An Island Apart Read online

  ‘We’re away to the flicks,’ Mac announced in a slurred voice which betrayed he had already taken a substantial evening dram.

  Kirsty made no comment.

  ‘You’ll have to see to the ten o’clock tea and biscuits for guests and pop the hot water bottles into their beds,’ instructed Isabel, pulling on her gloves and looping a scarf around her neck.

  Kirsty fought to control her rising indignation. Putting down the flask she turned to face them. ‘Indeed I shall do nothing of the kind,’ she asserted. ‘Must I remind you that it is still my half day off and tonight as I have already told you I particularly wish to have the time to myself.’

  For a second or two she was able to rejoice at their flabbergasted expressions before she went on, ‘When your aunt was in charge here I was never called upon to work during my time off unless there was a special reason for me to do so and then, more than willingly, I gave up my time.’

  ‘She was a damn sight too soft with you!’ Mac interjected testily.

  Ignoring him Kirsty looked straight at Isabel. ‘You will not be trying to tell me that going to the cinema is in any way a special kind of reason?’ She screwed the cup firmly onto the flask.

  ‘But you’ll be here in the house, won’t you? It’s surely not much to ask you to do us the favour of taking in tea and biscuits and seeing to the hot water bottles. It won’t take you more than a few minutes,’ expostulated Isabel.

  ‘No, it is maybe not much to ask,’ Kirsty agreed. ‘But you did not ask me, did you? You told me I would have to do it.’ She reached for a cup and saucer, took a couple of her own baked scones from a tin and set them on the tray with the flask.

  ‘Just you stop this hoity toity,’ Mac interposed more as if he felt it was time he contributed to the disagreement rather than in the hope of ending it.

  With a gesture Isabel silenced him. ‘It’s the last night of a film we particularly want to see and if we stay to the end it’ll be too late to see to the guests. They’ll have gone to their beds.’ Her manner was only a little less unpleasant.

  ‘What d’ you do on your nights off anyway? Just sit in your room knitting or reading stuffy old books or listening to the wireless?’ jeered Mac.

  ‘Just that,’ affirmed Kirsty equably. ‘And that is exactly what I am planning to do this evening.’

  ‘You’d still have time to do all that,’ Isabel quibbled. ‘You wouldn’t have to forsake your pleasure for more than a few minutes to oblige us.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Kirsty acknowledged. ‘But tonight I am not intending to oblige you. As you can see I have my own supper here on the tray which in a moment or two I shall be taking up to my room and then I shall not be coming down to the kitchen again until the morning.’ She surveyed them coolly. ‘You must learn that I am not a slave to be hectored and bullied as you two have tried to hector and bully me. You must get back from your cinema in time to attend the guests or,’ she continued, ‘you can tell them they must get their own tea and biscuits and see to their own hot water bottles tonight.’ Again Kirsty was surprised at her own audacity.

  For a full moment the couple glared at her without speaking as if convinced that their glares were menacing enough to weaken her resolve. Disregarding them she picked up her tray and with a curt ‘goodnight’ started towards the door. Seemingly dumbfounded by her unexpected outburst the couple moved sullenly to let her past.

  ‘See that!’ Isabel remarked spitefully as Kirsty opened the door. ‘Wouldn’t think of doing anything for anyone but herself.’ Mac opened his mouth ready to speak but Isabel went on, ‘You’ll just have to stay here or go to the cinema on you own.’

  ‘What the …?’ Mac began to protest but before he could continue Isabel cut in. ‘Go on, I wouldn’t be able to enjoy going out now, not after all this nastiness.’

  Seemingly unperturbed Kirsty carried her tray to the stairway. She could still hear the couple wrangling in the kitchen. ‘Well, haven’t I told you often enough. It’s your own fault. Never mind what you promised your aunt. Give the bloody woman her notice. You can manage without her,’ Mac rebuked his wife.

  ‘Oh, shut your mouth and go,’ Isabel snarled at him. With a muttered oath he came shambling past Kirsty and jerking open the vestibule door let it slam behind him.

  Chapter Two

  Up in her room Kirsty switched on the light and drew the curtains. The wind-swept sleet scratching against the window reminded her of the cold outside and, lighting the gasfire, she drew her chair as near as she dared to its hissing warmth. She sat stiffly, giving her clenched nerves a chance to relax, for despite her show of composure during the altercation with Isabel and Mac, she had felt outraged at the way they had spoken to her. Now in the privacy of her room outrage waned slowly into self-reproach for having been stupid enough to allow such a shabby pair to crack her customary forbearance. Tonight, especially tonight, she had needed to be calm so as to ponder over the events of the past few days.

  The dispute had not been her fault, she comforted herself. It wasn’t her nature to be easily roused to angry retort. A child of the Hebrides, she had been inculcated since birth with the pride and the tolerance of the Islander: with the essentiality of masking anger with placidity. She was no stranger to censure. There had been trying times even when her friend Mrs Ross had been the owner of ISLAY, for though the old lady had always taken great pains to ensure that guests were respectable and well-behaved, there had been the inevitable misfits and bracing herself to endure their crankiness had imbued in Kirsty an equanimity of character that had proved well able to withstand provocation.

  The unpleasantness in the kitchen had not been her fault, her mind reiterated and yet the conviction tended to rebound interrogatively. It had begun trivially enough so could it have been her own too hasty reaction that had resulted in it developing into such a peevish wrangle?

  She could so have easily yielded and agreed to give the guests their late tea and biscuits, and it would have been very little trouble to her to put hot water bottles into their beds and thus enable the couple to go and see their wretched film. But she had acquiesced so often when they had made demands of her free time that they had become arrogant even to the point of giving the impression that she should be beholden to them for allowing her the freedom of choice!

  The desolating knowledge that she could not continue at ISLAY had settled in her mind – but so had the realisation that at her age it might not be so easy to find a position that would suit her. She had come to accept that she would have to endure the situation at ISLAY as long as she possibly could … until today. Today her life had suffered a sea change!

  Settling more comfortably into her chair and taking up her knitting, she let her mind travel back to the well-remembered day nearly twenty-five years previously when, as a naïve fourteen year old, she had stood timidly on the front door-step of ISLAY clutching in her hand an envelope addressed to ‘Mrs Ross of ISLAY’ in which was a letter signed by the Reverend Donald MacLean, minister of the Church of Scotland, testifying that Kirsty had been born and brought up on the Island of Killegray by her Granny Morag MacLennan. It had gone on to state that he had known Morag MacLennan personally during his time there and that she was a good widow-woman and a good churchgoer. Her death four years earlier had resulted in Kirsty being sent to an elderly aunt, also a good churchgoer, who had resided in his present parish in the city. A year ago, he’d explained, the aunt’s health had deteriorated and she had gone to live in a home, and since Kirsty had no other living relatives he and his wife had felt they ought to be responsible for her. His wife had seen to it that the girl was well-trained and she would vouch for her good character.

  Kirsty had been shown the letter before it had been put in the envelope and had nodded diffident approval. She’d noticed that the minister had made no reference to her parents. She hadn’t been surprised. No one had mentioned either of her parents in her presence since the day she’d asked her Granny, ‘Where is my mother?’ She’d ex
pected to be gravely told that her mother had ‘passed on’, but instead her Granny had cackled light-heartedly, ‘Ach, she took one look at you and straightaway took herself off to Canada or some such place.’

  Kirsty had tried to be similarly light-hearted. ‘And my father?’ she pursed. ‘Ach, didn’t your mother get you from some fellow in Glasgow. I doubt she’d know more of him that you do yourself. He’s best put out of mind.’

  Kirsty had been too unused to affection to be much disturbed that neither of her parents had wanted her. Such accidents were not rare in the Islands and the ‘cailleach’, as she’d always called her Granny, had brought her up and in an offhand way, had bestowed on her a degree of affection that had saved her from feeling rejected.

  She’d been nervous as she’d reached up to press the bell at the side of the ISLAY’s front door and even more so when the door was opened by a short, plump, white-haired lady with blue probing eyes behind gold-rimmed spectacles.

  ‘You will be Kirsty MacLennan, will you not?’ the lady had asked.

  Kirsty had held out the letter. ‘I am to give this to Mrs Ross,’ she’d managed to say.

  ‘I am Mrs Ross and you see the name ISLAY above the door so give me the letter and come away inside so I can take a good look at you,’ the lady had said, leading Kirsty into the kitchen at the back of the house.

  All Mrs MacDonald, the minister’s wife, had told Kirsty was that Mrs Ross was looking for a servant girl to help her run her boarding house and has asked a friend if she knew anyone who might be suitable. The friend had told Mrs MacDonald and so Kirsty’s name had been put forward. Mrs Ross was reputed to be a shrewd but tolerant woman who demanded good and reliable service from her employees. Her previous servant had been with her fifteen years before she’d left to get married, the minister’s wife had emphasized.

  As Mrs Ross had scanned the letter the minister had written Kirsty had hoped she would not ask her about her parents. City people, she had discovered, were mighty curious about such things but Mrs Ross appeared to be satisfied with the minister’s recommendation. After scrutinising Kirsty for a moment or two she’d said, ‘D’you think you’d like to come and work for me?’ Kirsty had nodded seriously. ‘You would?’ Again Kirsty had nodded. ‘Have you not got a voice, Kirsty MacLennan? You’ll need one if you’re going to work for me.’

  Kirsty had seen that the blue eyes were lit with teasing. ‘Yes, please,’ she’d replied eagerly.

  ‘And have you got a good sense of humour – for that’s something else you’ll feel the need of here.’

  Kirsty had smiled back at her. ‘I believe I might have,’ she’d said demurely.

  Mrs Ross had agreed to take her on a month’s trial and, if she proved suitable, to train her as a cook-general. Grateful for the offer and relieved at the prospect of getting away from the repressive atmosphere of the Manse, Kirsty had set out to please her employer in every way she could and as a result, had been at ISLAY ever since. Under Mrs Ross’ tuition she had soon become an excellent cook and in time had matured into a reliable and willing helpmate, even being trusted to look after ISLAY herself when her employer’s presence was required elsewhere. The relationship between herself and Mrs Ross had soon developed into warm companionship despite the difference in age, and under the joint supervision ISLAY had prospered. Kirsty had come to regard the guest house as her much-loved home and was proud of its sound reputation as was her employer. The hours she worked were often demanding; her wages were relatively meagre but never at any time had she questioned her good fortune in having such congenial employment.

  Thus for her, the years had passed as contentedly as she would have wished and since Mrs Ross had always staunchly maintained that she would continue to run ISLAY ‘Until the Good Lord sees fit to take me’ – and in the same breath would assure Kirsty that when the day came she would not want for a home, Kirsty had come to regard her position there as more or less a sinecure. Even bearing in mind that Mrs Ross was a good deal older than herself and that the signs of her increasing age were beginning to manifest themselves, Kirsty had reckoned that her own stamina and experience would ensure the continuation of ISLAY with scant need for Mrs Ross’ presence, save as a kind of benign overseer. But there were years of life left in the old lady yet, she had told herself and had deferred considering any other future for herself.

  There had been no hint of change even eighteen months previously, when Mrs Ross had returned after attending her brother-in-law’s funeral. Because the old lady had disapproved of her sister’s second husband she had never before visited their home, neither, to Kirsty’s knowledge, had she ever expressed an interest in doing so. Now, however, she was keen to describe to Kirsty its comforts and conveniences. ‘Such a lovely little resort, quiet and a rare view of the sea,’ she had enthused. ‘And no stairs to climb, Kirsty and no dust you’d notice even after a week. And there’s a garden full of flowers and shrubs and space enough to put out a table and a couple of chairs if you’ve a mind for taking a cup of tea outside.’

  Kirsty had listened with a suitable degree of interest. ‘You’ll maybe be wanting to take a wee holiday there then when we’re not busy,’ she suggested.

  ‘Indeed, isn’t that just what my sister was telling me I should do,’ Mrs Ross had admitted. ‘Irene and I kind of lost touch with each other when her first husband died. He was a nice enough laddie but when she took up with this other fellow I had no time for him. I wouldn’t have thought of going to see my sister while he was alive, but I daresay things could be different now.’

  Kirsty allowed herself an enigmatic smile, recalling that on the rare occasions sister Irene and her undisciplined child Isabel had visited ISLAY Mrs Ross had found it as hard to conceal her displeasure at their behaviour as she had had to conceal her relief at their departure. Nevertheless, Kirsty had encouraged her employer to spend a holiday at her sister’s home. Harmony between relatives was desirable, she believed, and anyway a couple of weeks’ quietness and seaside air might do the old lady a power of good. She and Meggy, the new young servant, could cope well enough on their own.

  Mrs Ross had enjoyed her holiday and, as Kirsty had hoped, had returned much invigorated by her spell away from the clamour of the city. The blow had come three months later after Mrs Ross had again visited her sister, but this time she had been absent only a few days. On her return she had been noticeably perturbed and Kirsty, suspecting that perhaps the relationship between the sisters had once more become a little less cordial, had diplomatically limited her enquires to the restorative effect of the visit. Her questions seemed to make the old lady evasive and Kirsty had begun to wonder if there had been a serious disagreement between the sisters. It had not been until two days after her return that Mrs Ross had enlightened Kirsty as to the cause of her evasiveness. They had been sitting in the kitchen, polishing the brassware, when Mrs Ross had admitted that she had been getting very tired of late and it had been worrying her enough to see the doctor. He’d told her she’d got high blood pressure and needed to take things easier.

  In a distraught voice she’d continued, ‘It’s going to be a terrible shock to you, Kirsty, and a terrible wrench for me to give up ISLAY but worst of all is going to be losing your companionship. You’ve been such a good friend to me since the day you first set foot here.’

  Dabbing at her eyes she’d become aware of Kirsty’s stunned expression and reaching across the table to squeeze Kirsty’s hand she’d gone on, ‘Oh, I wish you could come with me but there isn’t enough room in the bungalow. I’ve thought and thought about it all, wishing we could be together, but you know well enough that I’m old and much as I’ve always wished it I know I shan’t be able to carry on at ISLAY even with you at my side to help me.’

  Kirsty could only stare at her speechlessly. ‘Not that we shan’t be able to see each other often,’ the old lady had gone on to assure her fervently. ‘There’s a good train service between here and my sister’s place so you’d be able to come an
d see me on your day off, and I shall surely be coming to see how things are at ISLAY whenever I can. We’ll not lose touch.’

  ‘You mean you are leaving ISLAY?’ Kirsty had managed to echo faintly.

  ‘Yes, my dear.’ Mrs Ross stifled a sob. ‘I couldn’t say a word before it was all settled in case you’d worry yourself sick, but what’s been arranged is for my sister’s daughter, that’s my niece, Isabel, you remember Isabel, don’t you? A right naughty little madam she was when she was young, but of course she’s grown up now and has got herself married, and she and her man have been thinking of looking for a guest-house so Isabel will have something to occupy her while Mac, her husband, is out at work.’ Mrs Ross’ mouth twitched derisively. ‘I don’t reckon on Mac being up to much but it’s Isabel who’ll be running the place so that’s no matter. You’ll be here to see she does things right and,’ her voice became earnest, ‘it’s such a comfort to me to know that ISLAY is going to stay in the family so to speak.’ She squeezed Kirsty’s limp hand. ‘And you’ll never want for a home, my dear, that’s a condition of the lease,’ she’d assured her, a note of triumph in her tone. ‘Mind you, I don’t believe I would have had to make it a condition. Isabel knows fine how lucky she is that you’ll be here to help run the place and see it keeps up its good reputation. After all, she’s had no experience other than being an usherette in a cinema.’

  Kirsty was appalled. Her mind seemed to have gone numb; her tongue had dried in her mouth and she had been unable to speak. Mrs Ross had looked at her anxiously. ‘You will stay and help, won’t you, Kirsty?’ she’d asked and had immediately answered her own question. ‘Surely you will – ISLAY’s been your home almost as much as it’s been mine.’ Her tone became pleading. ‘I never doubted you’d want to stay on here. What would ISLAY be without you?’