My Bones Will Keep

Laura did not like to mention the secretive borrowing of her car, but she refused an invitation to stay to lunch on the plea that she must be getting along, and, passing through Tigh-Osda, she followed the railway-line until it branched off to skirt Loch Carron, while she herself followed the road which led to the ferry. She took the car across and was still debating with herself when they reached the other side. She could take the little road to Kyle of Lochalsh and cross to Kyleakin on Skye, or she could take the opposite way and go by the northern shore of Loch Duich to Invergarry and Spean Bridge and finish the day at Fort William. In the end she compromised by opting for Skye.

She drove carefully off the ferry-steamer on to the quay at Kyleakin and then, instead of heading for Broadford, as at first she had thought of doing, she branched off southwards, recollecting a pension, or guest-house, kept by two maiden ladies, sisters, at Isleornsay, on the coast. It would have been opened for the summer at the beginning of the month, although it was closed all the winter, but she had stayed there before and knew that although the only meat she would get would be boiled mutton, the beds would be aired and there would be a fire of peats in every room. So early in the season there would be no difficulty in finding accommodation there.

She was received with kindly courtesy and was conducted to her room. It was a turret chamber, well endowed with windows from which she obtained a magnificent view of the Sound of Sleat. Laura promised herself a morning walk along the coast to Armadale and perhaps as far as the Point of Sleat, from which she could get a view of the mountains of Rum and, northwards, the extraordinary outline of the Cuillin.

After breakfast, however, she changed her mind about walking the whole distance. A look at the map, and a swift computation of the mileage involved, persuaded her that, if she left the car at Isleornsay, she would have very little time for loitering to look at the coastal scenery, so she drove as far as Armadale Castle, the seat of the chief of Clan Macdonald, found a parking spot off the road, and walked on from there to Point of Sleat.

Beyond Armadale the road soon deteriorated, but from Point of Sleat the views were remarkably fine, and Laura, standing on the barren cliffs, could see, silhouetted against a pale sky, the mountains of Rum. What interested her more, however, was a man in a boat. He appeared from between two of the long, dark rocks below her and was standing up and propelling the boat by punting it along in the shallow water by means of a heavy pole.

Laura watched him approach the seaweed-strewn shore. His back was towards her, but something about him struck her as being slightly familiar. She did not want company, so she dropped down behind an outcropping of rock to be out of his view, but from where she could still keep an eye on him, for she was determined to discover who he was. She soon knew, for, as he slipped his pole and, letting the boat drift in, caught at a bit of iron piping which had been driven into the shingle, she recognised him. He was the curious character who had insisted upon her crossing the loch to take shelter on Tannasgan and who translated every sentence word by word from the Gaelic.

She kept him in view as he beached the boat and then lost sight of him as he crunched his way over the shingle. Her attention would have been distracted in any case, for a voice behind her said:

‘I believe I have the honour, madam…’

Laura stood up and swung round.

‘Good heavens!’ she said. ‘Yes, I believe you have. Aren’t you the boatman from Tannasgan? I didn’t see you so very clearly in the moonlight, but I’m sure I recognise your voice.’

‘I am the boatman. I am glad to see you safe and well.’

‘Yes, I got a lift, luckily enough. I must thank you for helping me. Do you remember the laird’s playing the pipes and how he stopped so suddenly?’

‘The laird? The pipes? Of course! I’d forgotten. I was away to my bed after I had put you ashore. And now, what way were you leaving An Tigh Mor at such an hour? Very much surprised I was, to see you bob up at the boathouse.’

‘Not more surprised than I was to run into you like that. It gave me quite a turn.’

‘I suppose so, yes. But I was speiring at you what way…’

‘Oh, I was literally running away. I think the laird must be mad. I went across the loch, in the first place, only to shelter from the rain and he wanted me to stay a week!’

‘I can well understand that,’ said the young man courteously. ‘Did – did there seem anything – well – queer about the evening you passed there?’

‘It was all a bid odd,’ said Laura. ‘The laird had been represented to me as a thoroughly nasty bit of work, but, although, as I say, he’s obviously wrong in the head, he seemed quite a fellow-citizen.’

The man stared at her and then laughed, but before he could speak again, the other man reappeared.

‘Do you know that chap?’ asked Laura. ‘He’s the person who got me on to Tannasgan in the first place.’

‘He did?’

‘Yes. He hailed the laird with a sort of red and green lantern thing and a dirty great handbell.’

‘I’ve never set eyes on him before,’ declared the young man. Some small but interesting experience of Dame Beatrice’s psychopathic patients caused Laura to believe that he was lying.

‘Well, he’s a long way from where I met him,’ she remarked.

‘I suppose you are thinking the same about me, but the fact is – well, never mind. You’re not the only body who welcomes a wee holiday.’

He nodded to her and stalked away. The other man had disappeared. She strolled down to take a look at his boat, but it was the ordinary local type, broad and heavy, and it contained nothing but its own oars. She returned to her car and drove back to the boarding house.

In the early morning she ate porridge and kippers and after breakfast she paid her score, drove to Armadale Castle and took the mainland ferry to Mallaig. From there she dropped down to Arisaig and reached Fort William in time for lunch. She booked a table, although it was too early in the season for this to be absolutely necessary, and then went into the bar for a cocktail. Seated on a high stool at the counter was the man she had left on Skye, the man who had rowed her to the shore from An Tigh Mor. She could not be certain that he had seen her, but the moment she appeared he shot out of the door.