Stranger on Rhanna

by Christine Marion Fraser

  But just when it seemed that an element of joy had entered her world, fate took another cruel hand in things and dealt her a further blow. Ever since Jon had left Rhanna she hadn’t had the heart to even look at her violin, but now, in a mood to pour out her feelings in music, she went to get her violin only to discover it wasn’t there. She searched the cottage high and low but it was a fruitless effort, the case containing her beautiful Cremonese had simply vanished, only the key remained, affixed to the gold chain round her neck where she always carried it for safety.

  It wasn’t long before the news of Rachel’s loss swept through the island.

  ‘I’ll kill the bugger who did this to the lass!’ vowed Kate grimly. ‘She’s had more than enough to put up wi’ this whilie back without this happening as well!’

  ‘Ay, she’s treasured that violin ever since old Mo gave it to her,’ nodded Tam. ‘But it canny just have got up and walked away by itself.’

  ‘Ach no, some thief has stolen it,’ decided Annie with conviction. ‘Och, it’s a shame for my bonny Rachel, she’s been looking peekit this whilie back but she’ll no’ even tell her own mother why Jon left her the way he did.’

  Kate glowered at her youngest daughter. ‘She’ll no’ tell you for the simple reason that you’ve never listened to anything she has to say. You haveny even bothered very much to learn her sign language and never even gave a wee celebration ceilidh when you heard she was expecting your first grandchild.’

  Annie’s nostrils flared. ‘My house isny grand enough for the likes o’ Rachel! She looks down her nose at everything when she deigns to visit once in a blue moon and I’ll no’ stand for that from my very own flesh and blood!’

  ‘The flesh and blood you never wanted to acknowledge,’ Kate flashed back. ‘And she doesny look down her nose at your house – though I wouldny blame her if she did – the state you keep it in. Na, na, Annie, my girl, why can you no’ face the truth, you could never accept that you gave birth to a lass that didny have all her faculties – except of course when she became famous and you just wallowed in the fame and the money . . .’

  Annie’s hackles rose at this. ‘I never heard the likes! Me take money from Rachel! I never even let her buy me a house when she wanted to, just so’s the likes o’ you wouldny have anything to talk about!’

  ‘Oh no, but you canny deny that she sends you money which you are busily stashing away in the bank. I’m no’ daft, Annie—’

  ‘Och, be quiet you two,’ interrupted Nancy, Kate’s sweet-natured eldest daughter. ‘We’re no’ here to argue about money, I thought we were trying to help Rachel discover who took her fiddle. Father’s right, it didny just walk away by itself, so where on earth is it? If it doesny turn up, Clodhopper will have to be called in, and a fine to do that will be, he’ll start raking up all kinds o’ dirt and you haveny renewed the insurance on your lorry, Father.’

  Tam blinked and went into a panic at the very idea of Clodhopper roaming round the island looking for trouble, and he immediately set out to visit his granddaughter to try and persuade her ‘no’ to call in the law till he had a chance to insure his lorry’.

  But for the moment, Rachel had no intention of alerting the police, as she was hoping to resolve the matter in her own way. She had remembered Mamma telling her about Paddy’s suspicious behaviour the day he had wangled his way into the house on the pretext of wanting a cup of tea.

  ‘It was not the tea he was looking for,’ Mamma had said decisively, ‘he was – how do you say it? – a snooper. And yes, he was snooping through the house the minute I turn myself. The unpleasant person he was, the others – they were kind to me – but him – he was rude.’

  Tam wasn’t the only one to be worried by the threat of a visit from Clodhopper, the travellers themselves, almost but not quite ready for the road, heard the news with dismay, and, wishing to keep several little misdemeanours under wraps, had every reason to avoid the law. It was therefore with great energy that they set themselves the task of searching for the missing instrument.

  ‘Bejabers and bejasus!’ Aaron said to Rachel. ‘I never minded you havin’ me brother’s fiddle. I would just have sold it for a few bob and spent the money on booze. It was meant for you, me fine lass, and by the blessed St Patrick, you can indeed be certain we’ll do everything we can to find it for you.’

  And he was as true as his word, every traveller worth his salt helped in the search, Little Lady Leprechaun proving to be a great asset since she managed to get into the smallest spaces. The Abbey ruins, derelict cottages, barns, haysheds, peatsheds, even the very caves on the shore were given a thorough going-over, but to no avail. In the midst of all this Paddy surprised everyone by putting on a great show of willingness as he scrambled into the most unsavoury places, though he didn’t fool Aaron in the least

  Paddy had always grumbled about old Mo’s foolishness in giving his violin away to a girl who wasn’t even remotely connected to the family, and by that he meant the group of itinerants who habitually travelled the roads together. But Aaron had never liked or trusted the rough-speaking Irishman and felt uneasy every time something unpleasant like this happened. Aaron was almost certain that Paddy was the culprit in this latest incident but he could prove nothing and could only hope for the safe return of Rachel’s violin before the law had to be consulted.

  Shona sat bolt upright in bed, wide awake and sparkling-eyed, even though she had just emerged from the land of dreams.

  ‘Of course,’ she breathed, ‘the cave! Over there by Dunuaigh! That’s where it will be, I can feel it in my bones.’

  Niall’s ruffled head erupted from the blankets. ‘Eh?’ he demanded in startled tones. ‘Bones! You’re dreaming, mo ghaoil, go back to sleep, it’s too early to be awake, you’ll rouse the bairns and I don’t want Joe crawling all over me at this time o’ the morning.’

  ‘No, Niall, listen,’ she spoke imperatively into his ear, ‘I’ve had a marvellous idea, call it an inspired guess if you like. Och! Don’t go back to sleep, I want you to hear me out, if you don’t I’ll tickle and torment you till you beg for mercy – and that’s a promise.’

  ‘Oh, all right,’ he grumbled, hoisting himself half up on his pillows. ‘Fire away, but not too loudly, I canny bear too much noise first thing and I certainly don’t want to hear about bones, I see enough o’ that sort of thing in my job.’

  ‘Daftie, it isn’t about bones, it’s about Rachel’s fiddle. I’ve been wondering where on this island anybody could safely hide a valuable instrument. All the obvious places have been searched but what about somewhere near the travellers’ camp itself? If Paddy is the culprit as everyone seems to think, he would hide it near to hand so that he could easily collect it just before he leaves. And, listen Niall, what about our cave? The one over by Dunuaigh. It would be a perfect place, it’s so well hidden yet easily accessible once you know it’s there.’

  Niall barely allowed her to finish. With a martyred groan he slid back down into the blankets and snuggled into her soft thighs. ‘You’re havering, Mrs McLachlan, all this talk about bones and caves has gone to your head, but since we’re awake we might as well make good use of the time, so just you coorie in close to me and I’ll show you one bone that will never need a splint.’

  ‘Niall McLachlan! You dirty bugger!’ she cried, letting out a snort of laughter. ‘But you’re no’ getting away that easily. Come on, up! We’ll get the bairns ready and go over to Dunuaigh.’

  ‘What? Now?’

  ‘Ay, now. I’ll not rest till I’ve seen and searched our cave for myself.’

  ‘And no one else will be allowed to rest either,’ he grumbled but he had caught some of her mood and got out of bed willingly enough to throw on his clothes.

  It was strange to go back to the cave at Dunuaigh after all these years, though it was so overgrown with thorns and ferns it took them some time to find the entrance. The October moor was a sea of amber and gold mingling with the purple of the heather and the bright red
splashes of rowan berries.

  A hazy sun had broken through the early mists, warming the hollows, bringing out the tang of the brambles that grew in abundance along the rocky face of Dunuaigh, the Hill of the Tomb. It was these same thorny bushes that made the finding of the cave so difficult, but they were guided by the birch tree that they had planted on this spot when they were just children. Somehow the sapling had survived the wild winds that swept over the moors, and even though it was cruelly twisted and warped it had kept its tenacious hold on life, and it was the little golden leaves on the bleached branches that caught Shona’s eye and guided her footsteps forward.

  As Niall pulled back the bracken and the brambles, the children stared fascinated, thinking this was some new kind of game, thoroughly appreciating parents who did some pretty daft things sometimes and were often like children themselves with their fun and their laughter and their willingness to join in childish games.

  ‘Look, Niall,’ Shona said wistfully. ‘It’s just as we left it all these years ago, the cruisie and the candles, even the sheepskin rug on the ledge. Oh, I want to cry, it brings back so many memories.’

  Taking her hand, he squeezed it and kissed the tears from her eyes, much to the amusement of little Ellie Dawn who clapped her hand over her mouth and went into a fit of the giggles.

  It didn’t take them long to search the small enclosure. In minutes they found the violin, carelessly hidden in a fissure behind the stone ‘fireplace’ where, as children, they had made smoky tea while pretending to be man and wife living together in their own small world.

  ‘I always said it!’ Niall exploded, gazing in disbelief at the leather violin case. ‘You’re a witch, Shona mo ghaoil, how did you do it? Was it a dream, or a vision, or what?’

  ‘Just an educated guess,’ she said rather smugly. ‘Some o’ us were born wi’ brains in case you didn’t know, but of course, you were aye the glaikit one o’ the family, so we have to make allowances.’

  He chased her outside into the sunlight, brandishing the leather case, the children dancing and laughing behind them and asking if they could come back here tomorrow to play more games.

  It was sleepy and quiet at the travellers’ camp with everyone sitting round a smoky fire, drinking tea while they discussed their departure date. They hailed the visitors with surprised pleasure and proffered the teapot, but when they saw what Niall carried everything else was forgotten as they crowded round, all talking at once. Shona looked over Stink’s head. Paddy was scowling and making ready to skulk away, all too plainly betraying his guilt but given no chance to go anywhere since he was soon apprehended and brought back to explain himself.

  Niall and Shona left them to it and went back to where they had parked their car, getting in to drive post-haste to An Cala where they deposited the violin, along with an explanatory note, as Rachel was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘A good morning’s work, Mrs McLachlan,’ Niall said approvingly on the road home. ‘And now, please can we sit down to a proper breakfast? All together like a normal family, with no more of your weird premonitions to disturb the peace?’

  ‘Only if you say you recognize the fact that you married a genius and remain very humble and polite for the rest o’ the day.’

  ‘I give in: I married a genius, I will kiss your hand humbly, I will be unnaturally polite for at least a week, I will not demand anything of you that will upset your brilliant thoughts – but would you mind if I have two eggs, six rashers o’ bacon, one of Holy Smoke’s black puds all to myself, not forgetting a mountain of toast and a gallon of tea to wash it all down, all for the purpose of keeping up my strength in order to do all the things that you ask o’ me.’

  She burst out laughing, the children clapped their hands and giggled, the McLachlans went home in fine fettle, well pleased with themselves and hoping that Rachel would be pleased with them also.

  Rachel read the note, she opened the violin case and stared at the instrument reposing in its blue velvet nest. It wasn’t hers, it was Jon’s! Paddy had stolen the wrong one – then a terrible thought struck her, what if he hadn’t, what if he had taken the two of them and had hidden this one in a place where it was sure to be found in order to put everyone off the scent of the real thing?

  Devastated, she sank into a chair, wondering wildly what to do. Her beautiful Cremonese, still missing, perhaps never to be found. Paddy could easily deny all knowledge of it and come back to the island to collect it at a later date when the heat had died down.

  She felt sick, frightened and very alone; everything and everyone seemed to be conspiring against her and depression settled over her like a black cloud. She had never visualised any of this when she had come so blithely to Rhanna and it had only been thoughts of her unborn child that had kept her from sinking to the bottom of the deep, dark, despairing well of her innermost being.

  Erchy was coming through the gate, whistling cheerily, avidly examining the letter he held so that he could tell Rachel who it was from. He knew nearly everyone’s handwriting by this time and was apt to be deeply disappointed and mad at himself if by chance he got it wrong. But this morning he was full of confidence in his abilities and could hardly wait to open Rachel’s door and shout, ‘A letter for you, lass! From Jon by the look o’ things, it’s the way he strokes his t’s, they just about fly off the top and that indicates a very ambitious person – I was readin’ about it in a book,’ he finished lamely when he saw that Rachel wasn’t in a mood to appreciate his knowledge.

  She took the letter, her hand shaking slightly. ‘He’ll be coming back soon, lass, never you fear,’ said Erchy kindly before taking himself off with all haste. Sometimes those black eyes of Rachel’s could look right through you and besides – he didn’t fancy that tea she made, all funny and spicy and not at all like the good homely brews he enjoyed in other houses in the course of his rounds.

  Rachel didn’t know what to expect when she opened the letter but her heart had leapt with hope when she had heard Erchy shouting Jon’s name.

  The piece of paper she withdrew from the envelope could hardly be called a letter, it was more in the nature of a note, a curt, cold little message that simply said:

  Dear Rachel

  Just to say I took your violin by mistake, your case is much like mine and I was in a hurry when I left. Since you haven’t been in touch about it I assumed you haven’t been getting in any practice, unless of course, you have used mine. I got the post at the Royal Academy and have been playing the other violin we left here at the flat. Next week, however, I am giving a recital and wondered if you would mind very much if I used the Cremonese. The case is locked, you have the key, you don’t owe me any favours but I want to make a good impression next week and know you will understand this.

  If you need anything, let me know and I will arrange to have it sent. Mamma is well and enjoying London. I hope you are all right and managing to pass your time on Rhanna.

  Yours, Jon.

  Rachel screwed the paper into a tight ball and threw it into the fire. A flush of anger burned high on her pale cheeks and her eyes were too bright.

  Oh yes, she was managing to pass her time on Rhanna, and her treasured violin was safe. That was all that mattered – with the exception of her unborn child – and Otto, of course.

  Jon was the stranger now, and the way she was feeling he could remain so forever – him and his precious Mamma!

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Rhanna was quiet again: the tourists and the travellers had departed, the latter preceded by Paddy who had left with his tail well tucked between his legs, having been all but banished from the group till he could prove that he had mended his unsavoury ways.

  Silence settled over the land, that special sort of tranquillity that always brought with it a sense of repose from the bustle and life of summer. The gossamer days were done with, the short perfumed nights were only a memory, the slumbering earth yielded less of its bounties and in so doing afforded rest to those who worked its
soil.

  But even so there was still work to be done to ensure a warm winter. The peats had yet to be gathered and both Ranald and Tam had a profitable time hiring out themselves and their respective lorries to those beings who were able to afford such a luxury – if such a term could be applied to ancient machines with a distinct penchant for sinking into bogs and potholes, which meant long, grumbling delays while they were pulled out again by tractors or, if these weren’t available, by the sheer might of human muscle.

  The remainder of the population trundled to the moors by other available means but, whatever the mode of transport, it wasn’t long before peat stacks had sprung up in back yards everywhere. And then came that most distinctive of island scents, that of peat smoke, puffing lazily into the chilly air of morning, invading the senses with agreeable enjoyment, bringing also a quiet pleasure in the picturesque harmony of hill and moor, ocean and shore, the little villages with their white sugar-loaf houses, the islanders going peaceably about their daily lives.

  Everything moved at a slower beat, even the very clocks on the wall seemed to tick at a more leisurely pace and it was good to sit back and survey the harvests of a summer well spent and to look forward to the comforts they would bring in the long, winter days ahead.

  For Otto, it would be his last summer. He had spent it well and had done all the things he had wanted to do in those final months of his life, even so, he couldn’t help wishing he had known this enchanting island sooner and he took to sitting at his window, gazing, just gazing, at the silent hills; the sylvan fields; the beaches; the sea; the people passing by with cheerful smiles and waves, for they had heard that he was staying on in the island and expressed their approval in many different ways.

  Kate often popped into the shorehouse for a crack and a cuppy, bringing with her the home-made bannocks and tattie scones for which she was famed. Tam also came, for a game of cards, a dram and a blether, and on one such visit, with the time fast approaching for his departure from Tigh na Cladach, Otto said rather wistfully to Tam, ‘I’m going to miss you, Herr Tam. Soon I go to stay with my grandfather, I won’t be coming back to Portcull.’