Graeme Burnet - His Bloody Project

My father said nothing. The factor drummed his fingers on the table.

‘So?’

My father raised his eyes a little from his feet.

‘I have not spoken to Mr Mackenzie about these troubles because Mr Mackenzie is the source of the troubles.’

At this the factor burst into laughter which did not strike me as genuine, but rather as a way of conveying the absurdity of my father’s words. When he allowed his laughter to subside, he let out a great sigh.

‘Would you care to elaborate?’ he said.

My father, to my surprise, was not entirely cowed by the factor’s laughter. ‘It is true that relations between myself and Mr Mackenzie are strained, but I would not presume to involve you in such things.’

‘I should think not, Mr Macrae. It is my understanding that Mr Mackenzie is carrying out his duties with a dedication that has been sorely lacking in recent years. And since, if I recall correctly, he was elected unanimously, I can only assume that he is doing so with the support of your community. If some private differences exist between yourself and the constable, then…’ He threw up his hands and let out a loud puff of air.

‘Of course,’ said my father.

‘So if you have not come to vent some personal grievance, I suggest you tell me why you are here.’ The factor’s jovial manner had given way to impatience.

Father twisted his cap in his hands and then, as if realising that this action did not contribute to a favourable impression, abruptly ceased and placed his hands at his sides.

‘I wish to see the regulations,’ he said.

The factor looked at him curiously for a few moments, and then turned his gaze towards me, as if I might be able to explain my father’s words.

‘You wish to see the regulations?’ he repeated slowly, his hand stroking his whiskers.

‘Yes,’ said my father.

‘Of which regulations do you speak?’

‘The regulations under which we exist,’ he said.

The factor shook his head curtly. ‘Forgive me, Mr Macrae, I’m not sure I follow.’

My father was now quite confused. Clearly he had not expected to meet with any such obfuscation and naturally he assumed the fault was his for not expressing himself with sufficient clarity.

‘My father,’ I said, ‘is referring to the regulations under which our tenancies are governed.’

The factor looked at me with a serious expression. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘And why, may I ask, do you wish to see these “regulations”, as you call them?’

He looked then from myself to my father and I had the impression that he was amusing himself at our expense.

‘So that I might know when we are transgressing them,’ my father ventured eventually.

The factor nodded. ‘But why?’

‘So that we might avoid any black marks against our names or penalties for breaking them,’ said my father.

At this the factor leaned back in his chair and tutted loudly.

‘So, if I understand you correctly,’ he said, clasping his hands under his chin, ‘you wish to consult the regulations in order that you might break them with impunity?’

My father’s eyes were downcast and I had the impression that they were becoming quite watery. I cursed him for placing himself in this situation.

‘Mr Macrae, I applaud your audacity,’ said the factor, spreading his hands.

‘What my father wishes to express,’ I said, ‘is not that he seeks to disobey the regulations, rather that by properly familiarising himself with them, he might avoid breaking them.’

‘It seems to me,’ persisted the factor, ‘that a person wishing to consult the regulations could only wish to do so in order to test the limits of the misdemeanours he might commit.’

My father was by this time quite lost and to bring an end to his distress, I told the factor that our visit had been misguided and we would not trouble him any further. The factor however waved away my attempts to bring the interview to an end.

‘No, no, no,’ he said, ‘that will not do at all. You have come here, first of all, making accusations against your village constable, and, secondly, with the stated aim of seeking to avoid punishment for breaking the regulations. You cannot expect me to let matters rest at that.’

The factor, seeing that my father was incapable of further discourse, now addressed himself entirely to me. He pulled his chair closer to his desk, selected one of the ledgers and opened it. He turned a few pages and then ran his finger down a column. After reading a few lines, he returned his gaze to me.

‘Tell me, Roderick Macrae,’ he said, ‘what are your ambitions in life?’

I replied that my only ambition was to help my father on the croft and to take care of my siblings.

‘Very commendable,’ he said. ‘Too many of your people have ideas above their station these days. Nevertheless, you must have thought about leaving this place. Are you not minded to seek your fortune elsewhere? An intelligent young man like yourself must see that there is no future for you here.’

‘I do not wish my future to be anywhere other than Culduie,’ I said.

‘But what if there is no future?’

I did not know how to respond to this.

‘I will tell one you thing quite frankly, Roderick,’ he said, ‘There is no future here for agitators or criminals.’

‘I am neither of these things,’ I replied, ‘and nor is my father.’

The factor then looked meaningfully down at the ledger in front of him and tipped his head to one side. Then he loudly closed the book.

‘Your rent is in arrears,’ he said.

‘In common with all our neighbours,’ I replied.

‘Yes,’ said the factor, ‘but your neighbours have not presented themselves here as if they are somehow the injured party. It is only due to the lenience of the estate that you remain on the land at all.’

I took this warning to imply that the ordeal was over and nudged my father, who had been standing those last few minutes as if in a trance. The factor stood up.

I turned to go, but my father stood his ground.

‘Am I to understand then that we may not see the regulations?’ he said.

The factor seemed amused rather than angered by my father’s question. He had taken three or four paces from behind his great desk, so that he now stood only a few feet from us.

‘These regulations that you speak of have been followed since time immemorial,’ he said. ‘No one has ever felt the need to “see” them, as you put it.’

‘Nevertheless …’ said my father. He raised his head and looked the factor in the eye.

The factor shook his head and gave a little laugh through his nose.

‘I’m afraid you are labouring under a misapprehension, Mr Macrae,’ he said. ‘If you do not take the crops from your neighbour’s land, it is not because a regulation forbids it. You do not steal his crops, because it would be wrong to do so. The reason you may not “see” the regulations is because there are no regulations, at least not in the way you seem to think. You might as well ask to see the air we breathe. Of course, there are regulations, but you cannot see them. The regulations exist because we all accept that they exist and without them there would be anarchy. It is for the village constable to interpret these regulations and to enforce them at his discretion.’

He then waved us towards the door with a dismissive wave of his hand. I suddenly felt that since my father had brought us here, there was no sense in leaving without properly expressing our grievances.

‘If I may return to the troubles my father spoke of,’ I said. ‘What my father truly wishes to convey is that, through his enforcement of these regulations, Lachlan Broad has waged a campaign of harassment against our family.’