The Stranger Came (61 page)

Chapter
23

On
the
eighth
day
after
coming
home,
Lucy
walked
down
through
the
woods
behind
the
house
and
came
upon
three
weasels
strung
up
on
a
stock
fence.
They
looked
fresh,
only
one
had
the
eyes
pecked
out,
the
red
fur
still
sleek
along
each
slim
length.
With
a
hook
of
barbed
wire
stuck
in
under
the
chin,
they
hung
with
their
backs
to
the
open
view
of
green
gently
rolling
fields
and
the
hills
further
off.
Lucy
held
out
a
finger
to
touch
one,
and then
drew
it
back;
even
dead,
the
narrow
mouth
ragged
with
needle
teeth
looked
ready
to
scream
and
tear.

A
stick
snapped
on
the
slope
behind
her.
Under
the
footstep
of
an
animal,
she
thought,
a
heavy
animal;
Janet
coming
down
in
search
of
her.
If
she
kept
still
–
crouched
down
like
a
bird
on
the
open
moor,
so
still
you
could
pass
close
by
and
not
see.

'Lucy?'

The
voice
came
softly,
uncertainly.
She
recognised
it
at
once,
though
it
was
almost
the
last
one
in
the
world
she
might
have
expected.

'It
is
you,'
Anne
Macleod
said,
peering
forward
as
if
short-sightedly,
her
body
braced
against
the
run
of
the
slope.
'I
might
have
gone
past
and
never
known
you
were
there.’

'Have
you
heard?'
Lucy
asked,
and
saw
at
once
that
she
had
not.

Anne
came
down
the
last
of
the
slope
to
stand
on
the
dry-stone
dyke
that
acted
as
a
retaining
wall
holding
back the
earth
of
the
hill.
She
looked
down
at
Lucy
standing
in
the
gap
between
the
dyke
and
the
fence.

'I
went
to
your
house,'
she
said,
'and
knocked
but
no one
was
in.’

‘
No.’

'Could
we
sit
here?'
On
the
wall
she
meant.
‘I
have
such
a
lot
to
tell
you.’

For
answer,
Lucy
hooked
one
heel
on
a
jutting
stone and
hitched
herself
up,
then
shuffled
along
on
her
bottom
until
she
settled
on
one
flat
and
wide
enough
to
be
comfortable.

Anne
swung
down
beside
her,
and then
said,
'Oh,
God. God,
how
disgusting.’

Lucy
looked
at
her
in
fright
and
then
realised
she
was
staring
at
the
weasels
strung
on
the
fence.

'The
keeper
on
the
estate
does
it,'
she
said.
Moles
were hung
too
with
their
soft
little
paws
held
up
by
their
chest.
And
different
kinds
of
birds.
Once
she
had
seen
a
gull
with
the
hook
of
wire
thrust
in
under
its
beak.
After
a
time
one
of
its
wings
came
off
and
lay
on
the
ground
under
the
fence.

'There's
no
need
for
it,'
Anne
said.

'If
you
heard
a
rabbit
scream
at
night?'

‘
They
don't
do
it
for
the
rabbits.’

'No
.’ That
was
true.

In
the
parkland
beyond
the
fence
a
peacock
came
pacing
between
the
trees.
Lucy
looked
again
and
it
wasn't
there.
Imagination.
Not
entirely,
though,
for
on
occasion
they
wandered
from
the
drives
around
the
estate
house
beyond
the
line
of
trees.
Last
year,
sitting
in
almost
this
spot,
she
had
watched
one
out
there
all
alone,
canopy
of
feathers
glittering
and
vibrating
in
the
senseless
fury
of
its
passion
as
it
turned
and
turned
in
search
of
a
rival.

'I've
been
to
London,'
Anne
said.

It
wasn't
cold,
a
watered
sunlight
spread
on
the
grass;
but
this
early
in
the
year
the
air
was
raw.
Lucy
shivered
and
clutched
shut
the
collar
of
her
coat.
Instantly
she
felt Anne's
arm
go
across
her
back,
hold
her
by
the
shoulder
and
draw
her
dose.

Even
by
Maitland
she
disliked
being
touched,
not
in lovemaking,
but
like
this
casually,
touches
and
embraces.
She
winced
from
them,
fur
rubbed
the
wrong
way.
Like
a
cat,
he
said.

'After
your
husband
had
taken
you
away –
taken
you
home,'
Lucy
struggled
to
follow
the
sense
of
the
words
coming
so
softly
they
were
almost
whispered,
'Fraser
Allander
told
me
he
had
recognised
one
of
your
visitors.
“That's
Mr
Norman,”
I
said.
“No,
no,
it
isn't,”
Fraser
said.
I
kept
thinking
about
what
he
told
me.
He
enjoyed
telling
me.
I thought
about
nothing
else
and
then
I
had
three
days
off
together
and
that's
when
I
went
to
London.’
And
at
last
she
lifted
her
arm
away.
'It's
cold,
too
cold
here.
Aren't
you
cold?'