by Ann Cleeves
He put the kettle on the stove. The dog, which lay on the black sheepskin hearth rug, did not look up.
“I make the best tea in Kinness,” he said proudly. “It’s the Tain water.”
She had to concentrate to understand him. He made no concession in his speech. She sat in one of the chairs. He took the other.
“It’ll take a while to boil,” he said. They looked at each other for a moment in silence, and then he began to talk.
“I was sorry about the lassie,” he said. “ It will have spoiled your wedding party.”
“I was sorry,” she said, “but not because of that.”
“Wasn’t it peculiar that it happened on the same day as the storm? And that she fell over Ellie’s Head?”
“The storm?”
That was all that it took for him to start the story. It was as if he had rehearsed what he had to say. It came out as a set piece—remembered by heart and recited when an audience could be found. Perhaps it was like that. Certainly he had told the story before—to American tourists and to a lady from the Baltasay museum who came with a tape recorder—but it seemed to Sarah that he specially wanted to tell it to her.
“I am the only one left who remembers it,” he said. “I was only a boy. The men saw some French boats out to the south, and thought that they could trade with them. They would take out chicken, mutton, dried fish and bring back tea, salt, perhaps even brandy. Trading like that happened often in those days. All the men went out. They preferred to be out with the boats to staying here and working on the harvest. The harvest was late that year. It was thought to be women’s work. Even boys of my age went with them, but they wouldn’t let me go and I had to stay with my mother and my sisters.
“It was a fine day. We watched the men row off towards the ships. They were all in good spirits, thinking of the drams they would have there and the brandy they would bring back. I wanted to be with them. We were in the field, stacking the sheaves into stooks to dry. We were working all afternoon. Then, all of a sudden there was such a wind that all the stooks were blown flat. I have never known a wind like it, coming out of nothing. It blew all night and it was so fierce that we were frightened to go outside. Our hen house was blown right away with all the birds inside it. The men did not come home. The wind blew the next day as strong as ever. Eventually the boats started to come back but most of the men were lost. My father was drowned, and my uncle and my brother. Some boats had just one man alive inside. Most were washed up empty. It was a terrible time.
“Most of the men that came back alive were Stennets, and the Dances who were left said that the Stennets let their men drown to save themselves. I think it was just chance. They say that the Stennets and the Dances have never been friendly since, but myself, I don’t think that was caused by the storm. I remember rows between them before then. There was a lot of bad feeling when Ellie Dance went sick in the head. She was engaged to be married to Stuart, her first cousin, and he was one of the men that were lost. Perhaps it was because there were no other young men left for her to marry that she went so mad. She never seemed to sleep. She was so mad that they had to lock her up in the post office, and she howled like a chained dog. I can still remember the howling. Then one night she got loose and threw herself over the cliff. That’s why it was named Ellie’s Head.”
At first Sarah could not believe what he was saying. It was just a good story.
“She’s buried in the graveyard,” she said. “ When it says ‘he should have been hers,’ it’s talking about Stuart.”
“Yes.”
She thought again of the note on the wedding dress:
“He should have been mine.” Perhaps the Stennets had prevented Elspeth marrying Jim, just as the Dances believed that the Stennets had been responsible for the first Ellie not marrying her Stuart.
“Jim never told me about the storm,” she said.
“He will know about it all the same.”
“There’s still ill feeling between the Stennets and the Dances, isn’t there? But that couldn’t have had anything to do with Mary’s death.”
“No,” he said, almost regretfully, because it would have been such a good story. “That most just have been coincidence. Kenneth Dance says that the Stennets could run the boat better and that the freight charge is too high. The Stennets say that Kenneth Dance charges too much for the things in his shop. That’s how it is now. It’s money that comes between them.” He paused, then continued slowly: “Kenneth and Annie did name their daughter after the poor girl that went mad. That seemed an unlucky thing to me.”
He got up and poured boiling water into a small china teapot.
When she got back to Unsta, George Palmer-Jones was already there, waiting for her. He was sitting outside on the wooden bench. She was not sure that she wanted to see him, but she let him in.
He took the green and white scarf from his pocket and put it on the kitchen table between them.
“I’m going to see Sandy and Agnes,” he said, “ to tell them that I’ve found the scarf, and to ask their permission to investigate their daughter’s death.”
I’m going to give them the responsibility for the decision, he thought. It’s too much for me now.
“Have you any more idea what can have happened?” she asked.
“Whoever pushed Mary took the scarf, either before she died or afterwards. We don’t know why. On Monday morning, before the boat went out, Sylvia Drysdale was talking to someone in the derelict croft next to the road. She decided to leave the island suddenly when I asked her about anyone here who might have a secret. Later the scarf was found in the croft. It looked as if it had been dropped by accident. It could have been left by Sylvia, but more likely, I should think, by whoever she was talking to.”
“You couldn’t recognize the voice?”
“No. It could have been a man or a woman. It’s difficult to tell with a whisper. Did any of the boat crew mention having met Sylvia that morning?”
“No.”
“Robert might be able to help us,” George said. “ He was up on the hill above the croft that morning. He might have seen or heard something. We’ll go there when we’ve been to Sandwick.”
“You want me to come with you?”
“It would be useful. It’s always helpful to have two people. You might pick up something which I’ve missed, but I’ll quite understand if you prefer not to.”
“No. I’ll come.”
At least I can be useful to someone, she thought as she put a cold lunch on a plate for Jim and cut a sandwich for herself, then walked up the road towards Sandwick with George. Jim had not wanted her help.
They met Sandy in the yard outside the house. He was on his way into Sandwick for lunch. Sandy beamed when he saw Sarah and took her in his arms.
“George is keeping you company,” he said. “Now that is good. I saw Jim working in the top field and I thought you might be lonely.”
“I’d like to talk to you,” George said. “But it can wait until later if your lunch is ready.”
“No. Come in. Come in.”
They could hear Agnes in the kitchen, but George did not ask to speak to her, too, and Sandy did not suggest it.
“Are you sure,” George said, “that Mary’s death was an accident?”
“She would never have killed herself.” Sandy spoke quietly so that Agnes would not hear him, but he was quite firm.
“I’m not suggesting that she did.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I believe that there is a possibility that she was murdered.”
“No.” This time he could not control his voice, and he spoke so loudly that he shocked them. Agnes came in to see if he was ready for his food.
“Sandy,” she said, “are you ill?”
“No,” he said again, though not in response to her question. He looked at George again. “If you’re right,” he said, “it will be that Dance.”
“George,” Agnes said. “ What is this abou
t?”
“I don’t think that Mary’s death was an accident,” he said.
“No,” she said. “ I’ve been thinking that too. I don’t see how it could have been.” It was the last response they could have expected. She seemed so unworldly, almost simple. “ But we will accuse nobody, Sandy, until we are certain.”
“What made you believe that Mary was pushed?” George asked Agnes.
“She had never fallen in her life. And then there was something else. She liked to eat. Especially cakes and biscuits. If she had meant to run away to make a fuss, she would have waited until after the interval.”
“You said nothing to me,” Sandy said.
“It meant nothing. What could I prove? You would have said I was foolish.”
“I was worried about the scarf,” George said. “ It should have been on her body. It was found in the old croft by Kell, on Monday morning. Someone was in there on Monday morning when I came down to see the boat off. Did you notice anything when you walked past, Sandy?”
Sandy shook his head.
“Did you tell the police about this?”
“I tried to, but they were convinced it was an accident. They had no reason to think otherwise.”
“What will you do now?”
“What would you like me to do?”
“Find out.”
“It won’t be easy,” George said. “There will be awkward questions. People won’t like it.”
“All the same,” Sandy said, “ we will find out.”
“I may be mistaken.”
“At least we will know.”
“Have you made a will?”
Sarah was as surprised by the last question as Sandy was. At first she thought he would refuse to answer. She expected him to tell George that it was none of his business.
“Yes,” Sandy said. “ I’ve made a will.”
“Could you tell me what provisions were contained in it?”
“I left Sandwick to Mary,” Sandy said slowly, “ the house and the croft would both belong to her. It seemed the best way to be sure that she was taken care of.”
“So that if either of your sons wished to farm Sandwick and live in this house, they would have to take responsibility for Mary.”
“Yes. Sandwick is her home. We didn’t want her moved out to an institution as soon as we died.”
“What was to happen if you were to retire?”
“The same thing. The boys knew that if they wanted to farm Sandwick they would have to take care of Mary.”
“Who will inherit Sandwick now?”
“Alec. He is the eldest son.” He was trying to answer the questions reasonably, but he was beginning to become angry. “ Mr. Palmer-Jones,” he said, “none of my family would murder a child for a house.”
George ignored the anger.
“I spoke to Mary at the harbour on Friday and she talked about a secret. Do you know what that secret might have been?”
“It will just have been child’s talk,” Sandy said impatiently.
“There’s nothing, no matter how trivial, which might have interested her, that I don’t want to know about. She seemed very excited when she spoke to me.”
He was appealing to Sandy and to Agnes. Sarah thought that Sandy was going to speak, but Agnes looked at her husband carefully, seemed to warn him.
“No,” he said. “ There’s nothing.”
They prepared to go.
“There’s just one thing,” George said. “Why do think it was Dance?”
Sandy said nothing, and it was Agnes who answered.
“Superstition,” she said, “ and a lack of Christian charity.”
When Sarah and George left Sandwick, they went to Tain, but the house was empty. George was surprised because Robert’s dog was tethered to a line outside and usually it went everywhere with the old man.
She planned a special meal for Jim that night. When he came in, he did not ask her why she was not home at lunchtime. He presumed that Agnes had asked her to stay at Sandwick. She was excited because of the conversation with Sandy and Agnes. It did not occur to her that he might be upset to hear that his sister had been murdered. She could not take it seriously. It was still a game to her.
“Agnes thinks that Mary was murdered,” she said.
“Poor mother,” Jim said, “I thought she was taking it very calmly. She must be hysterical.”
“No,” Sarah said. “ George thinks that she’s probably right. It’s something to do with the green scarf Mary was wearing not being found on the body.”
“He shouldn’t encourage Mother,” Jim said. “He’ll make her ill.”
He was not upset to think that Mary had been murdered. Quite simply he did not believe it. He began talking about the rabbits and the damage that they had done on the island. Mary was not mentioned again.
“Perhaps I’ll go out with a gun later,” he said.
“It’ll soon be dark,” she said. Then, because she wanted to finish the preparation for the meal and to get changed: “ Go now then, before it’s too late and I can finish the supper.”
When he came back it was nearly dark, but she had not switched on the electric light. She had put a tablecloth—a wedding present—on the kitchen table, and a candle in the middle of it. He stood just inside the door and she was afraid that he would laugh at the effort she had made. But he did not laugh. He went into the bedroom and fetched a bottle of wine, brought from the mainland. She lit the candle and he opened the wine.
“I met Robert today,” she said. “ He gave me tea. He’s very interesting.”
“He’s a simple-minded fool. What was he telling you?”
“He was talking about the big storm.”
“Was he?”
“Why hadn’t you told me about it?”
“It didn’t come up. Perhaps I thought that you wouldn’t understand.”
“I don’t think I would have done, away from Kinness. Did you know that Elspeth was named after Ellie, who went mad and drowned herself?”
“Of course. I was brought up with it.”
They were sitting at the table, drinking the wine. It seemed to Sarah that the conversation was important to Jim. When he came into the house after shooting the rabbits, he had seemed different, as if he had made up his mind about something. It was quite dark outside now. She stared out of the window. There were a couple of lights on the horizon—boats, she supposed—but otherwise there was a dense, deep darkness. It’s never this dark on the mainland, she thought. There’s always a light somewhere, even if it’s the reflected glow of a town miles away, or car headlights.
“I was brought up with it,” Jim repeated. “We all were. The story of Ellie. The fact that very few Dances survived. Perhaps that was what attracted me to Elspeth. I thought that we would get married and that the island would be brought together again.”
She waited for him to tell her more about Elspeth, but he said nothing.
“Robert thinks the feud has nothing to do with the storm now,” she said. “ He says it’s all about freight charges and shop prices.”
“Perhaps he’s not so simple-minded after all.”
There was another silence.
“I want to tell you about Elspeth.”
“Robert told me you were going to be married. Were you engaged?
“No. It was nothing like that. Nothing formal. We were both very young.”
He poured himself more wine.
“She’s a year older than me, so she went out to school in Baltasay before I did. I never got to know her at school. She was living in the hostel and by that time I had lodgings with one of Maggie’s aunts. It was one summer. I was the same age as Will is now and we were both here on Kinness. She was lively, fun, and I suddenly realized how pretty she was. She’d applied to go to drama school in Glasgow, though she hadn’t heard then whether or not she’d got in … It was a lovely summer. Hot for here. And in early summer it’s light nearly all night. I can’t remember helping much on the
croft. Every day I was out with Elspeth. We swam and walked, and talked for hours and hours. She read me bits of plays. I didn’t understand them, but I loved to hear her do all the voices. She was older than me. She was an only child, and I suppose the Dances had more money to spend on her. She used to go and stay in Glasgow with friends Kenneth had made there, and once she spent a month in France learning the language. She seemed stylish and sophisticated.
“I started making plans for the future. I’d always wanted to go to agricultural college, but I thought that if I worked hard and got my exams I might get to university in Glasgow, too. I could study agriculture there. I imagined being sophisticated, too.
“Then, well before the end of the holiday, she went. She didn’t tell me that she was going. A plane came in very early and she went out with it. There was no letter, nothing.
“It turned out that there was a man in Glasgow, and that she was pregnant, though I didn’t know that then. The baby wasn’t mine. There was nothing between us but passionate kisses in the moonlight and the occasional grope in the barn. Later she got married. It was a quiet wedding and I wasn’t invited.
“After she left I went a bit wild. There didn’t seem any point in working for exams anymore. I was still staying with Maggie’s auntie on Baltasay for my last year of school, but I got in with a different crowd—lads who’d already left school. I went out drinking with them. Then I got thrown out of the lodging. There was some trouble with the police. I made a fool of myself.
“All the time I was writing to her, trying to find out what had happened. Kenneth and Annie wouldn’t say anything. I even went down to Glasgow once.
“Then she wrote to me and told me what had happened. I remember the letter coming. I was home for the Christmas holidays. She explained about the baby. It was a peculiar letter, but she said that she was happy. It was full of all the things she was doing at college—parties, rehearsals. She carried on there although she must have been quite pregnant by then. She didn’t tell me anything about the baby’s father.
“They let me stay on at school but I didn’t do very well in the exams.”
