by Emma Fraser
‘If she’s ill someone will call us,’ Dr Alan replied calmly.
‘Unless she’s thrown herself off the pier,’ Dolina said, her mouth set in a grim line.
Margaret shuddered. She hadn’t thought of that. It was a possibility.
‘Or fallen in a bog,’ Dolina added. ‘Even with a moon you can’t always see where to put your feet.’
‘Dolina, I think we could do with less of your gloomy predictions,’ Dr Alan interrupted. ‘Could you fetch Effie please? Tell her to come as quickly as she can. When you’ve done that, go and fetch Mrs Linklater. Then knock up Constable Watt. Tell him he’s needed but don’t tell him why.’
‘I’ll go as soon as I’ve got something to put this wee mite in.’ She returned a few minutes later with an empty drawer. When the baby was settled in his makeshift bed she hurried out, muttering under her breath.
Dr Alan rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful. ‘Right, later on we’ll have to decide what to do with him. In the meantime, there’s still the matter of getting him fed. Someone who has just had a baby might help us out with some milk. Effie will know who all the nursing mothers are.’
Needing something to do, Margaret made a pot of tea. She’d only just poured herself and Dr Alan each a cup when Effie arrived.
‘What’s going on? Dolina said something about a baby.’ She looked at the drawer with the sleeping child inside. ‘Good grief. Where’s the mother? Is the baby all right?’
‘Seems to be. But when he wakes he’s going to be hungry. Is there a woman nearby who’s still nursing?’ Margaret asked.
‘Donalda has just had her fifth. She’s not far from here.’
‘Would you mind asking her if she has milk to spare for the baby. If she agrees she can express some.’
‘I think I have some spare bottles in the treatment room. I’ll make sure they’re sterilised.’ Effie bustled out just as Dolina reappeared.
‘That policeman sleeps like the dead. Had to give his windows a good rattle to wake him. He’s on his way.’
‘Good.’ Dr Alan got to his feet and stretched. ‘I might as well get shaved and dressed in the meantime. It’s going to be another busy day.’
While he was upstairs, Sophie Linklater arrived. Margaret had met the minister’s wife several times, and anyone less likely to ‘have her guts for garters’ as Dr Alan had put it the day Margaret had arrived on the islands, she couldn’t imagine. Sophie was short and plump with twinkling eyes, almost the polar opposite to her husband, the minister, who was tall and gaunt and had the largest pair of hands Margaret had ever seen on a man.
It was dawn by the time everyone, with the exception of the policeman, had gathered again. Effie had acquired enough breast milk from Donalda for the first feed and had arranged to return later to collect more. With no refrigerator to store the milk it was the only way to be safe.
Once the bottle was prepared, Sophie took the baby with the confidence of a woman used to handling infants.
They watched in silence as the baby sucked contentedly on the bottle.
‘Any ideas as to whom he might belong?’ Margaret asked.
‘Donalda didn’t seem to know,’ Effie replied. She slid a glance at Dr Alan. ‘Obviously I had to tell her, Dr Alan, why I needed her to express her milk.’
Sophie looked up from the feeding child. ‘It’s probably a good thing that news gets out sooner rather than later. We have a better chance of finding out who the mother is that way.’
‘Surely someone will know? It’s not that easy to disguise a full-term pregnancy,’ Margaret said.
‘But not impossible. Not if the woman was plump or if she covered up in big jumpers. And not all of the croft houses are close to others. Some are fairly isolated,’ Effie said.
‘But even the most isolated crofters have to come in for supplies —’
Effie nodded. ‘And if the mother’s mother is alive, then it would be hard to deceive her. You don’t go and have several children without recognising the symptoms of pregnancy in your own child.’
While the others had been away, Margaret had been thinking. ‘Perhaps we can work out who the mother is by eliminating who she isn’t. We exclude all families where there’s been a live birth recently or where the women in the home are past child-bearing age. We concentrate on families with daughters who aren’t married.’
‘That’s assuming the mother is young. It’s equally possible that the mother already has a large family and the thought of coping with one more was simply the final straw,’ Sophie said. ‘What do you think, Effie?’
Effie laid her cup on the table. ‘How many women of child-bearing age live on North Uist and Berneray? Hundreds, anyway. And that’s assuming she didn’t bring the child from Benbecula or one of the other Uists to throw people off the scent.’
‘I think we should start by looking through our list of patients to see who was due to deliver about now,’ Margaret suggested. ‘The child is clearly at term.’
Effie looked doubtful. ‘I’ll give it a go but I don’t know how useful it will be. There are likely to be pregnant women on the island who have never come to see us.’
They looked at each other glumly. The task they’d set for themselves seemed impossible.
‘We could cut the numbers down to begin with. Think, why would a woman give up her child?’ Sophie suggested.
‘Because she has no choice.’ It was the first time Dolina had spoken since they’d started discussing the baby. ‘Because she’s frightened or thinks it’s the best thing to do for the child.’
Margaret was surprised. Her crusty, Bible-preaching housekeeper was the last person she’d have thought sympathetic to the woman’s plight.
‘You’re right, of course, Dolina. So what could those reasons be? Especially here?’
‘Someone who can’t cope. Whose husband has passed away and who is struggling to make ends meet. Someone who is worried she can’t feed or clothe the child or keep it warm…’ Dolina clamped her lips together as if sorry she’d spoken.
‘That makes sense. No one springs to mind but let’s try and make a list,’ Effie said, looking pleased that she at last had something constructive to do. ‘We can start by identifying any women whose husband has died recently.’
‘Well there’s —’ Sophie started.
‘Please. Don’t say,’ Margaret interrupted. ‘When we do find the woman, it’s better that no one knows who she is.’
Effie and Sophie exchanged glances. ‘My dear, if you really think that the whole island won’t know who she is almost as soon as we do then you haven’t learned very much while you’ve been here. This baby is going to be the talk of the town. They won’t have had such juicy gossip since Dòmhnaill Eoghainn’s bull went missing and was found in George Mor’s field.’
‘There’s another possibility,’ Margaret suggested. ‘The mother could have fallen pregnant by accident. Perhaps she’s been hiding her pregnancy from her parents. Or perhaps they found out and made her give it up.’
Effie and Sophie shook their heads. ‘No. That wouldn’t happen. As you can imagine, there are as many children here born on the wrong side of the blanket as there must be in Glasgow. The parents might be disappointed, angry even, but they always take on the child. There’s many a man or woman whose aunt or big sister is really their mother. They look after their own here.’
A loud banging on the door interrupted their speculations and they all looked at each other as Dolina hurried to answer it. A few moments later she reappeared with a policeman following close on her heels.
Constable Watt was an older man in his fifties with a red-veined face and a stomach that protruded over the top of his belt. Whatever else he’d been doing while they’d waited for him, he’d taken the time to shave. Seeing a policeman in uniform made Margaret feel slightly nauseous.
‘I’d like a word with the doctors.’ Constable Watt stuck out his chest. ‘Alone.’
‘Oh, get off your high horse, Ewan.’ Dr Alan said,
coming back into the kitchen. ‘We’re all here so you might as well say what you have to in front of us all. Dolina, would you mind fetching the constable a dram. Anyone else?’
When the women shook their heads, Dolina crossed over to the side table and poured a whisky for the policeman and Dr Alan.
‘Thank you, Dolina. You may leave us.’
Dolina looked put out, but did as she was asked.
‘I understand a baby has been found.’ The constable took a large sip of his whisky before removing his notebook and pencil from his top pocket. He licked the pencil. ‘Who found it?’
Margaret recounted the events of the night as succinctly as she could.
‘And you have no idea who might have left it there?’
‘Him, Ewan. Him. It’s a boy,’ Sophie interjected.
‘Name?’
‘You know our names,’ Sophie said with obvious irritation.
‘Name of the child.’
‘He hasn’t a name. At least, not one we know.’
‘I need a name.’
‘Then call him Ruaridh. That will do for now.’
‘And no one has any idea who he belongs to?’
‘No. We’re just discussing who the mother might be,’ Effie said. ‘Poor thing. She must have been desperate.’
‘When we find her she’s going to be in serious trouble.’ The policeman squared his shoulders. ‘It’s a criminal offence to conceal a pregnancy. I checked. I’m sure it must be another offence to abandon your child.’
‘Whatever the reasons she left the child on my doorstep, I think we should wait to find out what they are before we pass judgement,’ Margaret snapped, outraged that the policeman was more concerned with prosecuting the woman than finding her. ‘We do need to find her, not so you can charge her or lock her up, but because it’s likely she’ll need medical attention. She could be out there bleeding to death.’
‘The law is the law,’ the policeman replied, unperturbed by her reaction. ‘I don’t make it, just uphold it.’
‘You’re not quite so keen on upholding it when it comes to the licensing laws, Ewan,’ Dr Alan said quietly. ‘Many’s a night I’ve been out on a visit and seen your bicycle propped up against the wall of the Lochmaddy Hotel long after closing time. And as for the illicit still your brother has in his byre…’
The policeman glared at Margaret as if it was her fault the doctor had reprimanded him, no matter how gently.
‘Dr Margaret is correct,’ Dr Alan continued. ‘We need to find the mother of this baby so we can ensure she gets the medical help she needs, and to see if mother and baby can be reunited. There’s always a chance she’s decided to do away with herself – if she hasn’t done so already. We will need your help to look for her.’
‘In fact, shouldn’t you be doing that right now, Constable?’ Margaret asked, acutely aware that time was passing. Every minute the woman was out there without medical attention might mean the difference between life and death for her.
‘Look? And where do you suggest I start, Miss? There are hundreds of lochs and bogs – it would be like looking for a needle in the proverbial haystack. If she’s thrown herself into the sea she’ll wash up soon enough.’
‘It’s Dr Murdoch,’ Margaret said, putting emphasis on her title. ‘Until you find a body, you shouldn’t assume she’s planning to kill herself. You should assume that she’s still alive and be looking for clues as to where she might have gone, starting with near my cottage.’
‘Dr Margaret is quite right, Ewan. Gather some of the men and start a search. We’ll find out soon enough who she is and why she felt the need to abandon her baby.’
He waited until the policeman had left before continuing. ‘In the meantime we have to decide what to do with the boy. He can’t stay here. We should send him to Glasgow.’
‘Oh, let’s not send the wee thing anywhere, Dr Alan,’ Effie protested. ‘The mother is bound to be charged then and might never get her baby back. He’ll disappear into one of these children’s homes and never be seen again.’
‘None of this helps us decide what to do with the child now,’ Sophie said, placing the feeding bottle on the table. The baby had had his fill and had fallen asleep again. ‘I don’t think we should even consider sending him to Glasgow for a week or two at the earliest.’ She ran a feather-light fingertip across his cheek. ‘Oh, he’s such a sweet little thing.’
‘Can’t you keep him in the meantime, Sophie?’ Effie asked. ‘I’d take him myself but I’ve visits to do today. Donalda doesn’t stay far away so it would be easy for her to bring milk over to the Manse. The mother could still come forward. Then perhaps there will be no need to send the baby anywhere.’
Sophie looked down at the sleeping child in her arms. ‘Of course I’ll look after him, until you find the mother.’ She tightened the shawl around him and stood. ‘I’d better get him home. If you have any news you will let me know? The minister will want to do what he can.’
‘Does she have children of her own?’ Margaret asked after Sophie had left.
Effie and Dr Alan exchanged a glance. ‘No, she doesn’t,’ Effie said, ‘and it’s been her cross to bear. But she’s part of a large family and knows how to care for a baby.’
Dr Alan rubbed a hand across his jaw and pushed himself out of his chair. ‘That’s settled then. Now I need to leave to do the clinic in Berneray and you, Margaret, have surgery here.’ He took his watch from his pocket. ‘Starting in an hour.’
Chapter 33
The news that a baby had been found on the doctor’s doorstep spread across the island with a speed that, even with her knowledge of how quickly the islanders learned what was happening in their community, still astonished Margaret. Every single patient who attended surgery that morning, and there were several more than usual, asked about the infant. One old lady, to Margaret’s secret amusement, even suggested that the fairies had left it.
The day, which had started calm and crisp, had turned wet and blustery. Men from the township had been searching the lochs and moors all day without success and it would soon be dark. If the mother was out there somewhere and still alive, she might not be for very much longer.
Margaret was on her way in to the surgery after her home visits to write up her notes when she bumped into a distracted-looking Dr Alan in the hall, his dogs around his feet.
‘Ah, Margaret. I was wondering where you’d got to. And where’s Dolina when I need her? The police inspector from South Uist is here. He wants to speak to you.’
Margaret’s heart jolted painfully. Dear God, Sinclair had finally realised who she was and told the police and – her heart gave another sickening lurch – possibly her father.
‘What on earth is wrong with you? You’ve gone as white as a sheet. Here. Sit down, before you fall down.’ He ushered her into one of the chairs in the hall that they used for the overflow of patients waiting to see the doctor. ‘Put your head between your knees.’ He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. ‘Dolina!’ he bellowed. ‘Where in God’s name are you?’
Dolina emerged from the kitchen wiping her hands on a cloth. ‘There’s no need to shout. I was out getting some peats. What is it?’ Her voice softened. ‘Dr Margaret! I told you you didn’t eat enough. Come away into the kitchen and have some soup. Dr Alan, don’t just stand there gawping. Help me get her into the kitchen. What will the patients think if they see the doctor like this!’
Margaret raised her head and forced a smile. ‘I’m all right, Dolina. It was just a moment’s dizziness. Why don’t you make the police inspector’s tea?’ She had to get Dolina out of the way so she could speak to Dr Alan in private. If she was about to be uncovered, she wanted him to hear the story from her first.
‘A police inspector! At this time of day!’ Dolina cried. As if there were an appropriate time of day for police to call. ‘What does he want? Have they found that poor woman? Is she dead?’
Dr Alan frowned. ‘He has come about that, not that it is any of your
concern, Dolina. Now where’s that tea? Or do I have to go and make it myself?’
Margaret grasped at Dr Alan’s words. Of course! The policeman had come about the baby – not about her. She had to pull herself together.
‘You’ll not put a foot in my kitchen. The last time you tried to make some tea it was like dishwater. And the mess! Pigs in a sty make less.’ Still muttering, she retreated, leaving Dr Alan and Margaret alone.
‘Is it true? Has he come about the baby?’ Margaret murmured. Thankfully the dizziness and the feeling of nausea were easing.
‘So he says. He’d like to speak to you. Damn waste of time if you ask me.’
The relief made her head swim again. He wasn’t here about her. At least not yet.