Mathew's Tale (13 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

‘W
ELL?’ MATHEW ASKED, WHEN
Matt had finished his story. ‘What do you think of it?’

‘What did Sheriff Stirling think?’ Johnston countered. ‘After all, it is he who has committed Mr McGill for trial.’

‘Yes, but he only heard one side of the story, the false allegation.’

‘Mr Fleming, that is all the Sheriff is required to hear at this stage. The accused is only able to defend himself once the indictment is laid.’

‘All I can tell you is that Robin did not think the boy a liar when he heard him.’

‘No,’ the lawyer said, firmly, ‘and neither did I. Unfortunately I will not be on the jury and nor will I be on the Bench.’

‘What does the Bench have to do with it? Surely the judge is bound to try the case impartially, without showing favour to either side.’

‘Surely he is. Have you ever heard of Lord Braxfield?’

‘Of course I have,’ Mathew replied. ‘He was a Lanarkshire man.’

‘No doubt, but he was a Crown man first and foremost. Happily, Lord Cooper, the present Lord Justice General, sets a different example. However it is less than likely that he will take the trial; I hear he is ill.’

Johnston looked, earnestly, over the top of his spectacles. ‘I am the most intrigued,’ he murmured, ‘by what you say of the interest of the Lord Advocate in this case. Sir Gregor Cleland was a minor landowner, a baronet rather than a baron. It may be that the murder of any titled gentleman inflames him, but even so, he has been unusually expeditious in this case.’

He raised his arms above his head, his fingers interlocked. ‘The ways of the Crown Office are often a mystery to me, but I am only a humble solicitor. We will have to see what counsel thinks. Before we do that we must retain one, the best available.’ He glanced at Mathew. ‘How deep is your pocket, Mr Deputy Lieutenant?

‘Deep enough for this purpose.’

‘Then let us walk up the hill to Parliament House and see who is for hire.’

The solicitor ushered them out of his office, leading the way back to Princes Street, and then across it, along the side of the Royal Academy Building, and up the steep hill that led first to the Bank of Scotland and then on to St Giles Cathedral. The roadway was macadamised rather than cobbled, and their guide told them that it was known as The Mound.

By the time they reached the top, Johnston’s breath was rasping in his chest and his face was flushed. Mathew wondered if the man was a consumptive.

‘Do you make that climb every day?’ he asked.

‘With difficulty,’ the lawyer replied. ‘I had a touch of pleurisy a month ago. The physician said I should recuperate for longer, but I could not. People depend on me and if I am not there, well, some might go unrepresented or, worse, be represented by the wrong sort. There are charlatans here, sir.’

‘Then guide us well. Where is Parliament Hall?’

‘Follow.’ He led his clients across the courtyard in front of St Giles and past a building so new that its grey stone almost shone. ‘That is the great library,’ he told them, ‘the home of the Writers to the Signet, of which I have the honour to be a member; but it is not where we are going. We are for Parliament House, round the corner.’

The trio walked on until they reached an unprepossessing doorway, with a small, illegible sign at the side. Beyond it lay an entrance porch.

‘The first call I must pay is to the Lord Advocate’s office, to find out where this matter stands. You gentlemen may care to wait in here.’

He threw open a door at the side. ‘This is Parliament Hall; in the days when we had one of those, over a hundred years ago, it sat here. Now it is the home of the Supreme Court. It is not in session at the moment, but when it is,’ he pointed to the right, ‘it sits at the far end there.’

Mathew and Matt looked as he directed, and saw a high mahogany tower, faced by an enclosure with a table between them and rows of seats on either side.

‘I shall not be long,’ Johnston told them. ‘When I am back, we will be in a position to recruit.’

As he left, Mathew looked around the great hall; the end opposite to the court was lit by a huge window, and set into the far wall he saw a stone fireplace, which was unlit. Then he looked up, and gasped. The roof was built entirely of great beams of wood, carved in a series of arches with gold crests, and with its supports fastened into the walls.

‘Is that not a marvel?’ he whispered.

Young Matt shrugged his solid shoulders. ‘It’s a roof,’ he grunted.

They stood by the door for fifteen minutes, watching men in robes and wigs, usually in twos, occasionally in a trio, walking up and down the length of the great hall. They appeared to be conversing, but to what purpose neither of the watchers could tell.

Finally, Paul Johnston returned, carrying a document, bound in ribbon; if anything his cheeks looked even more sunken, and his face even more pale.

‘You have news?’ Mathew asked.

‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘but not good. The indictment against Mr McGill is completed already and it will be put to him on Friday, in the court.’

‘You mean the trial begins this week?’

‘No, not that soon; on Friday he will only be asked how he pleads, guilty or otherwise. That is a formality; he will be committed for trial, and that will begin next Tuesday. I say “begin”, but only a single day has been allocated for it. I have never known the Lord Advocate to proceed so fast. I asked his clerk why it was. He could only tell me that since the evidence is clear-cut and he has a longer trial to follow after, Mr Douglas wants to clear the decks.’

‘Douglas?’

‘James Douglas, KC; he is the Lord Advocate, and the most powerful man in Scots law, save only for the Lord Justice General himself. He leads the prosecution service, but more than that, he is a member of the Westminster Parliament and responsible there for all of our Scottish affairs.’

‘Is such a rush to judgment allowed by the law?’

‘The court sets its own rules; it will be for the judge to confirm the trial date. Counsel for Mr McGill may request more time to prepare his case, but it will be at the discretion of the Bench. Do not look, however, for that discretion to be exercised. Lord Bellhouse is trying the case, the Lord Justice Clerk himself, and he is the least patient of our judges. He is also well acquainted with the Lord Advocate; when James Douglas was a pupil advocate, and Bellhouse was King’s Counsel, he was his devilmaster.’

‘Are we helpless in this?’ Mathew asked.

‘Not entirely. There are a few senior counsel that Bellhouse would not cross, men who might soon be candidates for the Bench themselves. Cooper, the Lord Justice General, is an old man. When he goes, his successor is uncertain, but it is unlikely to be Bellhouse, on account of his own years.’

‘Then find us one of these men to take David’s case.’

‘That is where we go now. We are heading for the Faculty of Advocates; its members are the only men with rights of audience in the Supreme Courts. ’

The solicitor led them to a door across the hall, and opened it, allowing his clients to step into a rectangular area. It was not much of a room, more of an ante-chamber, with a stair to the right leading to lower levels of the building. In its centre a man in an ornate but predominantly black uniform sat at a desk.

‘Mr Johnston,’ he exclaimed. ‘And what is it today, sir?’

‘Senior counsel, Mr Baird, for a most urgent case,’ he replied, then turned and whispered to his companions. ‘Mr Magnus Baird is clerk to the advocates,’ he explained. ‘He keeps their diaries.’

‘Do you have anyone specific in mind, sir?’ Baird asked. There was something in his tone for which Mathew did not care, a hint of mockery, perhaps.

‘Sir Basil Foster, KC.’

The clerk choked off a gasp. ‘Sir Basil? Surely, Mr Johnston, he’s a cut above your usual run of clients? And why do you bring them here? Finely dressed this chap may be, but his face tells a different story.’

‘This chap, as you call him, is an officer of the King,’ Johnston retorted, ‘one of his deputy lieutenants. He is here to seek counsel to defend his friend, the father of the boy, on a false capital charge. I do not need to remind you that advocates have a duty to represent anyone in need of their services. I have checked the lists and I do not see Sir Basil’s name on any of them for the next week. I wish to instruct him.’

Baird seemed to stiffen. Mathew wondered whether the solicitor would have spoken to him so harshly had he not been present, and whether he might pay for his boldness at some time in the future.

‘Do you have the indictment?’ the clerk asked coldly. ‘If so, I will show it to Sir Basil.’

‘Here it is.’ Johnston handed him the document he had brought from the Lord Advocate’s office.

‘Does everyone have a little power in this place?’ Mathew asked, as the man left them through a doorway that he could see led into a long room, lined with desks each with a twin candelabra.

‘Very perceptive of you, sir,’ the solicitor chuckled. ‘That is exactly how it is, but that man has more than most, given his station. All of us solicitors come to Baird as supplicants; we have no other route to the Bar, and to those who may plead a case in the Supreme Courts, than through him. We need his favour, if we are to retain counsel of our choice, not his. His advocates are all beholden to him, even the mightiest King’s Counsel, like Foster, as their work comes through him. And Baird is clever, a good tactician, ensuring that the fattest briefs go to the fattest men, the top silks, the most senior counsel, while at the same time ensuring that every junior has a worthy living.’

‘He should be a politician.’

‘He is, Mr Fleming, in his own way.’

Mathew gave voice to his earlier concern. ‘Then, Mr Johnston,’ he said, ‘have you not put your own future relations with this powerful man in jeopardy by the way you treated him just now?’

‘Possibly, but my first duty is to my clients, not myself. If I do fall out of favour, it will not be for long. I will tell you honestly, sir, the type of brief and the size of fee that I am used to bringing to him are the kind he needs to keep his newer members in work and in pocket. All of the advocates here are sole traders, not members of a group as they are in England. So, to keep his own position secure, Baird must keep all of them happy. He may fall out with me, sir, but it will not be for long. As you observed, each of us has a little power of a sort.’

‘But what of quality? How is that assured?’

‘It is not. Advocates never suffer the consequences of their failures. They may not be sued, not even for the grossest negligence.’

‘Then they are lucky men,’ Mathew remarked. ‘If I make a saddle that falls apart, and the rider falls and is injured, or worse, or if my factory makes a component for a locomotive that fractures, then I may expect to find myself here, albeit in the civil court, rather than the criminal. ’

‘But you never do,’ young Matt exclaimed.

‘Thank you for your loyalty, lad,’ he laughed, ‘but you can see now why that is, and why every item that leaves Netherton or Coatbridge is inspected.’

‘Mathew . . .’

The boy was interrupted by the clerk’s return. He handed the folded document back to Johnston.

‘Sir Basil declines your brief,’ he said.

The solicitor peered at the knotted ribbon. ‘Did he do me the courtesy of reading it?’ he asked, icily.

‘There would have been no point. Sir Basil is fishing with the Marquis of Lothian on Tuesday.’

‘So a salmon takes precedence over a man’s life?’ Mathew suggested.

Baird tried to meet his eye, but could not hold his gaze. ‘One cannot disappoint a marquis, sir,’ he murmured. ‘But I cannot debate with you; I may only deal with instructing solicitors, not their clients.’

‘In that event,’ Johnston said, ‘take my brief to Michael Kerr, KC. He is listed nowhere for Tuesday.’

‘As you wish.’

He was gone for only a few minutes. ‘Mr Kerr is nowhere to be found. Sir Basil believes he may be at his country house in Fife.’

‘Then please approach Richard Scott, KC.’

The charade continued

‘Did you anticipate this?’ Mathew asked, after the clerk had gone off to seek Johnston’s fifth choice.

‘I feared that it might happen,’ he admitted, ‘although I hoped that the Faculty’s tradition of fairness would prevail. On the face of it, without knowledge of the boy’s account, the case is hopeless, and no King’s Counsel likes to have a capital failure in the court record. More than that, these men will note that the indictment has been expedited. If they know also, and they will, that the Lord Advocate will prosecute himself . . . none, not even Foster, will wish to cross him.’

After the sixth refusal of the brief, and the sixth ingenious excuse, Johnston’s list was exhausted, and a smug smile rested on the clerk’s face.

Young Matt’s agitation was obvious. ‘What can be done?’ he demanded. ‘Faither cannae go undefended! These men are wicked. Mathew, you told me we were coming here for justice, but I see none,’ he glared at the advocates’ clerk, ‘only a . . .’

‘Hush, boy,’ his guardian told him. ‘Everything you say, I feel too, and I will not forget it. But raised voices will not help. Mr Johnston,’ he asked, ‘what else can be done?’

‘Only one thing.’ He turned back to Baird. ‘Since you, sir, are unable to meet any of my requirements, I am forced to insist that you take my brief to Mr Graham, KC, the Dean of Faculty himself.’

The little clerk nodded; he seemed unsurprised by the demand, rather than outraged. He took the document for the seventh time, and returned to the reading room.

‘Why should the Dean accept what the others have rejected?’ Mathew asked.

‘He will not,’ Johnston replied. ‘Man, I hope he does not. Gordon Graham may be the head of the Faculty, but he is one of the worst criminal pleaders in this building. However in these circumstances, the Dean is obliged to appoint an advocate. We can only hope for the best, but in reality, since Mr Graham is a close friend of Mr Douglas, we will simply have to take what we are given.’

The three waited for fifteen minutes, and more. ‘Perhaps Mr Graham is shooting with the Duke of Argyll,’ Mathew observed drily.