“I prefer to say that they were, child. However, their presence here should tell us something, although what it is, I think Time alone will show.”
“Laura will relish this,” said Laura’s brother. “She likes anything criminal and low. Even when she was a child she liked a comic paper which featured a bloke called Tom the Ticket-of-Leave Man. Shall you tell the police about those fellows?”
“Yes. We don’t know what they’re up to, but I think we may assume that it can’t be anything good. Their names are Lauzi and Potter.”
“I’m glad they’re not Scotsmen,” said Ian.
Chapter Ten
★
The Cormorant’s Rock!
Creag an Sgairbh!
War cry of the Stewarts of Appin
★
The new day, like a girl ashamed of her tempestuous weeping, dawned shyly. It found the augmented crew of the Kerisaig already on board. Their comings and goings astonished no one at the Ballachulish hotel, where the staff were accustomed to the vagaries and enthusiasm of the summer visitors. Therefore, the fact that five of the guests—for the lad Brian had requested that he might make one of the party after all—should sneak out at five in the morning was accepted as normal and unremarkable.
Maggie MacIntyre, one of the maids, had seen to it that they went out fortified with porridge, eggs, bacon, bread, butter, and honey, and had accomplished what she described as ‘weetin’ the caufee on ye,’ the better to prepare them for their trip. Laura, Brian, and Ian had eaten well, Mrs. Bradley sparingly, and Jonathan moderately, but all had enjoyed the breakfast and Maggie Maclntyre’s motherly waiting. She was just nineteen, a soft-eyed, tender-mouthed, gently-spoken, and deceptively biddable girl. She came from Mull, and worked at the hotel from June until early in September.
Jonathan and Ian went up to say good-bye to their wives. Catherine, drowsy, and Deborah, lovely, stretched white arms from under the bedcovers and bade their husbands take care of themselves and come back soon.
“Sure!” said Ian laughing, and kissing Catherine. “Anyway, you don’t really know what you’re talking about. You’re more than half asleep.”
“Don’t worry, darling,” said Jonathan, kneeling beside the bed and taking his wife in his arms. “We shall be all right, or my aunt wouldn’t take young Brian.”
“If it is all right, why does she want you and Ian? Why both of you, if it’s all right?”
“Stop fussing of the poor dumb animal, because I don’t really know. Anyway, she does want us both, and young Laura, too. I imagine we shall take points of vantage for purposes of observation and report. Hem!”
“You’re so silly,” said Deborah, kissing the short harsh hairs on the nape of his neck. “Darling, you’ve always just had your hair cut. Why don’t you grow it long, like your Cousin Carey? Then it wouldn’t prick. Well, I suppose you’ll have to go, or you’ll keep them all waiting, and Laura will tease you. Do you mind being teased about me?”
He did not respond in words, and had to sprint all the way to the moorings to catch up the rest of the party.
“Now, then,” said Laura disapprovingly. “You’re not going away for a year!”
He slapped her, a good, swinging, round-arm smack which made her yell, and then twitched off her beret. They wrestled for it, and Laura got it back upon a shout from Ian for all to get aboard.
It was not yet fully light, and in misty gold the Kerisaig put off from Ballachulish and ran spiritedly out towards the Sound of Mull.
“Be a bit dirty after Lismore,” said Ian, above the sound of the engine, as the long green island slid alongside, and then began to drop astern. “Bound to be heavy rollers after the weather we’ve been having.”
That weather, however, appeared to be a thing of the past. The day had brightened and was seen to be tremulously blue. The mountains in view from the cruiser, whether to east or west, the long range of Benderloch with Cruachan in the southern distance, the hills of Morvern and the approaching mountains of Mull, had all their tops misty and clouded, but there were rainbows in the seas, and, in spite of the freshening breeze, the weather already was warmer.
The seas deepened to green. The Sound was a tumbling battle between rollers surging in from the Atlantic and the quieter coastal tides. Jonathan and Ian nursed the cruiser. She tossed and plunged past Lochaline on Morvern, and on past the mountains of Mull. The steamer route dipped in to Salan, but the Kerisaig held on her way, passed Tobermory harbour, and faced the heavy seas where the Sound of Mull met Loch Sunart. In the distance could be seen the tiny bay behind which lay the village of Kilchoan in Ardnamurchan.
“This is grand!” said Laura, bailing water out of the cockpit, her beret discarded and her hair almost blown off her head. The boy Brian, not a good sailor, was not so enthusiastic. Jonathan had taken the controls; Ian and Mrs. Bradley sat in the little saloon with an Ordnance map of Skye pinned out on the table. The land changed shape and rocked now high now low on the starboard side of the cutter. The breeze still freshened. They beat round Ardnamurchan Point and found the full force of the wind. The cruiser shook, shivered, and plunged. Her screw raced, suddenly plucked from its element, the water, by the downward swing of the boat to the trough of the sea. Northward she beat, and northward, plunging back her screw and lifting her nose with a dire extreme of clumsily-contrived equilibrium like the recovery of a pecking racehorse. Brian was frankly sick; and was steered by the practised hand of Laura Menzies to the leeward side of the cruiser just in time.
“That’s better,” she said, letting go of the slack of his jacket. “Lie down for a bit in the saloon.”
“I’m all right,” said the boy; and, boy-like, remained on deck; and, boy-like, felt much better in the next ten minutes or so, and got another dipper and helped her bail. The cutter took water chiefly over the bows, as the experienced Jonathan kept her head to the seas, but sometimes a boisterous comber slapped in over her quarter and once or twice she got a broadside which nearly washed the whole crew overboard.
“Exhilarating,” said Mrs. Bradley, coming on deck and receiving the wind in her face and a slap of cold water down her arm.
“Glad you think so,” said Laura. “We’re almost off Arisaig, I think.”
Arisaig and Mallaig were passed, and they entered the Sound of Sleat. To make Uig in such a wind, the two young men had decided to run up the Sound, beat up past Kyle of Loch Alsh and work round the north of the island in the hope that the southward passage from Rudha Hunish and Score Bay might be preferable to the north-west trip from the Point of Sleat and up the Atlantic coast of the island.
The seas were so rough and strong, however, that they put into harbour at Portree, having almost decided to hire a car from the hotel and cross the island by road to Uig Bay.
Portree harbour was amazingly calm considering the seas outside, and the little quiet town, flanked by its headland of woods and with the low hills rising behind it, looked slight and almost delicate, a sketch of a town rather than a collection of the habitations of men. A tower rose out of the woods, and beyond them lay a long cape, looking black against the light of the day.
The crew went ashore for lunch. By two in the afternoon it had been decided to run as far north as Kilmaluig, although Laura was heard to enquire, ‘Why tempt the stormy firth to-day?’ when the point was under discussion. She was so far right that a further conclave was held on the northward run.
However, the general feeling was in favour of continuing to Uig. Mrs. Bradley took no part in the discussion, and, although her opinion was canvassed, she did not give it. Laura turned apostate and spoke eloquently in favour of continuing the cruise (by this time dignified by the title of voyage), and even Brian, now in full possession of his sea-legs, put in a plea for going on to Uig. Jonathan was doubtful, Ian anxious to go on.
The seas on the north cape of Syke were mountainous. Half the time Kerisaig appeared, even to her devoted owner Ian, to be under the water more often than in it or on i
t.
Drenched to the skin, exhilarated and occasionally somewhat alarmed, the crew clung deliriously to their craft and commended their souls to the gods of the Northmen who had made safe passage to Skye and had written the story of their landfalls in the names they had given to most of the places on the island.
Whether for this reason or some other, the Kerisaig made safe passage and came to anchor in the little roadsteads of Uig Bay. She carried no dinghy, but signals from the boat to the shore soon brought small boats to the rescue, and the party landed, and, led by Ian, went straight to the house of the MacDonalds.
Here they received a great welcome, and, as they had brought a change of clothes, they were soon warm and dry, and the question of lodgings was discussed. There seemed likely to be some little difficulty about this, as the party was oddly assorted from the point of view of being able to share rooms. Mrs. Bradley, not by her own wish, but by common consent, was allotted the best bedroom in the house, and Jonathan and the boy received shakedown accommodation on the ground floor. Laura had the small bedroom, and Ian was taken to the two-roomed croft of the MacIver family, where he shared a room with young Roderick MacIver, who smelt of fish but was otherwise companionable.
As soon as his lodging was settled and he had had conversation with the MacIver family, Ian went with Rory MacIver—Malcolm’s elder brother—to the boat the MacIvers owned, and the two rowed out to where the house in which Ian was interested could be seen against the skyline. He had brought his binoculars from the Kerisaig and now trained them on to the croft.
“What would you be wishing to see?” asked Rory, resting on his oars whilst the boat, rocking heavily, threatened to throw Ian overboard.
“The last croft there.”
“Two of her brother’s sons are after having it from the old woman,” said MacIver. “Nobody knows them, but they tell us their father was married on a woman in Australia.”
“You don’t like them?” said Ian. Rory bent to his oars and grunted.
“They do not fish, and they do not work the croft, and they do not dig peat. I do not know what they do, nor why they are here. There are those that are saying they are spies. They are up to no good, whatever it may be, whatever.”
“They’ve taken the old lady’s name, then?”
“Aye. But they call themselves Thomas and James. Never were those two names in the family of Mrs. MacShuffie. I do not like it.”
“I’ve been told that they’ve been in prison,” said Ian. “Let’s row on for a bit, and then I’ll get back to the others.”
“You’ll not be the police?”
“Oh, no, of course not. But we happen to be interested in those fellows. There are two dead men in Lochaber, and nothing to account for their deaths.”
He told Rory as much of the story as would allay curiosity.
“A ghost that talks?” said Rory thoughtfully, when they had brought the boat in and were walking back to the house. “Well, well! I could tell you things that might surprise you about that, too.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” said Ian. “The Quiraing, for example. Isn’t that said to be haunted? And on Bealach a’ Mhorghain . . .”
“Indeed, yes. I would not care to be on that pass on a dark night with the west wind blowing, no, indeed!”
Both laughed, but Rory changed the subject by suggesting that they were coming a long way round if Ian wanted to visit the croft they had seen from the sea.
“I am not the person to visit it by daylight,” said Ian. “They know me. Besides, the last time I went I did quite the wrong thing. I thought to set free a prisoner, but I think I unleashed a hound of hell.”
This view he had already put to Mrs. Bradley. She had not agreed with it, neither had she dissented from it. There was, in her mind, no proof of it one way or the other, and this she stated. It did not much comfort Ian, who felt responsible for the death of the second Loudoun.
“We shall get very little further until we know the whole of the Loudoun story,” she had said; “and, in any case, we do not know who killed the second Loudoun.” As he tramped beside Rory after they had climbed the steep path up the face of the cliff and were coming in sight of MacDonalds’ house, he was thinking over those words. He went indoors to find that Mrs. Bradley had prepared and had studied a timetable of those events which had fallen within the knowledge of herself or her party. It was helpful in forming theories, but that was all. At her own request, Laura had been permitted to copy it. She had written in her large and characteristic handwriting:
Monday. First week. Ian married to Catherine in London.
Tuesday. Ian and Catherine on first day of their honeymoon meet Mrs. Bradley and party, and, later, Hector Loudoun (A). They stay the night at Craigullich.
Queries. Was the unknown man murdered on this day?
Did Loudoun (A) know of the murder?
Does that account for the state of his nerves?
Is the dead man Mr. Ure (Stewart)?
Wednesday. Disappearance of old Morag, the housekeeper at Craigullich. Mrs. Bradley pays her first visit to Craigullich and meets not Loudoun (A) but, it seems, Loudoun (B). They may be twins. Mrs. Bradley returns to Ballachulish, but goes back in the evening to Craigullich, stays the night, hears the ‘ghost-voice,’ and observes its terrifying effect on Loudoun (B).
Laura, with others, goes to Kinlochleven on this day, and stays at the house of Janet Forbes, formerly employed at Craigullich. Ian and Catherine rejoin auxiliary cutter Kerisaig.
Thursday. Laura hears Janet Forbes’ gossip about the Stewart family and forms theory that there may have been an illegitimate child (or twins) born to Lorna Stewart during the absence of her husband abroad.
Friday. Laura leaves rest of party at Kinlochleven and takes short walking tour to see part of Rannoch Moor. Body discovered on Rannoch Moor by shepherd, and transported by him and others to shepherd’s hut. Seen there by Laura. Ian and Catherine with Kerisaig as before.
Saturday. Laura returns to Ballachulish and meets mad artist in Glencoe.
Sunday. The Sabbath. Kept as such in respect for local observances. Day spent very quietly in hotel.
Monday. Second week. Mrs. Bradley, Laura, and Jonathan to Rannoch Moor. Identification of place where body was discovered by shepherd.
Tuesday. Laura to Inverness to read paper before learned gathering. Ian and Catherine on Skye.
Wednesday. Paper read, and Laura free to return. Ian and Catherine meet Loudoun (A) under guard in Skye.
Thursday. Laura returns to Ballachulish, and meets mad artist (now sane but amateur pedlar) who explains that he was to meet Stewart. (This seems to confirm theory that Stewart is dead man on Rannoch Moor.) Ian and Catherine decide to return to Ballachulish.
Friday. Mrs. Bradley and Laura try to find why the dead man went on to Rannoch Moor. Spend night at Kingshouse inn. Miss the return of Ian and Catherine.
Saturday. Mrs. Bradley and Laura return to Ballachulish. Ian and Catherine go early to Craigullich and discover body of the second Loudoun (Loudoun B) in dining-room. Catherine’s reading of his hand makes it certain at this point that the theory that there have been two Loudouns is correct. In the late afternoon Mrs. Bradley and Laura are reunited with Ian and Catherine. Mrs. Bradley and Ian go to Craigullich and discover the two ‘guards’ in the house. The body has disappeared. Jonathan, Deborah, and Brian return to Ballachulish because of the weather. The police find the body of Loudoun (B) in a corrie on Beinn Cruachan.
Sunday. Spent very quietly at the hotel.
Monday. Third week. Mrs. Bradley, Laura, Catherine, and Ian to Oban to identify the body of Loudoun (B) found on Beinn Cruachan. Thence Mrs. Bradley and Ian to see the place where it was found. They see also the ‘guards’ of Loudoun (A) from Skye.
Tuesday. Mrs. Bradley, Laura, Jonathan, Ian, and Brian to Skye.
Notes 1. The second Loudoun may be named Alexander.
2. The recurrent note is the little loch.
Early next day Mrs. Bradley
and Jonathan climbed the hill-slope to the croft which had once been tenanted by the Widow MacShuffie, and, choosing a point of vantage neither too far from it for their purpose, which was to identify the men Mrs. Bradley and Ian had seen on the side of Beinn Cruachan, nor too near it to excite suspicion, seated themselves on their waterproof coats, spread out books and a picnic basket brought from one of the lockers on the Kerisaig and prepared to spend, if necessary, the major part of the day in what might prove to be a monotonous and unprofitable vigil.
They were rewarded, however, at the end of the first half hour. The two men came out of the little house, descended the cliff-face and, gaining the harbour, put off, with one of the islanders, in a fishing boat. Through binoculars Mrs. Bradley watched the progress of the boat, and kept it in view until it disappeared round a headland south of Uig, as though it might be making for the inner reaches of Loch Snizort. The boat had made, she judged from her Ordnance map, between three and four miles by the time it was lost to view. By this time an hour had passed, for the progress of the fishing boat was slow.
“They’ll be making for Corbast,” said Jonathan, looking up from the map. “They don’t want to hire a car, I suppose, and from Corbast it is only a matter of about four miles to Portree. They’ll get a steamer from there to the mainland, and once they get there we may lose all trace of them, especially if they take to the moors. They got here ahead of us, and they’ll get back ahead of us. What do you want us to do?”
“First, search the house they’ve left,” said Mrs. Bradley. “Secondly, follow them in our boat. Thirdly, put the police on their track. They will have to give some account of themselves if they’re caught, even if they are not concerned in any way with the murders—and we must realize, of course, that they may not be directly involved.”
“I don’t know. They may have murdered the second Loudoun for his money, or because they were not satisfied with what he gave them for keeping his brother prisoner, or because he cursed them for letting their prisoner escape.”
“All that is true,” said Mrs. Bradley, “but it seems more likely, on the face of it, that the one Loudoun murdered the other, or that Stewart did it.”
My Father Sleeps (Mrs. Bradley) Page 14