“That’s the one. Most people are familiar with it, I suppose. There’s been some controversy about the photograph, but I’m sure it’s genuine. They have also seen the picture taken in 1951 by a Mr. Stewart, who worked for the Forestry Commission in the Loch Ness area. That, of course, shows only the three humps which other watchers have described.”
“So the boys were already firmly convinced of the existence of these creatures before they ever went to Tannasgan, I imagine.”
“They told me that, until they had their frightening experience, they had regarded all the tales about the Loch Ness monster as mythical and thought the monster itself was nothing other than a joke. However, they were quietly fishing off-shore when, first of all, a long wash rocked their boat quite dangerously, and then a snake-like head with a large, pale eye emerged. The head was on the end of a six-foot neck and was followed by two blackish humps. The creature, which, according to the boys, had been spreading its wake down the middle of the loch, then appeared to change direction and to make directly for the boat. One boy shouted and yelled. The other beat the water with an oar. Upon this, the creature submerged itself vertically and completely disappeared, but they could still see its wake as it made for the sea-end of the loch where all but one of the islands are.”
“Did they ever see it again?”
“No. They kept watch from a vantage point on the shore, not feeling equal to going out in the boat again, but their holidays were nearly up and they saw nothing more of the creature.”
“Did they tell their parents what they had seen?”
“Not immediately. Like a good many other people who have been convinced they have had a sighting, they were afraid their story would not be believed. When, however, they refused an invitation from my brother to take them fishing again, they confessed to their fears and, to their relief, I imagine, were believed. My brother told me the story in a letter, as he knew I had been a member of the Loch Ness investigation, so I went along to his place to question the boys for myself, and I am convinced that they are telling the truth.”
“Lucky lads,” said Sally. “What wouldn’t I give to see the monster!”
“My dear girl, why not join us, then? My daughter would be delighted and my wife and I, too.”
“Well,” said Sally, flinching mentally at the thought of Phyllis’s delight, “it’s very kind of you. Isn’t a great deal of equipment necessary, though?”
“I am prepared to see about all that.”
“I’ve read various books, of course, which intrigued me,” said Sally.
“Tim Dinsdale’s?”
“Yes, and The Search for Morag.”
“Elizabeth Montgomery Campbell, with David Solomon. What did you think when you read the books?”
“That the evidence for the existence of these creatures is indisputable.”
“My dear Sally, you are an ally—pity it doesn’t rhyme!—after my own heart. The witnesses…”
“Constance Whyte!”
“P. A. MacNab!”
“H. L. Cockrell!”
“Peter O’Connor!”
“Lachlan Stuart!”
“Dick Raynor—he saw only the wake of a moving object, it’s true, but it couldn’t have been made by a boat.”
“Oh, yes, the evidence is overwhelming, and I’d love to collect some of it for myself. What an experience it would be, wouldn’t it? Tell me about the equipment we shall need, please.”
“If you’ve read the books, you’ll know. We can’t manage a midget submarine or a helicopter, and I don’t think underwater photography will be possible, or the use of sonar, so I propose to rely upon long-range photography from the shore. We can shoot film if the opportunity arises and I shall provide binoculars and there will be cameras to take ‘stills.’ I don’t know how many watchers I can muster, but it would be delightful to have you with us. Some of the others are not too serious, I’m afraid, and that includes my own wife and daughter.”
Sally laughed and said, “I’ll see what my grandmother has to say. There’s time to think it over, isn’t there?”
“Oh, certainly. Six weeks to make up your mind.”
“I shan’t need so long as that.”
On the return journey to Stone House, Sally said to Dame Beatrice, “What do you think of this Loch na Tannasg thing?”
“I think you would like to join the expedition.”
“Yes, but I don’t want to leave you while Laura is away. When do you think she’d like to go on holiday?”
“That’s neither here nor there, child. It would suit me very well to spend the summer in a round of visits which I have already put off paying for far too long, and if I knew that you were away and enjoying yourself it would relieve my feelings, I assure you.”
“I think I’ll go, then. Wonder who else will join up?”
“Possibly all those who were present at the feast.”
“You don’t really think so, do you? Most of them seemed to scoff. I should have thought very few of them were there to pray. Apart from Sir Humphrey and myself, I had the impression that there were scarcely any serious thinkers among our little gathering.”
“True, and yet my own impression was that ears were pricked and becks and nods and wreathed smiles exchanged when Sir Humphrey issued his invitation.”
“Nobody except Hubert Pring actually said anything, though. How I do dislike that young man!”
“He bears the marks of his calling a little too obviously, perhaps.”
“A prep. school master, yes, and what a stuffed shirt, at that! What did you make of the Tamworths? The major struck me as Colonel Blimp in person.”
“With more than a touch of Captain Bligh, I think, and a faint suspicion of Casanova, perhaps.”
“I’d hate to be his wife, anyway, but I don’t believe he has much control over young Jeremy.”
“Bullies seem to recognise instinctively those who will give way to them and those who will not. I think Jeremy and his father joined battle a long time ago and the youth won. Possibly his brains are better than his father’s.”
“What about the spinster twins?”
“They were background figures at the dinner and hardly showed up as brilliant conversationalists afterwards, but I think Godiva may have a stronger character than she indicated last night. The most interesting personality, though, was undoubtedly the unlovable Miss Angela Barton. I wonder what induced the Calshotts to have her to reside with them? Lady Calshott, whose cousin she is, hardly appeared to be the sort of person to encourage a poor relation.”
“You’re right enough there, Grandmamma. Cousin Angela is very comfortably off. Phyllis told me so and is determined to ingratiate herself with the sourpuss if she doesn’t murder her first.”
“Surely Miss Calshott did not mention murder?”
“Oh, didn’t she, though! She also said that if an epidemic of poison-pen ever broke out in the village, she’d know exactly where to look, so what do you make of that?”
“I should assume that she had acquired a mild dislike of her mother’s cousin,” said Dame Beatrice equably. “However, we will hope that Miss Barton’s affairs may remain no concern of ours.”
“Famous last words!” said Sally sardonically, but with far more truth than she could realise.
CHAPTER 4
Reconnaissance
“Behold her, single in the field…”
William Wordsworth.
(1)
At the end of May Sally, who was still at the Stone House, received a letter from Sir Humphrey to ask whether she was still prepared to join the Loch na Tannasg expedition. He enquired if Dame Beatrice would not reconsider her decision to spend July and August with relatives, and add herself instead to the rest of the party which was to foregather at the Tannasgan Hotel on Thursday, 2 July, at some time in the afternoon.
“There,” the letter continued, “we will have a gala dinner, spend the Thursday night at the hotel and begin our project after breakfa
st on the Friday morning.”
“I don’t like the idea of beginning anything on a Friday,” muttered Sally, as she handed over the letter for Dame Beatrice to read. “I suppose you won’t think of changing your mind and coming with us? You haven’t fixed up your round of visits yet.”
“Oh, there is plenty of time for that. By the way, I think a small piece of paper came out of the envelope when you extracted the letter. It has fallen on to the floor. No, I shall not change my mind. You will get on better without me, I think.” Sally retrieved the half-sheet, read what was on it, and groaned theatrically. “Bad news?” Dame Beatrice enquired.
“Oh, Lord! What have I let myself in for!” Sally exclaimed. The half-sheet was in typescript and was headed Caravan Arrangements. The “arrangements” were in neat columns, four of them in all. Sally passed the flimsy half-sheet to her grandmother, who studied it gravely before handing it over to Laura.
“I see nothing extraordinary about the arrangements,” she said. “Due consideration appears to have been given to the convenience of the married, and a nice adjustment for the segregation of the sexes appears to have been most carefully made in the other cases. What, Laura, is your opinion of the document?”
“Not being acquainted with the parties, I can’t say,” said Laura. “All appears to be in order, and is fairly stated, as you claim. What’s your trouble, Sally?”
“Share a space about eight feet square with that frightful Barton woman? Over my dead body!” exclaimed Sally. “I’d sooner have Hubert Pring as a shipmate! I say, can I duck out of it after all, do you suppose, or am I irrevocably committed, as they say?”
“I’d duck out,” said Laura, “if you feel like that, although I don’t know the woman.”
“Well,” said Dame Beatrice, “from what I remember of the party in question, I begin to understand Sally’s dismay.”
“Thirteen is a damned unlucky number, anyway, Sally,” said Laura thoughtfully. “The rest of them might be rather relieved and pleased if you did opt out, don’t you think?”
“I think it would be a pity if Sally missed the opportunity of seeing a denizen of the deep rise from its prehistoric habitat,” said Dame Beatrice solemnly.
“Yes, I know,” assented Sally gloomily. “Don’t suppose I’ll ever get such a promising chance again. But, O Lord, preserve me from Angela Barton!”
“I remember occasions,” said Dame Beatrice, “on which you have pointed out to me how much money Laura and I could save on our not infrequent journeys if we travelled in a motorised caravan like your own Ford Transit vehicle, cooked our own breakfasts, and used hotels only for lunches and dinners. Why do you not suggest to Sir Humphrey that you play the lone wolf in your van?”
“Yes,” said Laura, “what about it, Sally? Save you no end of bother. After all, you’ve got the van. There’s every excuse to use it.”
“By doing so,” Dame Beatrice pointed out, “you could be a free agent, a kind of liaison officer, up at Tannasgan. You would be independent and also mobile, both of which you would enjoy. This plan would also go far to resolve your other small problem, for the party, instead of numbering thirteen, could be regarded as being composed of twelve plus one.”
“It’s a marvellous idea,” said Sally, slowly. “I’d like it above all things. How would I put it to Sir H., though, that I want to go it alone? The van sleeps two, you know.”
“Anticipate any arguments, of course. Tell him that you already have the motorised caravan and would like to use it, but that it will sleep only one person in comfort,” suggested Laura. “You could add, in your tactful way, that, by the means which you suggest, he would need to hire only three static caravans instead of the four he mentions in his letter.”
“That’s an idea,” said Sally, gratefully. “I don’t see what objection there could be to my using my own van, and, if it will save expense, that’s a factor which ought to count. Will you help me compose the letter, Laura?”
“Love to. I rather fancy myself as a wielder of the pen. Let’s go to it as soon as breakfast is over, shall we?”
A fortnight later Sally received a friendly letter from Sir Humphrey in which he indicated that to have one completely mobile member of his team would be of undoubted help.
“It won’t affect you personally,” he finished up, “but you may like to see the amended list which I enclose.” A type-written half-sheet supplied the information to which he referred. It read:
“Fair enough,” commented Sally. “After all, it’s up to the Calshotts to look after Angela Barton. Don’t know how the major will like teaming up with those rather gosh-awful sisters, but he won’t see much of them except at breakfast and supper, I suppose, and perhaps not even then. I also fancy that Jeremy Tamworth may not think much of sharing with Hubert Pring, but I don’t suppose he wanted to be in his parents’ caravan, anyway.”
“Yes, that’s very true,” said Laura. “Children do seem to bar having anything to do with their parents nowadays.”
(2)
There had been a tentative suggestion that Sir Humphrey’s party should meet in London and travel to Tannasgan by motor-coach chartered for the occasion, but there were various objectors to this plan and it was abandoned.
Sally, in any case, was not included, since she intended to drive her motorised caravan to the hotel. She had also elected to set out a whole week before the appointed time in order to accept a long-standing invitation to spend a day or two with friends in Inverness. She planned to spend two nights on the road, spend another three with her friends, and then get to Tannasgan with time to spare before the rest of the party arrived. She proposed to conduct her first survey of the locale in a leisurely manner and alone.
Dame Beatrice and Laura saw her off, waited until a bend in the road through that part of the New Forest hid the motorised caravan from their sight, and returned to the interior of the Stone House.
“Well!” said Laura. “And now to spend the next week or two as I really want to! I shall stay here, and roam the forest wild.”
“And I,” said Dame Beatrice, “for the present.”
“Yes, you haven’t made out that round of visits yet.”
“Visits,” said Dame Beatrice, “especially to relatives, are far better confined to the winter months, when one is allowed to stay indoors beside the fire.”
“You mean you don’t intend to pay these visits after all?”
“I do not care for picnics, tennis parties, the local flower show and village fête, church on Sunday mornings, and watching village cricket on Sunday afternoons.”
Laura grinned.
“And what is your real reason for not going away from here?” she asked.
“The trouble about living with people is that they become able to read your mind,” complained Dame Beatrice. “Why will my list of valid excuses not satisfy you?”
“Because there is something else. For some reason you want to keep in close touch with young Sally, and you think that if you’re emulating a snipe and flitting from one country house to another, you may not be on hand in her hour of need. What’s wrong with these people who are going to sort out the loch monster?”
“Nothing, so far as I know. The point is that I cannot fathom why most of them are going. I can understand the Calshotts and, I suppose, Miss Barton, as she is related to them, but why the Tamworths and the Parris couple? Why the sisters Benson? When Sally and I were at the dinner-party, more than half Sir Humphrey’s guests scoffed openly at the idea that there were these monstrous creatures in Scottish lochs. Why, therefore, are they prepared to spend time looking for them?”
“To get a cheap holiday,” said the practical Laura. “I except Sally, of course. As for the others, they know that not only the Lord, but the baronet, will provide.”
(3)
Sally enjoyed the long journey to Inverness and the short stay with her friends there. Having left them soon after lunch in order to arrive in Tannasgan in time for dinner, she was soon making th
e slight detour to cross Glen Urquhart on her way to Fort William. Thereafter she was forced to rely upon maps. She studied these in a hotel lounge after lunch, but the roads were comparatively few in that part of the country, so that she had little fear of losing her way. In good time for a bath and a change of clothes before dinner, she drove into the yard of the hotel at Tannasgan and checked in at the desk, the only visitor until the others arrived a day or so later.
Her room was already reserved. After dinner the evening was still quite light enough to encourage her to take a short stroll around the village. It was quite small, and the hotel itself was nothing more than an inn which catered for a few holiday visitors and was the local pub for the shepherds and fishermen. The houses and cottages were either spread along the shores of the sea-loch into which, after leaving Loch na Tannasg, the tumbling river ran, or else were huddled beneath the neighbouring hillside.
Next morning, after an early breakfast, Sally drove off and obtained her first sight of the loch itself. It was, she thought, a very beautiful but sinister-looking piece of water, overshadowed on the north by mountains and on the south by almost equally formidable hills. On the side from which she approached it by way of a narrow stone bridge over the river, there were a number of small islands, two of them wooded, the others not more than large rocks.
There were tracks on both sides of the loch wide enough to take her van, but, although she tried each of them—and in one place, had to back for more than half a mile before she could manage to turn—she found that it was impossible to drive all the way round the loch. Both tracks petered out in the most uncompromising fashion. The one on the north shore ended after the first four miles. The track along the south bank was rougher, but went further. All the same, about a mile from the head of the loch, so far as she could judge, a belt of pines formed a barrier which could only be passed on foot.
Here the loch had its narrowest point. Sally got out, took her field-glasses, and looked across to the opposite shore. Here there was an uninviting, desolate, boulder-strewn stretch which seemed to run from the mountain scree almost to the head of the loch.
Winking at the Brim (Mrs. Bradley) Page 3
