Cold, Lone and Still (Mrs. Bradley)

by Gladys Mitchell

“We thought the same,” he said, “but Jane can’t go any further without something being done about her feet. Like lunatics, we’ve brought no first-aid stuff except a crêpe bandage and some of those bits you stick on to cuts. We’re going back to the hostel to see whether we can pick up something more useful.”

  “I’ve got stuff,” I said, “and she’s done enough walking.” With this, I picked up the slightly-built girl and carried her like a baby. When we got to the hostel, I produced my kit and ministered to her small, tender feet. I knew all this would irritate Hera and it did, but I found I did not care. Looking after Jane was like caring for a child. I found it a pleasant experience. Her brother then took her up to bed.

  Perth and the students arrived a bit later and the youngsters soon turned in, but Perth still stayed up. Looking out of the window he said, “Losh! Look who’s here!” It was Carbridge and Todd. They had noticed that the weather was changing and, as they had not cancelled their booking at the hostel, they had decided to go back on their tracks and seek beds instead of camping out.

  Hera congratulated them upon their commonsense, at which Carbridge said, “Your commendation, fair one, is as the voice of the turtle dove,” and he began to sing, as he showed signs of putting his arm around Hera:

  “If the heart of a man is depressed with cares,

  the mist is dispelled when a woman appears.”

  I did not allow him to finish. I leapt from my chair and choked the song into guttural incoherence by clutching his throat.

  “That’s enough of that, old boy, old boy!” I said savagely. “Don’t push your luck!” I flung him aside and he caught his heel and sat down hard on the floor. Perth took my arm.

  “Get ye to bed, man,” he said. I looked at Hera, but she was looking at Todd.

  Todd said to her, “This is no place for you. Now this has happened, you might be better off staying at the hotel for the night. Let me take you over to it and book you in. I was even thinking of taking a room there myself.”

  “Belt up!” I said, furious with myself to find that I was shaking. “If she needs to stay in the hotel—”

  “All right, all right. Message received and understood,” he said. “Don’t get your underpants in a twist. It was only a suggestion.”

  “Then keep the next one to yourself,” I shouted. Hera turned her back on me.

  Carbridge picked himself up. “Well, really!” he said, dusting the seat of his trousers. “No need for that, old boy, old boy.” He made for the men’s dormitory, for which the students had already left the common-room. I suppose he had decided he wanted no part in a further rough-house.

  Perth took me by the sleeve again and said, “We’re all a wee thing weary, I’m thinking. The laddie meant no harm. Ye’ll see it in perspective come the morn’s morn.” Before going to bed, however, I insisted on having it out with Todd.

  The party of four were off at eight the next day. Hera and I breakfasted together, but it was a silent meal. The weather had held up, after all, and I wished with all my heart that Carbridge and the others could have known that it would, and had held on their way instead of returning to the hostel. The warden was not very friendly when I collected our membership cards, so I guessed that some account of the happenings had leaked out, although nobody but the people concerned had been present at the time of my outburst.

  Perth and the students had also gone out early and Hera and I were off by nine. The walk was by way of Strath Fillan through forest and across a river. Then we were out on the moors with the mountains hemming us in. As the road to Tyndrum began to rise, we could look back at Ben More and Stobinian, and as we looked ahead we had a view of Ben Challum before the track sloped downwards to a stream.

  The Way climbed again after that and, as we had made good time since leaving Crianlarich, I warned Hera that we had better look out for Carbridge and his party, but when we got to the bridge on the River Fillan and had had a look at the ruins of St. Fillan’s Chapel a bit further on, there was still no sign of them.

  In a village called Clifton—after a property magnate who had the right to mine the lead which was discovered near the place at some time in the eighteenth century—we found a shop which stocked food, so we replenished our own stores before going on. As we reached Tyndrum, I looked up at the sky and decided that Carbridge had not been so far wrong the night before. “I’ll ask at the hotel whether they can have us here for a night.”

  “Oh, no, you won’t. We’re going to catch Carbridge and pass him without his knowing it. He can’t possibly be far in front of us now if he’s got poor Jane Minch hanging on to him. All we need is that short cut I mentioned.”

  “I had no idea you were so obstinate,” I said.

  “I am not obstinate. I have made up my mind that we are going to get to Fort William before he does, that’s all. After that exhibition you made of yourself last night, the least you can do is to help me over racing him to the finish.”

  “I told him we were packing up at Kinlochleven,” I said weakly. “I don’t know why he gets my goat to the extent he does. If he weren’t such a worm, perhaps his stupid talk and the liberties he tries to take with you wouldn’t rile me so much.”

  “It was you who took the liberties. You made me look an utter fool. Thank goodness that spotty little Minch girl wasn’t present. She might have thought you the big, bold hero.”

  “Freckles are not spots.”

  “Yes, they are. The other name for them is sunspots.”

  I tried to laugh, but she had not finished, so I tried to divert her from her criticism of my conduct of the night before by quoting Shakespeare. “All right, they are sunspots,” I said.

  “The cowslips tall her pensioners be;

  In their gold coats spots you see;

  These be rubies, fairy favours—”

  “Oh, be quiet!” she said impatiently. “What on earth induced you to behave like a jealous goat last night?”

  “You know as well as I do. I’m not prepared to stand by and watch one oaf trying to put an arm round you and listen to another oaf offering to take you to a hotel for the night.”

  “As for the first oaf, I could have managed him quite easily. I certainly didn’t need your protection. As for Todd—well, I noticed you didn’t try to choke the life out of him.”

  “He’s bigger than I am,” I said.

  At that her mood changed. She laughed. “I know what’s really the matter with you,” she said. “It’s this enforced abstinence. However, we agreed on a celibate holiday and we’re sticking to it. I don’t suppose holding Jane Minch in your arms was much of a comfort, was it?”

  “You would be surprised,” I said.

  It was about half a dozen miles, or perhaps seven, from Tyndrum to Bridge of Orchy and we were following an old military road. It seemed easy going after some of the country we had passed through and we made good progress. We were not intending to break our journey at Bridge of Orchy anyway, but I still did not much like the look of the weather, although the view from the top of the hill had been fairly clear.

  “What are all those posts?” asked Hera, after the road had descended from the hill.

  “Snow posts. Very handy guides in winter or if a Highland mist comes down.” As though, by mentioning it, I had conjured it up, we had not reached the tiny settlement before a heavy mist blotted out everything except a short stretch of the road in front of us.

  “There’s a hotel at Bridge of Orchy,” I said. “We’d better book in as soon as we get to it. If this mist means anything, we shall probably get rain, and I’m not walking in wet clothes if I can help it.”

  “Sugar baby!”

  “It’s you I’m thinking about.”

  “Yes,” she said, to my surprise, “I really believe it was.”

  As we approached Bridge of Orchy, the mist lifted and there were views which were not to be missed. We crossed a bridge, and the railway came under the slopes of Beinn Doran on to an old road and then alongside a river. It was
still easy walking and we loitered and I smoked while Hera gazed at the glen through which the river ran and the mountains which we were approaching.

  We had spent so much time on this part of The Way that we decided to lunch at the Bridge of Orchy hotel before going on to Inveroran. The mist kept off, we had a fairly late and leisurely lunch, and it was well past mid-afternoon by the time we took to The Way again and were headed for our overnight stop.

  I took another look at the sky when we had left the hotel and did not much like what I saw, for the mountains were already beginning to be shrouded and I fancied that there was rain in the air. I began to wish that we had ended the day’s journey at Bridge of Orchy and felt that I ought to have insisted on this, but foolishly I had agreed to let Hera try her short cut. Anyway, it seemed more sensible to do the extra bit of walking on the one day and so reduce the next day’s stage to nine and a half miles instead of a dozen. Although Hera boasted of her fitness, I thought that mile after mile, day after day, was quite sufficient test of her capabilities.

  For a long time that day our track had been running more or less beside the railway, but after Bridge of Orchy we knew we would lose both the railway and the main road. We expected to pick up the road at Kingshouse, for which we should be headed when we left Inveroran, but we would not see the railway again until we reached Fort William.

  After about half an hour the mountains became nothing but looming, shadowy masses, amorphous giants, spectral, although not, so far, menacing. All the same, I began to appreciate the stories current in the Highlands of spooky manifestations and was only too willing to believe in witches, terrifying water-horses, and all the rest of the legends and old wives’ tales.

  I knew, too, that we must soon be on the fringes of Rannoch Moor, that wilderness of peat-bogs, water, heather, and evil repute, but it was when I became aware that we must have covered a good deal more than the two and a half miles between Bridge of Orchy and Inveroran that it was borne in upon me that, with the mist thickening every minute, we must, at some time after leaving the village, have deviated from the signposted Way.

  It was Hera who gave voice to my misgivings by observing that it seemed a long time since my torch, which I had needed to switch on, had picked out any markers.

  “I suppose we’re on the right track?” she said.

  “I’ve been wondering that,” I answered. “Perhaps we’d better go back to the village. It’s easy to get lost in a mist like this, and I’m beginning to think we’ve gone wrong somewhere.”

  “Oh, no, don’t let’s go back. We’re on a route of some sort. It must lead somewhere. Besides, we might not strike the road back. If we’re lost now, we could get lost again and might be worse off than we are at present. I’m sorry I ever mentioned a short cut. I don’t somehow think this is one.”

  4

  Shelter—at a Price

  There seemed no doubt that we were out on Rannoch Moor and my heart began to fail me. Who could tell what treacherous morass or small but dangerous lochan awaited us? It was all right, I supposed, so long as we could keep to what must, in old time, have been a drover’s road, or perhaps a stretch of a military road long since abandoned or, possibly, never completed, but what was to happen to us if, at some time, it petered out or if our legs refused to allow us to walk any further? It was not as though we were seasoned hikers accustomed to bad weather and other hazards. We had nothing with which to make camp or any other kind of bivouac. Hera guessed what I was thinking and spoke cheerfully and with optimism.

  “We’ve got food, thank goodness,” she said, “and this track may be rough, but it seems firm enough. I expect it leads to a bothy or a disused shepherd’s hut. There will be some sort of shelter where we can lie up until the mist clears.”

  “I’m very sorry I’ve landed you in this,” I said. “I ought to have realised ages ago that we’d come off The Way.”

  “Why do you blame yourself? It’s my fault. If I’d listened to you, we should have been safe and snug at Bridge of Orchy. You’re right. I am obstinate and wrong-headed. You should be firmer with me.”

  “Some hopes! You’re a law unto yourself.”

  “Oh, well, I suppose this is our testing-time and we shall have to survive it. It may prove to be a blessing in disguise. Who knows?”

  As though her optimism had wrought some sort of magic, shelter came half-way to meet us, as it were, for we almost walked into a wall. Just in time, the torch I was using picked out the obstacle. I put out my hand. It met rough stone, and my torch, which had warned me, showed us great slabs of what looked like granite.

  “If there’s a wall, there must be a door,” I said. We groped our way to the right and, at thirty stumbling paces, found an opening. “Stand still while I explore. When you hear me call out, switch on your torch so that I can find you again.” (We had agreed not to use her torch unless this was absolutely necessary, because we did not know when we would be able to buy any more batteries.)

  “Don’t be long, then,” she said. “What do you think this place is?”

  “Goodness knows.” I left her and felt my way along the wall until my hand suddenly encountered nothingness. I stopped short and shone my torch into what seemed a man-made aperture. I groped my way in, picked out another wall, felt my way along it, and moved the torch up and down. Suddenly I found that I was looking at an unglazed window. It was not very large and it was rounded at the top. I groped my way back to Hera, but caught my foot on a chuck of stone, fell, and hit my head. I picked myself up and got to her, but felt rather dizzy.

  “I think it’s a house of sorts,” I said, “but I doubt whether it’s occupied. I’ve found an entrance and a window, but there’s no glass in it and I couldn’t see any lights. There must be a door further on. Mind how you go. It’s a bit rough underfoot.” I felt my head, but it was not bleeding.

  With her at my heels, I moved forward again. Then I stopped, after warning her that I was going to do so, and shone my torch in at the glassless window. It was as misty inside the building as outside it. I felt certain that the place, whatever it was, was empty, but I called out to ask whether anybody was at home.

  There was no response, although I called out more than once, so I told Hera again to stay where she was while I tried to find a proper door to the building.

  “If I can’t,” I said, “we shall have to scramble in through this window. Think you can manage?”

  “If you can, I can. Why don’t we do it? Even if you do find a door, it will probably be locked and I don’t much want to be left alone here while you go exploring. Besides, you might fall down a well or some other awful thing, and then what should we do? Please let us stay together.”

  There seemed commonsense in this. I told her to pocket her torch and I handed her mine with instructions to light me while I scrambled in. Then I took the torch from her and, with my help, she managed the climb more easily than I had done.

  We both used our torches when she had joined me inside, and found that we were in a dark bare room with a fireplace opposite the window. The roof was low and, so far as I could tell, it appeared to be sound.

  “Thank God for that,” I said. “We can roost here until the mist lifts.”

  “What’s the time?”

  “Half five. We must have come a mighty long way since we left Bridge of Orchy.”

  “If I didn’t already know that, my legs would tell me,” she said. “I couldn’t walk another step until I’ve had a rest. We shan’t see Inveroran tonight or any dinner. I’m going to get out of these wet things and put on my spares. You’d better do the same. The mist seeps into every kind of clothing.”

  “If only we could make a fire,” I said, “we could have a shot at drying our trousers and socks.” But, although there were ashes in the grate, there was no fuel. We ate some of our emergency rations and I set light to the paper bags in which the food had been packed, but they only flared up and, for an instant, showed not only more of the primitive bareness of the
room, but an opening in one of the inside walls.

  “We’ll explore this place before we leave,” said Hera. “I believe it’s a ruined castle. All the same, I don’t much want to spend the night here. If only the mist would lift!”

  There seemed nothing to do except settle down and wait, so this we did for what seemed a very long time. Then Hera, who (both of us having changed into dry clothes) had been stretched out on the floor with her head pillowed in my lap, sat up and said, “Oh, look, Comrie! The mist’s lifting. I can see the outline of the window. Let’s go.”

  “I’m as thirsty as Tantalus,” I said. “Do you mind if I look around for a well or a tap or something?”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “No need. I’ll take your mug and bring you a drink of water if I can find any which seems drinkable.”

  “No. I’ll come. I don’t much like this place.”

  I went to the aperture and looked out. The mist had given place to steady, relentless rain, but there was daylight again and I found myself looking out on to a small, paved yard with a high, retaining wall. I could see the archway by which we had groped our way into the yard and when I put my head out of the window I could see another archway at the further side of the enclosure. Hera joined me and I made way so that she could look out.

  “Yes, we must be in the ruins of a castle,” she said. “That means we are miles off our track. There is no mention of castle ruins in the brochure, is there?”

  “Not so far as I know. It’s probably the remains of one of General Wade’s little forts.”

  “How far do you think we walked after we left Bridge of Orchy?” she asked.

  “Difficult to say, but, what with the mist and the rough road, probably not as far as it seemed.”

  We turned away from the window and went through the doorway into a room which was better lighted than the one we had left, for it had only three walls. In the angle of two of these there was a stair. I had my torch with me, so I shone it, but it lighted only a few of the stone steps before the turn of the spiral hid the next part of the flight.