The Shipbuilder’s Daughter

by Emma Fraser

  ‘Now you get some rest. I’ll ask your father to get some cabbage leaves from the garden. He’ll need to boil them in water for a minute or two then leave them to cool. When he’s done that, you need to place them on your breasts. You might have to put your brassiere over them to keep them in place. Do that about four times a day. Do you think you can manage?’

  Kirsty nodded. Although her face was still red and splotched with tears she seemed calmer.

  ‘I’m going to have a talk with your father. I’ll come back to see you in a few days but if the pain gets any worse, ask him to send for me or come to the surgery. It’s really important that you do that.’ Margaret touched Kirsty on the hand. ‘Bye for now. I’ll visit you again soon.’

  She went back down the narrow stairs and into the kitchen. Alec was slumped in a chair, his head buried in his hands. The room was as untidy as Kirsty’s bedroom. There were all manner of tools on the kitchen table, a badly darned pair of hand-knitted socks hung over the rail in front of the stove and pots and pans lay around unwashed next to the sink.

  ‘Alec, you must have heard about the baby left on my doorstep. Did you really not consider it could be Kirsty’s?’ Haphazard though Alec and Kirsty’s domestic arrangement was, there was clearly a strong, loving bond between them. It made it all the harder to understand how Alec hadn’t noticed his daughter was pregnant.

  He raised his head, his expression dazed and disbelieving. ‘I had no idea she was carrying a child. And as for babies on doorsteps, I haven’t heard a peep. I only got back from the fishing a couple of days ago and I’ve been working the croft since then.’ His face was pale, almost ashen. ‘Where is my grandchild now?’

  Every word had the ring of honesty about it and Margaret believed him. He would need time to get his head around the thought that his daughter had had a baby without him knowing.

  ‘Kirsty’s son is with the minister’s wife.’

  He slammed his hands down on the table, making Margaret jump. ‘Then we must go and fetch him.’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s not as easy as all that. Kirsty has committed a criminal offence and the police will want to speak to her.’ She lowered her voice. ‘It’s possible, likely even, that they’ll decide that it’s not in the best interests of the child to be returned to her. Especially as it seems clear she doesn’t want him back.’

  ‘She was frightened, that was all! And what do you mean she’s committed a criminal offence? Anyone can see she’s not all there. If I had been at home, none of this would have happened.’ He shook his head from side to side. ‘I don’t know why she didn’t tell me. I wouldn’t have been angry with her. That girl is my life.’

  Margaret pulled up a chair next to him. ‘What happened to Kirsty’s mother?’

  ‘Scarlet fever – three years ago. Took Kirsty’s brother too.’

  Alec had already borne so much and now this.

  ‘Did she tell you who the father is?’ Alec growled. ‘By God, wait until I get my hands on him.’

  ‘Alec,’ she said gently, ‘I think Kirsty was raped. In fact I am sure of it.’

  ‘Raped?’ Before he buried his head in his hands, Margaret saw the horror and anguish in his eyes. She watched helplessly as his shoulders shook with dry, heart-wrenching sobs.

  ‘We need to tell the police,’ Margaret said softly.

  His head shot up. ‘No! I’ll not have her shamed.’

  ‘The shame is his, not hers.’

  ‘That isn’t how people will see it. Did she say who did it? I’ll see to him myself. I’ll make sure he never lays a hand on her, or anyone else, again.’ He looked around wildly as if searching for his gun.

  ‘The only thing she seems to be able to tell me is that his first name was Richard – although he could have given her a false name – and that she was certain he wasn’t a local. She says if I tell the police she’ll deny everything. She’s frightened the man who did it will come after you and her if it comes out that she was raped. But I think we have to tell them.’

  ‘Then they’ll insist on questioning her. That Constable Watt might even arrest her! She won’t be able to cope with that. You’ve seen how she is. Please, don’t say anything. Hasn’t she been through enough?’

  ‘But whoever did it could rape again.’

  He looked at her with wretched eyes. ‘I’m begging you.’

  ‘At the very least I have to tell someone I found the mother, Alec. They’ve been searching for her and it’s not fair to let them continue when I know she’s alive and well. And if we told the police she’d been raped, they might go easier on her about the baby.’ She didn’t want to add that the other thing that might make the authorities go easy on Kirsty, her simple-mindedness, might also be the very thing that kept them from returning her child.

  She crossed over to the window and looked out towards the sea. It was one thing concealing Kirsty’s identity from the police when she hadn’t known she was raped, quite another now. What if the man who’d raped her was still on the islands? Even if he wasn’t, what if he attacked another woman? In which case wasn’t it Margaret’s duty to report what Kirsty had told her to the police? But what was the point in giving the police Kirsty’s name? She couldn’t, or wouldn’t, identify her attacker. And Margaret knew without a shadow of doubt that as soon as Watt knew it was Kirsty, he’d be over here, frightening her with his ham-fisted questioning or even dragging her back to Lochmaddy to lock her in a cell. She couldn’t let that happen.

  What if she told them the mother had been found and that she’d been raped but without revealing Kirsty’s identity? A wave of anxiety washed over her. If she did that they might require her to make a statement. How would she sign it? As Dr Murdoch? What would happen if she were called to testify in court? In which case she’d be adding perjury to her list of sins. Or – a shudder ran through her – her real identity would come out along with the knowledge she’d been practising under someone else’s name. She would have to run again.

  Why, oh why, couldn’t it have been Dr Alan or Effie who had made this visit? She’d come to the islands thinking that she could do the job she loved while supporting her children and keeping them safe. She hadn’t thought about the implications of the job she’d taken on. If she did the right thing, it would be her children who suffered. Was she supposed to sacrifice them, balance their happiness and her own against that of a woman she barely knew?

  Yes, she realised with a dull thud of her heart, recalling the words Alasdair had used that day at the prison. Sometimes a person has to do the right thing, just because it is the right thing, and regardless of the consequences.

  She turned back to Alec. ‘All I can promise is that I’ll speak to Dr Alan before I do anything else. If I can keep Kirsty’s name out of it, I will. If I can’t, then I will do my best to make sure she isn’t charged with concealing her pregnancy or abandoning her child.’

  ‘Then that will have to do. Thank you, Doctor.’

  ‘Now, apart from the mastitis, there isn’t much wrong with your daughter. If you can find some cabbage leaves for her and make sure she does what I said, that will make her feel much better.’ She placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘If she does say anything more about her attacker, do you promise to tell me? You mustn’t go after him yourself. If you do, you may well end up in prison and then what would happen to Kirsty? She needs you. Now more than ever.’

  Chapter 36

  ‘I know who the mother of the baby is,’ Margaret said to Dr Alan. They were in the treatment room, where she knew they were least likely to be overheard. She’d called him out of surgery telling him she needed to speak to him on a matter of urgency.

  Dr Alan felt in his pocket for his pipe and started to fill it. ‘Kirsty Stuart.’

  ‘How on earth…?’

  ‘My dear, I don’t have to be a detective to work it out. You went to see her on a home visit and on your return you tell me you found the mother.’

  She sat down and told him everything Kirsty had to
ld her, as well as Alec’s insistence that she keep Kirsty’s name to herself.

  Alan set his lighter to his pipe and puffed for a few moments. ‘Poor man. He loves that girl. He’s been mother and father to her since his wife and son died. But if he thinks the islanders won’t find out soon enough that Kirsty is the baby’s mother, then he is deluding himself. If I worked it out so will others. At least they will as soon as the search is called off and we can’t in all conscience let it continue.’

  ‘Then Constable Watt will question her. Arrest her, even.’

  ‘I’m very much afraid that is what will happen.’

  ‘But we can’t let him! Kirsty is terrified. I don’t think she’ll admit to being raped – and that’s the only real defence she has for her actions.’

  ‘What else can we do?’

  On the way back from Kirsty and Alec’s house, Margaret had mulled everything over and come up with what she hoped was a solution. ‘We could tell Watt the woman has been found, but not give him her name. We have the right to withhold it under patient confidentiality, don’t we?’

  ‘We do. But I’m not sure how that will help. Her name will come out eventually and Watt will learn it soon enough.’

  Dr Alan was right. It seemed unlikely she could keep Kirsty’s name out of it. However, she had to stop her from being charged and even arrested.

  ‘I could go and see the police inspector. He seemed like a reasonable man. Maybe if I told him the circumstances he would pass that on to the Procurator Fiscal. Then they would drop the charges against Kirsty.’

  ‘And the rape?’

  ‘She can’t identify her attacker, although she’s certain he’s not a local. She might remember more in time, when she’s less frightened and traumatised. If she does, that would be the time for her to be questioned. There is one thing the inspector could do to try and find Kirsty’s attacker. The baby was full term. That means the rape must have happened in the spring. I’ll suggest he look at the hotel and shooting-lodge registers for that time period. Check the names to see if any of them are a Richard. Find out if any of the guests around that time have been accused of rape before. There’s no point in him questioning Kirsty unless he has a suspect. I’ll make him see that.’

  ‘I’m not certain Inspector MacLeod can be made to do anything.’

  Neither was she. Was she risking everything for nothing? ‘I can but try. And while I’m on South Uist I can try and speak to Caroline’s parents. Surely if they know how ill their daughter is, they’ll come and see her.’

  ‘This island is lucky to have you here,’ Dr Alan said gruffly.

  If he knew how reluctant she was to go to see the inspector and how she’d deceived him and everyone else who had been so kind to her, he wouldn’t say that.

  But, like it or not, she was too involved to back out now.

  Chapter 37

  The journey to South Uist was as arduous and time-consuming as Margaret had suspected it would be. Dr Alan had let Watt know that the search could be called off while keeping Kirsty’s name to himself. How long he’d be able to do so was anyone’s guess.

  Margaret had arranged for Johnny Ban to collect her from Lochmaddy that morning at seven, and he’d dropped her at Carinish. From there her journey had involved several boats and changes of hire car, the final one being when she crossed the ford from Benbecula to South Uist.

  This end of the Uists was hillier than the north and there were parts where the road dipped perilously close to lochs on either side. She knew very little about South Uist. Only that the famous Flora MacDonald had been born here and that apparently Prince Charles had landed on Eriskay, the next small island along from South Uist, before being helped on his way to Skye by Flora.

  To get to Lochboisdale and the police station they had first to pass through Daliburgh. There, Margaret asked the driver to take her to Yellow Point with the request to return for her in fifteen minutes. She knew if she were to ask him to wait for her outside the McKinnons’ house, it would only fuel gossip.

  Caroline’s parents’ house – a newly painted bungalow – was set just back from the road. There were creels outside, as well as a boat that had been hauled onto dry land, probably to be repainted. She took a deep breath. If Caroline’s parents were anything like hers, this would be a waste of time. Nevertheless, she had to try.

  Her knock was answered by a middle-aged woman with dark hair and brown eyes. Margaret could see the resemblance to Caroline straight away.

  ‘Yes?’ she said. ‘Can I help you?’

  Margaret held out her hand. ‘I’m Dr Margaret Murdoch – the winter assistant from Lochmaddy. I wonder if I could have a word?’

  ‘From Lochmaddy?’ Alarm flickered in her eyes. ‘Is Caroline all right?’

  ‘She is for the moment. But I do need to speak to you about her.’

  Although the woman hadn’t invited her in, she’d stood back. Margaret stepped forward, but as she did, the woman blocked her way. ‘If there’s nothing wrong with Caroline, then I have nothing to say to you – or to anyone for that matter – about her. If you’ve come to try and talk us round you’ve had a wasted trip. Caroline made her bed so she can lie on it.’

  ‘I said she was all right for the moment. I didn’t say there wasn’t anything wrong with her. Look, may I come inside? I’m sure you don’t want to give the neighbours anything to gossip about.’

  ‘They’ve had plenty to gossip about as it is, a little more won’t make much difference.’ However, she peered over Margaret’s shoulder as if to check they weren’t being observed. ‘But I suppose you’d better come in. Colin is in the kitchen.’

  A balding man was sitting at the kitchen table, mending a rope.

  ‘Colin, this is Dr Murdoch from Lochmaddy. She wants to talk to us about Caroline. I told her it wouldn’t do any good, but she insisted.’

  Colin didn’t even get to his feet. ‘My wife is right. As far as we’re concerned Caroline is dead,’ he said, echoing the words her father had once said to her.

  Margaret had had enough. ‘Well, you’d better be sure that that’s all right, because very soon she might well be.’

  Her stark announcement, although one she hadn’t intended to make, had the desired effect. Caroline’s mother grabbed the back of the chair as if frightened she would fall without its support, while all the colour drained from Colin McKinnon’s face.

  Before they could recover, Margaret sat down at the table and explained about Caroline’s condition.

  ‘She never told us about this diabetes,’ her mother said, starting to cry.

  Margaret wondered if Caroline had ever had a chance to.

  ‘You say she’s going to have a baby?’ Caroline’s mother asked, between sobs.

  ‘Yes. But I don’t expect the baby to survive much longer.’ She hated being so brutal, but these two needed to be very clear as to their daughter’s prognosis.

  ‘That child will go to hell along with its mother,’ Colin muttered.

  ‘Oh, Colin, stop! That’s our daughter you’re talking about.’

  ‘It doesn’t change anything, Mary-Joan,’ Colin said. ‘She made her choice when she married out of her faith.’

  Caroline’s mother collapsed into a chair. ‘We need to speak to Father Roberts. He’ll know what to do.’

  ‘I’ll no’ speak to him. He’s the one that married them. He should never have agreed.’

  ‘You do understand that it’s not just Caroline’s baby that will die. There’s a good chance Caroline will too,’ Margaret said. ‘And it could happen at any time.’

  ‘I don’t mean to be rude, Doctor, but there’s no more to be said on the matter. Now I’d like you to leave.’ Colin picked up the piece of rope he had been working on and continued to unpick it.

  Mary-Joan looked at her husband for a long moment and sighed. ‘I’ll walk you to the door, Doctor.’

  Reluctantly Margaret got to her feet. She couldn’t accept that they wouldn’t try to see their daughter
even if it was for one last time. But there was nothing else she could say or do.

  At the door, Caroline’s mother reached over to a jar on a shelf and pulled out a pound note. ‘Please take this to give to Caroline. I don’t want her to be without.’

  Margaret stepped back, appalled. ‘She needs her mother more than any money.’

  Mary-Joan blew her nose on her apron. ‘I know. Just give me a little time with her father. He loves her more than his own life.’ She smiled sadly. ‘Perhaps more than he cares for his own soul – he just hasn’t realised it yet.’