Graeme Burnet - His Bloody Project

‘I can see that that would indeed be an erroneous view,’ I said, casting my hand about the room. ‘Nonetheless, one must endeavour to find some way to account for the actions of your neighbour.’

At this point, Mrs Murchison sent her two daughters from the house, telling them to busy themselves with their chores. She then replied that it was not for her to venture an opinion, but she could only imagine that when he had perpetrated his terrible crimes, R— M— could not have been in his right mind. She then begged our pardon for offering an opinion in the company of two gentlemen who must know a great deal more about the workings of the mind than she.

I waved away her protestations and told her that although I had made a study of a great many criminals, I was a man of science and as such valued evidence over generalisations and speculation. It was precisely because I wished to know the views of those acquainted with the accused that I was here.

‘I have no doubt you will find no shortage of people eager to offer an ill opinion of him,’ she said, ‘but I never knew him to wilfully harm another person.’

‘You would not have thought him capable of committing such acts?’

‘I would not have thought any man capable of committing such acts, Mr Thomson,’ she replied.

I then asked her if she knew of any cause for R— M— to act as he had. She seemed reluctant to answer this question.

‘Certainly there had been some disputes between Mr Mackenzie and Mr M—,’ she said eventually.

‘And who, in your opinion, was at fault in these disputes?’

‘I do not believe it is for me to say,’ she replied.

‘Perhaps you do not wish to speak ill of the dead,’ I said.

Mrs Murchison looked at me for some moments. She truly was a quite striking creature.

‘I can say in all certitude that Flora and Donald Mackenzie were not at fault,’ she said eventually, before commencing to weep.

I apologised for upsetting her. She took a linen handkerchief from inside her sleeve and dabbed her eyes in perfect imitation of a woman of good breeding. I construed from the concealment of this handkerchief on her person that she was presently frequently given to such outbursts of emotion. When she had taken possession of herself, I asked what she could tell me of the character of R— M—. She looked at me for some moments with her pleasing brown eyes.

‘He was generally of good character,’ she said vaguely.
‘Generally?’

‘Yes.’

‘But not always?’ I persisted.

‘All boys of R—’s age are sometimes given to mischief, are they not?’

‘No doubt,’ I said. ‘But to what kind of mischief do you refer?’

Mrs Murchison gave no reply and I was struck by her strange reluctance to speak ill of a person who had committed such monstrous deeds. I thus thought it better to make my questions more specific.

‘Was he given to stealing?’

Mrs Murchison laughed off this suggestion.

‘Did you ever know him to commit acts of cruelty to animals or small children?’

Mrs Murchison did not laugh at this proposition, but she answered in the negative.

‘Did you ever hear of him raving or labouring under some hallucination or fantasy?’

‘I would not say that I saw him raving,’ she replied, ‘but, on occasion, when walking through the village or working in the fields he might mutter to himself.’

‘Were these mutterings audible?’

Mrs Murchison shook her head. ‘He would be tight-lipped,’ — she here imitated what she meant with a twitching of her mouth — ‘as if he did not want to be overheard. If you approached him, or he saw that he was being watched, he would cease.’

‘So he must have been conscious of what he was doing,’ I said more to myself than to the company. ‘Did you ever speak to any other person about this tendency of R—’s?’

‘My husband also noticed it and remarked on it to me.’

‘And what was the substance of these remarks?’

‘No more than to state what he had observed. We did not think it a matter of any consequence.’

‘Nevertheless, it was unusual enough to be worthy of comment.’

‘Clearly,’ said Mrs Murchison. She took a sip of the tea that she was holding daintily in her lap. ‘You must understand, Mr Thomson, the great unhappiness which has afflicted R—. Since the death of his mother, his whole family laboured under a cloak of grief which was painful to observe and quite immune to the good offices of their neighbours.’

‘So you believe that the death of Mrs M— wrought some change of character in her son?’

‘In the whole family,’ she said.

I nodded.

‘You should also know that John M— is a severe man, who…’ — she now lowered her voice and cast her eyes towards the floor as if she was ashamed of what she was about to say — ‘… who did not show a great deal of affection to his children.’

She then added that she did not wish to speak ill of a neighbour and I assured her of my discretion.

‘You have been of great assistance,’ I told her. ‘As I have said, our motives in making these investigations are entirely professional.’ I paused for a moment before continuing. ‘As you are clearly a woman of some education, might I make one further enquiry, an enquiry of a somewhat delicate nature?’

Mrs Murchison indicated that I could.

‘Forgive me,’ I said, ‘but did you ever know R— M— to commit any indecent acts?’

A little colour rose to the woman’s cheeks, which she attempted to conceal by touching her hand to her face. My suspicion on seeing this was less that she was discomfited by what I alluded to, but rather that I had struck upon something she might have preferred not to discuss. She at first attempted to deflect my query by asking what kind of acts I meant.

‘It is clear,’ I said, ‘that if the answer to my question was in the negative, you would have no need to ask for such clarification. I ask you to remember that I am a man of science and set aside your natural reticence.’

Mrs Murchison set down her teacup and looked around to confirm that her daughters were not present. When she spoke, she kept her eyes all the time trained on the dirt floor between us.

‘Our daughters — the eldest is fifteen — sleep in a chamber at the back of the house.’ She here indicated a doorway which presumably led to this room. ‘On a number of occasions, my husband surprised R— outside the window.’

‘At night?’ I said.

‘At night or early in the morning.’

‘He was observing your daughters?’

‘Yes.’

‘If you will excuse my indelicacy, did your husband find the boy in a state of arousal?’

The colour now rose more vividly to the good lady’s cheeks.

‘He was engaged in onanistic activity?’

Mrs Murchison nodded faintly, and then shyly directed her eyes towards me. In order to dispel her embarrassment, I adopted a breezy tone and asked what action her husband had taken. She replied that he had been strenuously warned off, which I took to mean that he had at the very least received a forceful boxing of his ears.

‘Did you inform anyone about these activities?’

Mrs Murchison shook her head. ‘We instructed our daughters not to associate with R—, and to inform us if he behaved improperly towards them.’

‘And did he?’

‘Not to my knowledge.’

‘Did he persist in these visitations?’ I asked.

‘For a time,’ she said, ‘but they seem to have ceased some months ago. I suppose he outgrew such things.’

I expressed my admiration for Mrs Murchison’s charitable characterisation of R— M—’s behaviour, and again begged her pardon for obliging her to speak of such matters. We then thanked her for her hospitality and asked for the directions which had been the original motive for our call.