Gently with Love (15 page)

She turned away. James Mackenzie jigged his shoulders. ‘It is true that the laddie is leal,’ he said. ‘I am not the worst judge of a man and I marked him as soon as he whistled in here. You picked a true heart, my harebell. He will always treat you kind and fair. You have taken a wrong step but he will not fret you with it – and why would he, when the bairn is as fair as your own?’

Anne dropped her head over the cradle. ‘He’ll forgive me for that,’ she said.

‘Then what will he not forgive you?’

‘I betrayed him,’ she sobbed, and ran from the room.

W
E WERE SHOWN
to our quarters by Mrs Mackenzie. My room had once been Colin’s, she told me; it faced the sea and from its tall sash windows I had a view of the quay and the islands, and Lewis. Long since he had gazed at that ranging panorama of rock and sea and far-off land. It had perhaps been remembered in the dust and sun glare and the brutal sweat of Africa. A Scotsman dreams of home because there is no other home quite like Scotland, and I was sure that Colin, if he had lived, would have returned at last to that old grey house. He had been the younger son, the wanderer, the Scot who reaches for romantic horizons, like the distant mirage of the Hebrides that he had seen each morning and evening. But he had carried his Scotland with him: I had caught the light of it in his eyes; and his daughter, seeking help in her trouble, had found herself instantly at home in Kylie. She was Colin’s, she was theirs: those who offended her offended the Mackenzies. I thought it only too likely that if Fortuny had tried pressure his position in Kylie would have become perilous. There might not have been a premeditated deed but there could well have been a reckless use of opportunity, and if that were so I feared Sinclair was right and that here was a case that would never come to court. I shook my head as I awaited the summons to the evening meal. Now the sun was clear of clouds and was splendidly declining towards the sea. It was flooding the scene with a reddish gold in which headlands and islands stood out hard and in which the floating mist of Lewis seemed to gain detail like that of a smudged map. Below lay the trawler and the deserted quay. Gulls were perched in a row on the bollards. Nothing moved except minuscule sheep on the larger islands in the bay, and the water below them was so greenly calm that I could see the island and them reflected in it. But then a gull scolded and took wing, to be followed reluctantly by others; two men had stepped ashore from the trawler and were beginning to climb the path to the road. I watched idly. One was tall; him I took to be Iain Mackenzie. The other was a fair-haired youngster, not much over twenty, dressed in a boiler suit and carrying a toolbox. They climbed slowly, talking to each other. The hands of each were black with grease. It was easy to detect from their relative demeanours that one was the skipper and one the man. When they reached the road they talked a little longer, or rather Iain talked and the youngster listened; then Iain clapped the latter on the shoulder and turned towards the house. In the meantime the gulls had returned to their bollards and from below I heard shortly the dull resonance of a gong.

I
AIN JOINED US
at the supper table. He was a man cast in his father’s mould, but he lacked a little of the fine presence that distinguished the older Mackenzie. He perhaps felt overshadowed by him. He was certainly quieter and had nothing to say after taking my hand. He wore his hair short, in contrast to his father’s, and in consequence his face seemed craggier and bleaker. He was marked on the forehead with an old, blue scar, such as those carried by coal miners, and he had lost a joint from a finger of his left hand, no doubt in some mishap of his calling. He ate hungrily; when he caught my eye his own returned coolly to his plate; now and then James Mackenzie threw his son glances, and when the coffee came he addressed him.

‘And are you ready for sea again, Iain?’

‘Aye, about,’ Iain Mackenzie replied.

‘You have the gear fixed?’

‘It is fixed. We had not time quite to finish the job.’

‘But you’ll be away?’

‘We are off tomorrow. We have wasted enough of the moon, I’m thinking.’

‘Aye, you have. But you cannot well go fishing when the boatie is out of trig.’ He turned to me. ‘They’ve had trouble, you ken – it was why they fetched in here on Wednesday. There was a cranky worm-gear in the steering. They had to send for one to Wick.’

‘The trawler was unserviceable.’ I made it a comment.

Iain Mackenzie took sugar. ‘I would not say the boat was unseaworthy. But she was steering like a kye with staggers.’

‘Iain just loves the boatie,’ Mrs Mackenzie put in nervously. ‘He’ll be for showing you over it, Superintendent. It is as clean and shiny as a new penny. He cannot bear to have anything amiss.’

I poured myself cream. ‘The fault developed suddenly?’

‘It had been coming on,’ Iain Mackenzie said. ‘We had some rough weather at the back end of last week. I could feel the play in her after that.’

‘You couldn’t have got the job done in Ullapool?’

‘Ach, we touched there to unload the catch. It was sending to Wick in any case. It was a job I could well do myself.’

‘Iain kens machinery,’ Mrs Mackenzie supplied. ‘He is a sore trial to Maisie.’

‘Ach, his dirty clothes!’ chimed in the latter. ‘Would you believe a man could make himself so black?’

I was silent; I felt I could not decently press the subject further. But in my own mind I was now convinced that the trawler’s appearance had not been coincidental. No doubt the job had been waiting to be done but it did not sound of pressing urgency: a sloppy worm-gear may be an annoyance but it is unlikely to lead to an emergency. Perhaps the same thoughts were occurring to Iain. He resumed the subject without prompting.

‘You ken that handling is a nice matter in trawling. I am not the one to put up with slack steering.’

‘Aye, and he’s right,’ James Mackenzie said. ‘It was myself who advised him to come in. Iain gave me a ring on the Monday and he mentioned the steering then. He was not due back until the weekend, but he took my counsel and changed his plans.’

I nodded. ‘When did you arrive?’

Iain Mackenzie took his time. ‘We tied up below at half three. You will find the time written in the log.’

‘At 2.30 p.m.’

‘Just that.’

‘It was later when you came up to the house.’

‘Aye, well. There were things to be done. I could not rest till I had stripped the gear out.’

‘But the crew, they would have left?’

James Mackenzie chuckled. ‘You kenna crew bodies,’ he said. ‘They would be away up to Robbie’s bar to wash the salt out of their throats.’

‘To the hotel.’

‘And where else. There is but one bar in Kylie.’

‘They were soon away,’ Iain Mackenzie said. ‘They had their cars parked at the quay.’

‘But your engineer. Wouldn’t he have stayed to help you?’

Iain Mackenzie drank deliberately. ‘We do not run to an engineer,’ he said. ‘The
Kylie Rose
is not a liner.’

‘I saw you leave her with a lad who was carrying a toolkit.’

He stared for a moment and then nodded. ‘Aye. He’s a laddie who lends me a hand. He’s a good mechanic, but he’s not an engineer.’

‘He didn’t stay to help you on Wednesday?’

Iain shook his head. ‘He went off with the rest. We are not tied up in Kylie so often that you can keep the laddies hanging about.’

‘Then you stayed alone.’

‘Aye. And you will find as much in my statement. I do not know what Sinclair told you, but it has all been gone over a dozen times.’

He pushed his cup aside and began to fill a bulldog pipe. He was such a dour and unexpressive man that I was unable to decide whether I had offended him. I had put my questions and he had answered them, without haste but without evasion. It was only his last reply that contained a hint that I should have done. I glanced round the dining table. Verna, at the other end, was engrossed in a low conversation with Anne. Mrs Mackenzie was pouring more coffee and Maisie Mackenzie was assembling dinner plates. I met Alex’s eye. I thought it was amused. He had contributed nothing to any of the exchanges. Seeing his uncle pat his pockets in search of matches, he quietly produced a box and passed it across.

‘Aye well, aye well,’ Iain Mackenzie said, puffing smoke in my direction. ‘You will need more talk than this, I’m thinking, if you are to get Anne’s laddie off. Did you see him at Dornoch?’

‘I saw him,’ I said.

‘Was he well in his spirits?’

‘He was rather low.’

Iain nodded. ‘And who would not be, sitting there in a cell in such a predicament. Do you fancy his chances?’

‘I think he is innocent.’

‘Ach, but is that the same thing?’

‘I believe it will be necessary to produce the culprit before we can expect Earle to be released.’

Iain puffed with unchanged expression. ‘What are the chances of that, do you think?’

‘I’m not sure,’ I shrugged. ‘It will probably depend on the help I get here.’

‘You have no idea, then, who you are seeking.’

‘I’m looking for a man who was no friend of Fortuny’s.’

‘That’s just certain. But he was a chiel who had no friends at all in Kylie.’

‘Then a man whom he had deeply offended.’

Iain considered the point leisurely. ‘From what I hear tell there were plenty of those. The laddie had more illwishers than a herring has bones.’

‘Aye, that’s the truth,’ James Mackenzie said heartily. ‘We have been hearing that tale from Alex. He kent Fortuny and his misbehavings. You will need to come in more canny than that.’

‘I’ll be seeking a man who had opportunity.’

‘Aye,’ Iain Mackenzie said. ‘But that will let in the one half of Kylie, and just anyone passing through at the time.’

‘I said I would need help.’

He puffed imperturbably. ‘You did not get anything useful from Sambrooke.’

‘We talked.’

‘I’m thinking you did. But could he not put you on to something more definite?’

I said nothing.

‘It’s just this,’ Iain continued. ‘We have been putting our heads together, too. And the way it is we cannot well see how you will ever come up with the man you are seeking. There was not a witness that we have heard tell of – and they would speak to us that would not to Sinclair – and the plain fact is that nobody in Kylie would give information, even if they had it. So it rests with what you can get out of Sambrooke, which I’m thinking will not be enough for your purpose. You will need to go about it a different way than putting some other laddie in his place.’

‘It may be that Sambrooke does have information.’

Iain regarded me at length. ‘Touching one man?’

‘He was able to recall in great detail all the events of last Wednesday.’

‘You will not be naming him?’

I made my face blank. ‘I’m here to further my inquiries. Then I shall talk to Earle again. At this stage I’m merely verifying facts.’

There was a short silence. The old man broke it.

‘Ach, you do well to box clever, Superintendent. And for all that Iain has told you there will be help enough to get Anne’s laddie out of clink. Just ask for it, man. I will put out word that you are to be given every assistance. And now, if you will, we’ll into the parlour, and assist our digestion with a dram.’

He rose, and the rest of the family obediently rose with him. Mrs Mackenzie politely indicated to Verna that she should lead the way. Verna did. Anne followed her. Mrs Mackenzie and Maisie followed Anne. Then came James Mackenzie and myself, with Alex and Iain on the tail. The room we left was large and half-panelled and had windows that overlooked the braes. In its open hearth a fire had been lit to take the edge off the evening chill. The fire smouldered without flame, and it pervaded the room with a brackeny odour. Peat. It was the first time I had ever sat by a peat fire.

I
TOOK MY
dram – a liquor of some body – but then excused myself from the company. Robertson was waiting at the hotel and I intended to waste no time in comparing notes with him. The evening chill was no myth, so I fetched an anorak from my room; I set out briskly up the narrow road in the soft gloom of the northern twilight.

The village seemed deserted and nothing stirred at the quay below. Looking back, I could see a few lighted windows and trails of pale smoke from a scatter of chimneys. Out to sea, lying low over Lewis, stretched a line of ochreish cloud, but the rest of the sky was clear and pointed by stars of frosty brilliance. I paused at the bend. In truth it had an aspect of evil omen. The situation, the seclusion, the brutality of the rocks, they formed a setting in which violence seemed implicit. There is something of the sort in all mountain passes: perhaps many have been the scene of treachery and murder: I have always had a feeling in Glencoe that had no massacre occurred there then a massacre would still be to come: and I sensed this now in the ravine at Kyleness: it had had tragedy in it, waiting to happen. The roadmakers, in blasting through these rocks, had uncovered a killing-ground. I paused long enough to light my pipe, a little gesture of defiance, before I hastened from the spot: which, among other things, was a frost trap.

At the hotel I was hoping to find some life, but there I was disappointed. Only two cars were parked on the granite-chip apron and one of those was a police Imp. I was met in the hall by Robert Mackenzie. He had presumably been advised of my approach. He had two filled glasses waiting on a tray and he came forward beaming, his hand extended.

‘It is a cool evening, Supintendent. I thought you would have driven up from Jamie’s.’

‘Robert Mackenzie?’

‘Just call me Robbie. And do me the kindness of clinking a glass.’

I did him the kindness. He was a portly man with a broad, fresh-complexioned face. He was about fifty, and had an ingratiating manner and a strong, moist grasp.

‘And will the laddie be getting off, Superintendent – do you say there’s a good chance of it?’

I sipped. ‘There’s a fair chance. If people will tell me what they know.’