Another puzzle, I think, as I retrace my steps along the road – but not one with the power to hold my attention. The day is fast slipping away and my priority is Devdan. Where the farm track meets the road that curves back towards The Hollows I turn off, making for the cliff top.
The cliff path is far steeper than the track from our side of the bay and a wind has begun to pluck at the frayed edges of my jersey. Keeping one hand on the rock and my eyes fixed on the roughly hewn steps I make my way carefully down to the small bay with its pale sand like a pillow and the sea stretching beyond.
Hurrying into the cave I look eagerly to Dev’s ledge. What I see makes my hands leap to my mouth as if to catch the cry that tumbles from me. The ledge is empty. Devdan is gone.
Chapter 12
Dread squeezes at my lungs. Colm. Jed. Someone has been here. Someone has found Dev. But who? No one but Ty, Sophie and I ever come to Skellap Bay. No one has any reason to, save us.
Colm. Why was Colm at Merryn’s? But… There are too many questions. Unable to tear my eyes from the ledge I hurry towards the rear of the cave. It’s been four days since I last saw Dev, but Sophie told me only yesterday that he was still too frail to stand.
If Tilda saw one of us coming here, she might follow to see what trouble she could make of it – but she’d not take Devdan home with her. I snort. She’d go straight to Marn – or Colm. Queasiness hits me. It’s a trap, I realise. I’ve walked into a trap. Dev has been taken and they’re waiting now to catch whoever has been helping him.
A soft scrape behind me sends me spinning around, my heart battering like a trapped bird.
It’s not Colm, or Marn, or even one of Colm’s henchmen. The man who leans hunched against the cave wall looks unlike to be a danger to anyone.
‘Dev!’ I cry in relief. I must have walked straight past him in my hurry to arrive.
He looks scarce able to hold himself upright even with the aid of the rock. ‘Come and sit down.’ My voice is hoarse, still bound tight by my fear. I clear my throat. ‘You’ve been sick,’ I add, hastening forward to take his arm.
‘I remember you,’ he says slowly. ‘Ness.’
‘You were washed ashore,’ I remind him, leading him slowly back towards the ledge. ‘That’s a week ago now.’ Sweat beads on his lip with each step so that I wonder how he managed to walk as far as he did. His injured leg can barely hold his weight.
When we reach the rear ledge I settle him back down on his sea-grass bed and tuck the blanket round him. Dev closes his eyes, giving me the chance to study him critically. He’s still pale, his dark hair plastered against his skull with sweat, his bones poking sharp against his skin. For all that, he’s lost the translucent look he had, and for the first time I let myself truly believe that he might live.
If only we didn’t have to keep him in this damp cave with nobody near to keep watch over him; if only we could take him home and feed him properly, keep him warm and find out where he’s from and what he’s doing, washing up on our island.
My gaze on his face must nudge him back to consciousness because he suddenly startles and stares up at me. His eyes are bright and clear of fever, but he’s no less helpless for that.
‘Where is this place?’ he asks.
‘Dunnett Island,’ I answer. ‘A half day’s walk from the village of Wester.’
A furrow forms deep between his brows. ‘Which island group?’
‘There’s just Dunnett,’ I tell him, watching the lines tighten round his mouth.
‘Our ship,’ he says. ‘There was some trouble – the siren…’ He lifts his fist to his forehead then drops it again, frustration written on his face. ‘I don’t remember!’
‘The most important thing is to get well,’ I tell him. ‘And you will,’ I add, wiping his damp face. ‘I can see it. I wasn’t sure before.’
‘But why…?’ His voice trails away as his eyes roam the bare rock of the cave.
‘We found you three-quarters dead on the beach and carried you here,’ I say patiently. ‘It was the best we could do. As to how the sea came to deliver you here, or why, I can’t answer you that.’ I pause, thinking of Pa’s long-ago talk of tides and ocean currents, feeling a wash of longing. Pa would have known what to tell this stranger. He travelled all over, settling on Dunnett only because of my mother. Pa said Mama loved the place too much to leave, and he loved her too much to take her from it.
‘My Pa knew about other places,’ I say, suddenly eager to voice the sadness that pushes in my chest.
‘Perhaps he’ll know –’
‘He died,’ I interrupt roughly, regretting the disclosure as soon as it’s made. It’s too private a pain to share with a stranger, and one I thought I’d buried deep enough for it not to come bursting out of me at the first opportunity. I turn away. When Ty and I came to live at Leewood, Marn told us it was no use mulling on what was gone, given the present mostly proves trouble enough.
‘I’m sorry,’ Dev says into the awkward silence that follows my announcement.
I shrug his concern away. ‘I’ll cook some broth,’ I say, poking at the embers to see if I can nudge a little life back into the fire. ‘You need to eat, to build up your strength. And you mustn’t go out of the cave,’ I add. I know I should tell him why; that I should tell him what will happen if he’s found here, but my throat closes tight against the words.
Dev doesn’t answer. I think he’s maybe fallen asleep so I leave him be and get about my business. The broth is thin and tasteless, even with my handful of herbs and sea salt, but it’ll warm him and start to put a lining back in his belly.
‘Devdan,’ I say gently, ‘sit up now and eat.’
His eyes open slowly and he pushes himself up, strain showing in his face as he shuffles back against the cave wall. It was too soon to try walking on his injured leg.
‘Eat a little now, then more later,’ I advise. ‘You’ve had a fever for days, and you’ve taken little more than water. You need to go gently.’
He reaches out to take the bowl while I hover near in case he hasn’t the strength to hold it. After only a few sips Dev lowers his arm. ‘You said I’ve been here a week,’ he murmurs. It’s the emphasis he gives to certain sounds that makes his speech different I decide. I can see the muscles moving in his throat. ‘Is there…? Was anyone else…?’
Regret floods me. Despite knowing his life didn’t begin here on our beach, I’ve scarce given a thought to the whole world he has – or had – of his own.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, hearing the inadequacy of the words. ‘No one else was washed up.’ A silence grows between us like a thread stretched to breaking.
‘If there’d been others, we’d have heard by now,’ I add at last, to spare him from asking the question he must have. News like that would have flown around the island. I decide against telling him that his companions were probably better off dying quick in the sea than washing up somewhere else on Dunnett.
Dev asks no more questions. I move the bowl towards the fire so that the broth will stay warm.
‘I’ll be back tomorrow,’ I say quietly. ‘Don’t forget to eat, later.’
He doesn’t answer. I add more driftwood to the fire, remembering all too well the bleakness of grief. Merryn once told me that we must each find our own way to a place where the hurt is no larger than lets you get on with living. For a stranger washed onto our welcome, living alone could prove challenge enough.
Chapter 13
Dev’s strength returns with the passing days, but his recovery is slowed by lack of food and comfort. We do what we can. Ty has twice snared me a thin winter rabbit that I can cook into a stew, and Sophie holds back an egg each day, but they’re both starting to look at me askance, wondering how long we can keep this up. I’m wondering myself.
In the past we stole time at the beach because it gave us a little freedom. We used to pretend that we’d run away to the cave, or that there were just the three of us left on the island so that we might live as w
e liked. When the sea had been generous in its leavings, Ty would spend the time sifting through wreck, while for me it was blessing enough to be away from Tilda and her demands.
All that has changed. As I picked my way yesterday along the trail of weed the tide had left, I had no thought save Dev – how his wound was healing, whether the fire would still be alight, whether we’d managed to save enough food to keep him alive for a few more days. It’s no longer freedom I find in coming to Skellap Bay.
As I dig my fork deep into the frost-hardened soil, I realise I’ve changed too. I’ve lost either the luxury or the will for our make-believe games, so that the delight I once took in them is a pleasure I’m all but grown out of. Perhaps it’s because Marn has brought me up against the end of childhood so sudden. Not just Marn: Devdan, too.
Ty’s voice calling drags me out of my thoughts and I turn to see him jogging down the hill towards the vegetable gardens. Grateful for the interruption I spike my fork into the half-turned ground. My hands, tough as they are, are raising into blisters from the work. The temperature has dropped, I notice.
Ty pulls up in front of me, out of breath. ‘Marn says you’re to come help me fetch in the goats,’ he pants. ‘They come better for you, and there’s a storm on the way.’
I glance skywards, noticing how the clouds have begun to bank up to the west. Yesterday evening, I’m remembering, old Sal was restless when I milked her. If I hadn’t been so distracted it would have warned me that something was brewing. Sal’s a good judge of weather.
‘I’ll put Sal in the barn first,’ I say, ‘and you’d better tell Sophie to shut up the hens.’
‘We need to hurry,’ Ty replies. ‘Marn says it’s coming in fast off the sea.’
A flicker of fear for Dev brushes my mind but I’ve no time to spare so I push it away. ‘You’d better tell Tilda to close the shutters,’ I suggest, as I gather my tools and head for the barn. ‘Tell her Marn said so.’
Ty grins. He knows as well as I that Tilda won’t take kindly to instructions from me but she’ll not ignore Marn.
As we hurry towards the field where I just last week led the goats to graze, I shiver at the sudden chill that slips its way against my skin. Glancing up at the clouds that tower above the wood, I feel the first fat spats of rain on my face.
The goats, when we reach them, are huddled by the trees and unwilling to come to my call. By the time I’ve caught Mattie and fixed a rope to her halter my skirt is flapping round my legs, my hair flying in my eyes. The others are undecided about whether they should follow as I half lead, half drag the old nanny across the field. Cursing the foolishness of goats in general I send Ty back to chivvy the rest while I coax Mattie on. She’s the herd elder and the others usually follow her lead, but just as we have them bunched and heading towards the gate, the storm breaks with a roll of thunder that sends them scattering back in all directions.
Within minutes I’m soaked, the rain streaming from my face and running in cold rivulets down my neck. I’ve scarcely time to wish I’d grabbed my rain-hat as Mattie wrenches at the halter rope, searing the blisters on my palms.
‘Ty!’ I call over the rising noise of the storm. ‘We’ll have to take them round the fence-line.’ It’s further but they might come easier if we keep to the slight shelter of the trees.
Ty nods and I tug on Mattie’s rope, muttering soothing nonsense against the rising babble of the wind. To my relief Mattie comes willingly enough, and I glance behind to see Ty chasing up the stragglers with a stick. By the time we get them around two sides of the field and down to the gate, my teeth are starting to chatter. Ty looks no warmer.
I’ve barely had time to fumble the latch open when a roll of thunder overhead sends the goats galloping past me towards the lower field and the vegetable patch beyond – for once they’re ill inclined to stop and wreak their usual havoc. Despite her age and supposed wisdom, Mattie bolts after the youngsters and I arrive in the farmyard at the end of her rope, barely managing to keep my feet. There’s no sign of Sophie and the shutters are closed, but for one.
Inside the barn I can hear Sal stamping nervously, and I call to her as I open the door with Mattie nudging at my side. She knows where she’s best off and hurries for her stall, all but three of the goats following. I close their pen and give Sal a pat before I head back to see if Ty has the errant goats in hand.
The rain is pelting hard now, stinging my skin, and the wind is against me as I battle to hold the big barn door. Out in the yard Ty has an arm around the necks of two of the missing goats and I run to help him, my wet skirt tangling awkwardly around my legs.
Together we get the troublemakers into the barn, closing them in with the others. ‘There’s one more,’ I say. ‘Mattie’s grand-daughter, that was born last spring from Copper.’
Ty shrugs. ‘She ran towards the sea-path. I could only stop two.’
I wipe my face on my sleeve and stoop to wring out my skirt.
‘Will we have enough firewood inside?’ Ty asks.
I nod. I filled the basket this morning. ‘You might take in a couple of bigger logs to see us through the night,’ I suggest. ‘I’ll go look for Sandpiper.’ The sandy coat and soft brown eyes of the young goat are sharp in my mind as I head for the barn door. She’ll not survive a night out in the storm.
Ty is shaking his head and pulling at my arm. ‘Leave her. Better we get that last shutter closed and get inside. She could be anywhere.’
‘I’ll just take a quick look.’ Before he can argue I slip past his shoulder, leaving him to wrestle the barn door closed on his own. The wind is stronger now, howling across the yard. I can hear the slap of the shutter, and I know that if Ty doesn’t get it locked in place it’ll be gone before morning.
Hunching down inside my jacket I run for the path that leads to the lower fields and on to the sea. I know it so well it hardly matters that I can barely see where I’m going, but as I round the corner beyond the shelter of the trees, the wind takes me full on from the side and sends me sprawling.
I crawl up the stop-bank and fling myself into the ditch, adding fresh mud to the heavy wetness of my clothes. Already the water is mid-way up my calves, but I plough on. The storm is worse than anything we’ve seen in years. Ty was right: I should give up the goat for lost and turn back – but it’s no longer Sandpiper that drives me. My mind has in it only a single image: the tide-mark on the wall at the back of Devdan’s cave, left there long since by a late winter storm from the sea.
Chapter 14
Muddied and staggering against the pull of water round my legs, I reach the turn of the ditch. The drain is struggling to cope with the sudden burden; the water level rising as the torrent backs up. With my sodden skirt clinging to my legs I crawl up the stop-bank and stumble on towards the bay.
When I reach the top of the track I can only stop and stare. Spume from the heaving sea is thickening the downpour, so that the cliffs are no more than a dim outline shivering through sheets of rain. Half the beach has already been swallowed by the wild thrashing of the waves.
Wiping my hair from my face with a muddied hand, I turn my attention to the path. Water has churned the earth to mud so that I slip and stumble as I begin to scramble down. At the steep turn where Sophie always falters a washout has torn the path away, exposing the sodden earth in a gaping wound. My hands clench convulsively as I assess my chances. With the ground so unstable it wouldn’t be safe to jump, and a further slide would mean I’d have no chance of getting back up. Until the storm has passed this is as far as I can go.
Rain streams from my face, mingling with tears. I weighed the risk on the day that we found him – the memory does nothing to help me.
Helplessly raising a hand, I squint across the bay. The cliff is a dark mass in a world of grey. For a moment my attention is caught by a pale blur against the rock, but as I blink water from my eyes and peer into the rain, whatever I saw – if it was anything – is gone. With a weight of loss dragging at me, I turn and
scramble back up the path.
I’ve almost reached the top when I lose my footing and slither backwards, scrabbling for a handhold. Feeling waterlogged and battered, I crawl the last few steps. A stone digs sharply into one knee. I stagger to my feet. With the wind behind me the journey is easier but my shivering is getting worse, shaking my whole body. My knee aches where the stone bit in and my legs feel heavy and sluggish. As I trudge slowly back towards the farm there’s a crashing from the ditch beside me as a branch comes hurtling down with the rising water.
Halfway back I fall. Sprawled in the mud I can find no enthusiasm for getting up. Who would mourn me if I lay here and let the storm take me? It’s likely taken Sandpiper already – and Devdan, too. I clench my fists. Ty would miss me, I tell myself. Not so much as in the past, not now he’s becoming part of Marn’s world rather than mine. But Sophie – Sophie would miss me a little, at least for a while. Tilda would have more work to do. Merryn … Merryn has her animals for company: hens and goats and bees. Bees like summer best. My thoughts are starting to drift. I like summer too: it’s not so cold. Though I’m no longer as cold as I was – I’m almost warm! And the rain has eased – I can hear it still, but it no longer seems to beat so hard against me.
A voice calls me then, catching at my wandering attention. It’s a voice I know, though I’ve not heard it for a long time. As I lift my head I hear it again, high and light, carrying on the wind. It comes to me suddenly: it’s my mother’s voice! I pull up my knees, squelching in the mud, and force my arms straight. The cry gives me strength and I somehow find my feet and lurch on, trailing towards the sound while the rain thins the mud on my coat and makes me feel the cold once more as it works its way inwards to my skin.
The cry comes again, louder. I stagger on, squinting through the rain, half blinded by the hair being whipped around my face by the wind at my back.
The Sea-wreck Stranger Page 6