The Redemption of Alexander Seaton

I myself had no notion of Patrick Davidson as a message from God. In his short time in our burgh he had gathered plants, drawn maps and courted a girl. There had been no public speeches, no preaching, no giving of admonition or warning by him. No passing on of messages. And yet I could not mock the old man’s fears.

‘But you, Gilbert, you have nothing to answer for, you who do only good to friend and stranger alike. Whatever has brought this visitation of darkness upon our town, it is not you.’

In less than a moment I saw that the words I had intended for comfort aroused only a sudden and real anger. ‘I, nothing to answer for? Who amongst us has nothing to answer for, is without sin? It is not I. What nonsense did you hear preached in Aberdeen? We are all sinners. We are none of us capable of doing the least good thing, unless it be the Lord who ordains it. God destroyed the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah, and could find only one good man. If there is one good man here, it is not me.’

If not you, then who, I thought. Who in this town could argue our case in the face of the wrath of the creator? ‘And yet it does not stop you trying,’ I said.

‘As we are commanded to do. And you too, I know, Alexander, you try also to do good as you are commanded to do.’

I could not answer him, and was glad when I was summoned through to the kitchen, to help the doctor bring Edward Arbuthnott back to his comfortless home.

‘How will he fare?’ I asked Jaffray, after we had seen Arbuthnott settled into his own bed under the care of his wife, in whom the advent of a true disaster seemed to have awoken some common sense and, what I had never remarked in her before, affection.

Jaffray pursed his lips. ‘He will be as a man who waits for nothing more than the grave, I fear. Marion was all his hope and joy.’

The door to Jaffray’s consulting room, the scene of last night’s desolation, was shut when we arrived in the house, but I suspected all would be clean and orderly again. The doctor went first to the kitchen, to warn Ishbel that I would be coming for my dinner that night. He wanted proper news of my trip to the town, and to interrogate me in peace, and there were things I had to ask of him. He emerged from the kitchen and ushered me quietly towards his study. ‘Ishbel is taking it very badly,’ he said, in a low voice. ‘I do not know how it was that I never saw it before, but I think, whether he realises it or not, he has taken her heart. They will let no one in to see him, and though she sends baskets of food up to the tolbooth every day, I do not know whether he gets them.’

‘You have not been allowed in to him?’

‘But once. It was Thomas Stewart who persuaded the provost. The baillie was near beside himself to be let in on the interview, but Stewart said he would come in with me himself and that would be enough.’ Jaffray paused, remembering. ‘And it was enough. He has a quiet authority to him, the notary, that even the baillie cannot question. I think he will sit in the provost’s seat one day.’

We had reached Jaffray’s parlour by now, and mention of the provost had recalled me to my earlier appointment. ‘I cannot wait long,’ I said. ‘I should have seen Walter Watt by now, to report on my business.’

‘Then I will not keep you.’

‘But tell me first,’ I said. ‘How was Charles when you saw him?’

Jaffray sighed deeply. ‘He was … less sanguine than I had hoped to find him. He sees little prospect of success in our endeavours to free him. And I fear he is getting ill.’

‘Any man would get ill in that festering hole.’

‘Indeed. Ishbel’s clean blankets can only do so much against the cold and the damp in that place, and he has been a week now without proper exercise. Being parted from his music and, strange to say, his pupils, affects him too, I think. I fear he might take a fever and not have the will to defeat it.’ Then a thought came to him that cheered him somewhat. ‘You must see him today though, Alexander. They will surely let you see him?’

‘Have no fear over that,’ I said. ‘They will let me see him or they will know nothing of my business in Aberdeen or at Straloch. But I doubt if there will be much room in the tolbooth after last night.’

‘No. No more in Hell, either,’ Jaffray added bitterly. He opened the door and shouted through the house for some kindling to be brought for his fire.

‘Do you think there is anything in what Mistress Youngson hinted at? That if Charles had not been secure in the tolbooth they would have turned on him last night too?’

Jaffray looked up from his efforts with the fire. ‘I am certain of it. You did not see them at their height, Alexander. They were like a pack of wolves. We had very little warning of it. I was carrying out the examination. Her mother insisted on it – against Arbuthnott’s wishes – but his wife was certain her daughter would never have taken her own life.’

‘And had she? Did you have time to discover that much?’

Jaffray looked at me. ‘I did, and she had not. I am as certain as I can now ever be that she died by the same method as Patrick Davidson, and by the same hand.’

‘How can you know that?’