The House Between Tides (17 page)

Cameron held the look. “They came across this morning, sir, looking for work.”

“Does your father know they're here?”

“I'll explain to him this evening.”

Theo's frown deepened. “You'll oblige me by explaining
now.
Where are they staying?”

“With relatives, for the most part,” Cameron replied coolly. “The tangle is well in and there's a good on-shore wind, so extra hands are a blessing.”

Beatrice saw the muscles in Theo's jaw tighten as he lifted the glasses again. “I see Duncan MacPhail is amongst them.”

“You said we could offer him work, sir.”

Theo lowered the glasses and gave him a dark look. “I did, but
if you've offered work to these other people without your father's agreement, you've exceeded your authority. As you
damn
well know.” Cameron looked aside, but not before Beatrice saw a correspondingly angry brightness in his eyes. “Given recent events—”

“They're not here to make trouble.”

Theo continued to scowl at him, then gestured to Beatrice. “Step up, if you will, my dear, and I'll take you back to the house.” He pointed the handle of the crop at Cameron. “And I hold you responsible, Cameron. See that they leave as soon as they've been paid.” He gathered up the reins. “And, in future, you'll not offer work on the estate without my agreement. Or your father's. Do I make myself clear?” Cameron gave a curt nod, and as he offered Beatrice a hand up, his face was shuttered and blank. “Ask your father to come and see me this evening.” Then Theo flicked the reins and they pulled away.

She watched Cameron mount his pony and ride back down the beach, then glanced at Theo's stern profile. Why so angry? And why had Cameron responded as he did, with defiance hovering just below the surface? No Edinburgh servant would have dared speak as Cameron did, nor would Theo have tolerated it.

His face discouraged conversation, but she was anxious to understand. “What recent events, Theo?”

He gave an exasperated sigh. “You must remember the fuss over land raids a year or two back? The same sort of thing rumbles on. Endlessly.”

She did remember. She remembered the outrage on both sides of the argument, and a newspaper photograph of men from a nearby island, stoically defiant in ill-fitting suits borrowed for a trial which had led to their imprisonment. Punishment for illegally occupying estate land. “The land problem is
being
addressed,” he continued, “but not fast enough for some hotheads who take matters into their own hands.” He briefly acknowledged a woman,
dwarfed by a creel of fishing net on her back, who had stepped aside to let them pass. “Agitators, stirring up bad feelings. Occupying farmland, driving in stakes to mark out crofts. The MacPhails—” He scowled and broke off. “I would far rather Cameron had sent the boatload back to wherever it came from.”

“But if we have work for them and they need the money?” The tenant houses she passed on the island seemed pitifully poor. Did some people actually have
less
?

Theo was not listening. “Cameron can be very impetuous.” He flicked the reins angrily, and the trap jolted her forward along the uneven track back to the house.

His temper did not improve as the evening progressed. The factor had come just before dinner, and she heard Theo's raised voice in the study, interspersed with the islander's calmer tone. He hardly spoke during dinner but sat there, unreachable, irascible if she questioned him, and then retreated into the study immediately afterwards with only the briefest apology, leaving her no choice but to fret in the drawing room alone, or to retire early.

She had chosen the latter, closing the bedroom door and leaning against it for a moment before sitting at her dressing table, slowly easing her feet from her shoes, searching for an explanation. Her head ached abominably. She began to undress, steadying herself before stretching out on the bed to stare up at the ceiling. First his strange behaviour yesterday, and then again today. Somehow it was all of a piece—something was wrong, some discord ran through the house, intangible but real. And even before that bewildering incident at the rock pool, she had felt a change in him. The energy, the delight he had displayed upon arrival, had evaporated, to be replaced by a detached silence and a shadowed brow. She could almost feel him withdrawing, leaving her stranded like the clouding jellyfish she came across high above the tide line, not knowing how to save the situation. She lay there, nursing a bruised
emptiness, listening to the night sounds through the open window, a foreigner marooned amongst strangers.

Her heart had leapt when she had seen the trap approaching the kelp workers. He had come to find her, she had thought, to explain. But no, he had been looking for Cameron, inexplicably angry with him again. And yet it seemed that the hours he spent in the study with the factor's son gave him the most satisfaction; he apparently preferred Cameron's company to hers—

Her thoughts faltered, then jarred, and a hot sensation rose up her neck, suffusing her face. No,
no.
Surely not. She became fixated by the crack in the ceiling, stunned by the thought.
Was that it?
She sat up, her arms clasped across her chest, hunched forward, her pulse thudding.
Surely not!—
But other incidents began tumbling into her mind. Theo's oddness the day they had arrived, when he had expected Cameron to be abroad. He'd been thrown off-balance, his reaction to the young man's appearance so marked. And he had provided the money for Cameron's education, a loan that he had told her John Forbes had repaid with almost offensive swiftness. And then Cameron had rejected Theo's offer of work and left for Canada. The half-finished sketch of the naked boy she had seen that first day suddenly took on a shockingly different meaning, and her head began to pound. She recalled Theo's outrage when a fellow painter had been ostracised, forced to leave Edinburgh, taking with him the olive-skinned boy he had brought from the south of France.
Monstrous bigotry
, Theo had called it.

She rose and went to the little turret, dragging a shawl around her, shivering uncontrollably. She knew little of what might draw two men together, but she knew enough— And she recalled the time when a friend of her father's had suddenly vanished from their circle, remembered the overheard gossip, and her astonishment when the extraordinary explanation reached her.

So was Cameron Forbes the reason for Theo's long
bachelorhood? A bachelorhood which ended only after the young man had left the island, supposedly for good. And Theo had exiled himself to Europe— Had he married her upon his return not for herself at all, but as a cloak against suspicion?

She pressed her fingers to her temples, fighting a growing panic, as she explored the intimate reaches of their own relationship, looking for clues. At first Theo's lovemaking had been considerate and restrained, making allowances, she had thought, for her modesty, but he had become increasingly ardent, and she found herself responding with delight. But lately . . . Her face crumpled as she faced the fact that lately his attentions had been infrequent, defined by a courteousness which distanced her.

And she had seen his eyes following Cameron.

Out across the strand, the call of seabirds filled the growing darkness, and she recalled snatches of overheard conversation. “There's work for you
here.
It won't always be catalogues and dead birds, I promise you . . .” She had heard the frustration in Theo's voice. “At least
think
about it, Cameron. It was what I'd hoped for.”

“I'd understood there was no further obligation, sir?”

It had been clumsily said and Theo had reacted violently. “Good God, no! You must forgive me.” But even then she had sensed something else behind the heavy irony. “No further obligation, I assure you.” She had imagined it to be annoyance, but perhaps it had been pain.

She heard footsteps in the dressing room and saw the light move under the connecting door and heard the sounds of Theo undressing, then silence. She slipped back beneath the chilly sheets and waited. She could almost see him hesitating on the other side of the door, but then the springs of the daybed creaked, and the light beneath the door was extinguished.

1910, Beatrice

Whatever should she do? Next morning, Beatrice sat at her dressing table, slowly brushing her hair, staring at her drawn, sleep-starved reflection. Should she write to her mother, perhaps? But putting her fears on paper was unthinkable and, besides, it would be weeks before she might expect a response. Her parents had left for Italy immediately after the wedding and were moving rapidly from one apartment to another, their letters brief and erratic. And Emily Blake was her only other confidante.

She asked for a fire to be lit in the morning room and later huddled beside it, a book in her hands unread, her tea growing cold. Perhaps she was mistaken? She had so little experience of the world. The association between the two men went back a long way, to Cameron's childhood, so perhaps that alone accounted for their unusual familiarity? And perhaps Cameron's determination to resist further patronage, and thus frustrating Theo's objectives, was enough on its own to explain Theo's dark humour? She took up her cup, staring into the fire, quite at a loss.

After a moment, she put her book aside and went to stand by the window, watching the droplets of rain course down the pane until, at last, it slackened to a drizzle and she felt the need to be outdoors.

Half an hour later, however, and quite unexpectedly, she found herself being ushered into the farmhouse kitchen by the factor's daughter. She had come across Ephie Forbes bottle-feeding two lambs in a small enclosure beside the stables as she walked past,
heading for St. Ultan's chapel. She had been distracted from her thoughts by the lambs as they butted each other from the teat, their tails on springs, and had stopped. Ephie then shyly invited her to come inside and see an even tinier one, rescued from near death the night before.

The kitchen was filled with the comforting smell of Ephie's new-made scones, and Beatrice looked around her, enchanted by the purposeful simplicity to the room. Boots stood beside the door, oilskins hanging above them, and there was a clutter of fishing rods propped against the wall, surrounded by buckets and creels. Bent-grass chairs were pulled up before the range, and a bowl of primroses stood on the large scrubbed table. Ephie's defiant splash of femininity in her masculine world.

“It's over there, madam, by the range. Cameron brought it home in his pocket last night.” And Beatrice saw the orphan curled up on an old shawl, lit by a shaft of sunlight from the open door. She went across to it and crouched down, reaching out her hand, and felt a faintly pulsing heartbeat through the curls of wiry wool. Such a little scrap, clinging so resolutely to life.

“Any closer and it'll be in the oven.” She looked up sharply to see that Cameron had appeared and was leaning against the door-frame, wiping his hands on a rag, and she dropped her head, her cheeks aflame. “Not much meat, maybe, but nice and tender.” His face was dirty and his clothes were covered with gore from calving.

Ephie shooed him away. “Don't listen to him, madam. He stayed up half the night until it fed. He'll not eat it.”

“Will I not?” And they heard him laugh as he retreated.

Beatrice smiled slightly, glad that he had gone, not yet ready to face him, and turned back to the lamb. But Cameron soon returned, washed and changed, and he came towards her. “Will you see if he'll take some milk, madam?”

She half rose in confusion and shook her head. “I don't think—”
she started to say, but he stood, blocking her route to the door, and smiled down at her in his friendly manner. He pulled out one of the chairs, giving her little choice but to sit, then lifted the lamb and placed it, shawl and all, on her lap. It weighed almost nothing and she drew the shawl protectively around it, and watched as Cameron took a pan of warm milk from the range and poured the contents into a bowl.