‘Ay, and don’t forget the sand in her socks,’ Todd the Shod put in eagerly, ‘and she smelled o’ salt so she must have come up out o’ the sea. She might be a mermaid who came ashore to look for a man.’
‘Or she could be a Uisge Calliach,’ Canty Tam looked stunned at the thought. ‘Rising up out the waves in all her glory only to turn into a horrible witch as soon as she finds herself a man.’
‘Very strange,’ Hector the Boat repeated, shaking his head and shivering slightly.
‘She’ll be a woman wi’ a past,’ stated Behag with conviction.
‘So are we all,’ Kate said firmly.
‘She’ll maybe be one o’ they nymphomaniacs you hear about.’ Robbie never agreed with his sister Behag if he could at all help it, but his imagination had been fired with all the talk and now his tongue took over as he went on gleefully, ‘You know, the type o’ woman who spends her time ogling the men and taking her clothes off wi’ a flourish.’ As he finished speaking he glanced rather fearfully over his shoulder. He had left his wife, Barra, in Merry Mary’s shop, but she could easily pop into the post office at any moment and woe betide him if she caught him indulging in tittle tattle.
‘She’ll be just another Jezebel,’ sniffed Behag, ‘and the island full o’ them already.’
‘Ay,’ Kate glanced mischievously at Elspeth, ‘there’s some who take off their clothes and some who just hang out their underwear for all the world to see. We’re still waiting for a simple explanation for that little adventure.’
Elspeth had the grace to blush. Last summer she had shocked the village by displaying the most luxuriant silk garments on her washing line, all for the sake of wreaking her revenge on those who had scorned her chances with a man after her husband had died. She had enjoyed that little episode thoroughly and had no intention of ever enlightening anybody about it, far less Kate.
‘Some things will never be explained, Kate McKinnon,’ she imparted with a disdainful sniff.
‘Ay, she didn’t come here to wash her dirty linen in public,’ Ranald stated, looking very gratified by his own wit and by the laugh his words raised.
‘Ach, all that is in the past,’ said Mollie as she experienced an uncustomary pang of sympathy for the red-faced Elspeth. ‘New things are happening all the time and this mystery woman o’ Fergus’s will keep us all guessing until we learn a bit more about her.’
Totie, with one eye on the clock, was dispensing stamps and pensions as fast as she could but her active mind had been busy ever since Elspeth had come into the premises and now she paused for a moment to say, ‘We could run a competition if you like. If you all agree I’ll make up two boxes, in one you put your name and who you think the woman is, in the other you put two shillings a guess. The nearest to the solution gets the winnings and I will only charge him or her five per cent o’ the total amount collected.’
‘You would be better to have it in my shop. The post office, being a government run body, is no place for gambling,’ Holy Smoke, otherwise Sandy McKnight, the butcher, spoke up. He was a man of bedraggled appearance with straggly hair and a drooping moustache which failed to disguise his perpetually downcast mouth. To all intents and purposes he purported to be a man of the church, one who was quick to condemn the evils attached to drink and tobacco, though his puritan views had never carried much weight ever since Todd the Shod had spied him smoking behind a rock on the seashore. Everyone knew that he would do anything for money, no matter how small or how large the amount, and no one was surprised when he muscled in on Totie’s suggestion.
‘So!’ Totie exploded. ‘The holy man speaks! I will have you know, Mr McKnight, that I am as against gambling as the next law abiding citizen! It is a post office I am running, not a betting shop, and what I have in mind is only for a bit o’ harmless fun.’
‘Ay, ay,’ nodded Todd, ‘you spoke out o’ turn there, Mr Smoke. Totie is no’ the sort o’ woman who would turn her premises into a den o’ iniquity. In my opinion we should bide in her camp and do it in the post office where everything will be legal and binding,’ he ended grandly while all around there came murmurs of agreement.
With a shrug of his thin shoulders Holy Smoke slunk out of the shop and Behag, who despised the butcher and all that he stood for, waited till the door had closed firmly behind him before she lent voice to her own feelings on the subject.
‘I will not take part in vice!’ she intoned primly. ‘There is enough sin and corruption in this place without you adding to it, Mrs Donaldson. I would not give that man the satisfaction o’ letting him see that I agree wi’ him, but on this matter I have no choice.’
With that she fleered away outside – only to return fifteen minutes later when the post office was empty. ‘How much did you say you were asking, Totie?’ she enquired in a hushed whisper.
Totie’s lips twitched, making the old woman squirm. ‘What for, Behag?’
Behag’s wizened cheeks grew red. She glowered at the postmistress.
‘Fine you know I am talking about the competition, Mrs Donaldson.’
‘Och that, why did you no’ say so in the first place. Two shillings a try, in this box here, and a slip o’ paper wi’ your name and opinion in this other one.’
Behag took the piece of paper and retired furtively to a corner. She took a long time to jot down a few words and Totie, her eyes pointedly on the clock, said, ‘Are you nearly finished, Behag?’
Behag came back to the counter and dropped the folded up slip of paper into the box with the same look of dignified importance she might have worn when placing her vote in a ballot box for a general election.
‘There now, that wasn’t so bad,’ Totie said benevolently while Behag bristled. ‘And I’m glad you came back, Behag, because I’ve been meaning to ask if you would mind taking over the post office for a day or two to let me and Doug have a wee break in Oban.’
Behag was most gratified, there was nothing she liked better than these little returns to ‘her premises’, though of course she never let Totie see how much they meant to her.
‘I will be pleased to do so, Mrs Donaldson, just let me know when you are leaving,’ she imparted in a flat voice. Very stiff and straight she made her exit, leaving Totie at the counter grinning from ear to ear like the Cheshire cat.
Chapter Six
It was peaceful sitting there in Slochmhor’s parlour with the peats glowing warmly in the hearth and a bottle of whisky winking tantalisingly on a small table by the fender. Heinz had come to visit with his master and now lay rapturously on the rug, stretching his paws to the heat, tiny snorts and snores of contentment issuing from his throat as he dreamed the minutes away.
It was a scene of great comfort and homeliness, yet try as he would Fergus couldn’t concentrate on the game of cards he was playing with Lachlan. Every few minutes his eyes strayed to the clock and he found himself trying not to shift too often in his seat for fear Lachlan would wonder at his restlessness.
Fergus himself didn’t really know the answer to that, all he knew was this feeling of wanting to be home in his own house where he could, in his own words, ‘Keep an eye on events,’ the main event being of course the young mystery woman who had made such an unusual and unexpected arrival into his home and his life.
That afternoon she had rallied round, awakening from a deep sleep in such a violent manner that it had taken both him and Tina all their time to keep her in bed.
‘How long have I been here?’ she had shouted at them, her eyes black and crazed in her white face. ‘By all that’s holy, I can’t stay here! I’ll have to be getting on my way. He’ll be watching and waiting! I’ll be too late! I know I’ll be too late! Mary, Mother o’ God, look upon me with kindness, don’t let this happen, please oh please.’
She had rambled on, sobbing and praying. Her accent was Irish, soft and pleasing, except when her voice had risen to harshness and she had pleaded with them to let her go.
‘But yesterday you wanted to bide in this room
,’ Fergus had told her in bewilderment. ‘It was as if you were – hiding from someone and felt safe here.’
‘Och, she wouldny know what she was saying at that stage,’ Tina interposed calmly, ‘she was ill and confused and her head was likely birling round in circles.’
‘That’s right,’ the girl caught Tina’s hand and held it tightly. ‘You understand, you’ve got a good face, you’ll let me go, I know you will.’
‘Och, lass,’ Tina had chided gently, ‘you’re no’ fit to go anywhere, not for a wee whilie yet. You’re in Mr McKenzie’s house, he found you in his barn yesterday morning and here you have been since. Doctor Megan and Nurse Babbie have been keeping an eye on you and I myself have hardly left your side.’
The girl glanced from one face to the other. ‘Mr and Mrs McKenzie?’
‘Ach, no,’ Tina giggled girlishly, ‘he is Fergus McKenzie right enough, but his wife is away in Glasgow for a holiday. I’m Tina from the village down the road, and I’ll be here for as long as you’ll be needing me.’
After that Fergus hadn’t been able to settle. Tina had become tired of his pacings and had chased him from the house, saying that she had plenty to keep her occupied, one of them being the preparation of hot water to give Fern a bath.
‘The lass is in a fine state o’ filth,’ she had told him bluntly. ‘She canny lie in that bed any longer, reeking o’ sea and sweat, ’tis high time she had a good wash. We will all feel the better for it and I myself will know just where I stand once I get her up on her feets.’
Fergus, used to Tina’s quaint way of expressing herself, didn’t pursue the matter any further and leaving the house he took himself off rather half-heartedly to Slochmhor with Heinz at his heels.
Lachlan, despite his show of concentration with the cards, was feeling unsettled himself that evening. His mind kept straying to Phebie, wondering what she was doing, what she was saying, if she was perhaps missing him as much as he was missing her. The house had been lonely and strange ever since her departure from it and he couldn’t help comparing the emptiness to the atmosphere of warmth and life when she was around. She would have come in with the cocoa about now, together with a plateful of new baked scones and hot buttered pancakes, and they would have sat together by the fire, going over the day’s happenings, the latest gossip, family affairs, puffing a bit with pride as they discussed the day-to-day escapades of their grandchild, Ian Lachlan McKenzie.
A mighty sigh escaped Lachlan, then another. It had the same effect as of someone yawning in a roomful of people. His sighs found their echo in the man in the opposite chair and Lachlan glanced up sharply, thinking that his visitor was taking the rise out of him. But Fergus, his dark face bent to his handful of cards, was oblivious to anything but his own sense of unrest.
‘You sound like a dog wi’ the colic,’ Lachlan observed with a wry smile. ‘And I’m thinking we’re both suffering from the same ailment. I think I would be right in saying you’re missing Kirsteen, just as much as I’m missing Phebie.’
‘No, no, it isn’t that,’ Fergus protested, a frown gathering on his brow. ‘I’m just a bit preoccupied, that’s all.’
‘Och, come on, man! Why not admit it? We’re just not used to being on our own. We’ve had our wives around us for most o’ our lives and just canny stand it without them. We’ll give them a ring to see how they’re doing.’ With that he got up and going to the phone he dialled Aunt Minnie’s number. ‘It’s ringing,’ he called to Fergus, ‘you go first.’
Lachlan held out the instrument and gingerly Fergus took it. He had always objected to having a phone in his own house, saying that it was just a waste of good money. Kirsteen however knew that his real reasons were born of mistrust for an instrument ‘with so many wires attached, anyone could listen to whatever you had to say into it’. His conversation with his wife was therefore stilted and unnatural and as brief as he could make it.
‘Phebie’s seeing to Aunt Minnie at the moment,’ Kirsteen’s voice crackled over the line. ‘Tell Lachlan she’s been waiting to hear from him and will ring back in a few minutes.’
There was a short pause, as Fergus glowered into the mouthpiece, then her voice came again, warm, loving, affectionate, and he was immediately sorry for his surliness.
‘I miss you, my darling,’ she whispered. ‘Are you alright and feeding yourself properly?’
‘Ay,’ he said huskily, ‘don’t worry about me, Shona and Tina between them are keeping me alive.’
‘Has anything been happening while I’ve been away?’
For a few long moments he didn’t answer; eternity seemed to pass. ‘Nothing much,’ he said at last. ‘You only went away yesterday and this is Rhanna, don’t forget, the island where time stands still, though of course if you’d like to hear the latest about Kate McKinnon’s bunions and Jim Jim’s piles I’d be glad to oblige.’
She laughed. ‘I get your point, don’t rub it in. Just remember, I’m thinking of you all the time and – I love you.’
‘Love you too,’ he mumbled and put the instrument carefully back in its cradle.
Lachlan immediately rounded on him. ‘You didn’t tell her about Fern!’
‘I’d forgotten about her.’
‘No you haven’t! The truth is you can’t stop thinking about her! I saw you wriggling about in your chair as if you’d ants in your pants, no doubt wishing you could get up and run back to her. Dammit, man, this puts me in an awkward position. Naturally I want to mention the girl to Phebie. If I don’t she’ll think we’ve a conspiracy going between us.’
‘Calm down,’ Fergus grunted, ‘the lass won’t be here for very long. She’ll be gone before Kirsteen comes back. Don’t make such a fuss, it isn’t important.’
Lachlan looked at him strangely. ‘I wonder,’ he muttered, then seeing the other man’s set, determined chin, he shook his head. It was a look he knew well. It meant that McKenzie o’ the Glen was not going to utter one more word on the subject. Lachlan knew from experience that it would be useless to air any more of his opinions at that point and seizing the whisky bottle he poured each of them a stiff dram before going to speak to Phebie on the phone when its persistent tones jangled through the air.
Soon after that Fergus took his leave and with a sigh Lachlan sat back in his chair to warm his glass between his palms and stare into the fire as he thought of Phebie’s humorous account of the journey to Glasgow and her equally lighthearted report on her administrations to Aunt Minnie – ‘A tough old bird with a tongue o’ fire and claws o’ steel. She’s worse than Elspeth any day o’ the week but I’m the boy for her and fine she knows it. Kirsteen’s softer, but she’ll learn. Take care, Lachy, darling, and don’t forget to finish writing that book while I’m away!’
That parting shot made Lachlan squirm in his chair and cast his eyes heavenward. ‘Devil of a woman!’ he said aloud. ‘How can I finish what I have hardly even begun? Give me strength, Lord, give me inspiration, but most of all, give me a magic pen that will do the whole jing bang for me in double quick time.’
‘Amen to that!’
Startled out of his wits he spun round in his chair to see a slightly built, fair-haired girl, standing outwith the pool of light cast by the lamp.
‘Ruth!’ he cried. ‘I didn’t hear you coming in. You just appeared like a spook in the night.’
She giggled and shook her head. ‘I knocked the door. When there was no answer I just walked in to find you muttering and praying up the lum and wishing impossible wishes.’
He looked at her, violet-eyed, flaxen-haired Ruth, whom he had delivered into the world some twenty-seven years ago. In many ways it was difficult to believe that she was no longer the little girl he remembered so well. With her doll-like fragility and expression of innocence she still retained the big-eyed air of solemnity that had been so much a stamp of her childhood. But she was tougher than she looked. Her early life with Morag Ruadh, her religious fanatic of a mother, had bred in her a resilience of spirit that c
ould manifest itself very firmly and somewhat disquietingly when the need arose. She was also a determined and ambitious young being, having succeeded in becoming a popular novelist despite leading a full and busy life as the wife of Lorn McKenzie and the mother of two young children. Lachlan had always enjoyed chatting with her about her literary career and his voice was warm and welcoming as he invited her to draw a chair closer in to the fire.
‘I didn’t come to roast myself,’ she laughed. ‘Phebie told me you always have your cocoa about now and I came along to make it for you! The bairns are in bed, Lorn is having forty winks, so . . . here I am.’
‘That woman!’ he cried. ‘Anyone would think I was daft as well as helpless! As if I wasn’t capable o’ putting a kettle on the stove!’
‘Ay, maybe that – but would you remember to put a light under it?’ she teased. ‘I’ll make us both a cup then we can have a nice cosy wee blether about all the things you were praying for when I came in.’
She went off to the kitchen, reappearing in ten minutes with mugs of piping hot cocoa and a plate piled high with buttered oatcakes.
‘You know, Ruth, you might just be the answer to my prayers,’ he told her as they settled themselves round the fire. ‘It was gey strange, the way you materialised out o’ thin air when I was least expecting it. Just like a fairy godmother about to grant me three wishes.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ she said with a giggle. ‘I might be able to give you some advice though, if you tell me the reasons why you want that magic pen so badly.’
‘To write a book, Ruth, the one I said I would write when I retired and had all the time I needed on my hands. It hasn’t worked out that way at all and Phebie is beginning to think it was just a lot o’ hot air.’
A Rhanna Mystery Page 6