Voice in the Mist

by Nigel Cubbage

  After a brief introduction to the Ballochs from Henry, Rebecca was shown into a small sitting room. A bucket of ice and a towel quickly appeared and she sat, applying a cold compress to her injured ankle. It was apparent that the room was serving as a temporary costume and prop store to the actors. Large wooden boxes spewed forth piles of clothing, seemingly opened in great haste. Labels on them referred to scenes, sets and characters. ‘Hamlet’ read the label on one casket, ‘Ophelia’ on another. Her attention was drawn particularly to a casket marked ‘Ghost’. She hobbled over to it. The chest contained a long grey shroud and a black mask with brass cheekplates and eyelets, sufficiently ghoulish to evoke a shudder. She closed the lid. As she looked up again, Drew stood in the doorway.

  “Rumour is we’ll be staying here tonight. A big storm is forecast and, if that hits, no boat will leave Arisaig tonight – far too dangerous. Force nine, they reckon.”

  “Are there enough rooms and beds here for everyone?” asked Rebecca.

  “Doubt it. There must be fifty of us. We’ll end up crashing on the floor – play up the injured ankle and they’ll probably take pity and give you a stateroom.”

  Rebecca put out her tongue at him. She paused, before a look of intent came over her.

  “At least it will give us a chance to do a bit of snooping around, although you’ll have to do it. I can’t get about unless this ankle improves dramatically.” She lifted up the cold compress to inspect it. She shrugged. “At least it hasn’t swollen up too badly.”

  “The play will not take place in the grounds, you will no doubt be surprised to hear,” said Henry, ironically, from the doorway.

  “The cast are improvising, as befits the true dramatist, and will use the ballroom instead. Due to start in …one hour exactly.” He tapped his watch and smiled.

  “And I was so looking forward to a warm summer evening outdoors,” said Drew.

  “Is it true that we are to stay here tonight, Uncle dear?” asked Rebecca brightly. “And miss dear old Miss McHarg’s cheerful company tomorrow at breakfast?”

  “That will do,” reproached Henry. “In answer to your question, it does look as if we will be here overnight. And, since the rain is not about to let up, I’m afraid that a walk round the island is also off. Mind you, we’ll probably have a Hebridean storm to enjoy as well as the play.”

  “Every cloud has a silver lining, hey? Mind you, up here every cloud has another ten behind it – how can you stand the weather?” grumbled Rebecca.

  ***

  With Rebecca restricted to her armchair, Drew slipped out to explore the castle. He was keen to discover the mask and collar, or anything vaguely connected to the McOwans. The poor weather having confined everyone indoors, he was far from alone wandering around and could therefore avoid arousing undue suspicion.

  The ground floor rooms turned up very little of interest, so Drew went up the sweeping staircase to the first floor, where a gallery overlooked the main hall. An imposing statue of a Viking warrior dominated the head of the stairs. It was surprisingly lifelike and clothed in coarse woollen leggings and frock coat, with a heavy broadsword clasped in both hands, the point resting on the floor at his feet. Drew detected a passing resemblance to the warrior with Hakon in the Princess legend and decided to take a closer look. Below the statue was a plate which bore an inscription.

  Knut the Strong, fabled Viking bodyguard of Princess Immelda of Norway. Legend has it that he guards an unknown cave where his mistress was buried, together with the fierce wolf Hakon. The Princess was drowned in Loch Nevis, on her way to her marriage to the Machoiann, Angus of Rahsaig in the Eighth Century.

  “Are you the guy who’s been scaring our English?” whispered Drew, leaning close to the statue. The visor looked back at him, impassive. “Pick on someone your own size, Knut the Strong.”

  “Not one of our interactive exhibits, I’m afraid, sir,” said a kindly voice. Drew straightened with a start and coughed self-consciously. An elderly lady, whose sweatshirt sported the legend ‘Rum Castle Guide’, was smiling indulgently at him. She reminded him of an aunt who lived in Fort William and always fed him ginger cake.

  “Oh! Ah – just messing with old Knut, here.” Drew smiled weakly and turned quickly to go back down to the hall and hide his embarrassment among the people milling around. He was glad that Rebecca had not witnessed his gaffe but, on reaching the bottom stair, ran into a smirking Henry.

  “Scaring statues and old ladies, hey Drew?”

  Drew blushed and bade a hasty retreat into an adjoining room. Once through the door, he realised this was the main drawing room which he had missed earlier. There was a grand piano but what immediately caught his eye was infinitely more interesting.

  Next to the fireplace in a glass display case was the wolf’s collar.

  He moved quickly forward and read the legend next to it.

  Eighth-Century Viking – Collar of fabled Hakon the Wolf, guardian to the tomb of Princess Immelda of Norway. Believed to have come to Rum with Lachlan McOwan in 1739.

  Red and green gemstones were sewn into the worn and faded leather collar. It looked identical to the painting at Rahsaig. Alongside it was another display case with something else that grabbed Drew’s attention.

  Viking burial mask, Eighth Century. Reputed to be that of Princess Immelda of Norway.

  The mask was eerie, made of leather and bronze, dulled in colour by the passage of time. There were openings for the eyes and mouth and simple, subtle patterns etched into the cheeks and forehead. At the corner of either eye, Drew noticed faint circular patterns.

  ***

  Drew arrived back in the sitting room to find Rebecca in a state of great animation.

  “Come in, quick! Shut the door!”

  “What is – ” Drew began as he hurriedly clicked the door shut. Rebecca did not wait.

  “You’ll never guess what I’ve found – this is the actors’ costume store – just open that!” She pointed to a chest by the window, her face shining with excitement. Drew raised the lid. Inside, under a grey blanket, was diving equipment.

  “There’s a full suit here, and a tank!” He turned to look at Rebecca in astonishment.

  “Now what on earth would a diving suit be doing in the costume store of a theatre company, putting on Hamlet?”

  “We read Hamlet at school last term and I don’t remember there being a part for a diver,” said Rebecca. “Maybe our thieves are here? They might be involved with the Players.”

  They looked at one another, barely able to contain their excitement.

  “Do you suppose they are after anything here on Rum?” Drew took a few paces towards the window. He looked at the diving equipment and then back at Rebecca.

  “Sibley’s been here and the mask and the collar are here, aren’t they? Did you see them?”

  “Aye, in the drawing room.”

  “I spoke with Uncle Henry while you were out and the latest plan is for the boat to pick up everyone tomorrow morning, actors included. That means if it is something to do with the Players and they intend to steal anything, they’ll have to do it tonight. We must stay up and keep watch – all night if necessary.”

  “But first we’ve got this Shakespeare to get through,” said Drew, moodily.

  “Shakespeare is all sex, murder and intrigue, according to Uncle Henry,” said Rebecca. Drew brightened in an instant.

  “Oh well that sounds all right – maybe it won’t be so bad after all!”

  ***

  A bell shrilled loudly in the hall where the audience were awaiting the performance.

  The storm raging outside had fuelled the sense of drama and atmosphere and, despite their apprehension at the prospect of three hours of Shakespeare, Rebecca and Drew were both in a state of great expectation as the opening curtain-up drew closer. Rather than being due to a sudden appreciation for the Bard, this owed more to their recent discoveries.

  “Three minutes to curtain up,” called a voice from the entranc
e to the ballroom.

  “We should find our seats,” said Henry, who had appeared next to them and now helped Rebecca limp through the crowd of people gathered in the hall. They made their way into the makeshift auditorium and sat down. Rebecca leafed through a programme absently. Suddenly, she caught her breath and grabbed Drew’s arm.

  “Look!” she whispered, urgently. She pointed to a photo of the cast. Drew looked, uncomprehending and shrugged his shoulders.

  “It’s him!” she hissed. “That’s the face I saw at the window, I’m sure of it!”

  Drew started in astonishment.

  “He’s in the play?”

  “He must be! And that would explain the diving gear, don’t you see?”

  “Shhh!” Her voice had risen. Drew looked swiftly around to check that nobody was listening to them. Henry was deep in conversation with a man at the end of their row.

  “If you’re right, we could really be onto something here.” Drew’s face was serious and the gravity of the situation that was starting to unfold began to dawn on Rebecca.

  “We are going to have to be really, really careful.”

  The lights dimmed, the curtain rose and the play began. Rebecca was agog to see whether her intruder of a few nights ago would appear and scrutinised each new arrival on stage intently, paying little attention to the play itself.

  There is an early scene where the ghost of Hamlet’s father appears. When this scene began the figure of the ghost suddenly rose from a seat in the audience and walked right past them. It was Drew’s turn to gasp. He turned and whispered excitedly.

  “The ghost is wearing the mask!”

  Rebecca look at the black and brass mask but the ghost was past her too quickly to be able to identify the markings Drew had described.

  “We’ll have to check their props store,” she whispered. “I looked in the box marked ‘Ghost’ and there was a mask there too. Perhaps they’ll swap a fake one for the real one.”

  The scene continued but unfortunately the ghost did not return and quickly left the stage at the back. By the time the interval arrived, Rebecca had not seen her intruder and was becoming frustrated. After the lights came back up, she stared at every person who came by, until Drew had to nudge her.

  “Stop it!” he growled. “You’ll have people wondering what’s wrong with you. And suppose the guy sees you? He’ll recognise you too, won’t he?”

  Rebecca’s face went white and a shiver ran down her back. She looked at Drew in alarm.

  “I hadn’t thought of that. You don’t think he’s seen me already, do you? Perhaps that’s why he hasn’t appeared.”

  “Don’t be daft. Look, let me see that programme again.”

  They pored over the programme, flicking back and forth to find any references to the cast, or photos. All of a sudden, Rebecca gave a hollow laugh and tapped the bottom of a page. She pointed to an advert.

  “Well, well! Sibley’s Antiques of Holborn Passage, London, are the gracious sponsors. What a surprise! He’s definitely tied up in this. There are just too many coincidences.”

  “Ha! They have invited two performers from a French Mime Company to join them on the tour… ” Drew broke off in mid sentence, gave a low whistle and pointed at the other page.

  “That’s why we haven’t noticed your man yet. Look, he’s the ghost.”

  He pointed at a picture of the intruder identified by Rebecca. “So he’s the one wearing a mask. Convenient for stealing the real one, hey?”

  “Perhaps he has already switched them.” Rebecca looked closely at the photo. “This one doesn’t have those markings you mentioned.”

  Drew looked over her shoulder. “I’ll nip out and see if it’s still there. I bet they are after it. It’s over a thousand years old, according to the legend and that must make it worth a fortune.”

  He did his best to leave the room unobtrusively. Many of the audience had moved outside to the hall, talking and sipping at drinks. It was not difficult to slip through unnoticed. The drawing room was still open, so he went inside, trying to adopt the casual air of somebody wandering around, disinterestedly whiling away the interval.

  He breathed a sigh of relief. The genuine mask was still in its place.

  The bell shrilled, recalling the audience for the second half. Drew waited as long as he could, half in the hope that the ghost might appear and attempt to swap the masks. The hall was empty by the time he eventually re-emerged. As he passed the end of the stairway, he looked up at the gallery above and his eye fell on the statue.

  Back in his seat, Drew tugged excitedly at Rebecca’s sleeve.

  “What is it? Has the mask been switched?”

  “No, it’s not that.”

  “Then what are you so worked up about?”

  “You remember I told you about the statue of old Knut?”

  “The one you talked to?”

  “You’ve been talking to Henry. Anyway, never mind that. I just saw it move!”

  Rebecca’s mouth fell open slightly. She regarded Drew with disbelief.

  “Drew, statues do not move. That is why they are statues. They stand still … like statues.”

  “I know that! I swear to you, Knut scratched his ear.”

  “Shhh!” A lady behind them hissed loudly. Henry turned and frowned disapprovingly at Rebecca, who reddened. Desperate to exchange theories, they were compelled to watch the second half in silence. Each was thinking up wild elaborate theories as to why a statue might move. Little of their attention was devoted to the dramatic conclusion of Hamlet, their interest not even kindled by the bloody, climactic swordfight.

  When the performance finally ended and they rose to leave, they were at last able to whisper to one another.

  “Either you were seeing things, or the statue isn’t real.” Rebecca was the first.

  “It isn’t real and I’ll tell you what I think it is.” Drew opened the programme and flicked through the pages until he came to the picture of the entire cast. He began to read.

  “ ‘The Camden Players are delighted to welcome our friends Serge Balatte and Auguste Lemerre from the famous Parisian Troupe of St Denis, artistes schooled in the renowned tradition of French mime.’ There!”

  Rebecca looked at him as if he had taken leave of his senses. Drew tapped the page, as if for emphasis.

  “Mime artists! Knut is a Frenchman in drag. These guys can stand stock still for hours. Your thief stands still all day, then goes stealing after everyone has gone to bed.”

  “Surely not? You’re just trying to justify why you were talking to a statue. Think about it – they would have to replace the real statue without anyone noticing, hide that somewhere and then stand there all day, right through until nightfall when they could swap it back. I mean, the guy couldn’t even go for a pee!”

  “Well maybe he has a pee bag strapped to his leg – I don’t know but, if it isn’t an actor, and I did see it move, then that means it’s something else … something supernatural …”

  They looked at each other for a second or so before shaking their heads in unison, dismissing this immediately.

  “I’m going to go and prod him,” said Drew. “That’ll prove it.”

  “Mind the pee bag,” murmured Rebecca.

  Just at that moment, Henry broke off from a conversation he had been holding with Hamish Balloch and came over.

  “Right, you two. Time to sort out the sleeping arrangements.”

  Rebecca opened her mouth to protest at this inconvenient interruption but closed it when she saw the look of intent on her Uncle’s face. Ludmilla Balloch had appeared at Henry’s shoulder and was studying them with a look of such intense condescension that Rebecca found herself looking down at her feet, to avoid the gaze. Drew, however, seemed quite oblivious, his attention diverted to their fellow audience members. He was wondering where they would all be able to sleep.

  “Mrs Balloch will show you to your rooms.”

  Ludmilla stood expectantly, the look of su
periority unwavering. She gave the impression of someone used to issuing rather than receiving instructions and possessed a manner which could definitely be described as haughty. The generosity and hospitality of her husband in opening their home to the players and audience for the night might not, Rebecca suspected, have enjoyed his wife’s complete approval. Having studied Rebecca and Drew intently, she raised her eyebrows a fraction of an inch, turned abruptly on her heel and strode off towards the stairs.

  “I guess that’s our cue to follow,” muttered Drew, out of Henry’s earshot.

  CHAPTER 12 – In The Dead Of Night

  A large grandfather clock at the foot of the stairway struck midnight, the chimes reverberating through the darkened castle. As the last note faded, silence fell.

  The thick stone walls muffled the noise of the storm, although did not stop brilliant flashes of lightning penetrating inside. The storm’s ferocity had waned; nevertheless it was raining steadily and the wind still howled round the castle walls.

  Rebecca got out of bed, put on her jumper and limped over to the door. As Drew had guessed, she had been fortunate enough to be allocated one of the few single rooms. Elsewhere, most people were billeted together. Drew was in a room with ten others, the largest group of all, camping out on a mattress on the floor. This situation had dismayed them both, due to the severe limitation it put on his ability to slip out unobserved.

  They had been desperate to see the man who had played the ghost of Hamlet’s father, to ascertain if he was the intruder from Rahsaig. Neither could claim a positive sighting before they were forced to turn in but Drew was hopeful that one of his room-mates might prove to be the man himself.

  Rebecca’s ankle was still painful, although she was now able to put her complete weight down and could walk slowly. She was determined to stay awake, in case the thieves made any move that evening. She left her door slightly ajar, pulled up a chair and sat where she could see the top of the stairs. She retrieved her duvet from the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders and legs to keep warm. It was cold in the castle, and she could see condensation as she breathed out. As she peered through the door, a head popped round, causing her to cry out in surprise.