It must have been a draught or something, she reasoned. Satisfied, she closed the door.
As she did so, she caught sight of a blur of movement along the passageway. She flung the door open again but whatever it was had gone. She frowned.
She was not sure but it had looked like the same crimson-dressed woman.
Mindful of the time, Rebecca changed out of the jeans she had been travelling in all day, and brushed her tangled hair. Then she got dressed and went down to supper.
CHAPTER 2 – The Woman In The Crimson Dress
Two black birds were swooping and diving over the lawns out onto the black waters, tumbling over one another, their wing tips grazing the mirror-like surface.
“Manxies? No – can’t be.” Henry took his binoculars from the mantelpiece.
“What are manxies? Oh, uncle, you’re not a twitcher?” A smile broke across Rebecca’s face. Henry pretended to be oblivious. This made her determined not to let him off.
“Manx Shearwater. Live to be very old – some records of them living 80 years or more… but they’re not usually to be found this close to the shore.”
He tutted. Rebecca stifled another giggle.
“Ah, they’re away down the loch.” He lowered the binoculars.
“You see plenty out towards Rum and Eigg.”
“Is that a drink?” said Rebecca, in amusement.
“Close. Rum and Eigg, two of the so-called cocktail islands, part of the Inner Hebrides off the coast here. We’ll go to the headland later to see them – if it’s clear, of course.”
Rebecca seriously doubted it was ever clear or sunny.
“Weird names,” she said, gazing out over the loch. She tapped him on the chest.
“And you are a twitcher!”
“Aye, well I doubt if many of your London friends will have heard of them,” said Henry, pointedly ignoring her attempt to make fun of him. Rebecca smiled to herself.
“Some of my friends didn’t know where Fort William was,” she said.
“Laura thought it was probably somewhere out of a cowboy film.”
“Aye, that’s the English for you.” Henry smiled as her smile changed to a puzzled frown.
“Will you take your places at table?” Miss McHarg stood in the doorway to the passage to the kitchen, passing a slim pale hand across a bony forehead.
It was more an order than a request, Rebecca reflected. She ventured a polite smile. McHarg was not given to smiling very often and did not make this an exception. Her countenance seemed to forbid humour as an unnecessary frivolity. She wore neither make-up nor jewellery. Her hair was pulled back tightly from her face into a painful-looking bun. This gave her a rather severe look, enhanced by her perpetual frown. Her dress was a very old-fashioned grey pinafore, with sleeves buttoned at the wrist. Rebecca doubted whether modern shops would sell such a dress. It was partially covered by a bright, vivid apron that seemed out of place on the colourless McHarg. Lips pursed, she hovered as Rebecca and her uncle sat down. Satisfied, she uttered a barely audible “Hmm” and disappeared back through the door.
“She’s a happy soul!” Rebecca kept her voice low, so that only Henry could hear.
“She looks fiercer than she really is,” whispered Henry, smirking.
“And you won’t be disappointed with dinner – she is a fine cook.”
“I saw another woman upstairs just before supper. She came out of my room.”
Henry looked puzzled.
“What woman? The only woman here is McHarg. Must have been her.”
“It wasn’t, I’m sure. She is wearing grey and this woman had a long crimson dress on.
She was behind you when you came into the hall earlier on, too.”
“You must have been mistaken – trick of the light or something. Gets pretty gloomy around here sometimes.”
He was cut short by the reopening of the door and the entrance of a large trolley, propelled by the now apronless McHarg. Rebecca was not remotely convinced by her uncle’s dismissive explanation but said no more. Whom had she seen, then?
“Can we go to this island tomorrow, uncle?” Rebecca looked down as Miss McHarg placed a steaming plate of stew before her.
“Perhaps. I’ve some business in the morning. But first we must do justice to this lordly feast Miss McHarg has prepared for us.” He picked up his fork, smiled at Rebecca and then at McHarg.
“And remember that tomorrow is the Sabbath,” said Miss McHarg, resolutely refusing to return the smile, her lips pursing again as she turned the trolley back towards the kitchen.
“It is a day to be reflective of the Lord and give thanks.”
Rebecca looked uncertainly at her uncle and said nothing. He suppressed a smile as he watched McHarg retreat through the door, which clicked shut behind her.
“Is she born again, or something?” Rebecca’s low tones held just a hint of derision.
“That was aimed at me. Don’t pay her much mind. She thinks nobody should be frivolous or work on a Sunday. Miss McHarg is what you might call a good, God-fearing woman, but a little too full of what the locals call the zeal. Her brother Willie once played rugby on the Sabbath as she calls it – she has not spoken to him these twenty years since.”
“That’s just silly, “whispered Rebecca, leaning forward and casting a surreptitious glance over her shoulder to check that the door was still closed.
“Not to her. But I’d be inclined to agree with you – particularly as she sees him every day – he works on the boats and drops her off each morning and picks her up at night.”
***
Rebecca stood fuming at her mobile phone in the Great Hall.
“No signal,” read the display. She had been warned that this might happen in the Highlands but had hoped to keep the lifeline of contact with her friends back home.
“That infernal contraption won’t be troubling you up here,” smiled McHarg smugly from the doorway of the passage to the kitchen.
“Telephones should have wires, ring properly and live in the hallway. Cellular phones, or whatever, do not plague us, owing to the mountains. God bless the mountains.”
She turned on her heel in haughty satisfaction and disappeared.
Rebecca put out her tongue at her back. She crossed to the telephone table at the side of the hall and picked up the receiver. It was an old-fashioned phone with a ring-dial. Rebecca held the phone gingerly to her ear, as if expecting a nasty noise.
“Laura? Oh thank goodness! … Yes, I’ve arrived… How is it? Cold, wet, boring and my mobile doesn’t work…”
***
After supper, Rebecca sat in the library, awaiting Henry to begin their walk. Although most of the castle was cold and draughty, this long, narrow room was warm and cosy. An old desk and a high-backed leather chair sat beneath wooden shelves crammed with musty, leather-bound books that must have sat unopened for many years. There was a large stone hearth, beneath a painting of a boat full of sheep being rowed across a loch. A man stood at the bow in a long red coat and a tricorn hat, looking intently to the hills beyond. Two soldiers worked the oars. At the stern, a man’s head peeped out from under a blanket. He had black curly hair and bright blue eyes.
There was a large bay window with a cushioned seat. Rebecca sat down. She could pull up her feet and stretch out, looking across the lawn to the loch beyond. The island was silhouetted against the early evening sunlight which had now replaced the rain. On her lap was an old, leather-bound book her uncle had picked out for her. She opened it.
‘The Bonnie Prince in Flight’, read the title page. In the top left hand corner, somebody had written ‘To Robert, with love from Mother, Christmas 1913’. Over the page was a map of the area surrounding the castle. Overleaf was a picture similar to the painting above the hearth. She looked up as her uncle came back into the room.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Is that painting the flight of Bonnie Prince Charlie?” she asked.
“It’s here in the book,
too.” She held it out.
“It is indeed – I’m very impressed with you and all this history! That’s him hiding from the English as he escaped to Skye. Now, let’s go out before the rain comes back.”
A turreted gatehouse led across the lawn. The air was fresh and clean. Rebecca buttoned up her jacket against a stiff breeze with a surprising bite. Her hands and fingers were already quite cold. She stuffed them into her jacket pockets, where her fingers brushed the key. Rebecca idly fingered the cold metal, wondering what it might open. She opened her mouth to question her uncle about it but stopped, recalling his dismissal of the woman in crimson. She would do some investigations of her own first.
“We’ll have to get you some proper clothes,” said Henry, noticing her discomfort. Rebecca eyed what she called his dweeb gear, her mouth open in disbelief. Fashion sense was one thing in which she considered herself infinitely superior.
“Sorry? I would not be seen dead in that get up. Cagoules and walking boots are not the height of fashion, Uncle! You should wear something trendy – you’re not that old!”
“Kind of you to say so! I’m not quite in my pipe and slippers yet. At least I’ll get back warm and dry – you’ll get pneumonia if you spend the summer dressed like that. And who’s to see your London fashions up here, anyway?”
“It’s a question of standards!”
Henry laughed.
“Have it your way but I’ll lay money you’ll be wearing at least some thick socks by the end of the week.”
Rebecca snorted scornfully. Henry continued to smile to himself.
They took a path along the shore towards the sea, half a mile away.
This place actually is quite beautiful, she thought, as they climbed over some rocks, beyond which was a sandy beach. She did not voice this out loud, though.
“The country here is pretty … if you are into that sort of thing.”
“The Rough Bounds of Knoydart, they call it – a rare spot. To the south, Mull and Ardnamurchan; to the north Skye, Torridon, and eventually John O’Groats. I don’t imagine you have heard of many of those. Not everybody’s cup of tea, though, it’s a wilderness.” Henry smiled. “Your Dad’s not so keen. He’s a city boy. I think the Highlands either get right under your skin, or you can take them or leave them. I know folks in Glasgow who have never been half an hour up the road to Loch Lomond.”
“Really? If this was near London, I’m sure lots of sad, nerdy types would come.”
“Now that would be a shame. London is a long way south and we should probably be glad for it. Too many people and this would not be so special.” Henry’s eyes gazed at the hills in the distance. Rebecca studied him.
“Why did you come back here?” she asked.
“Somebody had to take over the estate when your grandfather died and I suppose I’d always known it would be me. Eldest son and all that. Your Dad’s too successful in his business. We agreed. I was a bit unsure but now I’m here … Well, it grows on you. There’s time to think up here.”
“Why aren’t you married?” A mischievous glint flashed in Rebecca’s eyes. Henry smiled.
“You’re direct, young lady. Is that any sort of question to be asking your uncle on your first day here?”
“You won’t put me off that easily! Come on – is there a lady somewhere you haven’t told the family about? I bet there is. You’re not that bad looking… for an older man.”
“Why thank you, I’m sure! That sort of information is on a need to know basis. When you need to know, I’ll tell you. Come on – not much further.”
Rebecca gave a dissatisfied sniff but Henry had resumed walking. She would have to work on him again.
A little further along, at the crest of a rise, the wind was brisker and fresher. It was no longer so peaceful, the roar of waves breaking now much nearer. In a few moments, they stood at the top of a cliff, some hundred feet above rocks where the sea was rushing in. Plumes of spray soared into the air as waves crashed onto a short rocky beach. Gulls rode up and down on the surging waves, or swooped close above. Henry pointed to some islands on the horizon.
“You’re in luck,” he shouted. “Rum and Eigg. They seem to be one but actually there are a few miles between them. Eigg is closer. That steep hill at the end is called the Sgurr.” He rolled the ‘r’ deliberately.
“The peaks in the background are the Cuillins on Rum. Not to be confused with the famous Cuillins on Skye.”
“Funny names you have for places up here! Can we go out there?”
“Maybe, although it’s nearly ten kilometres to Rum. Strong tides and current too. There is a ferry from Arisaig. I saw my first whale from that ferry.”
“There are whales in Scotland?” Rebecca was disbelieving.
“Aye, plenty. Seals, dolphins – more beasts here than you’ll see in a month on the London Underground! And you are standing on the spot where one of your ancestors supposedly fell to her death three hundred years ago.”
“What?” Rebecca jumped back involuntarily. “Who?”
“Becca McOwan, daughter of Donald the Wise. Don’t worry, her body was never found, so it’s only hearsay. Here, get down out of the wind.”
Uncle Henry indicated a rock beneath a large grey boulder. They squatted down while Henry launched into tales of their ancestors and the past. He pointed to a lighthouse on a small island guarding the entrance to the loch and described how he and her father had been stranded there as boys in a storm.
“We’d best be getting back,” he said, looking up at the sky.
“I’ve an early start in the morning. It’ll be cold soon and we’ve a walk before us.”
“I’m frozen already!” said Rebecca, swinging her arms wildly in an attempt to get warm.
“Anyway, what is your business meeting about tomorrow?”
“I have to go to Fort William to meet Mr Sibley of Holborn Passage, London, an antiques expert who is coming to examine our paintings and furniture, the McOwan collection. Some of the stuff is very old and rare. I think he’ll be with us a few days.”
“Are you going to sell things, then?”
“Some will have to go, to help pay some of the estate duties. It’s not easy running somewhere as big as Rahsaig.”
“Aren’t you rich, uncle?”
“There you go again – questions! The heating bills alone would make your eyes water.”
“Can’t say I’d noticed it was that warm. How big is the estate?” Rebecca looked out across the loch. They were still some distance from the castle.
“We’re on it now,” answered Henry. “It goes right up past the castle, up the glen to Ladhar Bheinn to the north – that’s the great mountain way up there and to the end of Loch Nevis in the east. We’re quite cut off. You can only reach Rahsaig by boat, unless you fancy a very long walk. The nearest main road is fifteen kilometres inland!”
Rebecca was silent, gauging the size of the area Henry had described. They were high enough to see the ridge of mighty Ladhar Bheinn, slumbering peacefully in the distance.
“You own a mountain?” Rebecca’s tone was one of disbelief.
“A strange idea, I know. It’s part of the estate, right enough, but I don’t think you can say we really own it. We’re just looking after it for the next generation.”
Henry walked on, leading the way. Rebecca studied his back, impressed by the unassuming way her uncle described his estate. Her brother Alistair jokingly referred to Henry as His Lordship but this did not sit easily with the man she was getting to know.
“So can we go out in the boat to the island?” she asked, at length, as they found themselves back at the West door.
“Aye, if the weather is good.” They disappeared back inside the castle.
Down by the loch, hunched up in the trees out of the wind, a woman had been watching them. After a few moments, she turned and headed quickly and quietly away up the glen, alongside the water’s edge. She wore a long, crimson dress.
CHAPTER 3 – The V
oice In The Mist
When Rebecca came down the wide staircase into the Great Hall next morning, the sun was streaming in through the windows, sending shafts of bright, golden light across the stairwell and passageways. One could almost mistake it for summer, she thought to herself, with a hint of irony, but for the fact that this was Scotland and rain was sure to come – in her experience so far, anyway. As she came through the Great Hall, the grandfather clock which stood in the corner by the West door began to strike eight.
“Eight o’clock, indeed... hm. Your uncle was away across the loch at six this morning.”
Miss McHarg frowned as Rebecca sat down in the dining room to breakfast. Rebecca was not altogether sure if this suggested some form of reproof for daring to lounge in bed for so long after his departure. To be showered, dressed and downstairs by eight o’clock in the summer holidays was not something she felt could be deemed lazy, even by Miss McHarg, be it the Sabbath or not.
“The boatman took him back when he dropped me off – he’ll be nearly in Fort William by now. Business meetings on the Sabbath, indeed.”
“Isn’t the boatman your brother?” Rebecca could not look at Miss McHarg as she asked the question, trying to muster as much innocence as she dared.
There was a long pause.
Swallowing nervously, Rebecca looked up and encountered the full force of an icy stare from McHarg. After a few more seconds, during which Rebecca bravely attempted to smile, the housekeeper spoke.
“He would claim so, I dare say.” With that, McHarg pursed her lips into a frosty line and retreated through the door. Rebecca waited until she was sure she had gone before she allowed a smirk to spread across her face.
As it was such a beautiful morning, she decided to go out and explore the estate. In the large stone porch there was a pile of assorted boots, umbrellas and sticks in a long wooden box. She looked down at her lightweight trainers, remembering the boggy, wet ground of the previous evening’s walk, and hesitated. Recalling her uncle’s teasing, she looked around to check who might be watching. Seeing no one, she shrugged, grabbed a pair of socks and some boots that looked close to her size and pulled them on. They fitted comfortably. She could not lower herself to take a Gore-tex jacket, however.
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