The Shipbuilder’s Daughter

by Emma Fraser

  Chapter 35

  In the end it wasn’t any of their lists or the search party that led to the discovery of Ruaridh’s mother. A couple of days after the women had met, Margaret was asked to visit a young girl with cerebral palsy who, according to the father who’d sent the telegram, was burning up with fever. He wanted, he said, either the nurse or the woman doctor.

  Effie offered to go, but she was due to do the clinic on Berneray alongside Dr Alan, so it was agreed that Margaret would attend instead.

  The cottage where her patient lived was a couple of miles across the moors from Lochmaddy. It was an unusually warm and sunny day for the time of year so Margaret decided to forgo Dobbin and walk instead. It took a while for her to find the house and she stumbled across it almost by accident. Like most of the croft houses here it was close to the sea, its back facing Eaval, the largest hill on North Uist. Almost hidden in a little dip in the land, it was isolated, with nothing to obstruct its view in any direction.

  The father was sitting outside mending some creels. He stood up as Margaret approached and came forward to greet her.

  ‘Thank you for coming so soon, Doctor. I’m Alec, Kirsty’s father. I would have called you out a day or two ago, but I thought comfrey tea might settle things.’

  It wasn’t uncommon for the islanders to try their own remedies before giving in and calling the doctor. Although under the new scheme, visits from the doctor were free, habits of a lifetime where half-crowns were carefully put aside for the doctor – only to be used in an emergency – were hard to break.

  ‘Where is Kirsty?’

  Anxiety furrowed his brow. ‘Ciorstag’s inside. In bed. It’s not like her.’

  ‘Shall we go in and see her?’

  He cleared his throat. ‘She’s not like others her age. She’s a bit simple-minded, more like a child than a young woman. Her mother had a difficult time of it when Kirsty was born – the nurse thought her brain might have been starved of oxygen – she took so long to come out. Her hand’s never been right either – but you’ll see that for yourself.’

  ‘Thank you for telling me. I’ll be as gentle with her as I can.’

  ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with her. I hope it’s not the scarlet fever. Although I don’t know where she could have got that.’

  ‘I think it’s best I have a look at her before we start thinking of what it could be.’

  ‘Aye, well. I don’t know what I would do if I lost her after losing her mother and her brother. She’s all I have left.’

  ‘Why don’t I go and see her before we start imagining the worst?’

  ‘Come on in, then.’ He stood at the foot of a narrow stair and called up. ‘Ciorstag, it’s the doctor here to see you.’ He added something in Gaelic, before translating. ‘I told her I’m sending you up. She told me she doesn’t want me there. Just go to the top and turn right.’

  ‘Could you bring me a bowl of hot water to take up with me, so I can wash my hands?’ Margaret asked.

  Alec hurried away and as she waited for him, she took in her surroundings. The wallpaper in the hall was faded and worn, much like the rug running up the stairs, but there were a few feminine touches here and there, such as the faded pictures on the wall, that suggested that the house had once been loved and cared for.

  When Alec returned, she took the basin from him and, with it balanced in one hand, walked up the stairs.

  The bedroom was a bit of a mess. Clearly neither Kirsty nor her father were much interested in housework. It smelled of damp and, despite the sunshine outside, was chilly.

  Kirsty was sitting up in bed, her face flushed with fever. She was about twenty with silky brown hair, large grey eyes and a heart-shaped face. Although she was plump, she was also one of the most beautiful women Margaret had ever seen.

  ‘Hello, Kirsty. That’s a lovely name, by the way. How are you today? I’m Dr Murdoch but you can call me Dr Margaret if you like.’

  ‘I know who you are. The new lady doctor.’ Her speech was slightly slurred, her right hand twisted out of shape, and one shoulder slightly higher than the other.

  ‘Now, you mustn’t be frightened. I just want to have a little look at you. Your father tells me you haven’t been well.’ When she took out her stethoscope and placed the ear buds in her ears, Kirsty reared back in fear.

  ‘Haven’t you seen one of these before?’

  Kirsty shook her head. ‘Devil’s horns.’

  She had to remember that Kirsty probably thought and behaved like someone of a mental age well below her actual age. She should treat her as she would a child.

  ‘They won’t hurt you, I promise.’ She removed the stethoscope and held it out. ‘I can listen to your heart with this. More importantly, I can listen to your chest. I can hear if you have a bad cold – or flu, for example. You can try them yourself if you like.’

  Kirsty shook her head.

  ‘In that case, let me feel your pulse first.’ She picked up Kirsty’s wrist and felt the radial pulse with her two fingers. It was rapid and bounding. Everything pointed to Kirsty having an infection, but she still had to establish what was causing it before she could decide how to treat it.

  ‘Now I do need to listen to your chest. Would you like me to ask your father to come upstairs?’

  Kirsty shook her head again, more vigorously this time.

  ‘All you have to do is lean forward, lift your nightie for me and say ninety-nine while I put this,’ Margaret pointed to the end of the stethoscope, ‘against your back. Then I’ll listen to your front. How does that sound?’

  Kirsty still seemed reluctant but she did as Margaret asked. As she leaned forward, she winced.

  ‘Is it sore when you do that?’

  ‘My boobies hurt.’

  Alarm bells were beginning to go off in Margaret’s head. ‘Why don’t you lift your nightie at the front and let me see?’

  Very carefully, Kirsty pulled up her nightdress. Her breasts were swollen, the left one hard and red with lines radiating off from the nipple. It was either a cancerous lump or a breast abscess. But Kirsty’s nipples were darkly pigmented, something that usually happened in pregnancy.

  Margaret sucked in a breath. Was it possible that she was looking at Ruaridh’s mother? She was plump, and it was entirely possible that her father hadn’t noticed she was pregnant – possible even that Kirsty herself hadn’t been aware that she was until she’d gone into labour. Margaret had to tread carefully. She had to be sure before she jumped to any conclusions.

  ‘When did you notice your breasts were sore?’ she asked.

  Kirsty shook her head. ‘Don’t know. They only got sore a little while ago after…’ She clamped a hand over her mouth.

  ‘After what, Kirsty? It’s all right, you can tell me.’

  She shook her head again. ‘I’m not supposed to tell.’

  Perhaps Kirsty’s father had noticed she was pregnant. Perhaps it had been him who had made her give the child away. He might have felt that the two of them couldn’t cope on their own.

  ‘Kirsty, would you mind if I rolled down your pants so I can see your tummy?’

  ‘No. I don’t want you to. It’s dirty. I’m a dirty girl.’

  ‘I promise you I don’t think you’re a dirty girl. Let’s just have a quick look.’

  As soon as she peeled down Kirsty’s pants and saw the line of pigmentation running up to her navel she knew her suspicions were correct. Kirsty had recently been pregnant.

  ‘Very well, Kirsty, you can pull your pants up. You’ve been a brave girl.’ She washed her hands, using the time to decide whether to speak to Kirsty or to tackle the father. Given her patient’s mental age, the father had to be informed. She decided to speak to Kirsty first. She might never have another chance to get her alone.

  ‘Kirsty, I think you have had a baby recently. Am I correct?’

  ‘No. No baby.’ She cast a frightened glance at the door.

  ‘But Kirsty, I know you have. A doctor can t
ell, you see. Can you tell me what happened to it?’

  Kirsty’s face crumpled and she started wailing. Moments later her father appeared in the doorway. He said something to his daughter in Gaelic, but Kirsty kept sobbing, refusing to look at him.

  ‘What’s the matter with her? Did you hurt her? Did you say something you shouldn’t?’

  ‘Mr Stuart – Alec, I think you should sit down. I have something very serious I need to discuss with you.’

  ‘Is she dying? Is that what you have to tell me? You had no right to say anything to her without me being there. You can see how terrified she is.’

  ‘Kirsty is not dying, Alec. She will be better in a few days. However, it’s clear to me that your daughter has had a baby recently. Probably within the last two weeks.’

  ‘But that’s crazy! Do you see a baby anywhere? Do you not think I would know if my daughter had a child. You’re out of your mind, woman!’

  ‘Alec, Kirsty most definitely has had a child. The temperature she is running is because she has mastitis, something women get after giving birth, often when for some reason they can’t feed their child.’

  ‘I know what mastitis is.’ He turned back to his daughter and spoke rapidly in Gaelic. Eventually Kirsty stopped crying long enough to reply.

  Alec’s shoulders slumped and he leant his head against the door frame. ‘She says it’s true. She says it was born while I was away fishing. She didn’t know what to do with it so she wrapped it up in a blanket – she’s seen me do that with the early lambs often enough – and took it to the doctor’s house and left it on the doorstep. She’d heard there was a new woman doctor who had children of her own and who knew how to save babies. She says she didn’t want to keep it herself. Oh, Lord, how can this be? Kirsty doesn’t have a man, at least not one I know of. I mean look at her – no one wants a simpleton, no matter how bonny.’

  ‘Somebody must have made her pregnant. Can you ask her who?’

  Alec turned back to his daughter. ‘Ciorstag, you must tell me who you were with.’

  But Kirsty shook her head, this time more vehemently than ever.

  ‘Alec, would you mind leaving us alone for a few moments? I think it’s best if I speak to Kirsty on my own.’

  He hesitated, giving his daughter one more anguished look before leaving the room.

  ‘I want you to tell me about the father of your baby, Kirsty,’ Margaret said, once Alec had left.

  ‘I told you, I don’t want to say.’

  ‘Your father has never touched you down below, has he?’ Although she was almost certain Alec wasn’t the father of Kirsty’s baby, she had to ask.

  ‘Daddy? Touch me there?’ She pointed to her crotch and frowned. ‘Don’t be silly!’

  ‘But somebody touched you there, didn’t he? Somebody put his penis inside you and made a baby with you. I want you to tell me who it is.’

  When Kirsty shook her head, Margaret continued, ‘I’m a doctor, Kirsty, and that means you can tell me anything and I’m not allowed to tell anyone else. Do you understand? If you have a secret you can tell me and I’m bound, I mean I have to keep that secret for you. The only time I might have to tell is if someone is in danger and by telling I’ll be able to stop them getting hurt.’

  Kirsty was silent for a long time. ‘He said he’d take his gun and shoot me and Dad if I told,’ she admitted eventually.

  ‘Oh, Kirsty. Did someone attack you? Go on, you can trust me.’

  ‘I told you! He said he’d shoot me. And Dad. And he will. I know he will.’

  ‘All the more reason you must tell me who it is. Don’t you see, Kirsty? He sounds like a very bad man. If you tell me who he is, I will do everything I can to make sure you and your father are kept safe.’

  There was another long silence. ‘I met him when I was out walking. He had his gun. It wasn’t anyone I had seen before. I don’t think he was from here. He was dressed differently. You know, kind of fancy. Like those men who come here from the mainland with their rods to fish the lochs and their guns to shoot the deer.’

  She looked at Margaret. When she nodded, she continued. ‘He told me he was looking for something to shoot. He was nice at first. He said I was pretty. He said he liked my eyes. His were funny. Then he put his arm around me and kissed me.’ Kirsty pulled a face. ‘I’ve never been kissed like that before, he put his tongue in my mouth and everything. I tried to push him away but he was too strong.’ She began shaking her head from side to side as if to get rid of the memory. ‘And then he put his hands down my pants. I didn’t like that either. I knew it was dirty. Dad always said not to let a boy touch me there and dads are always right, aren’t they?’

  Margaret nodded again.

  ‘I told him to stop, but he wouldn’t. He took my pants off and stuck his thing in me. It was sore and I cried, but he still wouldn’t stop.’

  So she had been raped. The poor, poor girl.

  ‘Then he got up. That’s when he told me if I said anything he would shoot me and my Dad. I’d told him I lived with Dad but he was fishing, did I tell you that?’

  ‘No, but you’ve told me now.’ Margaret took out a tissue and dabbed Kirsty’s cheeks. Her heart bled for this young woman. Not a young woman – a child. Because essentially that’s what she was. She couldn’t imagine what she would do if someone ever did the same to Elizabeth. No, she knew exactly what she’d do. She’d tear him apart with her bare hands. ‘Did this man tell you his name? Did he tell you anything about himself at all?’

  ‘He said his name was Richard. That’s all I remember.’ Kirsty’s lip started quivering again. ‘I was scared…’

  ‘You must have been, but there’s no need to be frightened any longer. You’ve been very brave telling me all this. Is there anything else you can tell me? How did he look? Was he tall? Thin? You said his eyes were funny. In what way?’

  Kirsty shook her head vigorously. ‘I don’t want to remember him. I don’t want to think about it any more. He was a bad man.’

  ‘Yes he was, Kirsty. A very bad man. But thank you for telling me.’

  ‘And you won’t tell the police? ’Cause I’ll tell them you made it up if you do.’

  ‘I think, at the very least, I should tell your father you were attacked. He’ll want to look after you, to stop the bad man coming back. Not that I think he will come,’ she added quickly, ‘but it’s best to be on the safe side. Your dad already knows you’ve had a baby and he’s going to want to know who the father is.’

  Kirsty chewed on her thumb. ‘All right. If you think it’s best. Tell him I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a bad girl.’

  ‘He won’t think that for a minute.’

  ‘It’s the bad man who gave me the baby, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. I believe so.’

  ‘I didn’t know there was a baby growing in my tummy. I thought I was eating too much. Then one day when Daddy was at sea my tummy started to hurt. Then the pain went away. But it came back. And every time it came back it was worse. I didn’t know what to do. I thought I was dying. I thought God was punishing me for going with the bad man. Then it came out. There was a lot of blood. And it cried. It cried a lot. I wrapped it in a towel to keep it warm. I’d seen Dad do that with the lambs. Then something else came out of me. It was attached to the baby. So I cut it. I’d seen Dad do that too. I boiled the knife in water first, like Dad did. And then the baby stopped crying. He was covered in blood. I thought he was dying. And then I remembered about you. I heard you saved a baby. So I wrapped him up and took him to you. I knocked on your door. I saw the light come on and I went away again. I knew you’d look after him. When I got home I cleaned up everything. It took ages and ages.’

  ‘You did everything you could to make sure your baby was safe. But what about your baby now? Don’t you want to see him?’

  ‘No! I know it’s not his fault but I don’t want him! He makes me think of the bad man! I thought you would keep him since you didn’t have your own children with you. Som
etimes when a sheep dies Daddy gives the lamb to another sheep who has lost her lamb and she looks after it just as if it was hers in the first place.’

  Margaret’s heart contracted.

  ‘My children don’t stay with me, Kirsty, because I can’t look after them when I am working. If you don’t want your son he’ll be given to a new mummy to keep forever. You won’t be able to get him back. Do you understand?’

  ‘I’d like to see him sometimes. Maybe when he’s a big boy and doesn’t need so much looking after? I could play with him and take him back to his other mam after.’

  It wasn’t too different to the solution Effie and Sophie had mooted. But Margaret wasn’t sure that Kirsty truly realised the implications of having her child permanently removed. ‘Oh, Kirsty, I’m not sure that will be possible.’ Margaret’s pity was tinged with admiration. Kirsty had been raped, lived in fear of her attacker, given birth on her own, yet found the strength and courage to try and find a safe place for her child.