Chapter 36
It was cold and blustery when Jock arrived the next morning. Emma was glad of her new waterproof and tied a scarf firmly around her hair.
“So where to today?” he asked. “I don’t think this is the right time for the Fairy Pools. It will be raining by the time we get there.”
“To the distillery at Craigard, please,” she said. “I met Andrew Patterson last night, and he’s going to give me a tour and then take me over to the castle.”
“Is he now?” Jock looked a little concerned.
“Don’t worry, we’ve had a talk,” Emma said. “He’ll behave himself.”
“I hope so,” Jock said. “Things we’ve heard would curl your hair. Still gossip always gets exaggerated, doesn’t it? People hear one tiny fact and embellish it when they retell.”
Was that what had happened with Lily Patterson’s drowning? Emma wondered. A simple accident, but someone suggested a deliberate sabotage and someone hinted that the suitor, Mr Graham, had disappeared? She was itching to find out more.
The car was buffeted by great blasts from the north as they drove over the high country on the way to Craigard.
The mountains beyond had their summits hidden in cloud.
It was the sort of day to sit by a fire and read a book, she thought.
Theirs was the only car in the visitor’s car park, and the wind took her breath away as she opened the car door.
“I think I’ll stay put here, if you dinnae mind,” Jock said. “I’ve seen what they have in there, and I cannae have a wee dram myself while I’m driving or I’ll lose my license.”
“That’s fine,” she said. “I don’t think I’ll be too long.”
She went into the tasting room. Inside was warm and well lit, a bright space with the walls decorated with posters of Skye, the crest of the Patterson family and various award certificates.
Best Whisky, Highland Games of 1935, Festival of Britain Award for Merit, 1951 .
. . lots of them. The Pattersons had been successful Scotch makers for many years.
A young woman was standing at a bar with bottles on it. She gave Emma a welcoming smile.
“Good morning, miss,” she said. “You’re our first customer of the day. Are you wanting to take the tour or just do the tasting?”
“Is Andrew Patterson here?” Emma asked. “He offered to show me around.”
“Aye, he’s here,” the girl said, her expression changing almost imperceptibly. One of Andrew’s conquests, the look said. “I’ll go and fetch him.”
Andrew came out, wearing a big seaman’s jumper and old cords, making him look too handsome. Again she felt a fleeting regret that she had turned him down the night before.
“Hey.” He came over and kissed her cheek. The receptionist frowned. “Did Jock bring you?”
“He did. He’s waiting outside in the car.”
“You could tell him he’s free for a while. I’ll drive you over to the castle and he can pick you up there later.”
Emma nodded. “Thank you. I’ll go and tell him.”
She went out to find Jock scribbling in a notebook. “Done already?” he asked.
“No.” And she told him what Andrew had suggested. “Will you be able to find something to do instead of waiting around?”
“Oh aye. I got the wrong size screws for the new kitchen cabinet,” he said. “I’ll pop back to the nearest hardware shop in Broadford.”
She left him and found Andrew chatting to the woman behind the bar, who was blushing.
“All set? Come on then, let’s have a tour.”
They set off, going from room to room. Andrew explained that they used water from the small stream that came down from the mountains, laden with peat.
That’s what gave it its dark colour and the smoky taste that made the whisky distinctive.
Emma tried to be fascinated, but she wasn’t that interested in whisky making and was dying to get to the castle.
They finished up with the tasting, where frankly she couldn’t tell the difference between twenty-year-old and three-year-old malts.
“Do you think we can visit your castle now?” she asked, having thanked him for his time.
“Give me a few minutes. I need to grab my oilskin. It’s coming down quite hard,” he said. “I’ve parked the Land Rover as near as possible.”
The rain was now falling in great squalls.
Emma took a deep breath before she ran out and climbed into the passenger side.
The windscreen wipers went madly as the car came down along the waterfront.
Waves splashed up against the sea wall, and the water beyond looked black and angry.
Even that short crossing would be dangerous at a time like this, Emma thought.
It didn’t say in the paper how the waves had been that night.
They passed the cottages and the harbour and then took the track up to the castle.
As they entered through the darkness of the wood with trees creaking and groaning as they swayed in the wind, Emma couldn’t help glancing around.
Where had the body been buried if that part was true?
“Was there always a wood here?” she asked.
“As far as I know,” he replied.
“I suppose it helped keep attackers at bay.”
“Definitely. We held off the Vikings and God knows who else back in the day.”
“Was it always this thick?”
“How would I know?” he said. “The trees haven’t changed much in my lifetime.
In fact I don’t know why my father insists on keeping it.
It’s useless. None of the trees grow big enough for commercial timber.
I’ve suggested we get rid of it and plant some kind of crop, or fatten up the Angus beef here.
My dad claims it was planted as a shield against the worst of the northerly gales, but frankly I don’t think it does any good at all.
It only adds the risk of a branch falling on the car as we drive past.” He swerved to avoid a small branch that lay across the track. “Why all the interest in trees?”
“Nothing, except it feels like a gloomy forest that might be good for atmosphere in the book.”
“Ah yes. The book,” he said. “Is it going to be gothic?”
“A mystery,” she said. “But it’s always good to have creepy things in a mystery.”
He turned to look at her. “Is there something mysterious about my great-aunt drowning, or is that just an incident in the story?”
Emma hesitated. “Just an incident,” she replied, looking away from him.
They came out of the other side of the wood and saw the castle ahead of them. It looked dark and menacing through the rain-soaked windscreen. She felt a shiver of fear as they passed through the archway into the courtyard.
“Abandon hope all ye who enter here,” Andrew said cheerfully. It was exactly as Iris had described it: The guest cottage where Mr Graham had stayed on one side. The outbuildings where the bodies had been laid out and ahead of them that grim, studded front door up a flight of steps.
“I’m afraid we’re now going to get a bit wet,” Andrew said.
“I came equipped,” she said, retying her scarf.
Andrew went ahead and she made a dash for the front door, almost slipping on the wet granite of the steps.
She hurried into the foyer and Andrew closed the door behind them, plunging them into darkness.
Another frisson of fear shot through her.
It was like one of those horror films, trapped in the castle of the mad count.
Then Andrew said, “Who turned the bloody lights off? My mother being thrifty again, I suppose. She’s been complaining we waste electricity. As you can imagine it costs a lot to keep a place like this going.”
As he talked he crossed the wide space and flipped on a switch.
Light flooded from a chandelier above their heads, revealing an oak-panelled wall adorned with weapons and hunting trophies.
About the grimmest and least welcoming place she had ever seen.
She tried to picture living here, growing up here.
On one side a stone stair ascended into darkness.
Andrew looked around. “I don’t think my father is home,” he said.
“I believe he had a meeting over on the mainland today, but my mother should be here. Let me find her.”
“Do you have lots of servants?” Emma asked.
“I gather we used to,” Andrew said. “Since the war it’s been impossible to get people to work in domestic service. We have an older woman who cleans, a gardener/handyman and a nurse who comes in to help with my grandfather. That’s about it. Mummy does much of it and cooks.”
“You said you had sisters?” she asked.
“I’ve three sisters who wisely fled the coop as soon as possible. One is doing her PhD in Newcastle, one is married and one went to Canada. Mummy is still hoping for grandchildren. Of course I’ll have to do my bit and provide the heir one day.” He said it seriously and Emma saw he wasn’t joking.
There was the tap of heels on the stone floor and a woman came into view. She was wearing slacks and a wool twinset and her hair was permed and set in the way of the older generation. She stopped in surprise when she saw them.
“I thought I heard voices,” she said. “What are you doing here at this time of day?”
“I’ve brought a friend, Mummy. This is Emma Callander. She’s helping to write a book set on the island.”
“Really?” Andrew’s mother looked interested. “A travel guide?”
“No, a story from the island’s past,” Emma said. “It includes your family, which is why I asked Andrew if he could let me meet his grandfather.”
“Oh, I don’t know if that is wise.” Her smile had faded. “You never know if he’s having a good day or a bad one. What did you need to know about us? How many generations back?”
“The turn of the century,” Emma said. “The book includes the tragic drowning of Lily Patterson.”
“Oh yes.” She nodded. “I did hear that story once. So sad. She was eloping with an unsuitable young man, wasn’t she? And he was no sailor and the boat capsized.”
“That’s right,” Emma said.
“Would that be Grandpa’s sister?” Andrew asked.
His mother frowned. “Yes, I suppose it would. Well you could go up, Andrew, and see if he’s in the right frame of mind to receive a visitor. Would you like some coffee, Miss Callander?”