by Flora Kidd
‘And meanwhile, what will you do?’ he inquired politely.
‘Linda and I shall wait here with the car.’
‘Oh, no, Nancy, that’s not fair! I want to have a ride in Mr. Mithras’ car. It looks very fast,’ said Linda uncooperatively.
‘You’ll have a long wait, I’m thinking. Your brother will not be back until Monday, unless my knowledge of Duncan Macrae is badly astray,’ replied the man. ‘No, you will all come with me. There’s enough room in the car, although it will be a tight fit. You can speak to Duncan and then I shall take you to your cottage.’
‘Would you really? That would be fine. Thanks very much,’ accepted Don cheerfully.
‘A real Samaritan,’ cooed Linda, gazing up at her new idol with adoring eyes. The sight of her adoration made Nancy more annoyed than ever and she put in quickly,
‘Oh, no ... no, thank you. It’s very kind of you to offer Mr. ...’
‘Mithras,’ he supplied with a sudden grin which she might have found disarming if she had not been so confused.
‘You don’t have to take us to the cottage. Glenarg will be far enough. We shall wait there until the car is mended. We don’t want to impose on you and take you out of your way.’
Another long cool stare which made her feel as if she was hopelessly foolish.
‘You will not be taking me out of my way,’ he said. Then as if that statement settled the argument he turned to Don and said, ‘If you would like to take out of your car the minimum you’ll require for the night we’ll stow it in mine. Although you may have to nurse some of it on your knees.’
When he saw the amount of luggage they had brought with them he whistled softly.
‘You seem prepared to stay for a long time,’ he commented, as they pulled out their sleeping bags and a small holdall in which they had kept their overnight things for the journey.
‘We’ve brought all we own,’ replied Don. ‘I intend to stay on the croft and live on it like Grandfather did.’
‘Do you know anything about crofting?’ inquired the stranger, as he pushed the sleeping bags into a small space at the back of the rear seats of his car.
‘No,’ admitted Don. ‘But I’m willing to learn. Nothing could be worse than living in a city doing a job you loathe.’
Linda and Nancy sat in the two small cramped seats at the back of the car in order to give Don the benefit of the small amount of leg room at the front. Don seemed quite at ease with the stranger and talked away happily, telling him of the miseries of his work in Dulthorpe. In fact with Linda’s help he was telling the stranger far too much, thought Nancy furiously, although it was difficult to make out whether the man was listening or not because he said nothing and seemed more intent on his driving.
Of course he was going far too fast for the state and type of road on which they were travelling, and perhaps she should tell him. On second thoughts there was nothing wrong with his driving. In fact he drove at speed better than Don drove normally. So she said nothing. Soon they topped the final rise and saw the white cottages of a small village strung out beside a narrow strait of water which glimmered in the last of the evening sunlight. Beyond the water were gently sloping wooded hills rising up from a foreshore of flat saltmarsh. Lanmore was in sight at last.
At the garage and petrol service station Duncan Macrae was not at all keen to take his towing truck out when told by Don about the plight of the Rover. But he promised he would go out to look at the car on Sunday and that he would tow it to his garage on Monday without fail.
‘And when I haf it here, and haf ben lookin’ at it, I’ll be speakin’ to you on the telephone to tell you how long it will take to repair it,’ he said courteously in his lilting voice, the sound of which kept Linda spellbound and silent. ‘Now, if you would be leavin’ me your name and address—’
‘Our name is Allan,’ said Don proudly, ‘and we shall be at our croft on Lanmore.’
The tall tow-headed man with the bright blue eyes stiffened slightly and it seemed to Nancy that when he spoke again his courtesy was less spontaneous, but he made no comment beyond murmuring,
‘Just so. There is no telephone at the house. I will ask my brother Ian to call on you and tell you when the car is ready, then.’
‘Perhaps we can save you the trouble, Mr. Macrae,’ put in Nancy quickly. ‘If you could tell us of somewhere where we might stay until Monday ... you see we have no means of reaching Lanmore without our car.’
‘Ach, himself will be taking you, surely,’ said Duncan, jerking his head in the direction of Mr. Mithras who was leaning idly against his car talking to the ferryman. Nancy’s mouth set in a determined line.
‘He said he would, but we have no wish to take him out of his way. And how would he get back to the mainland if the ferry stops running at nightfall?’
Duncan’s bright eyes narrowed under his shaggy eyebrows as he glanced in the direction of the dark green car and its owner.
‘If he hasn’t told you himself, miss, it isn’t for me to be sayin’,’ he answered strangely. ‘And there is no house in the village where you could be stayin’, whatever, and I cannot promise that the car would be ready by Monday. Now, if you would be excusin’ me.’
With a polite nod of his head he walked away across the yard, which was littered with old oil drums and bits of ancient cars.
‘What a lovely voice,’ breathed Linda. ‘However am I going to describe it?’
‘He wasn’t very friendly,’ asserted Don as they walked down the slope towards the green car and the ferry. ‘Did you notice, Nan?’
‘Yes, I did,’ said Nancy. ‘As soon as you mentioned our name.’ The famed Highland courtesy was a good facade behind which to hide hostility, she thought. Outwardly Duncan had remained polite, but antipathy had been there. Mr. Mithras Pluto also had the same polite manner. You couldn’t really fault him on courtesy, but under the surface there was a similar hostility as if he resented them for some unknown reason. And they were still dependent on him to take them to Lanmore.
To be under an obligation to someone who did not like them irritated Nancy. A further irritant was that Duncan Macrae had quite obviously recognised Mr. Mithras and yet had not seen fit to inform her of his identity. He had seemed to think it enough to refer to the stranger as ‘Himself’ assuming that the Allans knew him.
By the time she reached the green car Linda was already settled in the back seat and Don had also taken his place. They had apparently accepted the stranger’s offer without any hesitation.
‘Well, Miss Allan, are you staying the night in Glenarg or are you going to accompany your sister and brother and me to Lanmore?’
The politeness was still there. It was so cool as to be almost icy—an icy film behind which all sorts of emotions could be hidden. Now that she had heard Duncan Macrae’s Highland speech she realised that Mr. Mithras possessed the smallest suspicion of Highland sibilance in his quiet voice. Quiet, polite ... and yet an impression of insolence.
‘I don’t seem to have much alternative,’ she answered coolly. ‘It seems that there’s nowhere for us to stay in Glenarg. In fact Don and I have a distinct impression that we’re not welcome. I wonder why?’
‘You will not be long in finding an answer to your question,’ he replied non-committally, dodging an issue in much the same suave way as Duncan had.
‘But if you’re going to take us across the ferry, how are you going to get back? The croft isn’t near the ferry, and it’s almost dark now.’
‘Afraid that you might have to put me up for the night, Miss Allan?’ he queried mockingly. ‘Let me set your mind at rest. I shall not stay at the croft a moment longer than necessary. And now I think we’d better get aboard, otherwise Davie will be going without us.’
If it hadn’t been for Linda and Don the crossing of the narrow strait and the rest of the journey might have taken place in dead silence. But they were both so excited at the thought of landing on Lanmore that they chattered inconsequently the whol
e time, exclaiming at the view to the west of a satin smooth sea on which small islands floated, black silhouettes against an orange sky.
As the car rolled off the ferry on to a slipway which was in far better condition than the one at Glenarg, Mr. Mithras wound down the car window and shouted something in a strange language to the ferryman.
‘Gaelic,’ exclaimed Linda triumphantly. ‘What did you say?’
‘Don’t be rude, Linda,’ cautioned Nancy. ‘Maybe it was something private.’
‘I said “Oidhche mhath mata” which means “Goodnight, then”. That’s all. Nothing very private,’ said the stranger, and again there was amusement in his voice as if he found Nancy’s intervention ridiculous.
She resolved to say no more. His attitude towards her was far different from his attitude to Linda. He seemed to like Linda and answered her forthright questions without any hesitation so that they were all now knowledgeable about the fact that he had driven all the way from Glasgow that day. With Don he was off-hand but not unpleasant. He talked to him as man to man, and this Nancy knew would endear him to her brother, who had often been resentful of Rod Ellis’s condescension.
The road crossed a no man’s land of salt marsh. It was well surfaced, better than the road they had travelled to Glenarg. On either side pools of water glinted in the fast-fading daylight. Ahead the hills of Lanmore were melting into the darkness. Soon the road was among the hills, losing its level straightness as it twisted and turned in a westerly direction. Twin shafts of headlights picked out the drystone walls behind which dark trees crowded. A whitewashed cottage loomed towards them and was passed. Further on a white signpost bearing the words ‘Lanmore Lodge’ pointed west, and Nancy thought of Mr. K. L. Maclaine, the laird whom they had just missed meeting at the lawyer’s office. She assumed that it was his wealth which ensured that the slipway and the road were kept in good condition.
After several more twisting miles they turned left off the road on to another narrower road. They passed open fields, bare of trees. The road descended jumped over a bridge and turned left again and there was the sea smoothly reflecting the last grey streak of light.
The car stopped beside a stone wall in which there was a gate. Don and Linda were out of the car and through the gate before Nancy could move. She spoke stiffly to the man who still sat in the driver’s seat.
‘Thank you very much. We’re very much in your debt.’
‘And that will be bothering you, of course,’ he murmured. ‘Have you the key to the house, because it looks as if your brother hasn’t.’
‘Come on, Nancy. What are you waiting for?’ urged Don. ‘We’re here. I hope you haven’t lost the key.’
‘Of course I haven’t,’ she retorted, as she moved over and pushing forward the back of the seat which Don had vacated, extricated herself from the car.
She dug in her handbag for the key, but no matter how much she groped she could not feel it. It was impossible to see into the bag, so she walked round to the front of the car and bent down before the headlights in an attempt to see into it. Behind her Don was muttering sarcastically about women and their inability to keep keys.
‘I shall soon be thinking that you are not the rightful owners of the croft,’ said Mr. Mithras close beside her. ‘I have a torch here. Empty the contents of your bag on the seat of the car.’
A torch! The one thing they had not brought, thought Nancy wildly. Supposing there was no light in the house? Supposing they had to grope in the dark in order to make a meal before they went to bed? Suddenly she realised how hungry and tired she was and how much she would have to do before she would be able to go to bed, and her already lowered spirits plummeted to zero.
The emptying of her bag and the search amongst its contents under the watchful steady beam of the torch did not reveal the key.
‘I must have lost it,’ she said dully.
‘Oh, Nancy!’ wailed Linda. ‘I’m so tired and hungry. What shall we do?’
‘I should have guessed you would lose it,’ said Don impatiently. ‘I told you to give it to me.’
‘As if you’re any better with keys than I am!’ she snapped back. ‘Don’t forget it was you who so cleverly locked the car keys in the boot the night we stayed in Dumfries.’
She realised it was dark again in the car. The torch and its owner had gone. ‘Where is he?’ she whispered to Don.
‘At the front door with Linda,’ he whispered back. Just then Linda came skipping towards them.
‘The door’s open, Nancy, Mr. Mithras has opened it I think he must be a magician, or perhaps a genie, like the one Aladdin had. He always seems to be around when we need help.’
‘Not a genie ... merely knowledgeable about the people who live in the Highlands. There was a key hidden on a ledge above the porch door. It’s common practice to leave a key handy in case someone comes home and wants to get in. And now if you would like to take your sleeping bags and other belongings out of the car I’ll take you into the cottage and show you how to light the lamp,’ said the stranger.
‘Lamp?’ chorused the Allans.
‘Isn’t there any electricity?’ quavered Nancy.
‘I thought all the Highlands were served with electricity nowadays,’ added Don.
‘You’re quite right ... but not this cottage,’ answered their magician.
As they took their sleeping bags out of the car and walked after him into the cottage Nancy couldn’t help wondering how he knew all he did about the cottage. Was it possible that he lived hereabouts? But where? He didn’t look like her idea of a crofter or a shepherd and he was too young to be the laird.
The cottage had a damp musty air which made her shiver as she entered, following the torchlight. There was a tiny panelled entrance hall off which two rooms opened one on either side. Their guide turned into the one on the left. It was furnished with a large table on which stood an oil lamp.
‘If you’ll hold the torch I shall show you how to light it,’ said Mr. Mithras, handing the torch to Don and picking up the box of matches which lay handily close to the lamp.
He took the glass chimney off the lamp and laid it on the table. Then he picked up the brass base of the lamp and shook it, and they could hear the gurgle of oil within it. Putting it down on the table again, he turned a small knob fixed to the neck of the container and turned up the wick.
‘Looks dirty,’ he commented laconically. ‘Shine the torch over here.’
He moved to the fireplace. The beam lit up the heavy wooden overmantel which was laden with numerous pieces of dusty china ornaments. He searched amongst them and apparently found what he wanted, because he returned to the table and proceeded to clean the wick with the object.
That done, he struck a match and applied it to the wick, which began to burn with a strong yellow light. When it was burning well he turned it down a little and fitted the chimney over it. In the chimney there was a white gauze mantel. This immediately incandesced and a brighter light spread through the room until it was full of a mellow glow which cast deep shadows in the corners.
‘Oh, what a lovely light!’ said Linda. ‘It’s just as if we were living years and years ago. I wish we always used lamps like this. They’re much better ... much more cosy than electric light.’
‘You may not think so when you find you have to clean and fill them every day, one for each room,’ commented Mr. Mithras dryly.
Nancy glanced round the room. Its walls were lined with painted wooden boards and the floor was covered with linoleum which was bright red and covered with a jazzy black and white pattern. Red seemed to have been Grandfather Allan’s favourite colour, because the frames of the windows and the doors were painted bright red. As well as the table, there was an old brown dresser against one wall on which blue willow-patterned plates were arranged. On either side of the black range there were two big wheel-backed chairs. There were no chairs at the table, but a bench was pushed under each side of it.
Nancy’s gaze came round to th
e fireplace and range again and she stared at it with an odd feeling of dread.
‘How will we cook?’ she asked, knowing full well what the answer would be and bracing herself to meet the amused glint which she guessed would be in Mr. Mithras’s grey eyes when he answered.
She was right. The glint was there, although his mouth remained serious.
‘As you have guessed,’ he replied. ‘On the range.’
‘Oh, Nancy, just think! Home-made bread from a coal-fired oven!’ enthused Linda, who was still entranced by the old-fashioned facilities of the room.
‘A peat fire,’ put in Mr. Mithras softly, almost wickedly.
‘That’s even better,’ said Linda.
‘But doesn’t it take ages to light?’ complained Don. ‘I’m absolutely famished. It’s hours since we last ate.’
‘Yes, it does take a long time to light it if you haven’t the knack,’ murmured Mr. Mithras, ‘especially when the house has been empty for some time and the chimney is damp and cold ... and you should never let it go out once it has been lit, unless of course you’re leaving the house for a long period.’
It seemed to Nancy that he was relishing pointing out all the inconveniences of the place, as if he was trying to put them off, and at once her pride asserted itself. She turned and smiled brightly at him.
‘Well, I expect we shall manage very well once we get the hang of it. We mustn’t delay you any longer. Thank you very much for all your help,’ she said with a jauntiness she was far from feeling. Once this man was on his way she would be able to relax and it wouldn’t matter how many mistakes she made because he wouldn’t be here to laugh at her. If only she didn’t feel so tired! If only she could get rid of the sense that the presence of the Allans at Lanmore was not welcome. The red paint didn’t help her spirits at all. It was probably daubed all over the house and it would take her and Don all summer to get rid of it.
She became suddenly aware that the stranger was ignoring her suggestion that he should leave and that he was removing his jacket and pushing the sleeves of his sweater above his elbows.