Stranger on Rhanna

by Christine Marion Fraser

  ‘Ach well, tis a long time since I had a man in the house to cook for,’ she said primly, her eyes turned down so that he wouldn’t see how much his compliments pleased her. ‘I’m used to doing for Lachlan and Phebie but somehow it is just that wee bittie better when I’m working at my own stove.’

  He rose to his feet, offering to help with the dishes but she pushed him back, saying that he wasn’t to do woman’s work, and directed him instead to sit down and smoke his pipe as she ‘fair enjoyed the reek o’ it.’

  Mac’s cup was full to overflowing when evening came round and it was just him and Elspeth, seated at opposite sides of the fire, she quietly darning, he smoking his pipe, his stockinged feet firmly planted on the hearth, his tot of rum at his side, his large hairy-backed hands holding firm on the poker as he waited for it to grow red hot in the glowing heart of the fire.

  ‘It’s nice this, Elspeth,’ he said contentedly, his big, happy nose glowing redder by the minute from the fire’s heat.

  ‘Ay, it is that, Isaac,’ she returned. ‘It makes a change to have a bit o’ company in the evenings.’

  Picking up his rum he held it against the lamplight so that he could enjoy what he called the ‘ruby lights dancing in the glass’. He always did this before downing the liquid, it was a prelude to anticipated enjoyment, a moment to reflect the quiet, good things of life and the simple pleasures yet to come.

  The poker was almost ready. Mac made to withdraw it from the embers but Elspeth’s hand came out to enclose his. ‘Let me do that for you, Isaac,’ she said and without hesitation she plunged the red-hot tip of the poker into the glass of rum. As the sizzle and scent of burnt rum filled the air, Mac’s nostrils twitched, for no smell on earth was sweeter to him than that, it brought back memories of seafaring days when hot rum had chased the cold from his bones and heated the blood in his veins.

  ‘Ay, tis a grand smell,’ Elspeth said, much to Mac’s surprise. ‘It minds me o’ my father, sitting warm by the fire after a day half frozen tending his sheep on the hill. He wasny what you would call a drinking man but he liked his tot rum and my mother never minded, for she knew well enough how hard he worked his bit croft. There he would sit, his feet on the hearth, she rubbing the chill from his hands and when the time was ripe, taking the poker from the fire to thrust it into the glass. I used to sit back and watch and never to this night have I seen and smelt the likes. Tonight you minded me o’ those times, they were hard but happy and I often think how it used to be when Mother and Father were alive.’

  Her eyes had grown moist. It was a side of Elspeth that Mac had never dreamed could exist. He moved uncomfortably in his chair and placed one big purpled hand over hers, he made a few soothing noises and told her that when he stayed with his sister Nellie on Hanaay they often sat at the fire talking over the old days when their parents had been alive.

  ‘Ay, lass,’ he said softly, ‘they were the best times o’ our lives, when we were young and all the world was busy and full and our mother and father aye to hand to listen to our ails and worries.’

  Elspeth sniffed, impatiently she drew a hand over her eyes. ‘Ach, I’m just a silly old woman,’ she said gruffly, ‘but if you don’t mind, Isaac, I’d like a spot o’ your rum – just to keep you company, of course,’ she added hastily and with a touch of her old asperity.

  Mac stared, he chuckled, he poured her a small quantity of spirits and for the rest of the evening the two of them sat, companionably sipping burnt rum and reminiscing about their individual upbringings. The hours slipped easily by and he didn’t even mind when she demanded one of his socks so that she could mend the hole in it while her darning box was out.

  There was something very comforting about a woman with busy hands. Mac hadn’t enjoyed himself so much for a long time. He discovered that Elspeth wasn’t nearly as strait-laced as she would have everyone believe: she laughed at some of Mac’s cleaner jokes and made one or two quite rude ones of her own, she was also a fairly good mimic and at one point had him holding on to his stomach as she imitated Behag’s mournful tones and made an astonishingly accurate portrayal of Holy Smoke’s actions in his butcher’s shop, and another of Canty Tam’s leering grin and predictions of gloom and doom.

  But as bedtime drew nearer Elspeth reverted to her old self. Her tones became brisk as she informed Mac that there were certain rules in her home that must be adhered to, no smoking in bed was one, breakfast at eight sharp was another, ‘and of course,’ she went on firmly, ‘we like to steep ourselves in the tub twice weekly, Monday nights and again on Saturday to make ourselves decent for the Sabbath.’

  ‘We?’ Mac hazarded faintly, and when she said it was only a figure of speech she sometimes used he thought to himself she was just emulating a certain queen of Victorian times who had first coined the expression.

  ‘I’ll no’ expect you to accompany me to the kirk, Isaac,’ she continued. ‘Only if you have a mind to do so and only if you want to be seen wi’ me; I’ll no’ force you to do anything you don’t want, so you need have no fears on that score.’

  Mac was mighty glad of that: he was still reeling from the shock of having to ‘steep’ twice weekly, for, even though he was very fussy about his appearance and kept his white beard and hair squeaky clean, he was otherwise wont to have a quick sponge-down in front of the fire when it suited him, and not before, since it was his belief that too much water was a bad thing for the skin. But on the whole he thought that her requests were reasonable enough and told her so, adding that he hoped she didn’t mind but he would be going off fishing with the lads early on Monday morning.

  She didn’t mind, in fact she was positively anxious for him to pursue his usual wanderings, adding, ‘They will be needing me at Slochmhor. Phebie tries but will never admit she’s no use at all when it comes to running a home and, of course, Lachlan must have proper food and has aye relied on me for that.’

  After that the pair retired to bed on the best of terms, each going their sedate and separate ways. But the second Elspeth’s door closed on her she stood with her back to it, pressing her clasped hands to her mouth, a spot of crimson burning high on each gaunt cheekbone. He would be off on Monday! She could hardly wait for it to come! At last! At last! She would have the moment she had been waiting for all these weeks and a strange little strangulated gurgle of excitement broke from her throat as she thought about Monday with shining eyes.

  Late on Monday morning Behag looked from her window and saw a row of flimsy garments hanging on Elspeth’s washing line, completely unlike the usual assortment of sensible vests, flannel nighties, and long-legged knickers. There had been a time when Behag was shocked to see pink silk bloomers on the line but this – this was beyond belief and rushing for her spyglasses she focused them on Elspeth’s drying green. What she saw nearly gave her apoplexy for there, flapping gaily about for all the world to see, was a row of satin lingerie and nightwear, the like of which Behag had only ever seen in a brochure full of sex aids and sensual garments that had been sent to her from some firm with a London address.

  Behag never knew how such a publication had found its way into her home. She had been shocked to the core, she had thrown it in the bucket, she had vowed never to set eyes on it again – but it had haunted her. In her head she kept seeing things she had never dreamed existed; she had fought a terrible battle with her conscience and after much anguish and soul-searching she had guiltily retrieved the glossy leaflet from her bin and had avidly devoured every page. Praying that nothing and no one would disturb her, she had studied each illustration from every angle. With popping eyes she had stared at weird contrivances designed to be attached to the human body to induce ‘the ultimate in sexual pleasure’.

  She had been appalled, amazed, intrigued, for in her innocence she had imagined that human beings only needed their own natural accoutrements to get through life and even then, the good Lord had only meant them to be used for the means of procreation. At this point she had blushed profusely as
even to dwell on such matters was to her mind the ultimate sign of degradation.

  She then turned her attention to the garment section, which bore the heading, ‘Things to Please the Man in Your Life’. Luscious silk pants and peep-hole bras; furry knickers – here Behag gulped and wondered if they tickled – see-through black nighties; things that were described as G-strings which seemed to cover nothing at all and must have been extremely uncomfortable to wear; sheer black stockings; frilly garters . . .

  Eagerly she flipped over the pages until she got the biggest shock of all: a whole section devoted to ‘our exciting selection of the latest in rubber wear’ – figure-hugging trouser suits; black masks with evil-looking eye slits; others with what looked like mini-elephant trunks where the nose should be. Behag paused – it couldn’t be . . . it was! Her eyes nearly fell out her head. Why would they want to put a thing like that on a mask when men had been created with perfectly efficient ones in their trousers . . .?

  She couldn’t go on, violently she hurled the offending literature into the fire then scuttled as fast as her legs would carry her to the sideboard wherein was kept the ‘medicinal whisky’. On this occasion Behag felt fully justified in helping herself to a good tipple and she sat back, her glass held tight in her shaky hand, her palsied head nodding to and fro as she watched the flames licking the elephant trunks and the peep-hole bras. Never, she vowed, would she look at such degenerate trash again – and now here was Elspeth, brazenly displaying the fact that she was a fallen woman who had succumbed to wicked temptation and vice. True, the things on her line were more glamorous than shocking but even so, Elspeth and Captain Mac must be having a fine time to themselves, the evidence was there for everyone to see, flagrantly displayed without subtlety or shame . . . the . . . the hussy!

  And wait! Wasn’t that Elspeth herself coming out to survey her washing with a decided air of satisfaction? She had turned, something in her hand glinted, she was holding it to her eyes and – Behag’s heart jumped, her face grew hot – the saucy besom! She was standing there with a pair of spyglasses, watching to see if Behag was watching her!

  Behag quickly turned her own spyglasses away from Elspeth’s domain and pretended to pan them over the rugged slopes of Sgurr nan Ruadh, trying hard as she did so to compose her bloodhound features into lines of complete and perfect innocence.

  Elspeth lowered what she called her ‘peepscope’ and laughed till the tears ran down her face. No one who knew her would have believed she could have been capable of such abandoned mirth but then, never before in her life had she done anything so daring, and she scuttled into the house to hurl herself into a chair where she hugged herself in a gluttony of self-satisfied glee and wondered who would be the next to notice the contents of her washing line.

  Chapter Seventeen

  As expected, Behag was not the only one to notice the contents of Elspeth’s washing line: everyone who had to pass her house to get to the village couldn’t help but see the display of silks and satins dancing gaily in the breezes. It was a provocative sight and in the main the reactions ranged from downright shock to disbelief, and – in some cases – amusement.

  If it had been Rachel’s washing it would possibly have merited a few dry comments but would have been allowed to pass since she was ‘a young woman o’ the world wi’ a lot o’ fancy ideas inside her head’. The same might have applied to many of the younger island girls who shopped a lot by mail order catalogue, and even if they couldn’t be described as women of the world they were certainly prone to much temptation as they perused glossy pages containing the latest in feminine fashions.

  The older women also made use of mail order catalogues but their interests lay mainly in good sensible garments, both for their menfolk and themselves, and if they considered undergarments at all it was with practicalities in mind and they were apt to settle for things that would help them combat the rigours of long, cold winter days and nights.

  It was therefore not surprising that they could hardly believe the evidence of their own eyes when they surveyed the array of frilly knickers, seductive nighties and lacy petticoats pegged in such a way on the line as to show the plunging necklines, the frothy edgings . . . and . . . when rays of sunshine slanted from behind, the transparent quality of the material.

  It wasn’t long before a small group of housewives were huddled together in the village street, talking about Elspeth in hushed tones – except for beings like Old Sorcha whose deafness led her to the assumption that, in common with herself, everyone had to be shouted at; and folk like Kate McKinnon who very seldom whispered about anything and who certainly had no intention of discussing Slochmhor’s housekeeper in a subtle manner.

  ‘The cailleach has been acting gey strange this whilie back,’ she stated with conviction. ‘In my opinion she is going off her head altogether and Mac had better watch that she doesny murder him in his bed one o’ these fine nights.’

  ‘Ach, come on now, Kate,’ said Isabel nervously. ‘There is no need to go that far, she is just having a wee bit fling to herself before it’s too late. She will settle down when she comes to her senses and if I know Elspeth that will be sooner rather than later.’

  Kate exploded: ‘A fling! Surely you are no’ trying to tell us she’s sowing her wild oats at her age! She scattered those long ago if she scattered them at all . . . though, mind you’ – she eyed Isabel contemplatively as Tam’s tale about Jim Jim’s youthful experiences with Elspeth in the hayshed leapt suddenly into her lively mind – ‘from what I’ve been hearing about her she’s no’ aye been as prudish as she makes out. Seemingly she robbed at least one mannie o’ his virginity way back in the year dot and for all we know, there could have been others.’

  Isabel looked at her askance and the others clamoured to know more, but Kate, feeling rather ashamed at divulging what had been a confidence, declined to enlarge on the subject, much to the chagrin of her cronies.

  ‘Ach, it is just a lot o’ fuss about nothing,’ Aggie McKinnon suggested in her fat, gentle voice. ‘Elspeth has as much right as anyone to wear nice things if she wants to and surely it is nobody’s business but her own if she hangs them out to dry in her own green, I would do the same if they were mine and be proud o’ it.’

  Secretly, Aggie longed to be able to wear the kind of things that were the talk of the moment, but with her physical proportions it was out of the question, though that didn’t stop her from dreaming or from poring over the enticing displays of feminine garments in her own mail order catalogue.

  Kate glanced sympathetically at Aggie’s generous rolls of flesh. ‘Och well, you are a young woman and would have every right to wear such things if you wanted,’ she said kindly and the others nodded for, despite their talk about Elspeth, it would be apt to say that more than just one of them had, at some time in their lives, hankered to be glamorous and to look as seductive as the film stars they gazed at on the silver screen on their shopping trips to the mainland.

  At this point they were joined by one or two of the menfolk who had been ‘fair tickled’ at the sight of Elspeth’s smalls, even though they wondered at Captain Mac’s rashness in allowing himself to be taken in by ‘a few wisps o’ lace’ that wouldn’t decently have covered a ‘clockin’ hen’s arse’.

  None of them could picture Elspeth in frills and froth, and Robbie, grinning from ear to ear, echoed Aggie’s words when he told the women, ‘It is just a flash in the pan and will blow over in no time at all. It is none o’ our business what other folks do wi’ theirs and it might be better if we don’t say a word to either Captain Mac or Elspeth.’

  ‘Ay,’ agreed Tam, whose embarrassment for the old seafarer was as acute as if it had been Kate displaying ‘her goods’ on the washline, ‘he wouldny like it if he thought we had been washin’ his dirty linen in public . . .’

  He paused, surprised at himself for the paradoxical turn of phrase. Robbie grinned dryly, the women giggled, making Tam feel that he had said something really quite amusi
ng.

  At this juncture Sorcha looked over Kate’s head and in her excitement at what she saw turned her deaf aid down and exclaimed in her loudest tones, ‘Well, some folk have no shame and that’s a fact! Fancy, the cheek o’ it!’

  As one, every head swivelled round and there was ‘the hussy’ herself, calmly making for Merry Mary’s shop, swinging her shopping bag in an oddly carefree manner, her head held proud and high, not one single muscle betraying anything but the utmost confidence as she paused for a moment to haughtily survey the tight little gathering in the street before she marched firmly into Merry Mary’s.

  ‘I’ll say this for her,’ said Tam, ‘she aye did handle herself well and you can bet your boots she’ll no’ stand anything from you lot if you as much as breathe one word about her frilly knickers.’

  ‘The thought never entered my mind, Tam McKinnon!’ Kate said indignantly, hoisting her own shopping bag into a prominent position. ‘Her knickers, and what she does wi’ them, is no concern o’ mine and I’ll thank you no’ to keep me back a minute longer. I have my messages to get and Mary said she would keep me a fresh loaf and a bag o’ rolls which I said I would collect before ten o’ the clock – so, if you’ll be excusin’ me . . .’

  Along the pavement she marched with alacrity, followed by her cronies anxious not to miss any of the fun that would surely develop in Merry Mary’s premises. Kate might not come right out with anything that could be construed as straightforward cheek but, mischievous devil that she was, she would hint and tease and torment Elspeth unmercifully, and it was always interesting to see how a situation like that would develop.

  Only Aggie hung back. She was a kindly, soft-hearted soul and she had no great desire to hear the formidable Kate tearing poor old Elspeth to pieces, she would visit the Post Office first and by the time she got back to Merry Mary’s it might be quieter and she could shop at her leisure while she waited for the bus.