Voice in the Mist

by Nigel Cubbage

  “My thoughts entirely, Morgan. So, what do you recommend?”

  A flash of inspiration occurred to Henry.

  “To Barradale to look for them, of course. They are most probably hiding out there.”

  Sibley was momentarily nonplussed.

  “But … if the police have apprehended them, and one would have to deduce that is a considerable likelihood given the appearance of our young friend, our window of opportunity to escape is closing fast.”

  “So what do you suggest?” Henry winced as he said this. He sensed Sibley was becoming suspicious. Sibley spoke slowly in response, as if weighing something up in his mind.

  “We go to the truck now, load up and head south as we had always planned.”

  “Mr Sibley!” The rasping tones of McAllum barked from the wheelhouse. They all turned. He was pointing the shotgun straight ahead, to where a boat had appeared.

  “Police?” said Sibley, making his way back to join McAllum. Henry followed him.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Drew had been watching the approaching boat and now quickly turned to Rebecca.

  “It’s the Duke, with Dougie and Willie on board, I’ll bet. This could be our chance. We need to stop this boat and get that gun away from McAllum somehow.”

  Rebecca put a restraining hand on Drew’s arm.

  “Campbell! You’re not the SAS. That gun fires real bullets and I don’t think he’d think twice about using it.”

  “He can’t shoot straight. I’ve seen him miss a stag at ten metres.”

  “Poor stag!” said Rebecca, horrified. She looked at Drew accusingly. “What were you doing shooting deer? Anyway, I doubt he would miss all three of us at one metre.”

  The Duke of Argyll was drawing closer. Rebecca could now see Willie at the wheel. He appeared to be heading straight at them. A glance at the wheelhouse told Rebecca that she was not the only one to suspect this.

  “He’s going to try to force us onto the rocks at Shadow Island!” whispered Drew to Rebecca, with a tremor of excitement. They withdrew to the side of the boat alongside the wheelhouse, where Henry had taken up position.

  “Suggest to him that he alters course, McAllum,” said Sibley, taking the wheel for a moment and slowing the engine down. McAllum stepped onto the deck and pointed the shotgun towards the other boat. He fired, emptying both barrels into the air just above it.

  “Quick!” Drew dug Henry in the ribs. “Before he reloads!”

  Together, they rushed at McAllum, catching him unawares full-square in the back and knocking him over the side. He landed in the water with a big splash, the gun flying across the deck. Henry retrieved it. At the wheel, Sibley watched in astonishment.

  “Morgan? What on earth…” he began. Henry smiled. Drew wrenched the wheel away from Sibley, which was not as difficult as he had imagined, since the portly man put up very little resistance. He killed the boat’s engine.

  “Not Morgan, I’m afraid … Henry. Rebecca, unlock the cabin and let the policemen out. Here’s the key.” He pointed the gun at Godfrey, who immediately flung his arms in the air, not registering that it was no longer loaded.

  “Get that uniform off and get in the cabin,” he ordered. He turned back to Sibley.

  “Your little game is over, Mr Sibley.”

  “But your gun is not loaded, Mr McOwan,” sneered Sibley, his lip curling viciously under his moustache.

  “This one is though!” Dougie Campbell leapt aboard as Willie McHarg steered the Duke of Argyll alongside.

  “Sure it’s only a flare gun but it’ll make a pretty big hole!”

  He pointed a pistol at Sibley, who raised his hands apprehensively. The policemen had now re-emerged sheepishly from the cabin, clad only in their underwear. Rebecca could not hold back a giggle.

  “Once you’ve dressed, officers, you might like to arrest these men.”

  Smiling impishly, she pointed at Sibley and Godfrey, and at McAllum flailing in the water some distance behind the boat.

  “We can still cuff ‘em, boxer shorts or no boxer shorts,” said one constable gruffly, as his companion seized the wailing Godfrey and retrieved his uniform. He produced some handcuffs and in moments both Godfrey and Sibley were secured inside the cabin.

  “Quite the cavalry, aren’t we?” said Rebecca, turning to the elder Campbell, who was still brandishing his flare gun.

  “A poncho and you’d pass for Clint. Would you really have shot him?”

  “God no! It’s empty, too.” Dougie waved it merrily. “But he wasn’t to know.”

  “Perhaps we should retire graciously now and leave things to the pros,” said Henry. He pointed towards the police launches, now heading towards them at high speed.

  “Willie, Dougie, thanks for showing up when you did. We were running out of ideas.”

  “I don’t know,” said Rebecca. “You make a pretty convincing crook, threatening to throw your own niece overboard. I don’t know what my parents will say about that.”

  “To say nothing of the poor, oppressed workers,” added Drew.

  “Aye, well, now your brother is back from helping out at Barradale, I need to find some way to cut my costs,” said Henry.

  CHAPTER 27 – One Last Question

  Rebecca’s stay in the Scottish Highlands was almost at an end. She would soon be catching the train back to London. Her parents had phoned the previous evening. Her mother was alarmed to hear of her daughter’s adventures and it had taken all Henry’s powers of persuasion to calm her and stop her jumping on the first train to Scotland.

  As she opened her curtains and surveyed the familiar view over the waters of Loch Nevis to the hills beyond, Rebecca reflected on how, on her arrival, she had been dreading the weeks to come. That seemed a long time ago.

  She decided on an early morning walk. Restless after the excitement of recent days, she had woken before six and now headed along the shore of Loch Nevis. Birds and an otter, foraging among the seaweed, were her only companions.

  As she rounded a rocky point near the head of the loch, she saw the Duke of Argyll anchored just off shore. Sure enough, Willie was on a sandy beach, tying long lengths of dark brown seaweed into bundles and packing them into sacks. He raised his head at Rebecca’s cry of greeting and nodded. She made her way down to join him.

  “So the Campbells weren’t lying. You are a seaweed farmer!”

  “Aye, among other things. A man needs a few strings to his bow in these parts.

  The kelps just here are good. Not the most lucrative living but there’s a market, as the suits would say.”

  He tied up the bag he had been filling and threw it onto the sand a few yards away. Stopping for a moment to stretch, he studied Rebecca.

  “You’re up early this morning. Do you like our little corner of the world?”

  “It’s stunning. I never realised there were places like this in our country. It’s so big it makes you feel really insignificant.”

  “Most of us are,” said Willie.

  “So what happened with your sister?” Rebecca asked tentatively. “I saw her being taken away to be questioned by the police.”

  Willie carried on tying up his bundles. “Oh, they released her after the Laird spoke with them. She’s away to the Orkney Islands to cook kippers,” he said quietly.

  Rebecca smiled, taken aback.

  “A distant relative needs some help running a guest house. So she took the last train to Fort William yesterday – after dark, so nobody would see. They’d only whisper in the pews at the kirk, so it’s the best thing. Young Tom Gordon will be a pound a week lighter on the collection plate, though. And your uncle will be needing somebody to keep house but sure he’ll have no problem finding takers for that job. They’re queuing halfway down the street at the hairdressers already, so Mrs Campbell says.”

  Rebecca could not help grinning. Willie seemed entirely unconcerned about his sister’s fall from grace. Indeed, he seemed to find a great deal to smile at.

>   “So … will she be back?”

  “Well now that would need to be carefully considered. Orkney is a fearful long way and I’ve a tenant for her bungalow.”

  “Already?” Rebecca grinned again. Unable to stop herself, she ventured another question.

  “Is the story about rugby true – that you played a game on a Sunday and she wouldn’t speak to you for twenty years because it was ungodly?”

  “The Sabbath is not to be trifled with according to some in these parts,” he said, lightly.

  “Why a good Lord who created all this beauty would want us to wear uncomfortable clothes, not smile and be miserable all day might be a mystery to others, though.”

  “Are these to go onto your boat?” Rebecca indicated the sacks of kelp on the sand.

  “Aye,” answered Willie. “If you give me a hand getting them aboard, I’ll give you a lift back to the castle for breakfast, how’s that?”

  “Deal!” Rebecca began to take off her shoes and socks immediately.

  They waded out, loaded the sacks onto the boat and climbed aboard. Willie started the engine and began to reverse out into the loch.

  “So, do you think we’ve heard the last of the wolf?” he asked. Rebecca was taken by surprise. She had imagined Willie would be a sceptic.

  “You believe in the legend?”

  “There’s those as believe and those as don’t. We all have our tales to tell in these parts. I’d not like to think you’ve seen him off forever. Kind of comforting to know he’s around, somewhere.”

  ***

  Rebecca was thoughtful as she and Henry sat beside a crackling fire in the study later.

  “So they haven’t found the men or any bodies?”

  “None, so far,” answered Henry. “And nothing in the tunnel or the oubliette.”

  For the first time, she had related the entire tale of her adventures to him, including the parts she had not previously dared divulge, concerning the mists, Becca, Knut and Hakon and the encounter with Morgan. Henry had sat throughout in silence, listening intently.

  “Do you believe me? That it all happened, Uncle H.?” Rebecca’s face was serious.

  “Do you?” smiled Henry. He put down the cup of tea he had been drinking.

  “It’s important to me.” Rebecca did not smile. Henry rose to his feet and looked up at the picture of the Bonnie Prince above the mantelpiece.

  “I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told a soul – if you promise to keep it secret.”

  Rebecca nodded eagerly, sitting forward.

  “Many strange things have happened here over the years. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. When we were young, Morgan used to go off exploring. One day, he said he’d found something really important. He tried to tell me about it but he used to tell so many tales that I didn’t believe him. But he had found something this time… That.”

  Henry pointed at the locket which Rebecca held in her hands.

  “A year after Morgan left home, I found the entrance to the cave at Barradale. I didn’t find the sanctuary, but I found the oubliette. There were bones, chained to the wall, just as you were. I knew it was a man by his clothes. Around the neck was that locket.

  I took it and have kept it ever since. I recognised the picture of Becca’s mother from a portrait in the castle. So, with the inscription, I knew whose locket it was.”

  Henry paused. Rebecca looked up and saw tears in his eyes.

  “I never told a soul about what I found in the oubliette. I guess I just didn’t want to have to face up to it, in case it had been my brother there in those chains. Nobody else was ever reported missing. When he came back here, for the first time I really believed it could not have been him, that it must have been somebody else.

  As for those bones, I don’t know who that was or how the locket got there.”

  Rebecca was silent. Henry wiped his eyes and smiled at her.

  “I’ve always thought it was tied up with the legend somehow. Morgan was a bad lot, there’s no denying it. But he was my twin brother, too and it seems that he is now dead. I can still remember him as a young boy, playing just like any other normal kids with your dad and me. He wasn’t always bad.”

  Rebecca spoke slowly.

  “The Princess said the McOwan who chained her in the cave was Lachlan’s ancestor. Have you seen that picture of Lachlan at Lord Mac’s on Skye? There is such a likeness between it and … well, you and Morgan.”

  “You think there’s some sort of link?”

  “I don’t know what to think. It’s probably just coincidence. But it’s odd. I looked into Morgan’s eyes and I swear I saw Lachlan. But how could I know?”

  Henry remained thoughtful for a long time. Eventually he spoke.

  “I want you to have the locket now. I think Becca would want that too. You’re a true McOwan, Rebecca.”

  Rebecca felt tears welling. She blinked and smiled and put it around her neck.

  “Beautiful,” smiled Henry. “Like its new owner.”

  ***

  Later that morning, Rebecca and Henry were seated in the Dining Room, enjoying a brunch. Outside, it was now a glorious Highland day, the sun shining on the hills, the purple heather and on the sparkling waters of Loch Nevis. Rahsaig had resumed its customary tranquillity and gentle pace of life.

  “Did you hear the news, Uncle H.?” asked Rebecca, reaching for another piece of toast. She took her plate across the to the window seat and installed herself on the cushions, tucking her legs underneath her.

  “We’ve become quite famous.”

  “I know. I think we’re quite popular in Mallaig just now. Apparently, the place is crawling with reporters, all trying to get out here and paying small fortunes to the boatmen. The locals have been living on free whisky, telling tall tales in the Tavern.”

  “I haven’t seen any reporters here. I suppose we should be pleased but it seems strange.”

  Henry smiled.

  “I think our Willie and Dougie have been enjoying a little fun at the expense of the city types. They have got the local fishermen to offer trips out to what they promise is the actual hideout, owned by the famous MP, where the crooks operated their forgery ring. They take them round to Barradale and drop them off, warn them about the tide and say they’ll be back to pick them up later! And because none of their mobile phones work up here, they’re all like lost sheep! One guy spent a night in the pouring rain, since the Honourable Mr Gordon had returned, put the portcullis down and refused to let him in!”

  “I don’t know where you get these slanderous stories from, Boss,” said Dougie, coming into the dining room, a mischievous smile playing about the corners of his mouth.

  “Willie McHarg is a fine, upstanding citizen who would never stoop to childish games.”

  “Aye,” said Henry slowly, favouring Dougie with a sceptical smile.

  “Willie might be.”

  “There’s something you need to read here, Rebecca.” Dougie opened the newspaper he was carrying and handed it to Rebecca tapping a headline which read “Mystery Deaths of Divers”. Rebecca dropped her toast and grabbed the paper from his hand. She read aloud.

  ‘The bodies of three divers were found yesterday, washed up on the shores of the Isle of Rum in the Inner Hebrides. It is not yet known where the men had come from, or who they are. Nobody has been reported missing and no boat has been found. Coastguard estimates suggest the men could have been carried by the currents and drifted for many miles. They had been dead for at least a day when they were found by local landowner Hamish Balloch –‘

  “I might have known the Ballochs would get a mention somehow…“

  ‘There is no suggestion at this stage that this event is in any way connected with the recent art thefts from some of the great houses in the Highlands, including that of Anthony Gordon, MP for Knoydart and Morar –‘

  “If there is no suggestion, then why mention it?”

  ‘The police remain perplexed about the deaths.
The Coroner’s Report suggested that cause of death was not due to drowning. Each man is said to have had mysterious gash marks on their body, which could have come from an attack of some sort and are being attributed as the cause of death. And how did the bodies manage to drift together without becoming separated? Were they dumped there on purpose? The police are not yet prepared to say whether they are treating this as a murder inquiry and are continuing their investigations.’

  “Old Haddock was in the Tavern last night, telling anybody who’d listen how he had seen Vikings attacking a frogman down by the Sound,” said Dougie.

  “Nobody paid him any mind.”

  Rebecca caught her breath. What had the Princess said?

  ‘There is but one more thing that must be done and that rests with Knut and Hakon’.

  “Post!” said Drew, following his brother into the dining room. He held out a single envelope to Henry, before pinching a sausage from his plate.

  “Missed my breakfast this morning.”

  “Mr McOwan? There is a gentleman to see you.” An attractive young woman with long auburn hair stood in the doorway, her eyes on Henry.

  Drew nudged Rebecca, a smile playing about the corners of his mouth.

  “Who is that?” he whispered.

  Rebecca looked up.

  “Katriona,” she said, simply. “New housekeeping. Close your mouth.”

  “Bit of an improvement on McHarg!” he grinned.

  “Well done Henry!”

  At that moment, Inspector Craig entered the room. Henry rose to greet him.

  “Inspector, good morning.”

  “Don’t get up, please, I’ll not disturb you from your breakfast. I just thought you might want to hear the latest.”

  “Of course – look, help yourself to coffee and anything else.”

  The Inspector took a cup offered by Katriona and sat down opposite Rebecca.

  “Well. We have had positive identification on two of the bodies found on Rum – they are a couple of French actors, a Serge Balatte and Auguste Lemerre …”

  “… they were with the Camden Players on Rum,” interrupted Rebecca.

  “Balatte was the ghost and I’m sure he was the man I saw looking in through the window that night in the castle.”