A Rhanna Mystery

by Christine Marion Fraser

  Elspeth went hot and cold but she told herself to keep calm; as long as Gus confined himself to the table all might be well, the other guests were too busy enjoying themselves to bother with a bunch of old men gossiping away amongst themselves.

  Then Gus did a terrible thing. Right there in front of everybody he poured his tea into his saucer and slurped it up with rude enjoyment, and that was only the beginning. In the course of the next half hour he removed his teeth from his mouth, wrapped them up carefully in a floral napkin, and stuck them into the top pocket of his jacket, after which he got to his feet to perform a creaky Highland Fling, his kilt flying about his knobbly knees, breaking wind as he fleered around, clearing the floor as effectively as if it had been announced that he was suffering from a dose of the plague.

  ‘I’ve never been so black affronted!’ Elspeth hissed at Mac, whose ears had turned red with embarrassment at the sight of his own flesh and blood performing so rudely in public. It was bad enough in the privacy of his own home, but that he should do so on this day of all days, when there were Elspeth’s feelings to consider, was practically beyond bearing.

  Mac, however, was a man who had seen and endured many unusual things in the course of his maritime career. He had his own way of dealing with such matters and had no desire to create a scene in front of the gathering, especially with the minister and the doctor present and that strange garrulous female, Mrs Prunella Sweet, who was renowned for her loose tongue.

  With all that in mind he laid a placating hand on his new wife’s arm and said quietly, ‘Ach, come on now, lass, don’t fash yourself, everyone knows what Gus is like and later on you’ll look back on all this and wet your breeks laughing.’

  Elspeth wasn’t so sure, ‘It’s bad enough doing these sort o’ things here but he’s supposed to be coming wi’ us to Oban for the family reception and the hotel people will think we are just a rough bunch o’ heathens from the islands.’

  Mac looked at Cousin Gus. The old man had reinserted his dentures in order to sample some cold meats from the buffet table. He was humming and hawing and making derogatory comments about a piece of roast venison he was having difficulty chewing. He seemed hell bent on making trouble of one sort or another and Mac, with a gleam in his eye, went to seek out Tam to have a quiet word in his ear.

  Tam grinned, he nodded, and in his turn sought the services of Todd whose craggy face broke into a wide grin as he listened to what was being said to him. Without ado, both men intercepted Cousin Gus and, escorting him over to the bar, they challenged him to drink dram for dram with them.

  Fingal, Erchy, Ranald, and quite a few others, weren’t slow to join in the fun and all of them were legless by the time the boat was ready to leave the harbour.

  Only Tam and Todd remained comparatively sober; they had made a promise to Mac and somehow they were able to keep it. Arranging themselves on either side of Gus, whose legs had crumpled under him, they took him home and put him to bed where he remained for the next few hours to snore off his excesses, while Mac and Elspeth sailed happily over the sea to Oban, to enjoy the remainder of their wedding with chosen kith and kin who had travelled from all the airts to participate in the second reception of that memorable day.

  The very next morning Jim Jim presented himself in Doctor Megan’s surgery where he prevaricated for fully ten minutes before he muttered bashfully, ‘It is my water, doctor, it has a terrible head on it so it has, and I wouldny have come only Isabel made me, and you know what Isabel’s like when she sets her mind to something.’

  Megan sat back in her chair and studied the old man. She had treated him for years for his weak bladder, though it was only under great duress that he ever came to see her personally, preferring to send his wife to collect any medication that had been prescribed for him. He must therefore have a good reason for being there that morning and Megan wasn’t slow to notice how anxious was his demeanour as he twisted his cap round and round in his rheumy hands.

  ‘A head, Jim Jim?’ Megan began encouragingly. ‘On your water?’

  The old man squirmed. ‘Ay. Like the froth you get on a good pint o’ Bull Bull’s best beer.’

  Megan tried hard to keep a straight face, no easy matter when faced with some of the more whimsical modes of speech used by various islanders.

  ‘When did you first notice this, Jim Jim?’ she managed to ask seriously.

  ‘This morning, when I had to rise to use my chanty – I mean my chamber pot, doctor. I got a terrible fright just. I was drinking a wee bittie more than usual yesterday, it being Mac’s wedding, and though I usually have to get up in the night it’s never as much as that.’

  He stopped fidgeting, his eyes growing wide at the memory of his brimming chamber pot. ‘It just kept on and on, and the froth kept building up, mixed wi’ funny looking white patches floating on the top. Before I knew what was happening the whole jing bang o’ it overflowed onto the floor and of course Isabel got up to see what all the fuss was about. When she saw the head on that water o’ mine she near died and nagged away at me till I said I would come here to see you.’

  Megan was nonplussed for a moment till she remembered the last part of the reception when it seemed nearly half of the island hadn’t been able to stand up straight.

  ‘Did anyone see you home yesterday, Jim Jim?’

  ‘Ay, now that you ask, doctor, Tam and Todd took Gus McIntosh home to his house, then they came back for me, seeing as how I was just no’ at myself and had a wee bittie trouble putting one leg in front o’ the other.’

  ‘Aha, Tam and Todd . . .’ Megan looked thoughtful. From her window she had just espied those very same gentlemen and turning to her patient she said urgently, ‘Hurry, Jim, Jim, up on the couch with you, lie still, close your eyes, try to look half dead and don’t ask questions. Just trust me and do as I ask.’

  A startled Jim Jim found himself being heaved onto the couch and ordered to remain silent, and then Megan, much to the astonishment of her waiting patients, dashed past them in the hall to wrench open the back door and yell on Tam and Todd to come in for a minute.

  They approached slowly and warily, tripping over a dozen feet before entering the surgery to behold Jim Jim lying pale and supine on the couch. They gulped, they glanced at one another sheepishly; as one they whipped off their caps and spun them round and round in their fingers in a most agitated manner. Like a couple of schoolboys on the mat they stood in front of the big desk, heads bowed, feet shuffling, the epitome of meek and mild manhood.

  ‘It’s Jim Jim,’ Megan wasted no time. ‘He indulged himself at the wedding yesterday and now believes there is something drastically wrong with his kidneys. He was up all night worrying about it and came to me in a dreadful state. At his age a fright can be dangerous, as I’m sure you both know.’ She glanced from one crimson face to the other, ‘Could either of you throw some light on the matter? Perhaps you know of someone else with the same symptoms as Jim Jim? Unusual manifestations such as frothy urine? Much as you might get on a pint of Bull Bull’s best beer, for instance?’

  ‘Ach, doctor!’ Todd, looking ready to burst, could hold himself back no longer. ‘It was us! It was only a joke! We put bakin’ sody in Jim Jim’s chanty when we helped him home yesterday. I thought at the time that a whole tin was too much and if Mollie ever finds out I stole it she’ll kill me and throw me out the house!’

  ‘BAKIN’ SODY!’ screeched Jim Jim, getting down from the couch with rage-propelled agility. ‘Bakin’ sody! A whole tin! Mollie’s no’ the only one who will get you and kill you! And I thought you were my friends! All my life I thought you were my friends, and this is how you treat me . . .’ He came to a full and sudden stop. ‘Bakin’ sody,’ he repeated meditatively, and then he began laughing, his hands clutching his stomach, his head thrown back, exposing his tonsils, his old whiskered face a picture of comical delight.

  Tam and Todd stared at him anxiously, then when they had ascertained that he wasn’t in the throes of some sort o
f seizure, they joined in his merriment, screeching and guffawing, in between repeating snatches of Megan’s afore-mentioned interrogation, while she, thinking it was the funniest episode to have happened in her surgery since taking over the practice, added her peals of laughter to theirs till the whole place rang with mirthful sounds.

  One or two of the patients in the hall glanced at one another meaningfully and shook their heads.

  ‘It’s no’ as if we’re waiting here for the good of our health,’ Peggy McAlastair, sister of Hector the Boat, spoke mournfully.

  ‘Ay, you’re right there, Peggy,’ nodded Winnie Nells, an ancient old crone of a creature who also happened to be Canty Tam’s gloom-ridden mother. ‘I’ve been sitting here for the last half hour and my feets are freezing in the draught from that door. I feel worse than I did before I came and certainly no better for hearing our own doctor shrieking her head off in that den o’ hooligans in there.’

  Isabel, awaiting the emergence of her so-called hooligan husband, fairly bristled with indignation at this description of him, and turning to the cheerless pair she informed them that laughter was, after all, the best medicine, and if they were lucky enough to gain admittance to the den of ruffians, the doctor might prescribe some for them too!

  Chapter Twenty

  The weather remained good that summer on Rhanna. June slipped by in a balmy haze of warm days and honey-pink sunsets, when the horizon never grew fully dark and little islands seemed to float in an eternal glow of golden light that painted fiery banners on the sea and daubed wondrous hues of flaming red into the deep purples of the furthest reaches of the star spangled sky. Great moons waxed and waned and it seemed as if darkness would never again fall on the land; the air was perpetually drenched with the warm sweet scents of summer; wildflowers starred the moors; the green of the machair became hidden in a deluge of yellow buttercups; fields of white daisies shimmered like blankets of snow; the broom was golden on the hill, vying with the white flowers of rowans and elders. And in the woods the bluebells carpeted the leafy earth, the heady sweet fragrance of them wafting out of the trees to meet the evocative smell of the summer hayfields falling to the reapers.

  Up on the normally deserted moors the islanders were out in full force, cutting the peats for winter fires, frequently stopping to mop their faces and swipe biting insects from their bare, sunburned limbs. They told one another that the heat was ‘terrible just’ and it was a good thing that it wasn’t always like this or they would never get any work done, but just the same they revelled in the feel of the sun on their backs and the menfolk had ample excuse to quench their thirst in the Portcull Hotel when the day’s labour was done.

  There was always something to look forward to, some small event to be savoured, be it a birth, or a christening, or simply the latest edition of the Rhanna Roundabout to devour in one gulp if there was nothing much happening elsewhere.

  The advent of the magazine containing Lachlan’s article was a different matter entirely. It had been long awaited, not only by the McLachlans themselves, but by every interested member of the island’s population, agog to know what he had written about them.

  Here was something different, a departure from the norm that some people found rather worrying, since it would, no doubt, involve most of them personally. They had all been Lachlan’s patients at some time or another in their lives and it was with some trepidation that they anticipated this particular issue of what was normally an extremely popular publication.

  What, they asked one another, had he written about? Who had he written about? Which of them would be first to come into the limelight? It had been hinted that there might be more of the same, month by month, which meant that one by one, they would come under public scrutiny, whether they liked it or no.

  Those that definitely didn’t were not slow to air their opinions on the morning the magazine appeared on the post office counter, an event that attracted an astonishingly sparse number of people to the premises, for the simple reason that the more shy members of the community had taken the precaution of ordering their copies some weeks in advance. One or two were bold enough to appear in person, pretending to want something else; others, like Behag, for instance, made no bones about her reasons for being there.

  ‘He’ll be exposing our private parts for all the world to see,’ she sniffed with tight-lipped disapproval. ‘In my view, anything that goes on between a doctor and a patient should be sacrosanct forever more. Folks these days get away wi’ far too much and I for one have no intention o’ putting up wi’ it.’

  ‘Och no, it isn’t like that at all,’ mumbled Ranald, nose deep in the controversial pages. Then he looked up and his eyes gleamed. ‘Ay, well, you’re maybe right at that, Behag, just listen to this:

  ‘One of my most memorable patients was Miss Behag Beag, the then postmistress of the village, who came to me seeking a cure for constipation. Well, I tried everything to get her moving, pills, powders, potions of every description. In the end I had to resort to the tubes and never have I had to treat a more difficult patient. There she lay, squealing like a pig from both ends, making enough noise to attract the entire village to the surgery door, all of them believing that a murder was in progress . . .’

  ‘Here, let me see that!’ A purple-faced Behag snatched the paper from Ranald’s hand and began furiously to read, her lips moving as she devoured the words, head wobbling alarmingly on her thin shoulders.

  ‘That’s quite enough o’ that, Ranald McTavish,’ Totie intervened. ‘Lachlan has used different names throughout the article, as fine you know, and he’s written it in such a way that it’s difficult even to tell which island he’s talking about. It’s a fair treat to read and I only hope it won’t be the last o’ it’s kind we’ll be seeing.’

  A shamefaced Ranald made to slink from the shop till Totie stayed him with a sharp order. ‘Not so fast, you mean bodach. Don’t think I didn’t see you devouring that magazine from cover to cover! It has your dirty fingerprints on it so just you be putting your money on the counter like everyone else, my lad.’

  ‘But I only read the bit wi’ the article in it,’ Ranald protested vehemently, shocked at the idea of having to pay for that privilege. ‘It’s no’ the sort o’ paper I read in the normal way o’ things, and besides. I’d be doing somebody else out of one if I had to buy it.’

  For answer Totie held out her hand and said grimly, ‘Money, Ranald McTavish, and you’re lucky you’re getting off so lightly. You dirtied the one underneath wi’ those tarry fingers o’ yours and should really be paying for two.’

  At that opportune moment, Phebie and Ruth came bursting into the shop together, giving Ranald the chance to beat a hasty retreat outside without parting with one penny.

  ‘Quick!’ panted Phebie. ‘Before they all go. I want six copies to send to my relatives. Lachy only got one complimentary edition and I’ll never hear the end o’ it if Aunt Minnie doesn’t get hers as promised.’

  ‘And I want four,’ added Ruth, ‘I wrote and told Rachel about it and she’s desperate to get her hands on it. Jon’s mother is dying to read it too, she misses the island and loves to read anything to do wi’ it. She can hardly wait each month for her copy of the Rhanna Roundabout and if it’s a day late she isn’t slow to let me know.’

  ‘Ah, yes, big Mamma Jodl,’ Totie nodded as she busily jotted Ranald’s name into the I.O.U. section of her memo pad. ‘Do you think she’ll ever come back to Rhanna?’

  ‘Oh ay, most definitely, it seems she’s never enjoyed herself as much as she did last year when Rachel had her baby.’

  Totie’s eyes twinkled. ‘I don’t think I’d be far wrong in thinking she has her sights set on Rab McKinnon. They all had a marvellous time playing cards in Aggie’s house and if I’m minding right, Rab used to call for Mamma in his tractor and nearly scared the shat out o’ her driving her along the Burg road.’

  ‘She’s a character alright,’ laughed Phebie. ‘A formidable one at that. She came to
our door once asking to see the doctor and when I told her he was retired she just about bit my head off and stomped away in high dudgeon, muttering something about us all being heathens who had never heard of civilised things like medicine.’

  Totie wasn’t listening, she was craning her head in order to get a better view through her cluttered window. ‘Is that Clodhopper I see? No doubt snooping around looking for trouble. I think it might be a good idea to warn some o’ the menfolk that he’s here as I know fine that one or two o’ the rascals have been sticking beer labels on their vehicle windows in place o’ their expired licences.’

  Ruth turned red. Her very own husband, Lorn, was one of the rascals, since, in his opinion, it just wasn’t worth forking out money for road tax when the island highways and byways left so much to be desired.

  Rhanna, in common with other Hebridean islands, was exempt from the M.O.T. test that was compulsory on the mainland, just as long as the vehicles remained on the island. Many of the inhabitants believed that they should be exempt from road tax also, and delayed buying a licence, with the result that a visit from Clodhopper always caused a stir as everyone scrambled to lock up their various modes of transport in sheds and barns.

  Ruth hurried away on her warning mission. So did several other people, because Clodhopper had indeed come to the island to sniff out the licence dodgers.

  His appearance in the village caused a very strange reaction in Fern, who was chatting to Todd the Shod as he polished his Rolls-Royce outside the smiddy door.

  Todd had won the car in a competition many years ago, but despite its age it was in wonderful condition, the pride and joy of its owner, even though it hadn’t been run for some time owing to the fact that it needed some drastic work done on the engine.

  Todd therefore had no need of a licence of any sort at that moment in time and the sight of Clodhopper’s bulky figure approaching his gate instilled no pangs of conscience in him whatsoever.