Heaven Knows Who (22 page)

‘On Saturday morning, ye ken,' insisted the old man, ‘Jessie was deed. She couldna open the door when she was deed.'

‘Quite true. But why did
you
open it? Did you know that Jessie was dead when the milkman came?'

‘No, I did not,' said the old man sharply.

‘If you didn't know Jessie was dead, then why did you go to the door?'

But he had collected his wits a bit by now. ‘I was up, ye ken, and I would just go and open the door to say that we did not require any.'

‘Did you leave Jessie time to open the door?'

Lord Deas again. ‘You had better ask: Did you wait some time before you opened the door?'

‘Well,' said Mr Clark, ‘did you wait some time before you opened the door?'

‘Oh, ye ken, I went down the stair and through the house before that, and got no answer.'

‘How long before the milkman came,' said Mr Clark swiftly, ‘would you go through the house?'

‘Through the house? I suppose it would be nigh aboot the time.
I knocked three times, ye ken, at her door and got nae answer, and this was after nine o'clock.'

‘Are you sure that it was after nine o'clock?' Mr Clark pounced again. The milkman would say he called at twenty to eight, the old man himself had said it was before nine.

The answer was muffled. ‘Put the question again,' said Lord Deas. ‘Perhaps he misunderstood you.'

‘Are you certain that this was after nine o'clock?'

‘Yes, after nine. The milkman whiles doesna' keep the appointed time.'

‘Did you go downstairs before you dressed that morning?'

The old man said that he might well have done; he would be unwashed and unshaven, and might go down undressed. We may note here that ‘downstairs' meant to the basement. One has an impression of coming downstairs from the bedroom floor, but James Fleming slept on the ground floor. It is of course quite possible that he might go down before dressing to get clothes from his wardrobe room, though he does not himself make this point.

Mr Clark was not interested in vapourings about what might have happened. ‘I speak about Saturday morning—'

‘I can say no more than I have. I have told you everything in my heart. The memory of a man of seventy-eight is not so fresh as a young man's. Be as easy as you can,' begged the old gentleman humbly. ‘I am willing to answer every question.'

It might have been more effective had not a juryman jumped up to point out that Mr Fleming had just stated his age to be seventy-eight, whereas he had formerly given it as eighty-seven. Mr Fleming hastily corrected himself. He was born the ninth of August, 1775, he was ‘eighty-seven past'. (Only just past; it was now September 17. But every little helps.)

‘On Saturday morning—were you down in the kitchen before you put on your clothes?'

The old gentleman thought it over. ‘Before I put on ma claes? I might.'

‘Did you chap [knock] at Jessie's door?'

‘Yes.'

‘Had you your clothes on then?'

‘I couldna say I was completely dressed. I might have had part of ma claes on. I tried the sneck, but the door was locked and the key awa'. What more could I do?'

‘When the milkman came on Saturday morning, was it before or after you had chapped at Jessie's door?'

‘I could not, be pointed [exact or certain] wi' that question, whether it was before or after.'

Mr Clark went back to the milk. ‘Did you take in any milk on Saturday morning?'

‘No, I did not require it. I could take ma breakfast without milk as well as with it.'

‘Had you your breakfast on Saturday morning?'

‘I made masel' a cup of tea.'

‘Had the refusal to take milk on Saturday morning anything to do with your not having got porridge that morning?'

The old man was not to be caught with that one. ‘No, I could take ma porridge wanting ma milk, and can do so yet. The servant was in the habit of getting in the milk in the morning for her use. She would get a larger quantity when she was alive.'

And that was the last of the milk for old Mr Fleming—except for one question at the end. He would surely have been a more comfortable man at that moment could he have known that this was so.

Mr Clark moved on to other matters. ‘When you first saw the back door on that Saturday morning, was it locked on the inside?'

It was locked on the inside said the old man, and the key either in or out of it—no one seems quite sure which he said. But it didn't much matter.

‘And when you first saw the front door on that morning, how was it?'

‘It was on the latch. There was no lock or chain.'

‘You are sure of that?'

‘I could give my oath on it.'

He had said, a few questions back, that the chain was positively on; but Mr Clark did not risk any rambling explanations in apparently innocent contradiction. ‘You never took the chain off that front door?'

‘There was no chain on it.'

‘And you did not take it off?'

‘No!' said the old man firmly.

‘Now, you heard a squeal [a scream] about four o'clock on the Saturday morning. Where did this squeal come from?'

‘When I jumped out of ma bed and heard the squeal, I thocht it might be on the street. Next a squeal followed, and then I heard it was down below.'

‘How long would it be between the first and last squeal?'

‘I think it would be a bare minute; then all was quiet as if it never had taken place.'

‘Was it the same voice that squealed each time, so far as you could judge?

‘Yes, but not so strong.'

‘Was it a squeal as of distress?'

‘It was a squeal like as if somebody was in distress.'

‘Did you recognise the voice?'

‘No.'

‘What did you think at the time?'

‘I thocht that Jessie had got some person in to stop wi' her, after I had gone to bed.'

‘And what did you think had caused the squeal at the time?'

‘Och, I couldna say what had caused it; but I heard it, just as if some person was in great distress. It was by in a minute.'

‘Why did you not go down?'

‘It was all quiet afterhind and I didna think of going doon.' If the noise had continued any time, he added, it would have been alarming and ‘we' would have had to call in the police. But a couple of ‘lood squeals' apparently seemed to him too trivial to worry about. Nobody seems to have observed the plural ‘we'.

‘When you found in the morning that Jessie was not there and her door locked, why did you not send for the police?'

It had never occurred to him to send for them, said the old man; he was aye thinkin' she was awa' wi' some o' her freens; it had not entered his head that there was murder or anything else o' that kind gaun on in the hoose.

‘In the course of the night you had heard squeals indicating that some person was in great distress, and you did not see your servant in the morning. Can you tell me why you didn't in these circumstances give information to the police?'

‘I didna think aboot anything at the time. I was aye lookin' for her coming back, and if any drink or anything had been gaun she might have been induced to go out and would be back and I never thocht of calling for the police. I was looking for her back every other minutes,' rambled the old man, ‘I thocht she would be back and it never occurred to me—trouble or murder or any such thing.'

‘Her going away was a very unexpected thing to you, was it not?'

Yes, it was, he said; so,
pace
Lord Deas, evidently young Fleming was not the only person who had heard nothing of any such plan.

‘When she didn't come back all Saturday,' insisted Mr Clark, ‘why didn't you send for the police?'

‘I didn't think of sending for them.'

‘And when she did not come back all Sunday—why didn't you send for the police?'

‘I kent Mr Fleming would be home on Monday,' said the old gentleman happily, ‘and would put a' things richt.'

They passed on to the basement where he had admittedly spent a good part of the three lonely days. ‘Was there anything in the kitchen that attracted your attention on the Saturday?'

‘There was naething.'

‘Nor upon the Sunday?'

‘Nae, nor upon the Sunday.'

‘Nor upon the Monday?'

‘Nor upon the Monday.'

‘You were a great deal in the kitchen during these three days?'

‘It was gey wat they days' (so much for the promise of that fair Saturday morning!), ‘and I was glad to go doon to heat ma cauld feet. I mended the fire in the morning. But it was in, so I just had to put on some coals.'

‘You kept the fire burning?'

‘Ay, and I put on a gathering coal at night.' A gathering coal was a large lump of coal for keeping in the kitchen fire overnight; we may recollect that Elizabeth Brownlie, sleeping in the basement next door, could sometimes hear the big coal being broken in the grate.

‘Did you see any blood in the kitchen?'

‘None.'

‘Did you see any blood on your shirts?'

‘When I was laying them by, there were two which were marked.'

‘Did you not think that queer?' said Mr Clark.

‘I never thocht of blood, or murder or ony trouble of that kind. It never struck me there would be anything which would cause blood.'

‘How do you account, Mr Fleming, for the blood on your shirts?'

Mr Fleming did not answer directly. ‘I know I mentioned to the Fiscal and them, him who was examining me, that I saw on one of the shirts something like paint or iron ore.' The two shirts were shown to him. ‘I see two of them marked red.'

‘That is what you saw?'

‘That is what I seed.'

‘Did you not think at the time that it might be blood?'

‘I thought at the time,' the old man admitted, ‘that it might be blood.'

‘When did you notice this blood on your shirts?'

‘On Saturday night, when I was laying them by.'

‘But then, Mr Fleming, when you saw the blood upon your shirts, how did you account for it being there?'

The old gentleman gave up the uneven struggle. ‘I can't say.'

‘Did you not think something was wrong?'

‘No, I didna,' he insisted. ‘It never entered ma heid.'

‘When you heard squeals of great distress and could not see Jessie, had not even seen her for a day, and also found her door locked as well as blood on your shirts—did you not, Mr Fleming, think that something was wrong?'

But no, said Mr Fleming; he had never thocht that anything was wrong.

‘It never occurred to you that anything was wrong?'

‘The squeals were only for a minute and I did not give heed to them. I never thocht on the matter.'

Mr Clark left it there and turned to more practical matters. ‘Why didn't you get Jessie's door opened?'

‘Mr Fleming opened it,' pointed out the old man, reasonably.

‘Why didn't
you
get it opened?' insisted Mr Clark, unimpressed by this argument.

‘I never had the recollection to take that key off the ither door. If I had thocht of it, I would have done it.'

‘Why didn't you send for someone to open it—you who are
accustomed to this sort of thing: to get doors opened and locks repaired …?'

This was a shrewd one. ‘All I can say is,' said Mr Fleming lamely, ‘that I didn't.'

‘When Darnley came upon Saturday, did you know he was a friend of Jessie's, and did he tell you that he was from Falkirk for the purpose of seeing her?'

‘He had been in toon along wi' ither twa young gentlemen who were waiting upon him when he came to the door'—this in fact was true; Mr Clark was not quite correct here, Darnley had not come specially to Glasgow to see Jessie—‘and he said he had to go away in the train at half-past eight o'clock. He, however, called again upon the Sunday, as I told you.'

‘Why didn't you tell Darnley Jessie was a-missing for so long a time?'

‘I did not tell him. I had no business to tell him.'

‘Weren't you anxious about Jessie?'

‘I was looking for her every minute to come back.'

‘Did he say he had stopped overnight to see Jessie?'

‘No, he never mentioned that.' And it had not in fact been the case; he said himself he had simply changed his mind and stayed the night with a friend. Mr Clark seems to have been in a slight muddle about Darnley.

‘Why didn't you tell him on Sunday night that she'd been away for two days?'

‘He only stopped a minute and I had no occasion to tell him.' (He stopped long enough, however, to ask where Jess was, whether she had gone to church, and if so, which way she was likely to come home: Mr Fleming himself had said so in answer to Mr Gifford.)

‘Was she ever out such a length of time before?'

‘She had often been out to see her friends; been out for the day.'

‘But she told you where she was going?'

‘Yes.'

‘Did you make enquiry at the shops about her?'

But Mr Fleming had not; nor had he mentioned her to Mr M'Allister whom he had met on Sunday on the way to church, nor had he said a word during his visits to the office to anyone, not even to his son's confidential clerk. ‘I was expecting her every
hour and every minute.' But he had shared his hopes of her return with no one.

‘When did you see your son first?'

‘Upon Monday after he came to his dinner, about four o'clock. I saw ma grandson at the same time—they both cam' hame togither.'

‘Yes. Now, Mr Fleming—did you look for silver spoons when you wanted to take your meals?'

‘No, I did not. I did not require them. I had a teaspoon; it was enough for me.'

‘What sort of a teaspoon was it?'

‘A silver teaspoon.'