‘I believe your mother and grandfather are with you?’
‘Yes. Grandfather’s very ill but he won’t go into hospital.’
‘I understand. Well, I’ll send something for the cough by Willie the Bus, and a tonic. I’ll leave a note for Gavin. Tell him I’ll call in tomorrow evening and have a chat with him. In the meantime, young lady, you take it easy.’
He scribbled a note for Gavin.
She saw him to the door.
‘How are you getting on with Gavin?’
He thought she blushed, but she was too tanned to tell.
‘All right. He’s very kind. He’s fond of the children.’
And he’s a fool, thought the doctor, if he doesn’t become fond of you.
Twenty-two
ON MONDAY morning Hamilton’s workmates were keen to hear how he had got on with the ‘tinks’. They had heard that he had let them into his house. Surely it couldn’t be true? You might as well invite a bunch of cattle; the beasts would be no less house-trained. It was bad enough, having a death in your family, with all the fuss with doctors and undertakers, but it would be a lot worse if the deceased was a complete stranger, and a scruffy one at that. What did the young woman look like, after she’d had a good wash? That was, if she had had a good wash. Weren’t her kind happier when dirty?
Hamilton let them talk and joke. Effie was a secret he was not going to share with anyone.
The rain had gone off. It was now warm and sunny. Their task was to cut away the bracken that was threatening to smother a whole area of recently planted trees.
They worked side by side.
Hamilton became aware that the man on his right had changed. It had been Ian McPhee, it was now Hamish McKenzie.
Ian was a taciturn fellow, who grunted oftener than he spoke. Hamish usually didn’t even grunt.
At twenty-one Hamish was the youngest man working in the forest, and the most powerfully built. He had to be kept in check by his mates. For instance, they thought six hundred trees were quite enough for a man to plant in a day. Hamish could easily manage twice that number, so he had to be restrained. He was far from bright but his cheerful good humour made up for it. He had difficulty first in finding a girlfriend and then in keeping her. One had complained it was like looking after a wean; a wean six feet tall and weighing a hundred and sixty pounds. All the same in some respects he could be considered quite a catch. He had a good job and would have it all his life. When he married he would be eligible for a forestry house. He had money in the bank, being a canny saver.
‘Do you mind if I ask you something, Gavin?’
‘Not at all, Hamish. What is it you want to ask me?’
‘That girl you’ve got staying with you, the tinker girl, I’d like to meet her.’
Hamilton was dumbfounded.
‘I saw her in Towellan on Saturday. She had two children with her. I wanted to talk to her but I thought I should wait till I was introduced. Do you know if she has a boyfriend in the place she came from?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Do you think she would like to meet me?’
Well, thought Hamilton, would she? In several respects he would make her a suitable husband. His mother, big Elspeth, had once been in service and now worked in a dairy; his father, Stevie, was a labourer with a local builder’s and drank too much. So they weren’t all that much higher in the social scale. They were good-hearted and would welcome her into the family. He would be kind to her. She would manage his affairs better than he did himself. She might even strike a spark or two of intelligence from him. She would never have to go back to the travelling life.
‘You’re not her boyfriend, are you, Gavin?’
Hamilton did not know what to say. If he said no he would be telling the truth but not the whole truth, for she was his secret and nobody else’s. If he said yes, he would be committing himself openly. He was not sure he wanted to do that. Hamish, not out of malice, but like a thwarted child, would want to tell everyone of his disappointment.
Suppose, thought Hamilton, suppose I let this well-meaning booby steal her from under my nose. Suppose I reconcile myself to her marrying him and having children by him, how would it affect me? Would I wish them well and then concentrate on my studies, with renewed zest?
He couldn’t answer those questions.
Twenty-three
HE WAS astonished and alarmed when he saw a tent, a tinker’s bow-tent, erected on the field. He went over and lifted the entrance flap. There was no one in it but a bed had been made up. Had Effie gone back to her refusal to sleep in the house? He felt dismayed.
She had been on the lookout for him. She came out of the house.
‘What’s the tent for?’ he asked.
‘Grandfather doesn’t want to die in the house. He says he was born in a tent and he wants to die in one.’
He smiled. ‘Does it matter where you die?’
‘Oh yes, it does.’ She spoke with great earnestness.
‘Suppose he dies in the middle of the night?’
‘We’ll try to be ready.’
He should remember that these people, Effie among them, were pagans. Owing to the way they lived they were bound to be closer to animal ways of thinking than those people who lived in houses and worshipped in churches.
Did not deer, when old and dying, creep off to some secret place of their own to wait for death?
‘Did the doctor come?’
‘Yes, he said he didn’t think it was TB.’
‘Thank God for that.’
‘He left a note for you.’
She smiled. ‘He seemed anxious about me. I told him I was never ill. Someone else called. Miss McDonald, she said.’
‘What did she want?’
‘She brought a magazine for you to see. It’s got pictures of a travellers’ camp.’
‘Was she unpleasant?’
‘Yes, but I think she was a wee bit ashamed of it.’
Later, in the kitchen, after he had eaten she handed him the magazine.
‘I don’t think I want to see it.’
‘Pages 26, 27 and 28.’
He turned to those pages. He looked at the pictures for a minute or so.
She wondered what he was going to say.
‘That little girl,’ he said, ‘could be Morag.’
‘She could be me.’
He glanced at her. ‘You’ve come a long way, Effie.’
It was a journey that must have taken great courage and determination. Perhaps one day she would tell him about it.
‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ he said.
She waited, smiling.
As fairly as he could he told her about Hamish. She asked no questions.
When he was finished she said, ‘Why have you told me this?’
‘I thought I had no right to keep you to myself.’
‘But what if I want you to keep me to yourself?’
‘Do you, Effie?’
‘Yes.’
‘What am I to tell Hamish?’
‘Tell him that Miss Williamson thanks him but she’s already spoken for.’
‘I’ll have great pleasure in telling him that.’
She went over to the sink where the dirty dishes waited.
‘I’ll wash, you dry.’
He had to smile. This was Effie, one minute as intimate as a wife, the next as aloof as a deer.
‘This birthday celebration on Saturday? Am I invited?’
‘I didn’t think you’d want to come.’
‘Of course I want to come.’
‘Morag wants to invite the McTeague children.’
‘What a good idea. They’ll be delighted.’
‘Will their mother let them come?’
‘Don’t worry. Sheila will be pleased that they’ve been invited. After the cinema are we to have a feast, well, high tea, at the Royal?’
‘Is that the big hotel on the seafront?’
‘Where all the best people hold t
heir celebrations.’
‘I thought we would go to a cafe.’
‘Isn’t this a special occasion, calling for waitress service and white tablecloths?’
‘I’ve never been in a hotel like that before.’
He couldn’t resist giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.
He shouldn’t have, though. She blushed. This time it was very visible.
‘Sorry, Effie.’
‘It’s all right.’
Later they went out to sit in the garden. Eddie was kicking a ball about in the field. Morag was gathering roses. Hamilton had asked her to. ‘For Effie,’ he had said. ‘All the roses in the world are for Effie.’
Morag had smiled. This was one of the silly things grown-ups said, but it was meant as a compliment to Effie, so she approved of it.
‘I don’t think I’ve been in a more beautiful place,’ said Effie. ‘So peaceful. So safe.’
‘Safe?’
‘My mother keeps expecting the police to come and chase us all away. You too, Gavin. She can’t understand how you came to own this big house.’
‘Didn’t you explain?’
‘I tried to, but she’s often afraid. It’s not easy not to be afraid if you’ve got no rights and everywhere you go people don’t want you and chase you off.’
‘Are you afraid, Effie?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Are you afraid now, sitting here, beside me?’
She shuddered, but tried to smile.
‘Yes, but it’s a different kind of fear.’
He decided not to ask what kind. He would find out later.
‘Tell me, Effie, in traveller mythology, is there a story about a roe deer being turned into a beautiful girl?’
‘There could be. We have lots of stories about animals. We live close to them. Why do you ask?’
‘Because it’s the only way to account for your amazing elegance.’
‘Have I got amazing elegance?’
‘Even Angus noticed it. And you can run faster than Eddie.’
‘I can’t run faster than you.’
There had been a race. Hamilton had won.
‘You can swim for miles.’
‘For half a mile anyway.’
‘Your eyes, that strange colour, they must be deers’ eyes.’
‘They’re just brown.’
‘When I held you yesterday I thought it was a deer I was holding. You struggled like one. I once rescued a deer that had got entangled in a fence. It was frantic to get away. Just like you, Effie.’
‘I promise not to struggle so much next time.’
Then Morag came running up to them, red blotches on her face and roses in her hands.
‘The midges are awful,’ she gasped.
Effie and Hamilton hadn’t noticed the voracious little beasts. They did now.
They all ran towards the house.
Twenty-four
HE WAS in his study, reading, when there was a timid knock on the door.
It was Effie. She had been upstairs putting the children to bed.
‘I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you.’
He shut the book and stood up. ‘I never mind being disturbed by you, Effie.’
‘I’d like to ask a favour.’
‘Anything, Effie.’
‘Is it too late to take me to the Big Stone?’
‘It’s not too late. There are still two hours of daylight left. But,’ – he went close to her and lowered his voice – ‘it’s a creepy place in the evening, with all the shadows, the kind of place where a beautiful girl who had once been a deer might be turned back into one.’
‘I don’t think I’d mind being a deer again, for a little while anyway.’
‘I would mind it very much, if you suddenly made off for the high hills and were never seen again. What would I do then?’
‘Become a deer yourself, perhaps?’
‘But I don’t have the magic, Effie.’
‘How far is it to the Big Stone?’
‘About a mile and a half.’
‘Am I being a nuisance?’
‘You could never be a nuisance. Shall we go by car or shall we walk?’
‘I’d like to walk. It’s a lovely evening.’
‘I suggest putting dabs of oil of citronella on our noses and behind our ears, to keep off the midges. It’s effective for about half an hour. There’s some marshy ground to cross.’
‘I’ll take off my shoes. I often walk barefooted. My feet are tough. Like hooves.’
She was growing confident enough to poke fun at him.
It was a perfect evening as they walked along the road. They were alone in the world. No cars passed. There was no boat on the loch, no plane in the sky. The midges had not yet been alerted.
He took her hand. She withdrew it, gently. He did not know whether to be alarmed or delighted or both. He was in danger of becoming too fond of, no, of falling in love with, this strange girl who had come to him from nowhere.
‘What did the doctor say in the note?’ she asked. ‘Or is it confidential?’
‘He prescribed a month, two months would be better, of rest and recuperation in the Old Manse nursing home.’
‘For Morag?’
‘For you all.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with me.’
Why then had she had one of her fits of weeping last night?
‘We can’t stay as long as that.’
‘Why not? I thought you were all happy here.’
‘Too happy. Eddie says he’ll run away and hide in the trees if we try to take him away.’
‘It would be the death of Morag if she had to go back to sleeping in a tent.’
‘Yes, but why should you have all the trouble and expense?’
‘I don’t mind.’
‘You owe us nothing. You’re a stranger.’
For a few minutes they were silent.
They came to the place where they had to climb a fence into the forest.
It was a high fence, with barbed wire. Care was needed.
He offered to help her.
She laughed. ‘I’ve climbed hundreds of fences.’
Even so she stumbled and might have fallen or got caught in the barbed wire if he hadn’t caught her. As she had promised she didn’t struggle this time, though he held her longer than was necessary. He felt her trembling.
‘I think, Effie, I’m in love with you.’
‘You hardly know me.’
She said it as a humorous reproof, but what she was feeling was great joy.
Even if it wasn’t true – and how could it possibly be true? – she would remember him saying it all her life. God knew what was going to happen to her, but even if all her dreams faded and came to nothing and she ended up like those withered old women in Miss McDonald’s pictures she would still feel proud that Gavin Hamilton, the kindest man she had ever known, who had helped her and her family more than anyone else ever had, had said he loved her.
‘I’d like to spend the rest of my life getting to know you, Effie.’
It would take that long, he thought; there would be many discoveries.
What if she went away and he never saw her again? He must prevent that.
Trouserlegs rolled up, they pushed their way through a thicket of bog myrtle, bog cotton, stunted alder and birch. There were hundreds of marigolds.
Soon they came to a clearing. There was the Big Stone, deserving its name, as big as a house, as round as a ball, green with moss and grass, purple, red and white with lichen.
Anyone who hadn’t known there were graves there would not have noticed the traces.
Effie stood looking down at them, as still as a deer.
Hamilton imagined the scene eighty years ago. A few tinkers, there to mourn but keeping out of the way. Three coffins, one small, all of the cheapest wood. No flowers. No minister. Mr Rutherford’s grandfather wearing black gloves. The little boy, the survivor, bewildered. Had someone tried to console him?
&
nbsp; That little boy, now an old man of eighty-four, was dying, murmuring poems he had spent his life composing. Surely some were about this sad burial ground.
He made up his mind. He went over to Effie.
She smiled eagerly at him. It was as if his being there was a comfort to her.
‘They were my family,’ she said.
‘Mine too, Effie, if you’ll let me.’
She didn’t know what he meant.
‘I’ve never asked about your family, Gavin. I’m sorry.’
‘I don’t have one. My parents died when I was a child. I have no brothers or sisters. So I have no family. Perhaps I have one now.’
‘Morag and Eddie think you have.’
‘What about you, Effie? What do you think?’
She still didn’t know what he was getting at.
She teased him. ‘Do you want me to be your sister?’
‘No. My fiancée.’
She was astounded.
‘I’d like to announce our engagement on Saturday as part of the birthday celebrations. That’s to say, if you’re willing.’
‘Are you making fun of me?’
‘I was never more in earnest. I want to have the right to look after you and the children; also, to chase off admirers like Hamish.’
He smiled. So did she.
What was happening? Something wonderful, but she wasn’t sure what it was.
Again she teased him. ‘Would it give you the right to sleep with me?’
‘No, it would not. That could wait till we’re married.’
Married? Was he seriously thinking of marrying her?
‘It wouldn’t stop you from becoming a minister, would it?’
‘You’d help me to become one.’
Had he realised that in her own way she was as ambitious as himself? She would like very much to be a minister’s wife. What could be more respectable?
She had noticed that he did not find it easy to get to know people. He kept too aloof. She had seen how awkward his workmates were when talking to him.
It was so different with children. He took to them immediately and they to him.
If he was to marry some superior lady like Miss McDonald he would become still more distant. He wouldn’t laugh very often, either. How different if he was to marry Effie, the tinker girl, who knew what it was to be humble and who saw the funny side of things.
Pearl Fishers Page 8
