look askance at their neighbours and treat them with a degree of suspicion hitherto unknown in our parts. On this occasion, Broad fined my father ten shillings and reminded him that the proper upkeep of the croft was a condition of his tenancy and that if he could not meet his obligations, the factor would have no choice but to review his tenure. In order to raise the funds to pay this fine, I was obliged to labour further on the roads and by-ways and as a consequence the croft fell into an ever more shameful state.

A few days after this latest visit from the constable, my father remained seated after Jetta had cleared the table. I had the impression that he had some announcement to make and I was not mistaken. After filling his pipe and lighting it he informed us that he intended to seek an interview with the factor. I asked him for what purpose. My father ignored my question and stated that he wished me to accompany him, as I was an intelligent boy and would not be bamboozled by the factor’s words. I was discomfited at this admission of my father’s limitations and protested that he was the equal of the factor, or anyone else for that matter. My father shook his head and said, ‘We both know that that is not true, Roderick.’ He then said that he intended to go to Applecross in two days’ time and that if I had agreed to labour for Lachlan Broad I should find someone to work in my place or make my excuses in advance. He then got up and took his place in his chair by the window.

From the outset, I felt that no good could come from my father’s plan. No one from our parish had ever sought a meeting with the factor, and when individuals were summoned to see him, they did so with great trepidation. Father may have reckoned that our lot could hardly be worsened, but I did not doubt that when his visit was brought to Lachlan Broad’s attention, he would not hesitate to avenge himself in some way.

Father and I set out for Applecross early in the morning. Lachlan Broad, it transpired, had gone to Kyle of Lochalsh on some business or other and I realised that my father must have chosen this day for our visit with this in mind. The day brought the great contrasts in weather to which we are accustomed in our parts. By the time we reached Camusterrach, a squall had soaked us, before the skies abruptly cleared and the sun began to dry our clothes. As we approached Applecross, however, the skies darkened again and the rain began to fall in large, weighty drops. My father did not react to these changes in the weather. Indeed, I could not say with any certainty that he even noticed. He continued at a steady pace, his arms rigid by his sides, his eyes fixed on the road a few yards ahead. We did not discuss our forthcoming business, so that I still had no real conception of what my father intended to say to the factor or what role he wished me to play. I secretly hoped that the factor would not be at home, or would refuse to receive us, and we could return without having further provoked the powers that be.

The factor’s home was to the rear of the Big House. We took a circuitous route around the grounds, my father no doubt wishing to avoid being challenged for trespassing on the laird’s property. When we reached the grey stone two-storey house, my father tapped the brass knocker with a timidity that did not augur well for our interview. Presently a housekeeper appeared. She looked at us as if we were tinkers and asked what we wanted. My father removed his cap, even though the woman was a servant and no better than he, and replied that his name was John Macrae of Culduie and that he wished to speak with the factor. The housekeeper then asked if we had an appointment. She was a scrawny woman, with a pinched mouth and long nose, who clearly believed that her employment in the factor’s house made her the better of a crofter. My father replied that we did not. The woman closed the door without a word and left us standing on the threshold. As it was still raining we huddled in the small vestibule. It is difficult to say how long we remained there. Certainly enough time elapsed for my hopes to rise that the factor was not at home. I was about to express this thought to my father when the door opened again and we were invited inside. The servant showed us into a wood-panelled study and told us to wait. A fire was roaring in the hearth, but neither of us dared to stand near it to dry our clothes. Instead we stood in the centre of the floor where our presence would give least offence. On the walls either side of the fireplace were paintings of distinguished gentlemen, dressed in fine clothes. I recognised Lord Middleton in one, sitting in an armchair with a gundog at his feet. In front of us was a large desk of heavy dark wood. Arranged on the surface were some writing implements and a number of thick leather-bound ledgers. The wall to our left was entirely lined with shelves of books.

The factor arrived and, to my surprise, greeted my father with some warmth. My father made a cringing bow before him, twisting his cap nervously in his hands. I stood for some moments at his shoulder, trying to appear at ease, my own cap clasped in front of me. The factor was shorter than I remembered, but had a pleasant, open face, with dense whiskers growing on his cheeks. The hair on the top of his head was sparse, but what was there was wiry and unkempt, unlike that of the other educated men I had met.

‘And who might this be?’ he asked, gesticulating towards me.

My father told him and he looked curiously at me for some moments as if he had heard something about me, which I sincerely hoped he had not. The factor took a seat behind his desk and looked at my father, expecting him to explain the reason for his visit. As my father did not do so, the factor then turned his gaze to me. I could not speak on my father’s behalf, however, as he had not advised me of what he wished to say. Some more moments of silence ensued. From the corner of my eye, I saw my father glance towards the factor from beneath his brow.

‘Mr Macrae,’ the factor began, his tone still jovial, ‘I trust you have not walked all the way from Culduie to partake of the warmth of my fire.’ He laughed a little at his own joke, before continuing,

‘Much as I enjoy parlour games, I cannot guess what mission brings you here, so I must oblige you to state your business.’

My father glanced at me. I thought that he had lost his nerve, or did not understand what was being asked of him, but after clearing his throat he said in a low voice, ‘Perhaps you have heard something of the troubles we have been having in Culduie?’

‘Troubles?’ said the factor. ‘I have not heard of any troubles. What troubles?’

‘Various troubles, sir.’

‘I have heard of no troubles. On the contrary, I hear only good reports of the improvements taking place in your township. Have you spoken to your constable of these “troubles”?’ He pronounced this last word with a peculiar emphasis, as if it belonged to a foreign language.

‘I have not.’

The factor furrowed his brow and look askance at my father.

‘If you are experiencing difficulties, you must speak to Mr Mackenzie. I cannot imagine that he would not feel slighted to know that you had come to me without first seeking his assistance. It is the role of the constable to address any problems you might have. I cannot be concerned with the minutiae of…’ He let his words trail off with a dismissive gesture of his hand.