Land of Heart's Desire (17 page)

Christine looked her dismay.

“Oh, Callum! I wonder if I have misled them about all this,” she said regretfully. “It’s all going to be just a trickle of prosperity at first—if we are prosperous at all! No swift profits, no fabulous returns and no mill opened yet awhile! It has taken all the money I have—or it will do—to buy the wool we need for a very modest start up at the clachan.”

He stood leaning on his stick, looking at her in deepest thought before he said:

“It is an old man I am getting, with few days left to me, and all I need for comfort in the home your grandmother left to me yonder.” He looked towards the cottage in the corrie beside the sea. “All my life I have lived sparingly,” he went on, “and I have a bit of money by me.” His fingers tightened on the stick. “Would I be asking too much of you to be letting me have a share in the mill? I have seven hundred pounds I would like to invest—”

She could not answer him for a moment. Tears choked against her throat, silencing her.

“Yon is a fine man, yon Mr. Sutherland,” Callum went on. “Maybe he will be putting some money into the mill, too? If that is so, I would be glad to go in with him.”

“I couldn’t take your money, Callum,” Christine told him gently. “I couldn’t let you risk it. Besides,” she went on more steadily, “we’re not ready for the mill yet. There’s a whole winter before us of spinning and weaving up in the glen before we can waulk our first cloth in the spring. We have to creep before we learn to run, Callum. The mill would only be an added burden just now.”

“You have broad shoulders—both of you,” he said, but he did not press her acceptance of his gift.

Deeply touched, she hurried on to the ford. The tide was already far out, but there was little evidence of any work being done on the causeway itself. The beginnings of a new sea wall snaked out from the Scoraig side, but nothing came even halfway to meet it from the north.

A great deal of equipment had, however, been dumped at the roadside and a desultory stone-chipping was going on here and there which suddenly shamed her.

She had planned to cross the ford at low tide and walk or get a lift to Scoraig, completing the round trip by joining the bi-weekly steamer and sailing back to Port-na-Keal. That way, she could spend a few hours with Jane, whom she had not seen or heard of for weeks.

It was almost three weeks, too, since Finlay Sutherland had come to Erradale, although in a good many ways it had seemed much longer than that. She had done much in these weeks, much of which she was justifiably proud, and she longed to share her success with someone who would understand. Jane, she felt sure, would recognize what she was trying to do for Croma and might even help with her advice.

In the bright October sunshine she almost ran across the great flat stones of the causeway, her heart lifting for the very joy of living on such a day, and Finlay Sutherland, watching her progress from the far side, met her with an answering smile in his green eyes.

“You looked like a water sprite coming over as fast as that,” he told her. “Right on the heels of the wind!”

“Water sprites are mischievous creatures prone to odd and erratic actions when the spirit moves them,” she reminded him. “They cast spells and waylay mariners and generally play havoc with people who live near the sea!”

“So long as they don’t play havoc with my causeway,” he grinned. “What do you think of it? I guess it’s going along as fast as I can hope for up here.”

She turned to him almost defensively.

“You can’t expect them to absorb American methods and hustle in twenty-four hours!” she reminded him.

“They’ve had three weeks,” he pointed out, “and the method is, if anything, strictly Canadian.”

“Sorry!” she laughed. “I thought it was much the same thing.”

Suddenly she realized that his bantering tone had sounded slightly forced.

“What is it?” she asked. “What has gone wrong?”

“Not a lot.” His mouth had taken on a grimmer line, but his eyes were still smiling. “Nothing, I guess, that I shouldn’t be able to put right in my own way.” He glanced at the ford. “Were you coming to Scoraig?” he asked.

“Yes.” Swift colour suffused her cheeks. “I wanted to see you—on business, and I wanted to see Jane.”

His smile deepened.

“Which means that you intended to come to Ardtornish,” he said. “We’ll walk back together.”

She hesitated, looking out across the wet expanse of sand to the vague line of white where the vast Atlantic tide broke gently on the shore, lingering before it turned to run back towards the ocean, gathering mystery out there and renewing its strength.

“Jane will be disappointed if she doesn’t see you,” he said. “And you were coming to Scoraig—on business.”

“Yes,” she agreed, adding when they had walked a short distance along the newly-surfaced road: “We’ve made a start with the spinning at the clachan. I’ve come to ask you to sell me some more wool.”

“I promised you that,” he said. “How much do you want?”

“The Erradale shearings first,” she decided firmly.

He nodded.

“And after that you’ll consider what we produced down here in the south?” he suggested.

“You make me sound—ungrateful,” she said. “But we are working with Erradale wool at the moment and I thought it best to continue with one quality.”

They spoke of what she had already achieved as they walked along. It was easier to talk to him now, easier to share her hopes for Croma with him now that it seemed that he no longer desired to possess the whole island. She was even able to tell him about Callum’s offer and her own reaction to it.

“You should have let the old man invest his money in the mill,” he advised. “He wanted to do it. I guess he wanted to feel that he had some sort of stake in your venture. He’s lived on this island all his life; he was born here and he’ll die here. I guess it’s sort of his island, too.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “I suppose Callum does think of Croma in that way, but—”

He turned to look at her, his red brows raised questioningly.

“It was a risk,” she said.

“Life is one long risk,” he commented. “Coming here was a risk for me, I guess, but I’m glad now that I took it.” His eyes ranged across the rich arable land which was the south of Croma. “It’s like building an empire in some ways. Nothing is quite finished. There’s always something more to do—obstacles to overcome all the time.”

“Was that what you meant when you said that you would put things right ‘in your own way’?” she asked.

“I guess so.”

She halted on the deserted road, feeling the wind from the south cool and gentle on her flushed cheeks.

“What has gone wrong?” she asked for the second time. “Is it—something at my end?”

“Now I know you’re not a water sprite,” he told her. “You’re one of those uncanny beings who hit the nail fair and square on the head every time! I guess I was about to lodge a complaint, or a protest, or whatever you like to call it, but no matter! I’ve changed my mind about it now.”

“I don’t want you to change your mind,” she said firmly, “about anything I can put right. You’ve been—very magnanimous about the Erradale shearings. It’s time I tried to do something in return.”

“This isn’t quite the same.” His voice was guarded. “I’ve come to the conclusion that it isn’t a personal matter at all.”

Her brows drew together in an effort at understanding.

“If it had been a personal matter, Mr. Sutherland,” she began, “I take it that you would have come to Erradale with it?”

He grinned almost boyishly, but his green eyes were still watchful.

“I was meaning to speak to you—yes!” he admitted.

“Then—hadn’t you better ‘come clean’ now? I’ll get to know about it sooner or later, you know.”

“That’s true enough,” he agreed. “The jungle grapevine has nothing on Croma when it comes to spreading the news! Fact is, I’ve been meeting with a whole lot of unnecessary obstruction at Port-na-Keal, and I was led to understand that the instructions came from you. But now I don’t think they did. Your factor has a lot to say in the matter.”

“Hamish—?”

Something seemed to turn over in the pit of her stomach. She ought to be able to defend Hamish, but she could not. She had not been able to trace him for three days and when she did have word of him it was that he had gone to Muldoanish “for a last crack at the sharks”.

“It looks as if there will have to be some sort of showdown between Nicholson and me,” Her companion’s mouth was suddenly grim. “I know he resents me like the devil, but this is more than a purely personal matter. It involves Croma, and a good deal more besides.” The green eyes were as hard as flint. “He’s got to understand that he can’t get away with sabotage.”

Christine felt curiously defenceless as she walked on beside him.

“You’ve got to understand about the Nicholsons,” she begged. “Things were made difficult for them—”

He turned to face her.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “Or yourself, either. I know you feel sorry for the Nicholsons, I know you resented me possibly as much as Rory did when I first came here, but I do understand about them and Ardtornish. It was a severe blow to all of them when the family home had to be sold, but Hamish Nicholson did sell it, and that’s where I came in. The question of whether he could have hung on to the estate till the bitter end needn’t come into our reasoning. He made his decision and then he decided to howl about it. Jane took it differently,” he went on, ignoring her half-voiced protest in Hamish’s defence, “and so did Rory. He’s working
for
Croma now, not for you or me. So you see,” he concluded, “there’s only Hamish, and I guess I can deal with him.” He hesitated before he added deliberately: “It’s what you feel about him that’s going to make things difficult. I think he ought to go.”

Christine wheeled round, her anger submerged in a terrible indecision.

“Hamish has asked me to marry him,” she said through lips that were suddenly not quite steady.

Finlay Sutherland’s expression did not change.

“And what have you decided?” he asked.

“I haven’t given him any definite answer—not yet.”

His mouth tightened.

“You feel that you might change your mind about him?” he suggested.

“I don’t know! How am I to know when everything is so confused?” she cried. “When—nobody can trust anybody any more!”

His uncompromising approach did nothing to help her as he strode on in the direction of Scoraig.

“That’s a decision you will have to make for yourself,” he said. “Nobody can advise you—least of all me!”

When they reached Ardtornish Jane was standing at the front door, on the top step leading to the great stone porch, as if she had been waiting there for some time, and suddenly the whole atmosphere seemed completely feudal—the great house with its history stretching back down the centuries, the lands surrounding it on every side and the village sheltering in the lee of the hills with its feet steeped in the sea. All centred in and belonging to one man. And Jane, the gentle lady, waiting for her lord’s return!

Her face lit up when she saw him and there was a smile in her eyes which could not be mistaken. Jane was in love.

Christine turned, searching her companion’s face for some clue to his own feelings, but there was nothing to read there.

“This is wonderful!” Jane cried, taking Christine’s hands and kissing her in welcome. “You’re going to stay, of course, for a day or two?”

“I’d love to, Jane,” Christine said, “but I’ve got to get back—with the afternoon steamer, in fact.”

“Finlay won’t permit that,” Jane said, smiling. “It gives us less than an hour, and we’ve so much to show you!”

“All the same,” Christine decided, “I shall have to get back.”

Finlay did not argue. Instead, he went to give some sort of order to his housekeeper while Jane took Christine to see the library,

“It’s our pride and joy!” she smiled as they went in through the arched doorway to the room where she had been working now for several weeks. “It’s nowhere near finished, of course,” she added. “Finlay has bought so many books, and there are all his own to catalogue and put in with our original collection.”

“Jane,” Christine asked, standing beside one of the long windows to look out across the parkland, “you’re not—unhappy about this?”

“Unhappy?” Jane gazed at her in astonishment. “How could I be? I love the work, and Ardtornish is coming to life again. Finlay means to make it quite a show-place, and his library will be one of the finest in the Isles.”

“A show-place?” Christine echoed. “You mean—people paying to get in?”

“Not exactly,” Jane smiled. “He doesn’t need to do that, but he wants to attract people to the island and they’ll be made welcome at Ardtornish. The house will be open on two days a week during the summer months and he feels that the local crafts will benefit. They would be on show, of course.” She looked briefly in Christine’s direction. “Erradale tweed, too, if you agree,” she added.

Christine did not know what to say.

“There isn’t enough tweed,” she got out, at last. “Not yet.”