Lament for a Maker by Michael Innes

Author:Michael Innes
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Lament For a Maker
ISBN: 9780755121007
Publisher: House of Stratus
Published: 2012-05-17T16:00:00+00:00

PART THREE

THE INVESTIGATIONS OF ALJO WEDDERBURN

1

I must begin my contribution to this record of the curious events at Castle Erchany with a confession. From the very beginning I had the gravest doubts – doubts which I cannot conscientiously say subsequent events resolved – as to whether, in the large utterance of the young man Gylby, ‘the right sort of person had been dispatched’.

It will doubtless be within the knowledge of readers familiar with the legal institutions of these Islands that the society of Writers to the Signet in Edinburgh is for the most part happily associated with the quieter, the more spacious, the truly learned aspects of the law. And I can modestly say that the firm of Wedderburn, Wedderburn and McTodd has amply contributed to this respectable tradition. Our clients are never harassed by importunate endeavours to bring their affairs to an issue, for the passions of today are the forgotten follies of tomorrow and procrastination in consequence is of the essence of soundly conservative legal practice. Again, they are seldom exposed to the uncertainties of litigation, for the harmonious and profitable commerce between solicitor and client can only be disturbed by the intrusion – not unaccompanied by heavy demands of a pecuniary nature – of our learned brethren of the Faculty of Advocates. The pleasures of conveyancing – a science often of the greatest antiquarian interest – together with the discreet superintendence of bankruptcies, alimonies, insanities and irresponsibilities among the best Scottish families has made the major part of our professional activities for some generations. Especially have we been reluctant to engage ourselves in the lurid limelight of the criminal law!

With this preliminary observation – which I trust will obviate any misunderstanding that may arise – I will plunge, in the phrase already employed by my worthy friend Ewan Bell, in medias res. On the afternoon of the Christmas Day upon which this chronicle centres, having dispatched my family to the pantomime – a mode of entertainment which has for me, I fear, a very limited appeal – I walked up the Mound and let myself into the Signet Library, proposing a few hours’ quiet study: some of my readers at least may not be uninterested to know that I hope shortly to publish a monograph entitled Run-rig, In-field and Out-field in the Scottish Land Courts of the Eighteenth Century. I was in the act of consulting a valuable article by the learned Dr Macgonigle in the Scottish Historical Review when I was interrupted by the appearance of my chauffeur with the news that General Gylby had called at my home on a matter of considerable urgency and was now awaiting my return.

Gylby and I had shot together in Morayshire and he had some claim upon my friendship; I was aware, moreover, that his wife’s sister was engaged to the young Earl of Inverallochy: I therefore commended my man’s intelligence in summoning me and drove home.

It is scarcely necessary to inform the reader that General Gylby’s business concerned

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