A Dangerous Web
The next chapter in the adventures of Major Findo Gask and Erroll Rait begins not with a bang, but with a whisper—a whisper that draws them into the darkest corners of American history. Arriving in Washington D.C., the two friends are swiftly recruited by the famed Pinkerton agency, their mission nothing less than to prevent the impending assassination of President Abraham Lincoln.
But this is no simple task. As they peel back the layers of the plot, Gask and Rait discover a tangled web of intrigue far more complex than a fanatical actor and a group of vengeful Confederates. The conspiracy stretches far beyond what anyone could have imagined, its tendrils reaching into the highest echelons of power.
With every clue they follow, the stakes grow higher, the shadows deepen, and the truth becomes more chilling. They soon realise that it's not just Lincoln's life on the line, their own may also be forfeit.
A Dangerous Web
The next chapter in the adventures of Major Findo Gask and Erroll Rait begins not with a bang, but with a whisper—a whisper that draws them into the darkest corners of American history. Arriving in Washington D.C., the two friends are swiftly recruited by the famed Pinkerton agency, their mission nothing less than to prevent the impending assassination of President Abraham Lincoln.
But this is no simple task. As they peel back the layers of the plot, Gask and Rait discover a tangled web of intrigue far more complex than a fanatical actor and a group of vengeful Confederates. The conspiracy stretches far beyond what anyone could have imagined, its tendrils reaching into the highest echelons of power.
With every clue they follow, the stakes grow higher, the shadows deepen, and the truth becomes more chilling. They soon realise that it's not just Lincoln's life on the line, their own may also be forfeit.
Perthshire, Scotland: February, 1865
It was cold. But then, I thought, it’s always cold in February this far north. I involuntarily shivered as I strained with eager anticipation to find my fly in the swirling pool of the Gary burn, 20 yards away. In the last half hour I had watched three salmon jumping out of the burn as it rushed to feed the Tay downstream. Promising.
Although it was near freezing, I’d dressed warmly with a thick Fair Isle pullover and jacket so, despite the inclement weather, I was warm enough - although I must admit the fingers poking through my fingerless gloves were complaining.
The skies were grey and there were sprinkles of rain, perhaps snow, in the air. The mature trees ranging along the bank soughed in the wind as, every now and then, a bird swooped down to fly along the path of the burn, glorying in its freedom. The peace of the tree-lined banks, the freshness of the frigid air and the vibrancy of the on-rushing waters was like a balm to my soul.
I was standing about halfway into the burn, resting on a stout, lead-weighted shepherd’s crook that I had brought with me to provide stability in the water. I was also wearing a thick pair of Hodgman’s that my host had bought in America (a revolutionary idea that allowed the fisherman to wade into the river and reach further with his cast without getting wet). As I stood in the fast-running burn, the waters almost reached my waist and the strength of the current had me leaning into it to maintain my balance. My task was made more difficult by the rocky river bed which provided an inconsistent footing while the tumultuous, joyous charge of the river bubbled by as it pushed and shoved against me like a living thing battling for supremacy.
As I stood there, fighting the elements, my senses were overwhelmed with the clarity of the air, the force and stinging freshness of the rushing waters, the anticipation of doing battle with a noble salmon.
I had been invited north by an acquaintance of mine whom I had met recently in Edinburgh, one Alexander Stewart, the owner of Urrard estate near Killiecrankie and the historic House of Urrard. He owned fishing rights on the Gary burn that flowed through his property and he had taken me down to one of the pools, some half a mile from the house. With all that had been going on in my life, including the death of Mary∗, an escape to the country had seemed like a good idea.
I glanced back to check on Stewart. He was upstream, a hundred yards off, moving as I moved, his figure framed against the spray. He caught my eye, lifted a hand, and smiled. I returned the gesture—careless, stupid—because in that instant my shepherd’s crook slipped from my grip and clattered away downstream. My footing went with it.
The rocks beneath me shifted slick as ice, and suddenly the river seized its chance. The current lunged at my legs, driving me sideways. My arms windmilled, clawing for balance, but the water pressed harder, dragging me down into its freezing throat. I staggered, half-submerged, lungs burning with panic, the roar of the rushing water drowning every thought.
And then, above the cacophony of the water, a crack like splitting timber. For a moment, it was just another sound in the chaos. Only when I heaved myself upright, spluttering spray, did it register—Stewart was on the bank, sprinting toward me, his voice breaking through the roar of the fast-flowing burn: “Take cover!”.
I froze, confused, until I followed the direction of his pointing hand. Across the water, a figure crouched in the trees, ramming powder into a musket.
I thrashed toward the bank, the current clutching at my knees, then my waist, trying to drag me under again. Stewart waded in, seized me by the collar, and hauled me free just as the gunman raised his weapon.
The shot cracked. Stewart hurled me into the mud. A musket ball whined past and slammed into a tree, splinters raining across my back. Another miss, but too close.
When I looked again, the shadowy figure had vanished, swallowed by the tangle of branches. Only the blustery wind, the bubbling, helter-skelter surging water, and my own ragged breath remained. But I could still feel both enemies—the burn that had nearly claimed me, and the unseen man who still might.
“My God. What on earth was that about?” Stewart asked between gulps for breath.
“Have you seen him before?” I asked as I sucked in air.
“I really didn’t get that good a look at him but there was nothing familiar”, Stewart replied.
I shook my head, “Thank you, Stewart, I’m in your debt”.
“Not at all”, he replied, “Anyway, I think it was his marksmanship that saved you, not me. But who the hell was he? And why was he shooting at you?”.
“I’m not sure, but I have an idea. Let’s get back to the house. Suddenly salmon for dinner has lost its appeal”.
* * *
Back at the house, Stewart poured me a generous glass of whisky. We clinked our glasses with a Slàinte Mhath toast and I took a deep draft, the fiery amber liquid coursing down my throat, warming me as I recovered my composure in the safety of the big old house in front of a roaring fire.
“Well?” Stewart began.
“I think you know that I’m not flavour of the month with the TSD∗, Stewart. After the affair at Viewforth House and the death of their agent, my stock is not high. But there is no reason, other than simple vengeance, for them to want me dead and the only one of them that might have had a personal grudge is dead. I think that it may go back further”. I paused and leaned forward, “You’ll have to keep this to yourself, but I owe you an explanation”. Stewart nodded his acquiescence and I continued.
“Before Rait and I arrived in Edinburgh we were in Melbourne, Australia. It’s Rait’s home of course”.
“Yes, I know”.
“Well, the reason we’re here is because we were instrumental in breaking up a criminal gang in Melbourne and we helped the police seize their leaders. However, there are still members of the gang at large and the police suggested that we ‘disappear’ for a while until they had rounded them up”.
“You do lead an interesting life”, Stewart observed with a half smile, “And our mystery man is one of the gang, I suppose”.
“Possibly, although I can’t be sure” I responded, “I’m sorry to land you in the middle of it”.
“As my gillie would say, dinna fash yersel’ Major. Just let me know if I can help in any way”.
“I appreciate the offer old man but I think the best thing I can do right now is lie low until Rait and I flush him out”.
“You’re not going to the police?”, Stewart asked.
“Can’t see that they could do much even if they were interested. No, we need to bring him to heel ourselves or find a way to disappear again”, I replied.
“If he’s come this far, surely he’ll keep after you. Disappearing is hardly a viable long-term strategy, is it?” Stewart responded.
“Agreed, agreed”, I replied, but I had no fresh ideas at the time so wanted to finish the conversation, get back to Edinburgh and formulate a plan of action with Rait.
“My friend, I’ve been in worse jams. I’ll sort it out”. I drained my glass, smiled at Stewart and waved away further discussion.
∗ Mary Mitchell - see The Case of the Beth-el Stone
∗ the Topographical and Statistical Department of the War office, the forerunner of today’s Secret Service. See The Case of the Beth el Stone
1. Hodgman started in 1838 as a rubber manufacturer in Massachusetts, making the first-ever pair of waders.
2. The Urrard Estate was the site of the Battle of Killiecrankie in 1689, a battle won by the Jacobites under Bonnie Dundee. However, it was a pyrrhic victory, as Dundee was killed by a sniper shooting from the house during the battle and, without his charismatic leadership, the Jacobite cause never recovered.
The Case of the Hydegild Sacrifice by David Cairns of Finavon is part of the Major Gask & Erroll Rait Mysteries series. This is the fourth book in the series, and as such, it does contain some spoilers from the previous books. I would recommend reading them in order, but each book contains its own mystery, so it's possible to read them separately, if needed. The story is a fascinating combination of historical fiction and classic mystery. While much of the information is skillfully woven throughout the story, there are occasional footnotes given to offer readers additional historical context and helpful references to events in past books; these supply readers with any additional background information they might need without bogging down the narrative flow.
I was elated to find that the story references Pinkerton and some of his agents at the time! I read a book years ago called Girl in Disguise that mentioned Tim Webster. The Case of the Hydegild Sacrifice is unique in that it presents the story of a time of extreme uncertainty in American history from an outside source, a former British officer and his Australian companion. Major Gask and Erroll Rait are an entertaining pair, and their humor and insight make this a diverting read. In addition to the thrilling sense of adventure the story carries, Gask and Rait prove themselves to be very knowledgeable about the world around them, and I loved hearing their thoughts on the different topics that arose. In the story, Gask is the narrator, and his inquisitive yet mildly socially awkward nature finds him in some interesting situations. While not quite Sherlock Holmes, what Major Gask lacks in renown, he makes up for in persistence. He's always up for an adventure and meets some very interesting people in his travels. His title brings a level of intrigue that seems to draw attention and rumor alike, sometimes to his disadvantage. I liked getting a glimpse at his thoughts, as well as hearing his discussions with Rait and the others in the story.
Overall, I adored meeting the characters and enjoyed the conversational tone used to tell the story. The historical and mystery elements wove together beautifully and kept me glued to the pages. From the moment they met Mrs. Lewis, I was invested in the story and couldn't stop thinking about it. The mystery revealed itself slowly at first, but once I got to that point, I couldn't put it down because I had to know what would happen next!