At the sign just before Kingarth, I noticed a track leading past a group of standing stones. As I wobbled along, deciding this was a mistake and I would have to go back, at last I caught a glimpse of the sea. As I rode down the track that led down to the shore at Kilchattan Bay, I expected to be in the full force of the wind, but the inland bay provided protection and I eventually came to a signpost, which I welcomed: St Blane’s. Down another twisting track past ruined, roofless cottages, and as threatening clouds now erupted into fine rain, I decided I was hungry and this seemed the appropriate time to find shelter, however inadequate, don the rain cape and eat the hotel’s no doubt delicious sandwiches.
On closer inspection, the houses were sad indeed, with the ghost of a lost race of crofters who had been born, lived all their lives and died here. At last, I found one that had survived with the remnants of a roof. I pushed open the door to find myself in the ruins of a once proud room with tattered rags of a curtain fluttering pathetically on the paneless window, a chair with a leg missing, a shattered table, and in the fireplace, ashes as if someone before me had sought shelter here.
Consuming my sandwiches and the small bottle of milk thoughtfully provided by Harry, as the rain had momentarily ceased I did not linger: my ruined shelter was too depressing.
Onward to St Blane’s. A long track and through the trees a church spire visible against the sky. Parking the bicycle I climbed the steep hill, a pathway well worn by the feet of pilgrims through the ages, and found myself in a peaceful, rocky hollow with fine views out towards the sea and Arran. Once a monastery, the site about which I had read in the library last night was reputed to have been founded by Blane, who had come across from Ireland in the sixth century when Bute may have been as important as Iona in its earliest days.
My footsteps echoing loudly, I walked across old paving stones and, surrounded by an enclosure wall, in its midst sat the twelfth-century church built by the Fitz-Alan or Stewart family who had gained control of Bute at that time and had also built or rebuilt Rothesay Castle.
Strange, as if in welcome, as I stared up at the finely decorated Romanesque chancel arch, the clouds momentarily parted. A shaft of sunlight swiftly came. A moment of warmth and illumination, then as swiftly gone, but somehow I felt heartened by its brief presence. In that holy place, if I had been of a religious disposition I might have concluded that it had brought a message of faith and hope.
On the way down to collect the bicycle, I noticed that the graveyard held some interesting medieval stones, but with a cold wind stirring last year’s autumn leaves about my feet, I reckoned that I had had sufficient melancholy for the day.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
There was now little human habitation in the area and I turned my thoughts to Kilchattan, fully aware that with not even a certain name I could hardly knock at the doors of the scattered houses in the hope of finding the one where Lady Vantry had deposited a small girl who could not even remember her foster parents’ surname. Sadie thought it might be Brown, but wasn’t sure. Her recollections of that particular period of her life were vague in the extreme, one was her father’s occasional smiling presence. It was not at all unusual that in common with so many others, her childhood unhappy memories had been safely buried. The chances of anyone knowing the present whereabouts of those foster parents believed to have gone to Glasgow were doubtful in the extreme. And I couldn’t quite see myself asking for Doris, who I suspected was her real mother, bringing her sweeties and sobbing over her more than thirty years ago.
Heading towards Kilchattan Bay, with no plausible excuse for my visit without revealing the true reason, as the wind would now be behind me and heedless of warning, I decided to take the coast road back towards Rothesay.
As I rode, again struck by the insanity of my mission, depressed by the cold, grey day that had sunk its melancholy deep into my bones with enough rain to dampen any enthusiasm, I realised the utmost hopelessness of ever finding the mysterious Doris, or the Boyd sisters still at their address of two decades ago – said vaguely to be in Kilchattan Bay. As it drew nearer, the fact that islanders often spent their entire lives, from birth to death, in the same house gave me little heart, and if by some miracle the sisters opened their door, my presence still needed a lot of explaining, providing a logical reason for delving into their unhappy past.
I was within sight of the little township when I felt an ominous drag on my pedalling. A sound I knew only too well. The rough tracks to which I should have had more sense than to subject the machine’s wheels had caused a slow puncture. This was disaster indeed. However, in the small cluster of houses, there was a general store and it was open. Behind the counter stood a white-haired woman, fresh-faced, stout and friendly.
She seemed surprised to see a stranger. ‘What an awful day. Have you come far?’ I told her from Rothesay. She smiled. ‘On holiday, are you, from Glasgow?’ I said Edinburgh.
‘This your first visit? How long are you staying?’
I told her it was supposed to be until the weekend and looking towards the window, she sighed. ‘Oh, I’ve no doubt you’ll be with us in Rothesay for a day or two longer once this storm gets under way and the ferries are cancelled.’
I said at this moment I was even more likely to be remaining in Kilchattan as I had travelled all the way to St Blane’s on a bicycle.
‘Riding a bicycle, were you?’ In an amazed glance she took in my small frame and my unruly yellow curls to which the rain had done no favours. A female bicyclist, and obviously the first of this new breed she had ever encountered. Her eyebrows raised as I said:
‘Yes, and I have had a puncture.’
‘Oh, you poor lass.’
‘Is there anyone who could mend it?’ I asked desperately. ‘It’s a long walk back to Rothesay.’
She tut-tutted sympathetically. ‘The blacksmith down the road. Bill – I’m sure he’ll be able to do something. Excuse me a moment.’ She lifted a curtain behind her and called, ‘Albert!’
A bespectacled, studious-looking young lad appeared, book in his hand, frowning, obviously not happy at being interrupted. She quickly explained the situation and Albert followed us outside and, without a word, seized the bicycle and departed, pushing it down the road. Watching him, she smiled at me.
‘This won’t take long, I’m sure.’ And she ushered me indoors again: ‘Now, I know what you would like, miss. A nice cup of tea.’
‘More than anything. Thank you,’ I sighed. Back in the shop, pulling aside a curtain, she said: ‘Come along, this is where we live.’
Following her, I was in a large room, comfortably furnished with bookshelves on one wall, and a window overlooking the sea. There were more premises to be revealed, a door leading into two bedrooms and what I needed most, a washroom.
‘We had that put in after a wee holiday in Glasgow,’ she said proudly. ‘They were all the rage, height of fashion. Not many of those around in Bute, or even on the mainland, those days.’
I made good use of it and returned to a table spread with teapot, pretty china and a tray of freshly baked scones with jam and cream to go with them.
‘Awful weather, raining again,’ she said, while I sighed contentedly over my second scone. Introductions over, I was interested in Mrs Forsyth and busy with my observation and deduction. She didn’t sound local, and from the line of books, here was a cultured, well-educated woman, isolated in the depths of Bute.
I had to know more. ‘You are not from these parts, are you?’
She smiled. ‘Well, after twenty-five years, I feel like a native.’
My spirits rose. Here was a shred of hope as she said: ‘I’m from Edinburgh originally, met my husband on a holiday here in Bute.’ Pausing, she shook her head sadly and I knew what the next words would be. ‘He died ten years ago, but I decided to stay. We had the little shop, you know. We had both been teachers and fell in love with Bute, we didn’t mind the isolation.’ She sighed. ‘We were happy and content here. Never had any childr
en, but after a while, that’s something you accept. “The good Lord’s will”, my man used to say. It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? Folk either have great big families these days or none at all.’
I was smiling, listening to her while trying to frame words by which I might introduce the Browns and the Boyd sisters into the conversation. I could think of nothing adequate and Albert came back, rather wet, but with the bicycle repaired. He handed me back my coin: ‘Bill said he didn’t want the young lady’s money. It was a pleasure to help a stranger,’ and with a glance at me, he added embarrassedly, ‘especially a young lady in distress.’
I smiled. ‘Then you can keep the coin. As a thank you for taking my bicycle down the road and back.’
The coin was gratefully acknowledged while he gave the machine a wistful look and sighed. ‘I want one of those someday, Aunty.’
Mrs Forsyth laughed. ‘When you are a bit older and a bit bigger, Albert, we’ll see about that.’
About to leave, making it look like an afterthought, I said: ‘A friend of mine in Edinburgh once stayed here, years ago, with some folk called Brown, near St Blane’s. I think it was Kilchattan.’
She thought for a moment and shook her head. ‘There were Browns but they left before my time, I only heard of them. I didn’t know they took in boarders.’ She laughed. ‘D’you know, I’d be surprised if they were the same folk. You see, they had connections with the Vantrys up at St Colmac, you know, upper-class folk.’
‘Oh, Brown is a common name,’ I said, but Vantry was a thread I didn’t want to lose. ‘But my friend used to get Christmas cards from two sisters she had met during her stay, Mavis and Ellen Boyd.’
It was a long shot, but it paid.
She sighed. ‘Oh yes, the poor Miss Boyds. One of them died suddenly. They were very devoted, more like twins, really. Never married and poor Ellen never got over losing Mavis, who had always taken care of her. They were in service together and Ellen was never very strong herself, took depression after her sister died and couldn’t live here alone any longer. Wasn’t able to look after herself, her mind just went all to pieces. She’s in a home in Rothesay.’
Rothesay, I thought. And I had come all this way. ‘When did this happen?’
She frowned. ‘Mavis took heart failure and died on a visit to Vantry with Ellen. Both had been maids there once and hearing about her ladyship’s accident, were determined to go and see her again.’
She frowned. ‘The sisters were having a rough time here, no work and no money. We all hoped that having been devoted to Lady Vantry, now that she was disabled, she might take Mavis back as her lady’s maid and take on Ellen too.’
She looked sad. ‘Such a tragedy, it was. Poor Ellen was heartbroken, used to say she wished she was dead too, that she had nothing to live for with Mavis gone.’ She shook her head. ‘She wasn’t all that old, just in her late forties, but it was the finish of her too.’
Time to leave, and giving my thanks, Albert came to the door. ‘I’ll just see the lady away, Aunty, see she gets on the right road.’
‘You’re a good lad,’ Mrs Forsyth shouted and waved goodbye.
‘Watch your step, miss, the roads are very bad and you don’t want another puncture. Can I push your bicycle?’ he added wistfully.
‘Of course you can.’ He took it from me and said: ‘One day I will have one of these, Aunty Doris has promised – for my fourteenth birthday.’
I wondered if I had heard right. ‘Aunty Doris, is that her name?’
He grinned. ‘She’s a kind lady, miss. More like a mother. I lost my own when I was little and she’s always taken care of me.’
I looked back at the house. Doris, indeed. Was she the one I had been looking for? I went over our conversation but decided there had been no clue that this could be the same woman who had wept over Sadie and brought her sweeties.
As I followed the signpost’s directions and took the road north to Rothesay, the sad story of the Boyd sisters had me feeling that my visit hadn’t been a complete waste of time. Even the punctured wheel had been a blessing in disguise, leading me to the kindly Mrs Forsyth. Doris was a common enough name, another coincidence, and Sadie, I resolved, would have no reason to wonder if I had stumbled on her real mother.
That fund of local information was an unexpected boon, but although Mrs Forsyth had been somewhat vague about the Browns, knowing that Ellen Boyd was in a nursing home in Rothesay was very useful indeed, and made the cycle ride all the way in rather foul weather very rewarding. There wouldn’t be many such homes in Rothesay and I would search out Ellen for a visit.
I now had the wind behind me; a glimpse of the beach at Strathvallan, so bleak and unappealing, menaced by the waves of an angry sea that looked even more threatening than when I left this morning, brought anxious thoughts about the weather. Would it have cleared and the ferries be running to Wemyss Bay when we were due to take our departure?
I dismounted at the crossroads and considering the black clouds heralded another bout of rain, decided to head back as quickly as possible and abandon my original plan of taking the attractive coastal road, especially as there was little to consider scenic on a day like this and it was too late for a look at Mount Stuart. So I turned west, took the inland route to Kerrycroy, where according to the hotel map there was a road from Ascog Bridge to Rothesay.
Returning the bicycle to the shop, the owner gave my bedraggled appearance a sympathetic grin. ‘You could have chosen a better day, missus.’
I was inclined to agree, but there was another crisis waiting for me. In reception, a notice saying the ferries to Wemyss Bay had been cancelled for the meantime because of the high winds.
That was bad enough, but there was another crisis for which I was completely unprepared.
Sadie was ill.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Sadie was still in bed where I had left her that morning. She opened her eyes as if it was too much of an effort:
‘Had a good day?’ Any further questions and my reply were cut short by a bout of coughing. When that subsided she smiled weakly, but said she was still feeling quite poorly.
I looked at a tray of untouched food. ‘Have you eaten anything today?’
She shook her head. ‘Don’t feel like eating, my throat’s too sore. Harry brought this and said bed was the best place for me. I should stay here until I felt better. And the rest would do me good,’ she added forlornly. ‘Harry is so concerned, he was so anxious—’
The rest was lost in another coughing bout. ‘Oh dear, Rose, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,’ she wailed. ‘I’m really feeling so awful, I’m not well.’ She looked far from well, and when I touched her forehead, it was hot.
She had a temperature. Harry had been right and I realised she had better remain where she was and hope that it would not get any worse.
In despair as I retreated to my own room to change out of my damp clothes, I had to face the fact that, in addition to the cancelled ferries, the possibility that Sadie was quite ill might conspire to make us remain in Bute, on an enforced stay longer than we intended.
I certainly couldn’t leave her here, and all thoughts of tracking down Ellen Boyd and those other loose ends regarding the Worths and Vantry, all ideas of solving a mystery disappeared rapidly from my mind, substituted by a grimmer picture. Jack and his parents arriving in an empty house, and Meg not prepared for school after the break.
I was hungry after my day’s activities. In the restaurant as I ordered supper, Harry came over. Gerald was at his side and regarded my damp curls ruefully.
‘A successful day?’ he said. ‘Did you enjoy St Blane’s despite the weather?’
Harry looked anxious and interrupted to ask: ‘Is Sadie feeling any better? I’ve looked in once or twice but she was sleeping and I didn’t want to disturb her. Sleep is the best cure for all ills. What did you think? Is she still feeling poorly?’
‘She is a bit under the weather.’ At this stage I preferred not to put int
o words my suspicions that she had a fever.
He nodded and said firmly: ‘You are not to worry, Mrs Macmerry. She can stay here until she’s feeling fitter.’ A glance at Gerald. ‘We will look after her. It need not change your plans to go home, as soon as the ferries are running again. Rest assured, we will take good care of her.’
I did not doubt that Harry would take care of her personally. He added that they had given her some medicine from the cupboard kept in the hotel for emergencies, powders for guests with bad colds and sore throats.
‘We’ll see how she is in the morning,’ he added consolingly.
I had nightmares that night and even wondered if I was coming down with some illness myself. At dawn I crept into her bedroom. She was asleep, moving restlessly and sweating, she seemed much worse.
What a time to take ill, always so healthy and robust, never even a headache much less a head cold in the few years she had been with us at Solomon’s Tower, so how on earth had she taken a feverish illness?
When I went down to breakfast, Harry was talking to Dr Wills who I had met briefly at the Clovis party. He had been doing his weekly visit to Uncle Godwin so I asked him to have a look at Sadie.
Harry had already done so. He sounded worried, whether on behalf of his uncle, who was always complaining, or Sadie, who was really unwell, as I followed them upstairs.
I waited in my room until Dr Wills emerged. His examination was brief. Putting away his stethoscope he shook his head and said: ‘I am afraid she has all the symptoms of influenza and she will certainly have to stay in bed until we get her temperature down. I have left a prescription of powders for her, not that it will help much, these things take their own time. The body works it out better than any doctor’s medicine,’ he said by way of consolation. ‘No need for anxiety, Mrs Macmerry. Miss Brook is a strong young woman, she will survive. She couldn’t go anywhere at the moment, anyway, with the ferries being cancelled. I’ll look in when I’m passing later and check her temperature.’
Murder Lies Waiting Page 12