Читать книгу Light - Margaret Elphinstone - Страница 17

CHAPTER 11

THROUGH THE CLOSED SHUTTERS THE SUN MADE STRIPED patterns against the bedroom wall. Between the shutter and the glass a trapped bee buzzed and buzzed against the pane. The wind murmured in the chimney, rustling the dried-out rushes in the grate. Mally’s truckle bed was made, the flowered coverlet pulled up over the pillow. The floor had been swept, the rag rug freshly shaken. Lucy’s print gown and petticoat lay across the rocking chair, where the cat had made itself a comfortable nest out of them, and curled up on top. The framed text above the bed was embroidered in blue and white, with a border of forget-me-nots in matching threads: This is the day which the Lord hath made. We rejoice and be glad in it (Psalm 118:24)

Lucy lay sprawled across the bed in her nightgown, half-covered by the sheet. She wore no nightcap, and she’d thrown off the blanket. She was sound asleep, having gone to bed as usual after noonday dinner, and no dreams had come to trouble her.

There was no time to think; they had to help. As Finn and Juan swung the cargo across, the two strangers Finn had brought with him caught each piece and heaved it up the rock. Automatically Diya, Breesha and Mally grabbed the bundles as they were dumped on the seaweed and carried them over the slippery rocks. And what extraordinary gear it was: a long wooden box, a roll of chain, a stack of poles roped together, a heavy wooden box with a lid. ‘Take care with that one!’ the big fellow called as Breesha and Diya lifted the box between them. A portmanteau came up, and a canvas haversack. Mally picked up a black leather case. It was heavy, but she managed to heave it up onto the grass. Then came a sack of meal: that was more normal. And last of all: ‘It’s the piglings!’ screamed Mally, the strangers momentarily forgotten. ‘Finn, you’ve brought the piglings!’

‘I have that, Mally, I have that!’

The crate with the piglets was heavy. Finn and Juan got it onto the gunwale. The next wave rose. Archie and Ben grabbed it by its rope and swung it across. On the slippery weed they managed to get their hands under the crate, and together they manhandled it up to dry rock. The piglets squealed furiously, and scrabbled about so the weight kept shifting. The woman was going to try to take the crate from them, but Archie brushed her off. ‘S’all right. This one’s heavy.’ There were shouts from below. Archie and Ben shoved the crate up the last awkward step and dumped it on the grass.

When they looked round the Betsey was already halfway out of the giau. Two pairs of oars were working furiously against wind and tide. The yawl was barely moving. It was going to be a damn close thing. Archie straightened up, brushing his coat sleeves, as he willed the boat to get off: Finn had done the job and got them ashore – he deserved not to be stuck here. They hadn’t had time to discuss the likelihood of him getting back to collect them on Monday or Tuesday. Well, Finn knew what they wanted, and he’d come back when he could. Anyway, he still had another two shillings to collect. And there were so many more things to ask him …

The Betsey fought the swell at the mouth of the giau, hung in the balance, and came up into the wind. A minute later she hoisted her sail and headed off on the port tack. ‘That’s it,’ said Ben. ‘They’ll make it now. They’ll get round the island while it’s slack water, and beat back with the flood on the windward side.’

Once the boat was under way Diya reluctantly turned inland. The two intruders were on the grass just above them, staring out to sea. They’d still be able to see the Betsey from up there. A moment later the boat must have vanished from their sight, because now the men were looking down at them.

Breesha pulled urgently at her mother’s sleeve. ‘Shall I go and wake Lucy?’ she whispered.

‘Yes, go now. Quickly! And Breesha … put the broth back over the fire, so it’ll be hot.’

‘We’re not going to give them anything?’

‘Indeed we are, Breesha veen. You must always be civil to the stranger at your door. You know that!’

‘But not these …’ Breesha remembered she wasn’t supposed to know who they were. Better warn Mally not to give anything away either. But Mally, now that the flurry of activity was over, was clinging close to Mam, clutching a corner of Diya’s old gardening pinafore, thumb in mouth, like a great baby. Mally had clung to Mam like that once before, when they’d gone ashore at Port St Mary last year and Mally had been so upset by the strange people. She’d kept saying, ‘Who’s that, who’s that?’ and Mam had kept on answering, ‘I don’t know who it is, Mally veen. We don’t know everybody!’ Mally’s voice had sounded so small and frightened, quite unlike her usual self, as she’d gripped her mother’s cloak tightly in both hands. ‘But why don’t we know them? Why?’

How dare these people come here now and frighten her sister? How dare they step ashore as if they had the right?

I want my Da!

Breesha’s fists clenched tight with rage. Rage at Finn, for betraying them – bringing their enemies to the island, as if he didn’t know! Rage at her Da, for not being here any more when they needed him. If her Da were here this couldn’t be happening. How dare you! How dare you not be here now! I hate you, Da! I hate you! Breesha caught her breath with a shiver.

‘Mam!’ She tugged her mother’s sleeve again. ‘Mam, will I go and find Billy?’

Diya was still staring numbly at the strangers standing up there on the island. She gave herself a little shake. ‘For what, Breesha veen?’ she said. ‘Billy’ll come soon enough. I told you to go and wake Lucy – and put the pot back on. Go on. I mean it, Breesha! Now!’

Breesha scowled, and suddenly ran, dodging past the invaders without a word of acknowledgement, and disappearing behind the Tullachan.

Diya came slowly up the rocks, holding Mally’s hand so hard that it hurt. Her throat felt tight. She was trembling, but she willed herself to stop, or Mally would feel it through their clasped hands.

The time has come, Diya beti. Koi hai – is anyone there? He’s waiting for you on the veranda. Your father is here! Usually Father comes and sits on the veranda for a short time only. He brings presents – a doll, ribbons, bangles, metai. He asks what Diya has learned, has she been good, is she happy, is she well, is she clever? Yes, his little Diya is all of these things, and he smiles, and smiles again, and in a little while he takes his leave, as always. But not this time. This time Diya is going too. Her small square box is packed and tied with a strap. A label in English writing is tied to the strap. Because now Diya is leaving the safe place, the cool house, the hot garden with its enclosing walls and swept paths, the tank, the courtyard, the tamarisk tree, the borders filled with marigolds and Mittu the parrot. Goodbye, Aji, goodbye, my very own Ajoba. I never saw Aji weep before. Goodbye to all of you. Goodbye, Diya beti! But I didn’t know then that it was goodbye for ever.

She looked so mournful, stepping over the slippery rocks, clasping her child’s hand in hers. For the little girl was clearly hers. The child had the same brown skin, same delicate features. And when the two of them looked up at him, they had the same dark, unhappy eyes. Was it his fault? Was it their presence here that caused such sorrow? Archie stepped forward uncomfortably, and held out his hand to help the woman over the difficult rock step.

She ignored the outstretched hand, and jumped up easily on to the grass, the child following. When she stood facing him, her eyes were on a level with his own. Both woman and child gazed at him unwinkingly, and their eyes seemed to hold all the reproach in the world. ‘You will be the Commissioners of Northern Lights, I think?’

‘Not in person,’ stammered Archie. She spoke like a gentlewoman. He hadn’t expected that. She seemed perfectly collected, not nervous of him at all. It was just that her eyes were saying something so very different. He cleared his throat. ‘Archibald Buchanan, ma’am, at your service. We’re the surveyors employed by Mr Stevenson, the engineer. I believe you’ve been notified … you had a letter, I mean. You were expecting our arrival?’ He hated himself for sounding so hesitant, but then, he was used to dealing with men, not beautiful women with dark eyes that looked at him as if he were a murderer.

‘My sister had a letter.’

‘You’re not …’ He’d been about to say, ‘Miss Geddes’, but a woman with a child in her hand who was so clearly a replica of herself should obviously not be addressed as Miss.

‘I am Mrs Geddes. My late husband was the lightkeeper.’

Every word she spoke made it seem the more extraordinary that she was here. She was a lady. She spoke the King’s English. Her skin was as brown as a hazelnut. She wore gold studs in her ears, and a sacking apron stained with soil. He saw that her hands were dirty, covered with earth in fact. She didn’t take her eyes off him. Ben was standing right beside him, but she didn’t even glance in his direction. She was steadfastly watching Archie.

She saw Archie looking at her hands. ‘You must excuse us, Mr Buchanan. We were working in the garden when my daughter saw the Betsey.’

‘Not at all.’ Everything she said somehow put Archie at a disadvantage. He pulled himself together. ‘I’m very sorry if our presence on the island inconveniences you at all, ma’am. We’re here to do the preliminary survey for the new lighthouse on Ellan Bride. We’ll be staying for a couple of days. I believe the letter from the Commissioners asked you if you would be so kind as to accommodate us during our stay?’

‘We’ve brought our own provisions,’ put in Ben suddenly. He smiled at the lightkeeper’s widow. Trust Young Archibald to get on his high horse, just when you could see the poor woman, and her bairn too, were simply terrified. They weren’t exactly the sort of people he’d been expecting, but that probably made it worse for them. Foreigners – that was obvious. He wondered how on earth they got to be here – how the hell had the Ellan Bride lightkeeeper managed to pick up anything this exotic? But that was of no consequence just now. Brown-skinned Mrs Geddes might be, but she’d turn men’s heads in the Canongate. The effect in this remote place, and with the child clinging like a little elf at her side, was quite unnerving. But Ben felt sorry for her more than anything. ‘We’ll try not to get in your way too much, missus. We’ll be out all day. But a roof over our heads at night – that’s all we’ll be needing, and I hope we’ll no be a trouble to you.’

The big, ugly man was much the nicer, thought Mally. She sneaked a look up at Ben, who caught her eye and winked. Mally looked down, shrinking back against her mother’s skirts.

And yet Ben had seen the wee lass jumping up and down, squealing with delight at the boatman when he offloaded the pigs. Ben grinned at Mally and said, ‘Should we no be letting the grice – the pigs – out of that box, don’t you think? They’ve been cooped up in there a long time.’

Mally glanced at the crate, and looked wide-eyed up at Ben.

‘If you tell me where to take them, I can carry them up for you.’

Mally looked at Mam. Mam said, ‘You show him, Mally.’

It was too hard to speak to a person Mally had never seen before in her life. He wasn’t like anyone she knew. But Billy had freckles too, in the summer, and when the man smiled it seemed to remind her just a bit of another smiling face she’d once known well, but couldn’t quite remember. Mally, still holding Mam’s hand, but not so hard now, pointed dumbly towards the house. Ben followed her pointing finger. You couldn’t see the house from here; it was hidden behind the Tullachan, a low green knoll between the jetty and the garden. Mally would have liked to explain that to Ben, but it would have meant speaking to him, and that she couldn’t quite do. Not yet.

‘Come up to the house, gentlemen,’ said Diya. ‘You’ll be hungry, and there’s broth on the fire. You won’t have had any dinner. Mally, show the kind man where the piglings are to go.’

‘Ben,’ said Ben, introducing himself. ‘Benjamin Groat, missus. And what’s your name, young lady?’

Mally opened her mouth to whisper, but the obstinate words wouldn’t come out.

‘This is my daughter Mary,’ Diya said. ‘We call her Mally. You must forgive her, Mr Groat. We don’t usually see strangers here.’

Diya gave Mally a little push, and watched her silently lead Ben away. She turned to pick up one of the sacks.

‘Will I take that for you?’

‘I can manage it, thank you.’ Diya swung the sack of oatmeal onto her shoulder. ‘Perhaps you should bring that case of yours; you don’t want your papers to get wet.’

How did she know the black leather case held his drawing materials? And where did she get the strength to heave a sack like that, apparently without any effort at all? Archie, temporarily as bereft of speech as Mally, picked up his drawing-case and portmanteau, and let Diya lead the way. He noticed as he followed her that her feet were bare, and begrimed with garden soil, as was the hem of her old print gown. The path wound between rushes and cotton grass. She left her bare footprints firmly imprinted in the mud as she walked. Archie trod over them in his heavy boots; the path was narrow and there was no avoiding them.

They skirted the green knoll, and there was the gable-end of a low stone cottage right in front of them. At the front, the slate roof hung down over two small windows and a central door, so the house looked like a face with beetling eyebrows frowning out to sea. The door stood wide open, and a couple of chickens were pecking at invisible scraps on the threshold. A cockerel and some more chickens – and a motley flock they were – foraged on the green turf outside the door. The pigpen, re-fashioned from ship’s timbers, had been built up against the garden wall. Ben was leaning over the fence and Mally was jumping around inside the pen, clutching a pan of scraps. Either the child or the piglets – it was impossible to tell which – were squealing wildly. Of the other girl – the one who’d run away as soon as they’d landed – there was no sign at all.

Diya stopped in front of the door, and motioned Archie to go in. ‘If you please to come in, sir.’

‘After you, ma’am.’

He had to duck under the lintel. A stuffy warmth met him, and the smell of broth. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. Diya dumped the sack of oatmeal by the door. ‘If you’d like to sit down, Mr Buchanan, the lightkeeper will be here shortly.’

But the lightkeeper’s been dead five years! Stupid thought – the lightkeeper now was the dead man’s sister – hard to think of a lightkeeper as a woman though. Archie didn’t really want to sit down; he wanted to look about and get on with the job, but somehow the woman’s civil clarity was impossible to withstand. In short, she made him nervous, and that irritated him. It was hard to take his eyes off her. She was not what Archie had expected at all. He sat down gingerly at the end of a bench.

Diya unfastened her gardening pinafore and hung it on the back of the door. Then she took an earthenware jug from a shelf, poured water into a bowl, and washed her grimy hands with soap. She dried them carefully on a bleach-white towel. Only then did she add more water to the broth pot, and begin to stir it briskly. She was dressed like a peasant, but no peasant Archie knew – and he knew many, none better – poured water and stirred broth as if every gesture were part of an invisible dance. Graceful – that was the word that came to mind – she moved with grace. He felt instinctively that she lived her whole life with grace. But her eyes were so sorrowful. Was that for the death of the lightkeeper, or was it because he, Archie, had arrived on the island? And was silence natural to her, or was it occasioned by his unwanted presence? He swallowed, and spoke to her.

‘This is kind of you. The lightkeeper isn’t here just now?’ Silly question: there was only half a mile of land altogether, so the lightkeeper could hardly have gone far.

‘She has to sleep, of course.’