The Betrayal of Maggie Blair (4 page)

Better company! Her words came back to me as I lay with my eyes open, looking up into the pitch-dark cottage room.

Tam,
I thought.
She'll have gone to Tam.

I sat up, woken properly by a surge of fury.

They don't want us at Macbean's, and she didn't even ask me to come to Tam's. Well, I'm going, anyway.

I went to the door and looked out. The night was mild for December, the moon full and shining dully through thin low cloud. There was no rain in the air and enough light to see my way to Tam's old shack.

I was going back inside to fetch my shawl when I heard from some way off the heart-lifting, spirit-dancing skirl of the pipes. The sound wasn't coming from Tam's tumbledown hovel under the hillside, but from up near Loch Quien, the little loch that lies half a mile or so between the hills behind the beach. I was running up the lane, called by the music, before I knew what I was doing.

The piping stopped on a half note, and its enchantment vanished in a second. Thicker clouds had crossed the sky, shutting out the moon's thin light. I shivered.

This is daft. I must go home.

As I turned, a flicker caught my eye. A fire was burning up on the knoll at Ambrisbeg, halfway along the edge of the loch.

That's where they'll be.

It was a hard business finding my way up there in the dark, working around thickets of gorse, squelching through bog, and stumbling against stones. I ended up in a dip with the firelight out of sight, and I'd have given up and gone home if the piping hadn't started again. I could hear voices too—whoops and shrieks of laughter. I was closer than I thought.

Something held me back from running into the circle of firelight to join the revelry. I suppose it was the thought of Granny's certain rage. At any rate, I wanted to stay hidden and watch. I knelt behind a boulder and peeped over it, almost sure the tree above me would shelter me from view.

They had lit a fire in the center of a circle of stones, and by its light I could see eight or ten people. Apart from Granny and Tam, there were a couple of soldiers back from the wars who spent the winters lying in barns or ditches, begging for food, and Daft Effie from the Butts, whom the farm boys teased, and Peter the serving man from Ardnahoe. I suppose there were two or three more whom I didn't recognize.

A cloth had been laid on the ground, and there were some oatcakes on it and bones stripped of meat. Tam's black bottle lay on its side, empty, along with two others. Tam had taken the mouthpiece of his bagpipe away from his lips, and now he let the air out of the bag so that it wailed like a dying animal, making everyone lurch about with laughter. Then he put it to his mouth again, and as his fingers flew to a fast jig, they shook themselves like dogs at the sound of the hunting horn and they danced, arms flying, legs leaping, plaids and shawls unraveling, hair wild, and eyes lit up with joy. My feet itched too, and my fingers tapped out the rhythm on the boulder.

I had to join them, I had to get up and dance, and I was starting to my feet when I caught a movement away to the side. Peering into the dark, I saw the oval paleness of a face. Someone else was standing, watching from the shadows.

I sank back down again, not knowing what to do. Tam's fingers were racing over his chanter, and the dancing was faster than ever. I saw Granny stoop and pick up a wisp of straw. She flung it in the air. It caught a leaping spark from the fire and flared into flame, rising up like a living thing into the air.

"Fly, fairies, fly!" yelled Granny. "By horse and hattock, go, go!"

The wisp burned out and disappeared. The music stopped. I looked back into the shadows. The face had gone. I wasn't sure, now, that I'd seen anything there at all.

It was as if Tam's piping had held the revelers' wits together, because as soon as it stopped, they seemed to fall apart and began stumbling about, laughing stupidly and clinging to each other, groping for the empty bottles and holding them to their lips in the hopes of squeezing out a few last drops.

They're just old drunks after all,
I thought, and I was weary, as if I'd run a long way. I wanted my bed. I turned to slip away, and as I felt my way back down the hill from Ambrisbeg to the cottage, I heard Granny's cracked voice rise in a hideous song.

"
Tinkletum, tankletum,
" she was singing.

The words seemed to follow me, gaining in volume, becoming harsher and more threatening.

"
Tinkletum, tankletum,
tinkletum, tankletum,
TINKLETUM, TANKLETUM!
"

The words were still drumming in my ears, making me shiver with more than the cold, as I lay down on the straw in the cottage and pulled my plaid up over my ears.

When I woke the next morning, Granny wasn't there. I scrambled to my feet, afraid that something was wrong. Perhaps she'd never returned from the wild night at Ambrisbeg. Or maybe she'd gone off with her vagabond friends, leaving me and Sheba all alone. Or, worst of all, unearthly beings—fairies or the Devil himself—could have snatched her away to their own dark world.

But then I heard her voice coming from Blackie's stall behind the thin partition. Her words were too indistinct for me to make out, but the venom in them made me shudder. She was in the foulest mood, and I would need to watch my step.

A moment later she marched into the cottage, hanks of gray hair lying matted over her face, eyes bloodshot, hands crooked like claws.

"So, Mistress Lazy, you're awake at last. Sneaking off in the night, were you, you dirty girl? Going to meet some man or other? You get yourself a baby before time, and I'll flay you till you scream for mercy. Don't think I'll take your brat in. The pair of you will be out of this house begging for every crust you eat."

I felt my face flush scarlet.

"I've never gone out to meet ... I don't even know any—"

"Any what?" She thrust her face right into mine, and I had to stop myself from recoiling from her rotten breath. "You were out spying, then, weren't you? Creeping about. Following me."

My hands were clasped so tightly together behind my back that my knuckles cracked.

"Following you where, Granny?" I was looking as innocent as I could. "Did you go out? I slept all night. I was tired from—"

She stared at me a moment longer, her red eyes unblinking, then turned away.

"Get down to the beach. The tide's well out by now. Pick up what you can find."

Scavenging along the soft wet sand, where the weakened edges of the waves rolled like curls of white hair up to my feet, was my favorite part of the day. Usually Granny spoiled it by coming with me, and it was a treat to be alone except for Sheba, who picked her way along beside me, patting at clumps of seaweed to make the little crabs jump out.

The whale was stinking worse than ever, so I worked as far away from it as I could, walking backwards and forwards along the beach, my eyes down, looking for anything that might be useful. Pieces of driftwood were the most precious things. They made fine burning if they were not big enough for other uses. Sometimes they were tangled and half hidden in hanks of brown seaweed. Lengths of rope and pieces of netting might drift ashore and even bottles. Once I'd found a whole one, corked and still full of wine.

After half an hour my apron, bunched up in one hand, held a few whelks and a good-size length of wood, whitened and smoothed by the sea. I was about to make one last sweep before heading reluctantly back to the cottage, when I heard voices and laughter in the distance. I looked up and saw a crowd of people walking down from the upper glen.

The christening party,
I thought.
They're on their way to Macbean's.

The sight of thirty or more people on our narrow lane was so rare, and the times when we saw strangers were so few, that I was desperate to watch them go by. I took off fast, sprinting up the beach, over Blackie's field, and in through the gap in the straggly thorn fence to arrive panting just as the procession came within a bowshot of our gate.

Mr. Robertson the minister was walking out in front, striding awkwardly on his long black legs, with Mr. Macbean strutting along beside him, quite shiny with pride and satisfaction. Mrs. Macbean came next, riding on the horse, with Ebenezer bundled in her arms. The other children trudged along behind, little Robbie dragging on his sister's hand. They must have gone out very early, slipping past our cottage while I was still asleep. It was a long walk to the church at Kingarth, and the children were tired.

Behind them came a crowd of guests, the men in their good coats and tall hats, the women in gowns with brightly colored best plaids. I knew most of them by sight. They came from the town of Kingarth as well as from the farms around Scalpsie. Mr. Macbean was the big man in our neighborhood. No one would want to offend him by turning down his invitation. In any case, there would be good food and drink at the farm—sides of beef, and red wine, and wheat bread, and even custards.

I'd wanted to watch the procession without being seen. I'd meant to hide behind the hedge and peer through the gap in it, but I saw, with a lurch of my heart, that Granny was standing outside the gate, half blocking the lane. Her arms were crossed on her chest, and the scowl on her face would have turned a whole bucketful of Blackie's milk sour.

I ran to the hedge and crouched down. Now I could only see the back of Granny's head, but the faces of all our neighbors and the good folk of Kingarth were in full view, and on them I read scorn and a kind of glee, as if they were glad to see the humiliation of the old woman they had despised for years. Even Mrs. Macbean, who had been so grateful when Ebenezer was born, looked away as if something had caught her eye up on the hill, while Annie beside her was grinning with open delight.

I felt a rush of anger at the lot of them, all dressed up in the good clothes we had never had, all so pleased with themselves, all salivating over the feast they were about to enjoy, and before I knew it I had stood up and run out to stand beside my grandmother and face them.

Mr. Robertson had stopped. He said awkwardly, "Now, now, Mistress Elspeth. Will you stand aside and let the good people pass?"

Granny took no notice of him. She lifted her arm and pointed her forefinger at the bundle in Mrs. Macbean's arms.

"I brought that child into this world." The finger rose up to jab at Mrs. Macbean's face. "And I saved your life. This is the thanks I get for it. Feast as much as you like, you'll be sorry for it."

Everyone had stopped now. They were crowding forward to enjoy the spectacle. I tugged at Granny's arm.

"Come away, Granny. Let's go in."

She shook me off. I could tell from the tension in her that the brewing storm was going to break. Nothing would stop her now.

Mrs. Macbean had gone pale. She was clutching Ebenezer closely to her chest. He set up a thin wail, which cut me to the heart. Mr. Macbean strode forward, his full, fleshy face red with anger.

"Are you threatening me, you old witch?" The word "witch" drew a shocked hiss from the crowd. "Are you calling the powers of darkness down upon my son?"

People looked at each other uneasily. Parents took hold of their children's hands. Some shuffled backwards.

"The powers of darkness?" Granny laughed mirthlessly. "I've no need to call to the Devil. He'll come to his own—to you, you tight-fisted, preaching hypocrite! I wish ill to you, do you hear? Ill to you! Sickness and pain and death!"

"Let her alone, John!" Mrs. Macbean called out feebly.

Mr. Macbean ignored her.

"Did you hear that, Mr. Robertson?" he said over his shoulder. He stepped forward and raised his hand. I thought he was about to strike Granny, but instead he shook his fist in her face.

"As the Lord is my witness, if any harm comes to me or mine, you'll pay for it, Elspeth Wylie. You ... you..."

He spluttered to a stop as Mr. Robertson took his elbow.

"Move aside, man. I'll deal with this." He turned to the crowd and called out, "Go on up to the farm, all of you. This matter is for me to settle. Mrs. Macbean, get that child into the house. Run ahead, little ones. That's right."

Reluctantly, the crowd moved on, glancing backwards as they went, not wishing to miss a thing. Mr. Robertson waited until they had all filed past, then turned back to Granny.

"Be careful what you say, Mistress Elspeth. Those who call upon unearthly powers, who consort with the Evil One..."

Granny interrupted him by spitting on the ground, narrowly missing his boot. Mr. Robertson stepped back, nervous as a colt.

"Evil has come to me all my life, Mister Minister," she snarled. "I've had no need to go out and seek for it."

I watched Mr. Robertson's pale eyes blink rapidly as he tried to think of a response.

"And I'll thank you to remember," he went on at last, attempting to appear dignified, "that threats and insults and slanderous talk are within my power to punish. More of this and I'll have you dressed in sackcloth and sitting on the chair of repentance before my pulpit in the sight of the whole congregation."

He was no match for Granny, however solemn he tried to be, and he knew it. He was like a dog yapping at an enraged bull. It made matters worse for him when he stumbled as he turned away and trod heavily in a puddle, splashing mud up the sides of his boots. I might have laughed if I hadn't heard Granny draw in her breath to deliver a final blast to the crowd's retreating backs. "The fires of Hell light on you all, do you hear, and firstly on you, John Macbean. May you boil forever in the Devil's cauldron!"

Mr. Robertson faltered, almost tripping himself up, then scuttled after the others, who were hurrying away toward Macbean's farm.

"So we're barred from the feasting, Maggie, and all the meat and wine," Granny said, seeming to notice me for the first time. "But we'll laugh last, you'll see."

She seemed almost pleased with herself, but I felt weak, trembling still from the humiliation of it all, anxious for Ebenezer's sake and filled with a new dread I couldn't explain.