It wasn’t every day that the tink camp was visited by a lady of Mamma’s physical grandeur and all too obvious opulence. The rings on her fingers gleamed, the necklace at her throat glinted fire, she most certainly had not purchased her dress at a jumble sale and her handmade shoes, though dusty and rimmed with cow dung, were made of the finest leather decorated with fancy buttons and silver buckles.
It was not surprising, therefore, that the travellers gaped and stared and eyed one another in questioning doubt, but they appeared harmless enough and big, bold Mamma felt it safe to delve further into the interior, where she got the biggest surprise of all. At the heart of the camp was the fire and seated beside it was Stink the Tink fixing his rabbit snares – and beside him was Dodie, calm and quiet now that he had a large mug of broth clutched in his hands, made by Stink’s wife Alana in a great black pot over the embers at the edge of the fire.
Dodie, who had never received anything other than kindness from the tinks, had reached the camp long before the bus had made it to Croy Beag. All of his life he had travelled the highways and byways, and he was familiar with every shortcut on Rhanna. Those on the Muir of Rhanna he knew like the back of his hand, and in his fear of Wullie, his terror of Mamma, he had simply headed for a place where he knew he would receive a welcome and something to fill his stomach.
In his wildest dreams he had never thought to encounter the ‘wild furrin wifie’ in this least likely of places, and when she came striding over to the fire to stare at him with as much surprise on her face as was registered on his, he rose clumsily to his feet, spilling his soup all over himself in his fright. His lamb, curled up cosily beside the fire, didn’t give the intruder a second glance but Dodie was all too conscious of what it had already done to Mamma and he stared at her in abject dread, adrenaline pumping as he prepared himself for take-off.
But Stink was his usual unruffled self. Having listened with half an ear to Dodie’s babbled account of his morning encounters, he guessed that the unexpected visitor was the ‘wild furrin wifie’, but with her red sweating face and her look of exhaustion, she didn’t seem all that intimidating to him.
‘Will you be sitting yourselves down,’ he directed, looking up from his snares to include Mamma in the invitation. Patting the smoke-blackened upholstery of a broken-down car seat, he went on, ‘Here ye are, missus, this is for you,’ and, raising his voice he roared, ‘Alana, be putting out some more soup for the lady! My hands are dirty and not fit to be serving food.’
Mamma accepted the invitation gratefully. If she had been asked to park herself on a chamber pot she might have done so, so much did her tired legs quake and her empty stomach rumble. Pausing only long enough to flick her hanky half-heartedly over the sooty car seat, she sank down into it with the look of one who was sampling the most luxurious armchair in the land.
A red-haired, merry-faced woman emerged from one of the tents to ladle steaming-hot soup into two mugs, one of which she passed to Dodie, the other to Mamma, with hands that looked filthier than those of her husband. She had just spent a morning feeding her children, feeding her husband, tending the fire, airing the bedding, gathering fuel, which included dead heather shoots and ancient cow’s dung, and had just gone into her tent to wash when Stink’s orders had reached her ears. But Mamma didn’t even notice her hands: she was too intent on getting food into her mouth to care very much about anything else.
Alana, whose arm was round Dodie’s bent back, soothing away his fears as if he was one of her children, nodded sympathetically and observed, ’Tis hungry you are indeed, missus. We don’t see many fine ladies like yourself in this part o’ the island – but then, it’s a nice day for a walk over the moors – as long as you know where you are going.’
Fortified and rested, Mamma was recovering some of her mettle. ‘The walk I did not take willingly – I try to find the city, the city of Croy. I come on the bus, I suffer much pain, and when I arrive I look and look for this city but it is not there . . .’
‘The city o’ Croy?’ Stink blinked and glanced meaningfully at his wife. He looked worried. Perhaps Dodie was right after all: they could be dealing with a mad woman here. He wondered which was the best course of action, to humour her or to see her out of the vicinity as quickly as possible . . .
The matter was taken out of his hands, however, when several of the womenfolk, curiosity getting the better of their reserve, came over to arrange themselves round the fire, and some of the men did likewise, Aaron parking himself on a boulder right next to Mamma’s car seat.
When Little Lady Leprechaun came leaping into the scene, Mamma simply gaped. Despite having made a good recovery from her experiences she was still at the stage where her stunned mind was unable to take any more surprises and she could be forgiven at this point for wondering if a sense of normality would ever return to her life again.
Lady Leprechaun was used to people staring at her and she didn’t bat one eye at the look of wonder on the visitor’s face, instead she poured tea and handed it to Mamma along with a huge doorstep of bread spread with margarine and treacle. The offerings were gratefully received. If Jon had been present, he too would have stared at the sight of his big, fastidious Mamma tucking into bread and treacle and downing great volumes of black tea from a smoke-begrimed tin mug.
The womenfolk plied her with questions. In her halting English she told of her encounter with Kate in ‘Happy Mary’s’, her subsequent ‘ride into hell’ in a ‘mad bus with an equally mad driver’, her search for the city of Croy, and her meeting with a senile old man with a ‘curly walking stick’ who had pointed the way into the wilderness where, footsore and weary, she had been chased by two mad cows for ‘so many miles I lose count.’
As one, the tinks turned to gaze at the ‘two mad cows’ who were peacefully grazing their way back to more familiar territory.
‘It would be a joke,’ Aaron decided. ‘Kate McKinnon is full o’ mischief and never means half of what she says. The old man would be Magnus o’ Croy, one o’ the wisest folk o’ these parts . . .’
‘Bejabers and bejasus!’ Paddy burst out rudely. ‘The whole business is nothing but a bloody farce and we’re just wastin’ our time listening to the like o’ such nonsense. Magnus would have helped ye if ye’d let him, missus, and just who do ye think ye are, comin’ in about our camp and belittling a man whose boots ye should have kissed!’
Mamma was not intimidated, glowering long and hard at the rough-looking Irishman she thrust out her bosom and intoned, ‘I am Frau Helga Jodl, mutter of Jon Jodl and mother-in-law of Rachel, the world famous violinist.’
Paddy’s eyes narrowed, a gleam of interest shone in their black depths. Her words had reminded him afresh of Rachel and her precious violin and his voice was smooth when he said, ‘Indeed, is that right, now? Tis no wonder that the stamp o’ a fine lady is upon you and if you’ll allow me the honour o’ seeing you home I’ll just go and hitch up old Shamrock and give the trap a bit o’ a clean. We can’t have a lady like yourself mucking up her skirts, can we now?’
Mamma watched Paddy’s retreating back and felt slightly uneasy but not as uneasy as Aaron, who knew that Paddy’s conciliatory gesture was only a means of using Jon’s mother for his own shady ends.
Mamma, safely settled in the trap, was quite upset when she saw Paddy heading her way with Dodie in tow. It had been bad enough sitting next to the aptly named Stink at the fire but at least he was well enough kippered in smoke for his smells not to make themselves too apparent. Dodie was a different matter entirely: one didn’t have to be rubbing shoulders with him to notice his lack of personal hygiene and when it became obvious that he was also to get a lift home in the trap she squeezed herself as far as possible against the side of the seat and surreptitiously retrieved her hanky in order to prepare herself for what was to come.
But Dodie’s objections to having her as a travelling companion were even stronger than hers. When he realized what was happening he simply could not stop a tide
of terror rising within him. ‘Ach no,’ he babbled to Paddy, ‘I dinna want to go in the trap. I’ll just walk home wi’ Curly, he’s no’ used to horses and will maybe shat himself wi’ fright if he’s made to go against his will . . .’
‘Just you be gettin’ in, Dodie.’ Paddy gave the old man a none too gentle push. ‘It’s no’ Curly you’re thinkin’ of, it’s yourself, because I know fine you’re feart o’ the wifie.’ Raising his voice for Mamma’s benefit he went on, ‘She’s a lady and ladies don’t bite – except . . .’ He made a horrible grimace accompanied by a few ape-like postures. ‘. . . when they turn into gorillas and tear you from limb to limb.’
Paddy was the only one of the travellers that Dodie neither liked nor trusted as, whenever he got the opportunity, he took great pleasure in trying to frighten the old man. Temporarily forgetting Mamma, and in his hurry to get away from Paddy, Dodie fell into the trap, sprawling against a loudly protesting Mamma who hastily applied her hanky to her nose and let blast a stream of vitriolic German into one of Dodie’s large, hairy lugs.
Without ceremony Paddy seized hold of Curly and threw him in to join the rest of the passengers. The terrified lamb bleated loudly and lifting his tail he sprayed his master’s legs with a good dollop of little round droppings.
Paddy took the reins, Shamrock flexed his sturdy hocks, rolled his eyes, and with an effort began to trundle the trap along the mossy, rutted track that led past the Monk’s tombs of Dunuaigh towards Croynachan and Glen Fallan.
Squashed in her seat, Mamma endeavoured to avoid the wild-eyed Curly and to keep her distance from Dodie. He, meanwhile, not daring to speak or look at her, made every effort to keep his distance from her, all the time wishing to himself – wickedly – that she would be the next recipient of his adored lamb’s frequent and plentiful offerings of little round, hard balls of dung.
Chapter Fourteen
Glen Fallan undoubtedly boasted the best stretch of road on the island and Erchy took full advantage of the fact. He bowled along at a steady pace and was somewhat annoyed to see Elspeth in the distance, waving her hanky in such an imperious manner it was obviously a signal for him to stop. He screeched to a halt beside her and in she climbed. When she instructed him to drop her off at Slochmhor, there was nothing in her manner to suggest that she was quite delighted at having this opportunity to ‘save her legs’ as she hadn’t expected to see the bus today.
‘This isny an official run and I’m in a hurry,’ Erchy grumbled. ‘The Portvoynachan lot are waitin’ for me at the harbour and I have no time to spare.’
Elspeth glanced meaningfully at Kate and Wullie. ‘I see,’ she said stonily. ‘Those and such as those, eh, Erchy McKay? Things are indeed changing on this island. There was a time when nobody thought twice o’ giving a helping hand to their neighbours but of course,’ she sniffed and stuck her sharp nose in the air, ‘sillar is all that counts wi’ some people and it’s a true enough saying that money is the root o’ all evil. I have seen—’
‘Ach, let her in!’ Kate intervened impatiently. ‘We’re just wasting time gabbling away about nothing. You sit by Wullie and me, Elspeth, and take no more heed o’ the man, he’s in no mood to see reason and would waste an hour just arguing for the sake o’ it.’
Rather haughtily Elspeth took a seat behind Kate and Wullie, assuming an attitude that suggested she had no wish to communicate with anybody in her present ruffled state.
But Kate had never been one to let opportunity slip through her fingers, she took a positive delight in other folk’s affairs and had been itching for a long time to know more of Elspeth’s. The sour-faced housekeeper of Slochmhor had been keeping a very low profile of late and nobody had been able to find out very much about her affair with Captain Mac, not even Behag whose devotion to Elspeth’s every move, via the medium of her ‘spyglass’, had become quite a talking point among her neighbours.
Kate’s interest wasn’t quite as intense as that, nevertheless she saw no harm in trying to pierce Elspeth’s armour of secrecy.
‘You’ll no’ have so much time to spare these days, Elspeth,’ she began chattily, poking Wullie in the ribs when he dared to snigger. ‘Only the other day Phebie was saying she doesny see near so much o’ you now that you and Captain Mac are busy plannin’ to set up home together.’
Elspeth treated the back of Kate’s head to a positively poisonous glare. ‘Phebie never said the words! She knows better! Herself and Lachlan have never indulged in common chit-chat, especially when members o’ the household are under threat from idle gossips. As for Captain Mac, he has been dividing his time between his sister on Hanaay and his cousin Gus here on Rhanna and, of course, he is away wi’ the trawlers whenever he has the chance. I myself have seen very little o’ him, we have our own lives to lead and are too busy to be bothered wi’ very much else.’
‘Ach, my, and here was me thinkin’ the passions were just leapin’ in your veins, Elspeth,’ said the incorrigible Kate while at her elbow Wullie snottered profusely in his efforts to choke back the laughter. ‘It just goes to show you are what you aye said you were, a one-man woman who can never forget Hector marching home from the sea to crush you in his arms and smother your lips wi’ red hot kisses. I mind o’ those days fine, he was a man o’ few words – but they say that the silent ones are the worst and long spells at sea breeds fantasies and longings that have to be spent on somebody. Ay, Hector might no’ have been much to look at but he was a man and these wee, thin ones are the worst when it comes to lust in the marriage bed.’
She had hit a sensitive nerve, the only thrilling times in Elspeth’s austere marriage to Hector had been when, sodden with drink and past all human reasoning, he had forcibly taken possession of her gaunt body. In spite of herself she had loved every rough, exciting minute of those brutish experiences whose aftermath had seen her praying half-heartedly to the Lord to forgive her for such sinful enjoyments.
But she didn’t need the likes of Kate McKinnon to remind her of things that were best forgotten. Inwardly she fumed and vowed afresh to turn the tables on the Kates and the Behags of this world and to show them a thing or two that would ‘shock the breeks off them.’
Oh ay, her turn would come, indeed it would. The future held some purpose for her, meantime she felt better in the knowing that she hadn’t risen to the bait dangled by Kate McKinnon. She had not succumbed to her usual rigid denials and above all, and most importantly to her at this time, she had conducted herself with dignity and had not given this awful McKinnon woman one jot of satisfaction over the question of herself and Captain Mac. Let them pant and drool and watch her through their spyglasses, let idle old Behag break her ankles – and maybe her neck as well – in her endeavours to find out what was going on in the lives of other people. When Elspeth’s turn came, and indeed it was coming very soon, the old bitch would maybe lose her eyesight into the bargain when at last all was revealed . . . something – at this point she squeezed her fists together and closed her eyes – something not one of them would ever have bargained for in all the years of their gossiping existence . . .
Slochmhor hove into view. A spot of red burning high on each taut cheek, Elspeth stood up and removed herself from the bus, every muscle, every bone, bristling with pride and self-respect.
‘Here, you forgot the fare!’ Erchy yelled after her.
‘My good man,’ she intoned haughtily, ‘this is not your day for the Glen Fallan run. Officially neither you nor your bus are here, therefore, officially, neither am I. I dislike people who say one thing and conveniently forget it when the question o’ sillar arises, so take yourself and your disgraceful bus out o’ my sight, you each spoil the landscape and do no good at all for the environment.’
With that she was off, scuttling towards Slochmhor’s gate, her head high, her bony shoulders thrown back, paying no heed at all to Erchy’s yelled insults concerning her state of meanness.
‘Ach God!’ Kate threw herself against Wullie and the pair of them erupte
d into guffaws of unrestrained mirth.
‘Elspeth was aye a match for you any day, Erchy,’ Kate gasped, wiping her streaming eyes and paying no heed to Erchy’s oaths, which, in any case, were drowned out by the echoing roar of the engine as the bus zoomed through the narrow opening of Downie’s Pass.
It was just past this point that they saw a pony and cart looming in the distance. As it drew closer, it soon proved to be Shamrock with Paddy at the reins and Dodie and Mamma ensconced in the back.
‘Would you look at the old bugger!’ Wullie cried, craning his neck to get a better view of the cart. ‘Being driven home in style, no doubt wi’ food in his belly and plenty o’ sympathy inside his head.’
‘And there’s that bossy, big German wifie!’ Kate added. ‘A bit green about the gills but hale and hearty just the same. After me worrying about the old witch and goin’ to all this bother to fetch her.’
Erchy exploded. ‘You went to all the bother! I’ll have you know I have upset my whole afternoon’s routine just to please you, Kate McKinnon! I have tholed cheek and insults and went hundreds o’ miles out o’ my way and I haveny even had my dinner yet!’
‘Ach, stop havering,’ Kate said calmly. ‘I know fine you aye stop at old Meggie’s or Aggie’s on the way back from Croy. Meggie is aye good for a dram and a plate o’ mince and tatties and Aggie’s broth pot is never off the stove. And seeing you have come this far you may as well go on to Croft na Beinn. I’ve no’ seen Nancy for a long time and I have some news to tell her that will bring the sparkle back to her eyes, for she’s no’ been too well this wee whilie back.’
Stranger on Rhanna Page 17
