Chapter 38
Emma sat on her bed, staring out of her window.
The rain had stopped but there was no sunset, and the last of the grey light was fading early.
She had been threatened, told to pack up and go home.
She should report this to Iris immediately, but she realized she did not have Iris Blackburn’s telephone number.
This was a case where a postcard would not do.
It dawned on her that on an island like this information on a postcard could easily have been passed along to the Pattersons.
Had she been too na?ve in what she said?
Then she remembered that she did have Tony’s card.
With luck he’d still be at the office. She went out to the front desk and rang the bell for Mrs Bruce.
She came out, wiping her hands on her apron.
“You caught me in the middle of making a cottage pie with the last of that beef,” she said.
“What did Mr Patterson want with you? He looked fit to burst.”
“I went to see his father today,” Emma said. “And apparently what I asked him really upset him, so I was told not to bother them again.”
“What a rude person. Those Pattersons think that they own the island. Never mind, if you wait a wee while I’ll make you a nice cup of tea. That’s the only way to calm the nerves.”
“I was wondering, Mrs Bruce, where I could make a trunk call down to England? Would I have to go to the post office?”
“The switchboard can connect you from here, if you like. And we’ll find out the cost of the call and add it to your bill.”
“That would be very kind,” Emma said. “But the call is rather private, so I wondered . . .”
“Och, dinnae fash yourself about that, lassie,” she said. “I’ll be back in the kitchen and I’m nae an eavesdropper. I’ll dial the operator for you and you can give her the number you’re wanting.”
Emma waited, Tony’s card in her hand. She heard Mrs Bruce exchange pleasantries with the operator.
Then she said, “And the wee lassie needs to make a call down to England.” She handed Emma the receiver, then retreated.
Emma gave the number, held her breath, waited and then a crisp voice said, “Gordon and Tate, Solicitors.”
Emma identified herself and asked if Mr Tony Gordon was there.
“I don’t think he’s left yet, Miss Callander,” the voice said. “Let me see.”
Emma waited again and then Tony’s voice came on the line. “Emma. What a surprise. How is everything?”
“Tony, listen,” she said. “I think we’re in trouble here. You haven’t read Iris’s book, have you?”
“Of course not. She wouldn’t let anyone see it.”
“Well, it turns out to be based on a true story, and the real family has now threatened to sue if we go ahead with it. The father of the family came and was so aggressive and awful to me. I was told to leave the island, so now I don’t know what to do.”
“Bloody hell. That’s awful. I’m sorry, Emma. You must be really upset.”
“It was rather beastly. This Mr Patterson got in my face and shouted at me. So I need you to talk to Iris as soon as possible. I need to know what I’m supposed to do. Frankly I’ve done all the research I can, so should I just pack up and leave?”
“Let me go over and talk to her right now,” Tony said. “Stay put until I pass on instructions.” He hesitated. “Emma, you’re not in any kind of danger, are you? Are we talking about a real crime that was committed?”
“Yes, but ages ago. I can’t see why anyone should be upset now.”
“Don’t do any more snooping,” he said. “Stay in your hotel until you hear from me, and if you must go out, go somewhere safe and touristy with your driver.”
“Right,” she said.
“I suspect Iris will tell you to come home tomorrow, then she’ll have to decide what to do with the information you’ve found.”
“That’s just the trouble,” Emma said. “I haven’t really found out much that she didn’t already know. The only surprise is that everything about that story is real, apart from Inspector Melrose being sent up from Glasgow. Oh, and that the boat actually had the rudder damaged. Not just the sail.”
“I don’t know the story, remember. But I’ll pass that along to Iris.”
“I already told her on a postcard,” Emma said. “Looking back, postcards probably weren’t the best way of communicating.”
“Probably not,” he said. “All right. I’m off to see Iris now. Give me the number you’re calling from and I’ll report back to you with instructions.”
“It’s KYL 3254,” she said.
“Right. Got it. And Emma . . .”
“Yes?”
“Please take care of yourself. I have to assume this man was only trying to intimidate with bluster, but you never know.”
“I will. Thanks, Tony. I’m so glad I caught you before you left the office.”
She hung up, feeling sick and scared inside.
Then she gave herself a good talking to.
Tony was right. The man was a bully. She’d stay in the hotel until she heard from Iris and nothing bad could happen to her.
As she walked back to her room she went over the scene with Mr Patterson, and then his father before him.
There must be something about the story that had not come out yet, something that would look bad for the family.
She suspected that it was the murder of Mr Graham.
Had Lily’s brother Robert killed him because he was horrible to Lily and she didn’t want to marry him?
Obviously she couldn’t ask the Pattersons now.
But if Mr Graham was killed and buried in the woodland, how on earth did Iris know when it didn’t appear in the newspapers?
She gave herself the answer to that. Iris had been to the police station.
One of the officers was old enough to have worked on the original case and could have told her about finding a body in the woods.
Or perhaps she had got it wrong: there was no body.
Mr Graham damaged the boat and took off for the mainland.
Iris had decided to embellish the story.
Emma managed to eat a helping of cottage pie that night, but she found it hard to sleep.
She kept waiting for the sound of a telephone, but none came.
What had Iris said to Tony? That she should stay on?
Not worry about offending the Pattersons?
Go to the wood and see where the body might be buried?
No way, she told herself. She would not go near the Pattersons again.
If she heard nothing by morning she’d pack up and leave.
The Pattersons could keep their secrets.
Having not fallen asleep until well past midnight, she awoke late to find a brilliantly sunny day.
The water in the strait sparkled, the dewdrops on the grass glinted like a thousand diamonds.
Emma found that she felt better. The gloomy weather had contributed to the atmosphere yesterday.
So Mr Patterson had warned her to stop asking questions.
She would heed the warning and go home. End of story.
Nothing more to worry about. She bathed, dressed and went out to find breakfast.
“I was wondering if I should wake you,” Mrs Bruce said. “You’ve been an early riser until now.”
“I didn’t sleep well last night,” Emma said. “I was waiting for the phone call from Kent. I don’t suppose it came while I was sleeping, did it?”
“There were no telephone calls last night.” Mrs Bruce shook her head. “Now, if you’ll take a seat I’ll see about your breakfast.”
“Oh, Mrs Bruce,” Emma said. “I think I’ll be leaving today. Perhaps you could have my bill ready. I’m just waiting to get my instructions, but I don’t think I need to stay on any longer.”
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that.” She reached out and touched Emma’s shoulder gently. “I’ve enjoyed having you here, mo ghaol.”
Emma chuckled. “What does that mean?”
“It’s the Gaelic. It means ‘my dear, my love.’ Our form of affection, you know.”
“So you speak Gaelic, do you?”
“I do. It was the first language spoken in our house as I was growing up. In fact I didn’t really speak English until I went to school. Now there’s not many that still have the old tongue, more’s the pity.”
“I wish I were staying longer. I’d like to learn a little of it,” Emma said.
“You can always come back on holiday sometime. But I can’t stand here talking. There’s a breakfast to be cooked.”
Emma sat down and with remarkable speed Mrs Bruce delivered the food to her, as appetizing as ever.
She ate with gusto, thinking that it would be the last time she had such a meal in the mornings.
The breakfast at Iris’s had also been rather good, but would she return there?
Wouldn’t the whole project now fold? Iris surely couldn’t be rash enough to proceed with a book that could get her sued and give her such bad publicity.
Emma had just finished the last of her toast and wondered whether to telephone Tony again.
She had to know. She picked up the phone, spoke with the operator and asked to be connected to his number in England.
The same efficient office manager answered.
“I’m afraid Mr Tony has not come in yet today,” she said.
“Would you like to leave a message for when he appears?”
Emma fought back disappointment. “Can you tell him that Emma Callander is still waiting for instructions on what to do next?” she said.
She put the receiver down, staring out at the ferry crossing to the mainland.
Should she just go? Why hadn’t he called?
Perhaps Iris had not been well last night, perhaps she had not been coherent and he’d had to go back this morning.
Emma did not want to pack up and go without approval.
It occurred to her that she might want to visit the Graham family on the mainland to find out more about their missing ancestor.
Would Jock drive her across, and would he get into trouble with the Pattersons for doing so?
It was such a difficult situation. In any case she did not want to stay indoors on such a glorious day.
Perhaps she’d ask Jock to drive her to those Fairy Pools he kept talking about.
That would be a normal touristy thing to do and wouldn’t arouse any anger.
Or perhaps she should visit the place where the Wild Girl had come from.
There had been little mention of this Wild Girl, and she wished now she had asked the Patterson grandfather about her before he became upset.
Was she also an embellishment of the story by Iris?
She was scarcely mentioned in the newspaper, but the grandmother in the cottage remembered her.
She had mentioned the place she had come from. Allt Dubh, wherever that was.
“Mrs Bruce,” Emma said as the woman came to clear the table, “you speak Gaelic. There is a place called Allt Dubh. What does that mean?”
“Well ‘allt’ means a little river, a stream or burn as we call it. And ‘dubh’ means black. So it’s the black burn.”
Emma froze. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickling.
The black burn. This place had held a special meaning for Iris.
She had delved into Skye history and this story and it must have made a big impression on her because, whether intentionally or not, she had used it as her pen name.
But surely she was using the pen name before she came to England? Or was the name simply a coincidence?
“And where is this black burn?” she asked.
“It’s been diverted now, this stream. Those Pattersons diverted it. It’s the water they use for the distillery.”
“Thank you.” Emma was still shaken. She should definitely ask Jock to drive her to see where the Wild Girl’s cottage had been and how far it was from the castle.
As she went to get Jock’s telephone number the door opened and Andrew Patterson came in.
Emma gave a little gasp and took a step back.
Andrew laughed. “Hey, I don’t bite, you know.
Well, not often.” He approached her. “Look, Emma, I came to apologize for my father. He told me what he’d done yesterday, and frankly I was horrified.
He always is a bit of a bully, but that was unforgivable.
To be honest, I don’t know what all the fuss was about, but he had no right to be so damned rude to you.
So I thought I should make it up to you if I can. I’d like to take you to lunch.”
Emma hesitated. “You don’t have to do that. Anyway, I’ve just had breakfast.”
“So we’ll do a bit of sightseeing first,” he said. “It’s a lovely day, isn’t it? Make the most of it before you have to leave.”
“It’s fine, Andrew. I have Jock to drive me. I was about to ring him.”
“Don’t worry, I passed Jock on the way and told him I was taking you out for a while.”
The thought flashed through her head that those Pattersons had damned cheek.
They took a lot for granted. She was about to say that Jock needed the money and she’d rather go with him, but Andrew said, “He was about to turn down another job because of you. One of the old women had to be picked up from the hospital after some kind of procedure.”
“Oh, in that case I suppose it’s all right,” she said.
“And he told me I had to show you the Fairy Pools.”
She laughed now. “He seems obsessed with my seeing those pools. They better be good.”
“Oh, they are,” Andrew replied. “Top attraction on the island. And then we’ll have lunch at the new hotel on the other side of the island, on Loch Brittle,” he said. “I haven’t had a chance to try it yet, but I’ve heard rave reviews. They catch their own lobster and crab.”
“That does sound good,” she said.
“Great.” He gave her a beaming smile. “Get your coat and off we’ll go.”