‘But she cleans the church!’
‘Why shouldn’t she? Gets paid for it, like any other woman. Not that she’s kept short of money. Looks after our fowls and hangs on to all that she gets.’
‘But witches are not churchgoers, are they?’ persisted Margaret.
‘Well, no, I reckon not, but there’s no harm in this one. Goes in for herbal healing, and when any woman on the island is with child they always send for her to assist at the birth. They say she’s better than any trained midwife and wonderful at easing labour pains.’
‘What will happen about the headstones?’ asked Sebastian. ‘I mean, the way they’ve been treated is sheer vandalism. Have you had anything of the sort before?’
‘Not to my knowledge. Makes you wonder what has triggered it off, doesn’t it? Well, I’ll see the vicar is told about it. Not that he takes much stock in us, only seeing us once in four weeks, and this Sunday it won’t be the regular parson anyway, because he’s on furlough, so it will only be a stand-in, and lucky to get
‘Oh, are he and his wife back, then?’ asked Margaret.
‘Dad’s back. Didn’t bring my mam back with him, though. Said he looked out for her, too. Lucy is staying with friends for a day or two.’
‘Forty bird-watchers came over, but not Aunt Eliza,’ said Sebastian. ‘Well, thanks very much for the nosh. Mrs… er… the farmer’s wife—’
‘Lucy Cranby. Dad’s name is Allen Cranby.’
‘Mrs Cranby must be a first-class cook.’
‘Yes. Pity she’s still away, you must meet her when you’ve got time. Of course,’ Ransome went on, ‘dad would have married my mam, you know, if only he had been free. That being so, I’ve never felt all that much of a bastard. Not that the islanders would care. Still, you know how it is. My mam gave my dad the farm. It was part of old Gwendolyne Chayleigh’s estate, she whose name my mam took.’
‘It’s the Chayleigh headstones in the churchyard which have been daubed and desecrated,’ said Margaret.
‘Is it now? That’s interesting. I wouldn’t put it past Connie Crimp to have done that. She’s an odd sort of woman altogether. Well, sorry I’ve got to go. Stay as long as you like, so long as you shut the front door behind you so the cows won’t get in.’
‘Oh, we’re ready for off,’ said Sebastian.
During its short course from the centre of the island down to the sea, the river—dignified by this title simply because it happened to be about twice as wide as the brooks which flowed to the east side of Great Skua—dropped four hundred feet from its source to its mouth. It rushed, yelled and tumbled down the narrow gorge which it had cut for itself and at first, as they followed the narrow path along its bank, the walkers felt that there was no sound in the world except the roar of falling water.
Margaret and Sebastian, therefore, did not attempt conversation. Not only would it have involved shouting at one another, but the path, in any case, was too narrow to allow them to walk abreast. To begin with, it was almost at water level, but soon it ran high above the river, which then appeared to be a thread of brown and silver, almost hidden from view by the trees which clothed its banks.
The trees thinned out as the river approached the sea, and gave place to short, brown, springy turf, and while, far below them, the river poured itself towards the sea in a series of small waterfalls, the brother and sister found themselves on top of the magnificent cliffs which formed the west or Atlantic seaboard.
A footbridge over the small ravine gave access to the northern end of the island, but the walkers turned southwards along a footpath which followed the line of the cliffs and led towards the hotel. On their way they came to the second of the disused lighthouses which had been supplanted by the two modern ones.
‘Somebody up on the gallery,’ said Margaret.
‘One of the blasted bird-watchers, I expect,’ said her brother.
‘He’s seen us. What does he want?’ asked Margaret.
The man had come to the shoreward side of the gallery and was engaged in violent gesticulation.
‘It can’t be us he’s signalling. Probably spotted one of his mates and wants to show him the snake-headed sharktail or something equally ridiculous,’ said Sebastian.
‘No,’ said Margaret, ‘it’s us he wants. I think he’s coming down.’ The man had disappeared from the gallery. In a few moments he came galloping over the turf towards them.
‘Hi! Hi!’ he shouted. ‘Hi! Just a minute! Hi!’
‘Swing low, sweet chariot!’ muttered Sebastian. ‘Better stop and see what he wants, I suppose.’
The man, middle-aged and breathless, was dressed in tweeds and a deerstalker cap. Waving a pair of binoculars, he came charging up to them, spluttering out his message.
‘Could you come?’ he panted. ‘Something on the rocks out there. Doesn’t look right. Come and look.
‘Not particularly interested in sea-birds, I’m afraid,’ said Sebastian, recoiling. ‘Wouldn’t one of your own lot…?’
‘Oh, no, nothing like that. Please do come. I can’t spot any of the club members and I’ve got my wife with me. She is most upset. If we investigate—and I think we must—another lady—to be with my wife you know. You see—well, I rather think it’s somebody drowned out there. A body. Washed up, you know. Do please come and see, and then we can decide what to do.’
chapter eight
The Usual Routine
‘Skilful anglers hide their hooks, fit baits for every season;
But with crooked pins fish thou, as babes do, that want reason:
Gudgeons only can be caught with such poor tricks of treason.’
« ^ »
Sebastian accompanied the agitated bird-watcher to the lighthouse and Margaret followed. Unlike the first of the disused towers which they had seen on a previous excursion, this one, midway along the turbulent Atlantic coast, was accessible to visitors, a fact explained by the guide as they climbed the steps to the lamp-room and the gallery.
‘We got permission to use it as a lookout,’ he said. ‘Our society, you know. Here, take my binoculars and have a look. Out there, between two rocks. What do you make that out to be?’
Sebastian, with a nod to a middle-aged, trousered woman who had turned from the gallery rail at their approach, trained the very powerful binoculars towards black and green rocks against and over which a spiteful sea boiled and fretted.
‘Difficult to be sure,’ he said, ‘but it does look like a person. The coastguards are the people to deal with this. They’ll get a boat round there and look into things.’
‘May I see?’ asked Margaret. She took the glasses and gazed long at the heaving object which the rollers were flinging about in a cloud of spume and fury. ‘It
‘Good Lord! Whatever makes you say that?’ exclaimed Sebastian, appalled. ‘You’ve nothing whatever to go on!’
‘Only the fact that Aunt Eliza is unaccountably missing,’ said his sister composedly. ‘Will you go for the coastguards or shall I?’
‘Oh, but there aren’t any coastguards on Great Skua,’ said the woman.
‘Well, we’d better let Farmer Cranby know,’ interrupted her husband. ‘
