The House Between Tides (13 page)

Later she stood at the drawing room window and watched a group of men leaving the factor's house, casting long shadows as they set out across the wet sand. Theo appeared at the door, and she called him over. “I saw them at a burial down by the ruined chapel. Such a lot of people.”

He came and stood beside her, watched them for a moment,
and then turned away. “Anndra MacPhail was buried today”—his face was expressionless—“and John must have provided the mourners with a cup of tea.”

She waited for more. “Was he a tenant?” she prompted, her eyes following the retreating figures.

“Years ago. In my father's time.”

“But he wanted to be buried here?”

“So they told me,” replied Theo, sitting down and opening his book. His face had that shuttered look which she had begun to recognise, signalling that the subject was closed.

But the incident stayed with her, and next time she encountered Cameron Forbes alone in the study she decided to ask him instead. “Mr. MacPhail must have been a well-regarded man,” she ventured.

Cameron was sorting through old leather-bound ledgers, and he hesitated, his face impassive, hard to read. “He was very well-known on the island, madam.”

“Mr. Blake said he used to live here?” Her finger idly traced the delicate curl of a lapwing's crest.

“Aye. He did,” he replied, then lifted his head and smiled at her. “You're becoming quite a walker, madam. I see you all over the island.”

She had been deflected again. “I enjoy the exercise,” she said coolly, and withdrew. There were things, it seemed, that would not be explained to her.

It was later the same day, as she crossed the hall, that she again overheard Theo's raised voice coming from the study.

“This is not your concern, Cameron. Nor is it an estate matter.”

“But if you saw how they were living, sir. Crammed into two damp rooms.”

She paused, making a play of arranging ornaments on the mantelpiece above the hall fire, and listened.

“I'm sorry for that, but if I provide land for them, I'll have others demanding—”

“Surely they have some claim,” Cameron cut across him. “MacPhails have worked this land for generations.”

“No!” Theo spoke sharply. “Duncan MacPhail has no claim on me
whatsoever.
His father was only a child when the family left. Almost fifty years ago. Before you were born. Before
I
was born, for God's sake.” She drew closer to the study door. “What would you have me do? Tear down the house and let them retrace the old run rigs?— For God's sake, Cameron, accept that things move on.” He paused. “I knew that burial would stir up ill feeling. The MacPhails leave a legacy of ill will.” This was followed by a silence, and when Cameron spoke again it was in a low, conciliatory tone, and she had to strain to hear his words.

“Duncan doesn't care whereabouts the land is, sir, and he's prepared—”

“
Enough
, Cameron.”

“And Aonghas MacPhail gives you no trouble.”

“Aonghas's croft came to him through his wife; he'd no more claim on me than his brother. If Duncan wishes to stay, and if Aonghas will house him, he can take what seasonal work there is, though I doubt it'll be enough to support a family.”

There was a short silence. “I told him in Glasgow that I'd speak for him. He came up for the funeral hoping that—”

“Cameron.”

“Sir?”

“I said
no.
If you raised his expectations, you should not have done so. And that's an end to it.”

“I wouldn't be so sure.” Cameron's voice had taken on a different tone. “As far as the Land League's concerned, there won't be an end until—”

She heard the scrape of a chair on the wooden floor. “Damn
it, Cameron! Do you imagine you help Duncan MacPhail's case with veiled threats? The League is
not
concerned, and I mean it to stay that way, so be off with you.” Beatrice withdrew hastily to the morning room as Cameron left the study.

I'm planning a garden . . .
The letter to Emily was still unfinished . . .
though Theo says I'm mad and that the first gales will destroy it. Are the storms really so fierce? I can't imagine . . .
She was finding much was unfamiliar in this new world, different rules applied.
Theo says this settled spell won't hold much longer, so perhaps I'll see for myself . . .
Even the physical boundaries were ill-defined, the separation between sea, sky, and land hidden beneath clouds, and the long hours of daylight merged into darkness, a soft lingering twilight alive with birdsong. And the sea set its own rules, marooning and releasing the island twice a day, following its own irregular rhythm.
I try and imagine the childhood you described, and I want my children to grow here too, where they can run wild . . .

Until she came here, the sea had been something to be admired from Portobello pier or promenade, unchallenging and tamed, but here the sea was master, governing the daily round, dictating when cattle could be taken across the strand, when cockles could be gathered or fishing lines set out in the sea pools, determining whether they reached church on Sunday in the trap or by boat.
I love walking along the shore watching the sea creep over the sand, listening to the sound of it hissing, deepening as the tide rises, especially on rough days when the waves boom into the rocks, sending spray high into the air . . .

She had taken to sitting and watching the pulsing of the waves as they filled the rock pools below the ruined chapel, reawakening the crimson anemones and stirring the bright green fronds. And as the tide pulled back, she would watch the anemones retreat inside their glistening sheaths, the barnacles closing their hatches as the strand once more became an ebb flat of worm casts and ripples in the sand.

She had been sitting there one day, staring into the miniature tide-pool world, reaching in to catch a darting fish, when she had heard a laugh behind her. “I must find you a net, madam.” She had spun round to see Cameron Forbes standing at the edge of the field watching her, and had flushed, wondering how long he had been there. But he had come down and sat opposite her, his reflection darkening the surface of the pool, accepting her pastime as quite natural. “I used to spend hours down here with my mother and Donald, lying on the rocks looking down into the pools, with their own order and sense.” And he had shown her how the anemones would close around a probing finger and how hard the limpets gripped the surface of their stony territory, while a periwinkle slowly grazed its way across the rock pool floor.

. . . I think I told you that the factor's elder son has returned from Canada. Theo was surprised to see him but seems glad of his help in the study, though I wonder that the young man doesn't prefer to be outdoors.
She tapped the pen against her lips, remembering what Emily had told her, how she and her younger brother, Kit, had spent their childhood days with the Forbes children, Theo already a grown man.

A noise in the hall disturbed her, a child's voice, and she went to investigate, pausing at the open door of the study. Theo looked up and beckoned her in. “See what Tam has brought me,” he said, gesturing to a basket held by a boy she had seen around the estate. Cameron stood beside him, yesterday's quarrel apparently put aside. “Red-throat's eggs, a whole clutch of them, from the small loch just across the bay. They've never nested there before.”

Three speckled eggs lay in the fleece-lined basket. “Won't it discourage them if you take the eggs?”

She spoke without thinking, and Theo frowned slightly, handing the boy a coin. “Remember what I said, there's a guinea in it for you.” He waved a hand in dismissal as the boy pocketed the coin and left.

“A guinea, Theo!” Beatrice looked at her husband with astonishment. “You'll have small boys robbing every nest on the island for that. A
guinea
for three eggs . . .”

He looked down his nose at her. “That was thruppence, but I've promised him a guinea if he can find me a nesting Great Northern diver, like the one in the dining room. I need a good specimen of a sea eagle too; the moths have got at the one my father took.” He turned back to examine the eggs. “But I think your guineas are safe, my dear, divers haven't nested here for over a century.”

“And that's only hearsay, sir,” said Cameron. “There's no proof.”

Theo swung round to him, his face brightening. “Yes, but they're here again! I saw two of them off Torrann Bay the other morning. Immature, probably both males. But if one of them finds a mate, they might breed.” He disappeared behind one of the bookcases to replace his book.

“And if they do, will you take
their
eggs too?” she asked indignantly, directing her remark to Cameron, who looked taken aback, then glanced towards Theo.

“
I
wouldn't.”

“Cameron disapproves too, my dear.” Theo spoke from behind the bookcases. “He says if we find a nest we should just record it, see if they're successful and return.”

“Isn't that a good idea?”

“Up to a point,” Theo replied, stepping back towards the desk. “Photographs are all very well, but there's a limit to their usefulness.” He gave Cameron a stern look. “We've no proof they've ever nested here because no one gathered proof. Eh, Cameron?” Cameron looked down at the basket of eggs, saying nothing, and Theo, his point made, seemed to relent. “Go and see for yourself—they were off the headland towards the Bràigh. And take Mrs. Blake, she's not seen Torrann Bay yet.” He turned to Beatrice. “It's about a mile or so, my dear, but you like a walk.”

“Can you not come too, Theo?”

“Another time. I'm still catching up.” He gave her a tight smile and turned back to Cameron. “Join us for lunch, and then go this afternoon. This weather won't hold forever.”

Lunch was a simple affair of soup and rolls with cold meat left from last night's dinner, and Cameron pulled out a chair for Beatrice before taking his place opposite. “I was working for a mining company north of Lake Superior,” he said in answer to her question, as she ladled soup into a dish. “They'd struck gold and we were set to make our fortunes.” He pulled a wry face, taking it from her. “Maybe next time.”

“Fool's gold,” Theo remarked from the head of the table. “I tell you, you'd be better staying here.” Cameron dropped his eyes to his soup, giving an evasive response, and Beatrice looked across at her husband, intrigued again. He had told her of his previous attempts to secure Cameron as an assistant, how he had lent John Forbes money to help pay for his education, and of his subsequent disappointment when Cameron had left for Canada. “He turned me down. Very grateful and all that. Tiresome, after all I'd done for him.” And now Theo seemed to be renewing his efforts to persuade Cameron to stay but appeared to be meeting resistance.

“Did you see much wildlife there?” she asked, to fill the silence.

“A great deal, madam.” Cameron looked up again. “It's still mostly wilderness where I was, teeming with birds and animals, and it made me think what we have already lost, or are losing, here. Osprey, sea eagles . . .” He glanced towards Theo. “Which makes places like this so vital, they offer sanctuary.”

“Exactly. So you don't have to go traipsing halfway round the world to study them.” Theo reached across for the butter. “I learned that for myself.” And they were soon engrossed in amicable discussions about the naming of variant subspecies on the two sides of the Atlantic, and Beatrice watched them as she lifted her spoon to
her lips, all trace of animosity between them gone, leaving only the familiarity of a long association.

Lunch finished, Theo threw down his napkin and pushed back his chair. “Enough,” he said. “I've work to do. You must excuse me, my dear. Enjoy your walk.” From the door he called back over his shoulder, “And find me my divers, Cameron.”

There was a sharp, almost astringent, quality to the air as they set off across open land, leaving the track behind them, and Beatrice drew deep breaths, revelling in the warm, heady smell which rose from the clover
.
Bess ran ahead of them across the pasture, a pale green wash spattered with the vibrant colours of wild flowers. Lambs ran from them, calling to their mothers, while lapwings and gulls competed for the skies, their cries blown by a breeze which sent ripples over the rough silk of the machair. She looked across at Cameron as he strode beside her with an athletic grace borne from long practise walking across this windswept terrain, and she tried to match her steps to his.

As they came alongside a long narrow inlet from the sea, he stopped suddenly and clipped an order to Bess, who dropped to her haunches in obedience. “Look! Amongst the rocks, in the weeds. Otter. Come in on the tide.” He stood close beside her, pointing, and she saw the curve of a sleek back rise amongst the seaweed on the opposite bank, then the creature rolled over, lifting a whiskery face, and began to tear at something held between front paws. They watched until it drifted too far away to be seen, then moved on, climbing up the leeward side of the dunes, stopping just below the crest, and Cameron parted the coarse grasses.