“How do we know he went to the Caldera?” Eva said, breaking the moment.
“He was seen by the lighthouse keeper at the time,” Morwenna said. “He watched him rowing out to the ship. They raised anchor and sailed off as soon as he was on board.”
“Dad left a will with ’is journal. ’E must ’ave thought ’e might not be comin’ back. Those last few lines ’e wrote, they were different—scratchy. It must have all ’appened so quick, ’e didn’t get time to write it down in detail. I think you’re right, Iris. Oughterlauney must ’ave threatened ’im. Maybe that’s what ’e and Barnabas Whitewater were really arguing over. In ’is letter, Dad said ’e were going “to put an end to this.” Maybe ’e meant put an end to the feud between ’im and Oughterlauney? Barnabas probably tried to stop ’im, and that’s why they fought?”
Robin looked at Eva with bright, hopeful eyes. She could see how Robin wanted so desperately to find some redeeming quality in his father, some justification for his actions, some noble reason for abandoning him.
“I’m sure that’s correct, Mr. Shipp,” she said, slipping into formality out of habit and a desperate desire to sound sincere.
“Dad went to the Caldera to stop Oughterlauney, but before ’e could, your company’s boats found them. If they’d attacked Oughterlauney sooner, if they ’adn’t waited…What was it, a matter of a few ’ours? The time it took for Thomas Oughterlauney to come to the island, threaten Dad, and then sail toward Blackrabbit? A few ’ours earlier and Oughterlauney would ’ave been sunk before settin’ foot in Blashy Cove. A few ’ours earlier and I’d still ’ave Dad. Just a few ’ours and everythin’ would’ve been different. Everythin’ would’ve been better.”
Robin had pitched in wherever he could—helping to fix the schoolhouse, recovering personal items scattered by the winds, and assisting with any other odds and ends that needed doing. He even helped remove the wreckage of boats from the beach. Everyone said they thought he’d avoid seeing the remains of Bucca’s Call, but he defiantly cleared up all the parts, ready for disposal. Regardless of how much it pained him, he refused to wait for someone else to do it.
Most of his time had been spent working on the roof of Morwenna’s cottage. The basic framework was in place already, and thatching had begun. When it became too dark to work outside, he’d set about fixing the floorboards in his own home, and giving them a new coat of paint. He had also, along with some other men from the village, offered his service to the Trease family to aid in the recovery of their water wheel at the farm. Straddling the stream, it had acted as a filter, catching all of the soil and mud washed down from the hills. It had taken half a day to dig it out, but once it had been moved into the courtyard, the farm’s carpenters could begin the job of repairing it.
Robin stood on the first floor landing of his home with his father’s journal clasped in his hand. He faced the portrait of Captain Erasmus Shipp, the painting he passed by every day, and saw it through new eyes. At several feet high, it had loomed large in his life, in more ways than one. It used to be a painting of a hero, of an idol—but now it was a painting of a philanderer, and a pirate, and above all, a man. Just a man.
Eva and Iris had stayed only a short while, and Robin had assured them he bore no ill will towards them for the actions of Eva’s father. Morwenna had gone to bed, leaving Robin alone. Brooding wasn’t in his nature, but this evening, he found himself unable to do much else. At times like this, his instinct was to cast off in Bucca’s Call and clear his mind on the open sea. He felt the loss of his silly old boat now more than ever, and far more than he felt able to let on, for how could he voice that particular sentiment now, with everything else going on? It was foolish of him to even be thinking of it. Feeling frustrated, he stuffed the journal into his overcoat, grabbed a lantern, and stormed out of his tall, thin house.
It was late, but there was a murmur of activity coming from the Moth & Moon. Robin walked right past it and made straight for the pier. Stomping along the whole length of it, he sat at the farthest end, dangling his legs over the edge like he used to do when he was a boy. He set the lantern down next to him, and it wasn’t long before it attracted a couple of tiny brown moths who flittered around it, trying in vain to break through the brass-and-glass enclosure to the dancing flame within. After the hurricane, the water level had retreated to its usual height, and in the inky blackness of night, the waves were discernible only where they were touched by the moonlight—a scattered reflection, endlessly shifting. A delicate, pale arm stretching out to the horizon.
He reached into his pocket and withdrew the journal. Undoing the leather strap, he flicked through it with his stubby, square fingers, opened it to a random page and began reading. Here, by the gentle lapping sea, his father’s voice came ringing across the years, clear as a bell.
“It’s been a hard few years. There has been much turmoil and strife. Much suffering and loss, but it will all have been worth it, for it was all for my son.”
Robin closed the journal, sat for a while, breathing in the cold, crisp, salty air, and watched the moon sink slowly into the sea.
Chapter Twenty-Five
EDWIN WAS BACK at work in his bakery. While he wished he was getting stuck in with the repair work, the fact remained the people of the village needed food, so people like himself, Mr. Blackwall, Mr. Bounsell, and others were needed back at their businesses. Aside from those that had been levelled, most the buildings on Hill Road and Ridge Street suffered only minor damage. The village’s other oysterman, Mr. Hirst, had made a full recovery and already resumed his fishing activities in the cove.
Duncan had been at his toyshop collecting some tools. His shop was undamaged by the hurricane but remained closed while more important matters were dealt with. He’d been working day and night preparing frames, joists, and posts. With all of the trees brought down by the storm, timber was easy to come by. On his way home, he called in to Farriner’s Bakery and invited Edwin round to his house that evening. Edwin, somewhat flabbergasted, said he’d be delighted.
When Edwin arrived, it was just getting dark. The sky was still cloudy, and a light rain fell. As he walked up the laneway towards Duncan’s little house on the hill, with a wrapped fruitcake in his hand, he spotted a moth fluttering among the hedgerow. With its brilliant blue wings it looked just like the one Robin had told him he’d seen huddling for shelter in the framework of the lighthouse gallery. He’d never seen one like it.
“Thank you for coming,” Duncan said as he hung up Edwin’s coat.
“I brought you something. Freshly baked this afternoon,” Edwin said, handing over the parcel.
Duncan thanked him again and ushered him into the comfortable living room. On a table against the far wall were four model lighthouses in varying stages of completion. Edwin picked up the one on the end, as it was the only one painted—in blue and white stripes—and it looked the sturdiest. Duncan arrived in, carrying a tray loaded with a teapot, butter dish, and two china cups.
“Twist the key on the bottom,” he said.
Edwin turned the model over in his hand and gave the little metal key a few turns. Setting the lighthouse back on the table, a simple melody began to play—he recognised it as being the one Robin sometimes hummed. He also saw an occasional little flash of light coming from the top of the model, and he bent down to inspect it.
“It’s just a tiny mirror. It glints as it turns and catches the light. Albert Wolfe helped me with the mechanism. Took a few goes to get it right.” Duncan smiled.
“I’m sure they’ll be very popular,” Edwin said.
“I want you to have the first one. By way of an apology.”
“That’s very kind of you, but really, there’s no need.”
As he was beckoned to sit on the comfortable armchair by the fireplace, Edwin became aware he was being watched by two bright blue eyes. Bramble the kitten meowed from under Duncan’s chair. Edwin called him over, and the little kitten wobbled his way across the carpet t
o the waiting hands of the baker.
“I believe there is,” Duncan said and he sat down. “I was very harsh on you in the lighthouse.”
“Oh, no, you weren’t…” Edwin began.
Duncan held up his hand. “No, I was, and we both know I was. It wasn’t a pleasant time for me, as you can imagine. I did you a great injustice. I thought you were sticking your oar in where it didn’t belong, with me and Robin, but you were right to. We needed to talk, and you gave us the push we required. I felt very guilty when I heard what had happened with Robin, rescuing little May Bell. I know now that’s why you were so worried about him.”
Edwin began to blush a little at this. Duncan’s bluntness had disarmed him again. He was used to people skirting around issues, easing into them. Duncan, like Eva, had a way of just ploughing right through them. Edwin wondered if it was a habit he’d picked up when he was living on Blackrabbit Island. He also wondered if perhaps it wasn’t a better approach.
“And you know that’s not the only reason I was worried,” Edwin said.
Duncan smiled at this as he poured two cups of tea and sliced some fruitcake.
“At least we've spoken now. We can move on, as friends. And we have you to thank.”
Edwin didn't know what to say. He looked at the carved ornaments on the mantelpiece. He lifted a little bird with a bright spot of red paint on its breast.
“This is the robin you mentioned, from your childhood?” he asked, and Duncan chuckled.
“Yes, that’s the one.”
Edwin turned it over in his hands, admiring the craftsmanship.
“Have you two talked yet?” Duncan asked.
Edwin coughed slightly, and as he sat back down, he reached over and lifted a cup and saucer.
“Um, no, not yet. We’ve both been busy, and after the lighthouse, I wondered if maybe you two were…” He was uncertain of how to phrase his thoughts.
“Oh, my, no. No, no, no. You’ve nothing to worry about there,” Duncan said, holding both hands up this time, as if to prove they were clean or just empty. “We’ve aired our grievances, and we’re all the better for it, but that part of our lives is over. Too much water under that particular bridge. He clearly cares a great deal about you.”
“Really?” Edwin smiled his biggest, sappiest smile at this.
“You must realise the gamble you’re taking with your friendship, though.”
“I do. Whatever misgivings I’d had about taking a chance with him were left behind in those caves. On the boat ride back, I had a moment of clarity. I thought sure it was obvious what I was thinking, but Robin was oblivious, as usual! But it just struck me—he’s worth the risk.”
“He is,” Duncan agreed. “But don’t tell him I said so or I’ll have to thump you.”
They laughed then. Was it the first time they’d shared a laugh together, Edwin wondered.
“Look, I know it didn’t end well between me and him, but don’t let that affect you.” Duncan slathered a slice of fruit cake with butter and took a small bite. Edwin fought the urge to tell him his fruit cake was already quite moist enough and didn’t require butter.
“I remember once we went out in Bucca’s Call,” Duncan said, wiping a little dab of butter from the corner of his mouth. “Robin had this thing made—it was a few bits of wood, like a little platform that fit snugly over the first two benches of the boat. It was a beautiful summer’s evening and we lay on the platform, anchored way out in the bay, watching the clouds. Just me and him. I lay there in his arms, listening to the waves, the birds, the beat of his heart in his chest, and I felt so…at peace. The past, my past, felt like another country. So far away. We watched the sun setting, then the most beautiful starry night. We made wishes on falling stars. He had blankets ready for when it turned cold; he had wine, bread, cheese. It was…perfect, really.”
Duncan stopped there, rubbing the back of his own hairy neck with a stubby hand, and let out a little laugh. “I know how it sounds, really, I do,” he continued. “But I promise you, I’m not still in love with Robin. I just…”
Edwin held his cup tightly in his hands and felt the intensity of Duncan’s gaze. That time, though, it was different. Unlike in the lighthouse, when he was made to feel as if he was intruding on some very private territory, it was more like he being seen—really, truly seen—on his own terms. Not as an interloper in Duncan’s world, but as a welcomed guest.
“Between you and me, I pine for our relationship in its best days.” Duncan said. “I miss that Robin. And I miss that version of myself. The one finally free of my past.”
Bramble had scuttled out from underneath a chair and began trilling and pawing at Duncan’s leg. He bent down and scooped up the little kitten, who began to purr instantly. “At least I’ve got some company round the house now. Even if he never shuts up for five bleddy minutes.” He stroked under Bramble’s chin.
They talked about how Keeper Hall, recovered from his injuries, had told the village about signalling for help from the lighthouse window for only a few minutes before becoming too disorientated to continue. It was sheer luck that Duncan had seen it.
And they talked about how odd it was that Mr. Reed smiled so much now, when they weren’t previously sure it was something he was even capable of doing. They had never before seen his perfect little white teeth, or the way his eyebrows rose in the middle of his forehead and slanted over his slate-coloured eyes.
After a couple of hours swapping stories—more than a few of which concerned Robin—Edwin held his model lighthouse up and waved farewell to Duncan from the laneway. The toymaker stood in the doorway of his little blue house on the hill, framed by the golden warmth of his candlelit hallway and holding in his arms the bright-eyed Bramble. He and Edwin parted if not quite yet as friends, then at least with a better understanding of one another and a solid foundation on which to build.
Chapter Twenty-Six
ROBIN WAS WORKING on the roof of Morwenna’s cottage and the repairs were nearing completion. It was a clean and crisp morning, and the smell of brine filled the air. The bright sunshine—a welcome relief after the gloom of the previous few days—was turning his broad, bare back slightly pink in tone, and his massive, brawny shoulders were beginning to sting a little. Beads of sweat gathered on his brow and he wiped them away with his meaty forearm as he carefully sat back against the chimneystack. Pulling his cap down farther over his eyes to shield them from the sun, he heard a familiar voice call up to him.
“Mr. Shipp! Can you come down for a minute?”
He looked down to see little May Bell excitedly jumping around.
“Right now? I’m almost done ’ere. Can it wait a while?” he said.
“No, it’s got to be right now!” May replied, barely able to contain herself.
Robin laughed as he clambered down to the garden, wiping his hands on his breeches.
“Now, what’s so urgent?” he asked as lifted his shirt from the fence.
He pulled it on and began to button it closed. His thick fingers made this task a bit fiddly, and he was taking entirely too long for the child’s liking. Before he had the third button fastened over his hefty belly, May had grabbed Robin by one burly forearm and began to drag him away.
“Come along!” she called. “Hurry!”
She dragged Robin the whole way to the harbour where seemingly the entire village had gathered. Edwin was there and was deep in conversation with Morwenna. Dr. Greenaway and his wife, Mr. Bounsell, Mr. Reed, and Mr. Blackwall were all there, as were the Ladies Wolfe-Chase, with the blacksmith and his sons. Jim, Arabella, and Allister Stillpond were present, and May’s parents too. Her father, Henry, was propped up on a couple of wooden crutches, his ankle still in bandages. Even Mrs. Kind and the tweed knights could be seen mingling among the crowd. They were all talking excitedly and they cheered and laughed when they beheld the sight of the little girl trailing the huge fisherman by the arm. Robin was stumbling to keep up.
“What’s all this,
now?” He laughed when he reached the crowd and was finally freed from the youngster’s grasp. He absent-mindedly closed the rest of the buttons on his shirt, but used too much force on the last one, causing it to pop off and bounce away across the cobblestones towards the beach. Edwin caught it underfoot and picked it up. He stepped forward and tucked the button into the pocket of Robin’s shirt.
“Well, Mr. Shipp,” he said to the crowd as much as to Robin. “You’ve been working nonstop to help everyone fix their homes and businesses and get back on their feet, and, well, we all thought you deserved something in return.”
He placed his hand on Robin’s sunburned shoulder, causing him to wince ever so slightly, and turned him around to face one of the big sheds by the shore. Sitting on the roof were the Admiral and Captain Tom, still squawking and bickering. They had survived the hurricane seemingly unscathed.
The doors of the big red shed slowly opened and so did Robin’s eyes. He raced over and touched the prow, to make sure it was real. He traced his hand along the hull, across the beautifully vivid scarlet paint, and over the nameplate, with every letter lovingly painted on. He could hardly believe it. There, standing on blocks of wood, paintwork gleaming in the sun stood the fully restored Bucca’s Call. He turned to face the crowd with tears in his eyes.
“But ’ow…” he began.
He couldn’t begin to express what he was feeling. This boat wasn’t just a gift from his father, wasn’t just a link to his past, it was also—he had recently discovered—his birthplace.
Edwin held his hands up. “Everyone wanted to help. But it wasn’t just us, this was Duncan’s idea. He did most of the work.”
He pointed to the toymaker, who appeared sheepishly from the other side of the vessel.
“I couldn’t have done it without help,” Duncan said.
Morwenna chirped up. “He spent every spare moment repairing her.”
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