Each of his winks lasted for a minute, apparently, at the end of which time I had orders to wake him up – which I did by tickling his nose with one of his own pheasant feathers. Or rather, I was just about to – but despite the stealth of my approach a long arm shot up and a large hand gripped my wrist and held it still while his eyes opened to laugh up at me. I leant closer, giggling – and was abruptly released. ‘Time for a walk. I’ll go and fetch my shotgun – wait for me in the hall.’
I was waiting, though I’d had much further to go than him to collect my own weapon – which was now concealed in my jacket pocket.
My opportunity came. He’d bagged a couple of rabbits and then Jack put up the next one just as Monty was climbing the stile – with his shotgun correctly broken and cartridge unloaded. He saw the white scut and said ‘Damn!’ My throwstick connected, the rabbit jerked up and then flopped down, limp. ‘By Jove!’
Over the next few minutes a traditional male bonding ceremony took place: the ritual exchange of weapons… inspection of same… followed by the inevitable trials of the alternative, under instruction: ‘You need to pull it back further—’
‘No, flick it higher—’ …and the restoration of the weapons to their original owners – each of whom remained convinced of the superiority of their own. A patient Span was finally sent to retrieve the now cooling furry body and we set off briskly in quest of more – we being determined on supplying one to every aged occupant of the almshouses.
As we came level with the neat – and convenient – railings at the end of the row, both dogs stopped, looking expectantly at me. I said, ‘I’ll give them their tip now – We got my own knife with me.’ Hanging up the first rabbit I quickly slit it from vent to chest, seized both pairs of legs, dropped the body back over my left shoulder and cast forward. The paunch flew out to be caught by Jack in mid-flight. ‘Well done, Jack. One for you now, Span.’ I held out my hand to take the next carcass from Monty – and saw that he was looking at me with a sort of frowning amazement.
He didn’t say a word until I’d gutted all the rabbits and moved over to use the top of the rainwater butt as a chopping board. Then, as I began skinning and jointing one of the carcasses for Martha of the rheumaticky hands, he exclaimed – in the outraged accents of a land-owning J.P., ‘That, young lady, was a poacher’s trick!’
‘Well,’ I replied in a tone of purest innocence, ‘You don’t say! Well, I never did – just fancy that! Oh, what a wicked world we do live in, to be sure.’ And then completely ruined the effect by collapsing into giggles.
‘No wonder you can move so stealthily in the dark!’ Which was followed by a grim, ‘Yes, I’m the one who’s been naive this time.’ Oh, how that was music to my ear. ‘That black outfit you were wearing on top of the leaf cupboard—’
‘Arternoon, me lord, miss.’ Martha was on her doorstep sketching the customary bob. Spotting me scooping up the joints she added approvingly, ‘Ah, missie, is that one o’ yourn? Good – then there’ll be no nasty pellets fer me to break my tooth on. I’ll go and fetch a dish.’
As she hobbled back inside I exclaimed triumphantly, ‘I told you my throwstick was better.’
He retorted, ‘And, even more importantly to you, no doubt – very much quieter.’ The next door was creaking open, so we both shut up, and turned to say our ‘Good afternoons’ to the old man peering rheumily out.
We were on our way back to his mansion before land-owning Lord Rothbury had the opportunity to make any further comment. He’d obviously decided to be magnanimous, and excuse my past misdeeds. ‘Oh well, I suppose poaching the odd rabbit isn’t such a major issue. I tend to overlook that myself, since I’m not a big preserver of game. But if anyone dares to lay a finger on my pheasants—!’
‘Your pheasants? How can the wild birds and beasts belong to one person?’
‘I think you’re asking the wrong man there, Eve.’ Then, in the tone of a man who’s rather pleased with his own joke, he added, ‘You know, I’ve just been calculating the distance between my shooting estate in Sutherland and the environs of Helspie—’ he laughed, ‘Though I don’t think even you could have downed a fully grown stag!’
And I retorted before I could stop myself, ‘Not on my own, no.’ Oh, you fool, Eve!
‘What!’ Then, sharply, ‘And of course, the Helspie Water is a fine salmon river—’ He was trying a cast himself now.
But I did not rise to his fly, merely agreeing with, ‘Yes, it is.’
‘Though Dunbeath is reckoned to be even better.’ He waited, but I did not reply. When he spoke next his tone had changed yet again, becoming lighter. ‘So, deer and salmon – how fascinating! You must tell me all about it.’ When I made no reply to this invitation his voice dropped and began to coax, ‘Oh, come on Eve – you can tell me.’
He must be joking! And when he’d got an estate in Sutherland, too. As it was I’d let out far too much. If I revealed any more Duggie’s Uncle Fergus would never speak to me again. So I maintained my own silence.
Lord Rothbury seemed somewhat amazed. ‘You aren’t going to tell me?’ He moved closer. ‘Now, puss cat, you can’t just not speak to me—’
I shrugged. ‘What have I got to say? I merely spoke the truth when I said I’m not capable of bringing down a full-grown deer – how could I when I don’t even have a shotgun, let alone a rifle? And Helspie Water is a fine salmon river.’
We walked on. Then as we were passing under the branches of a particularly fine oak he said, ‘Do you know, Eve, back there I was almost beginning to believe that you had been indulging in a spot of serious poaching, but—’ he neighed, ‘No, surely not – you’re only a girl, when all’s said and done.’ He brayed, patronisingly.
I couldn’t let myself rise, not even’ to this most tempting of bait. I walked on, in silence.
As we came out on to the main drive he said abruptly, ‘Alright Eve – you win.’ Adding, with something close to admiration in his voice, ‘You really can keep your mouth shut when you have to, can’t you?’
I challenged, ‘Why, can’t you?’
‘Oh yes, Eve. Me too. We’re two of a kind, you and I.’ A sudden quick grin, ‘But then, I knew that already – after all, we did both cheat at marbles!’
I started giggling, ‘It was funny, wasn’t it?’ And now we were both laughing and laughing. And couldn’t stop until we came within sight of the service wing windows, and had to.
We went straight to the gun room. ‘I’ll help you clean your gun – I always did with Apa. Where do you keep your pull-through?’
‘In that drawer, puss. And the oil can is on the left-hand shelf. I’ll just put the cartridges away and then I’ll draw us up a couple of chairs.’
As we were sitting companionably side by side at the table working over his gun he asked me, ‘What did your father generally use – a rifle, or a shotgun?’
I grinned, ‘Neither – but both.’
He replied, ‘That’s a paradox.’
I shook my head, ‘No it isn’t, because—’
He broke in smoothly, ‘It was a Fosbery’s shot and ball gun.’
‘You guessed!’ We both started laughing.
He said, ‘I’ve never had a Paradox, myself – I’m not sure I like the idea of a hybrid.’
‘But that way you get the best of both worlds—’
A spirited discussion ensued… the advantages and drawbacks of black powder… the utility of being able to manufacture one’s own bullets in remote areas… to be followed by the production of his entire arsenal for my inspection.
After he’d demonstrated their finer points to me he said thoughtfully, ‘I shall have to decide what to take with me to India—’ Whereupon the discussion became even livelier… telescopic sights… choice of calibre… on to makes: ‘I’ve seen the .256 Mannlicher recommended,’ he told me, ‘The model with the rotating bolt—’
I frowned. ‘But surely, that’s the one where the clip goes into the magazine as well?’
/> ‘Mm, that concerned me, too – it’s infuriating when you’ve got something in your sights and then there’s a sudden jam.’ I’ll say. ‘However,’ he continued ‘There is a Greek version which is charge-loaded – it has a Schonauer magazine.’
‘Oh,’ I exclaimed, ‘I’ve never heard of that.’
‘It is pretty unusual – there’s a rotating platform inside the magazine itself — here, I’ll sketch it for you.’
Good – because Uncle Fergus would question me closely on this one, when next I saw him. Monty rapidly drew the mechanism, explaining all the while. When he stopped I gazed at the finished sketch in fascination, ‘Gosh, that’s a clever idea.’
‘Mm, it is ingenious, isn’t it?’
‘But how do you clean it?’
‘Yes, my thoughts exactly, Eve – with difficulty, I suspect is the answer to your question. So perhaps not. Now, Ted’s suggested…’
And we were off again – until the stable clock broke in on us and he exclaimed, ‘Is that the time? We’re late for tea – and it’s always buttered crumpets on Saturday. Give me a hand putting these away, Eve.’
As he turned the key in the final look he said, ‘It strikes me that you’re the true paradox, Eve. You claim to be a pacifist, and yet you know a surprising amount about guns.’
‘Everybody in lndia knows about guns.’ I could have added that anybody who spent time with Uncle Fergus finished up knowing even more – but obviously I didn’t. Besides, there was something else I had to say, ‘I don’t claim to be a pacifist – I am one. Anyway, this is different, you don’t shoot at people.’
The minute I’d said it I wished the words back – please, don’t let him answer that – I don’t want to know about what he did in South Africa –
He answered. With a casual wave at his armoury, he said, ‘Yes, obviously these are sporting guns, Eve. Same sort of thing your poaching instructor is interested in, I daresay.’ What! He smiled his tiger smile, ‘Or else your great aunt was amazingly up-to-date with her weaponry, which somehow I doubt.’ Oh, you fool, Eve. I closed my eyes.
And felt his hand warm on my cheek. ‘Don’t look so downcast, puss cat – your secrets are safe with me.’ I opened my eyes to gaze up at him and he bent his head to whisper, ‘All of them.’ He laughed as he felt the heat of my blush beneath his palm. ‘Sorry, Eve – that was a bit below the belt.’ Then he groaned, ‘Oh no! Sorry puss, that really was unintentional – anyway, you’ve got your own back by scorching my hand!’ He moved away to open the door for me, then put his hand up to cup his ear while announcing, ‘Hark – I can hear the distant sound of crumpets.’
Weakly I protested, ‘Crumpets don’t make a noise!’
‘They will – when they see the size of my teeth they’ll be screaming for mercy. Grr – rur!’ He smiled down at me, ‘Sophie used to laugh at that one, too. Come along – you can wash your hands in the downstairs cloakroom and I’ll attend to that streak of oil on your forehead over tea,’ – he seized hold of my hand, restraining me – ‘No, don’t touch it now – you’ll only make it worse.’ Then he smiled his tiger smile once more before adding, ‘And over tea you really must tell me all about the methods of that old reprobate, Fergus Fraser.’
Chapter Forty Nine
There was a cake of sandalwood soap in the downstairs cloakroom. Monty’s soap – the scent of Monty. But all I could smell now was the stench of betrayal. I’d betrayed Uncle Fergus. I thought I’d been so clever, but something I’d said had given the secret away, and so I’d betrayed him.
I haven’t told you quite the whole truth yet, have I? I said that I learnt not to think in Helspie – but I haven’t admitted that there were times when I just couldn’t stop myself from thinking. Sometimes on moonless nights in the dark of that long, northern winter, when there was no poaching and the boys were snug in their own homes, when Aunt Ethel’s door was firmly closed, when even my faithful Watt palled – sometimes, I began to think. And when that happened and I couldn’t bear it anymore – then there had always been Uncle Fergus. I’d light the lantern and pick my way along the stoney track and up the hillside to that evil-smelling croft of his. He’d be sitting in his wooden armchair beside the fire smoking his even more evil-smelling pipe, and he’d see me come in and hook the three-legged stool from under his chair with one foot and kick it in front of the hearth, and I’d sit down.
Sometimes we wouldn’t say anything at all, all evening. I’d just sit there, staring into the glowing peat, until eventually he would get up, and put a pan of milk and water over the fire and make us two tin mugs of very sweet cocoa. After we’d drunk them he’d reach down his old, all-concealing mackintosh, relight my lantern, and nod to the door. Then he’d escort me back down the track, to the croft. By the time I’d opened our door he’d faded into the shadows and I couldn’t see him – but I knew he was still there, waiting to see me safely inside.
On other evenings he’d bring out some paper or other about guns, always about guns – I don’t know where he got them from, some poaching colleague, I suppose – and I’d read it to him and we’d talk about what it said. Mrs Fraser was wrong, Uncle Fergus wasn’t stupid at all. She was wrong about something else, too – well, maybe he couldn’t write, but he could read, especially important words like ‘trigger’ and ‘double-barrelled’. I knew that, because I’d taught him those himself.
And some evenings, especially in that first winter, he’d say something – about the weather, perhaps – and then I’d talk about India, and Apa. It was like a dam bursting. That first winter I talked and talked – you could say anything to Uncle Fergus – you knew he’d never repeat it. And now I’d betrayed him.
Back in the drawing room I kept my face still while Lord Rothbury, JP. and Sutherland shooting estate owner, spat on his handkerchief and rubbed at the oil streak on my forehead. I tried to blot Uncle Fergus out of my mind – don’t even think of him, even thoughts can betray – think instead of Monty’s hands. They didn’t smell of sandalwood now – he must have washed them in the service wing lavatories – I’d seen him go into the door between the gun room and his study – so now he smelt of coal tar soap – that was what the tootmen had used at Wenlock Court, too –
‘What’s the matter, Eve?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Look at me.’ He tipped up my chin and studied my face. ‘What have I done to upset you? Tell me – you must tell me.’
I whispered, ‘When – especially the first winter after – It was so dark in Caithness, and Aunt Ethel, she sat shut in her room reading her books. There was Watt, but sometimes even Watt – and then I couldn’t—’ I turned my face away and put my hand up to fend him off. He gripped it, hard – but I pulled away, so he let me go, and just stood, waiting. ‘When it was the dark of the moon and I couldn’t bear it any more, I used to go and see Uncle Fergus. He was Duggie’s uncle really, I know that, but – he’d be there, just sitting. He was kind to me. And he was there, always there.’ I turned my head back to look up at Lord Rothbury. ‘And now I’ve betrayed him.’
‘Oh God, my stupid tongue. Eve, I was only playing a game.’
‘You’re a J.P.! You’re the other side – you’re – you’re the enemy.’
His voice was soft, ‘Not yours, I hope and trust. Come and sit down now, by the fire.’ This time I let him take my hands and lead me to a chair. He sat down opposite me. ‘Look, Eve – everybody already knows about Fergus Fraser – he must be the most famous – infamous – poacher between Helmsdale and Wick.’
I exclaimed, ‘He isn’t greedy – he never takes too much! And you can afford to share it – it’s only sport to you!’
‘I’m quite sure it’s a sport to Fraser, as well, and that there’s nothing he likes better than out-witting the opposition. The ghillies may curse him, but I know they have a grudging respect for him, too – it’s a battle of wits between them. But the point I’m making is that you didn’t didn’t let any cats out of any bags. I just drew a random s
haft to see if I hit the mark. You didn’t betray him.’
I said bitterly, ‘But I have done now, haven’t I?’
He leant forward. ‘Eve, if that old reprobate gave you any comfort at a difficult time then he can have my stags and welcome.’ He amended, ‘Well, as long as he leaves enough for me.’
I shook my head, ‘You won’t catch him, anyway.’
He threw back his head and laughed. ‘Eve, none of us ever catch him – that’s the point!’
‘Why did you ask me about him, then?’
He shrugged. ‘Curiosity – and I suppose because I was interested in what you got up to at Helspie. Very well, I admit I’d dearly like to know something about his methods, but you aren’t going to tell me, are you? So there’s no harm done – and in any case, Eve, if you had let something slip, I can keep my mouth shut, you know.’ He smiled, ‘And even it I couldn’t, it still wouldn’t make a jot of difference, because Fergus Fraser knows the ground like the back of his hand.’ And as he said that I had a sudden vision of the back of Uncle Fergus’ hand – which always carried quite a lot of that ground around with it.
Lord Rothbury said approvingly, ‘Ah, half a smile – that’s quite a lot better than none. Now, I’m going to ring for those crumpets – and try very hard not to say anything stupid to upset them!’
I ventured, ‘Just “Grr – rur”.’
He laughed. ‘Good girl. By the way, you’re going to have to toast them for me – Span’s never got the hang of it, and Jack’s lethal with a toasting fork – he always drops them in the fire!’
So I sat cross-legged on the floor with the dogs and toasted our crumpets and buttered them. We hardly spoke at all as we made our tea – it was just like being with Uncle Fergus – except that he never ever smelt of soap. And it was quite definitely Lord Rothbury who said, ‘You know, Eve, I’m not at all sure you made the right decision that time – running away from boarding school.’