Wild Island (18 page)

'If one knew something, something horrible about someone one knew, a little thing, but it might be a big thing really, if one thought about it, the more one thought about it, the more one might wonder, one might think one ought to do something?' The 'ones* and 'someone' and Hamish's peculiar upper-class circumlocutory manner of expression made it almost impossible to understand what he was talking about; but it was possible to understand that he was worried, under strain. He ended quite abruptly with a simple question: 'How long have you known my cousin Clementina, Miss Shore?' then immediately and hastily brushed his own question aside and put the vehicle in gear.

*Why don't we talk ?'Jemima felt that it was her own duty to suggest at least that, despite her need to get back into the house, to be alone.

Hamish straightened up and smiled a sweet boyish smile.

'Oh, I'm probably imagining things,' he said. 'Pure imagination. I don't know why I'm going on like this.'

But after he left, Jemima reflected that he did not seem to her the sort of person who would easily imagine things. Long afterwards she wished she had pressed Hamish Beauregard further at just that tiny instant of his weakness, and not allowed her own selfish desire for solitude once again to prevail, to permit his departure.

Kim Beauregard's visit was altogether more pleasant and straightforward. For one thing he proved the most tremendous chatterbox. He arrived on his bicycle and left half an hour later having eaten and drunk most of the supplies in the house, without ceasing to talk except to take an occasional breath between food and gossip. The sulky teenager in his jabot of the royal dinner party was quite absent. Jemima learnt a great deal from Kim, including the nature of the projected private stalk on Saturday.

'It's a game we play on Mum's birthday. Father Flanagan invented it. Stalking Dad,' he explained. 'Otherwise known as the Getaway, getting away from Mum, that is, with all her fussing over the picnic things and food and not getting Dad into too much of a bait and us now drowning ourselves and shooting ourselves. It's terrific: this is the first year we've been allowed to play it on Eilean Fas - oh, since Aunt Leonie did herself in. You see she did herself in on a picnic. And cousin Charles found her. I wasn't born then of course, I'm known as The Afterthought, but Bridie told me about it afterwards.' Jemima shivered and quickly changed the subject.

Apart from that, life on Eilean Fas was calm; Father Flanagan, for example, could not exactly be classed as a visitor, since he paid no actual visit. But during an afternoon stroll to the 
Fair Falls Jemima did glimpse once again the tall black figure of the priest on the opposite bank as she had done during her first tour of the island.

Once again she had the impression that he was gazing covetously at the green and private territory. On this occasion he did not wave but turned away, the shape of his dark soutane gradually disappearing amidst the trees. The noise of the water drowned all other sounds and had the effect of making the odd little episode like something out of a silent film.

On Saturday morning Jemima had a fourth visitor in the shape of Colonel Henry himself. He arrived very early in the morning before she was awake and came straight upstairs.

She said, very sleepily, from the bed, 'What is it?' In her dream someone was calling her, time to dress, go to Megalith House, record the programme, time to get up, yet she was asleep.

'Your birthday present. As promised.' 'You?'

'And that's not all. Look.' She raised herself on one elbow. He had placed an enamel box in the shape of a heart on her pillow. She read the two words:
Remember Me.
The lettering was curly and held aloft on the lid by two cupids.

'Remember you,' she said some time later, when the room was once more scattered with masculine clothes thrown down in a way which she was beginning to think was actuated not so much by amorous passion as by the natural arrogance of one who was sure someone else would pick them up. 'Yes, I'll certainly remember you.'

Remember me. In this house Leonie Beauregard, his former mistress, had died. Did he remember her? There were so many memories here, around her, near her. For one instant the message, the pretty charming little birthday message painted on the enamel box, struck her as sinister.

'Will you remember
me?’
she asked fiercely.

'Till my dying day,' replied the Colonel. But he was already hunting around the room crossly for his clothes as though someone should really have come into the room and tidied 
them while he was in bed. 'Till my dying day. That's a promise.' His tone was debonair, preoccupied.

But his words did not reassure her. She felt the ghost of the past suddenly most present between them.

CHAPTER
18

Outdoor manoeuvre

There were no rainbows on the Wild Island that day; Jemima had hoped for one on her birthday. There was no rain either: but the weather on the birthday picnic lost the brightness it had retained since morning at exactly the moment that Colonel Henry proposed a toast to Jemima in champagne.

There was one bottle. Previously the 'boys' had drunk beer, Colonel Henry whisky and Jemima and Ossian Lucas white wine. Now Colonel Henry distributed the champagne according to some clearly ordained notion of precedence. A full glass for Jemima, a full glass for himself, a full glass for Ossian, half a glass for Ben (the heir), for Clementina (a lady), correspondingly smaller amounts for the rest of his sons, down to a mere drop for Kim (with a frown from Rory). Nothing for Father Flanagan. Nothing for his wife.

'Edith does not drink.'

Lady Edith smiled apologetically as though this was in some way her fault. She was busy clearing away the remains of the cold grouse which, together with smoked salmon, had constituted the feast. The salmon, caught and smoked on the Estate, was very good indeed, much better than that presented in London by Guthrie. But the grouse had been despatched north by those sporting sons who were currently missing, from more productive moors than those pertaining to the 
Beauregards. Jemima was ticked off by Kim for feeding pieces of abandoned grouse to the dogs: it was apparently the wrong thing to do, because of the splintery nature of the bones. Otherwise the picnic itself had been without incident except for a suddenly erupting fight between Flora and Jacobite.

The language of dogs was incomprehensible to Jemima. One moment both animals, identically golden, were lying placidly. The next, hair risen on the scruff of the neck, they were growling and fighting, aiming literally at each other's throats (the old cliche was true). Jemima could only assume the dogs carried through the feud within the Beauregard family.

Colonel Henry separated them, coolly and rather crossly, with some well-aimed kicks, saying, 'Clementina, Edith, control your dogs.' He seemed to think their ferocious behaviour was nothing to do with him.

Now he repeated, draining the bottle of champagne into his own glass, 'Edith doesn't drink.'

'She
does,'
said Kim in a fierce voice, 'Mum does drink. Besides, it's her birthday. She ought to have some champagne.' He glared, not at his father but at Jemima as though she were in some way responsible for abrogating his mother's birthday. As usual, Lady Edith bent herself to hushing him. Colonel Henry said nothing. All the same, the moment for Jemima was spoiled, just as the weather had clouded and darkened.

'Rain ?' Ben looked at Rory.

'More like the Haar will come up from the river.'

Clementina shivered. She was wearing a cheesecloth top, and the long patchwork skirt she had worn on the occasion of their first meeting. She wore no shoes. Her feet were white and small on the damp green grass. She looked extremely beautiful but fragile When Ben put his kilt jacket round her shoulders, she did not object After a bit she put it on, looking more delicate than ever, swallowed up in the rough tweed material.

'If the mist comes up, perhaps we should cancel the stalk,' suggested Lady Edith. 'You might all get lost' Colonel Henry looked sharply at his wife, then at Jemima and smiled. He gave the impression that the idea of a mist or Haar on the island, in which people might lose themselves, was not totally unacceptable to him.

'Of course we must have the stalk!' cried Kim. 'The Haar will make it better, not worse. A ghostly figure will loom out of the mist and before you know where you are you'll be dead! Much more exciting.'

'Ugh, how horrible,' exclaimed Clementina.

*Oh, not really dead,' said Kim impatiently. 'Don't you remember the rules?
Named
dead’ Clementina, I name you, you are dead.' He began to wave his hands in front of Clementina's face in a ghoulish manner.

'The position of Eilean Pas, lying in the river bed, means that you can get those incredible mists, quite local, during the warm weather; something to do with two bands of air meeting each other. They can last for days when the rest of the world, even the rest of the Glen, is bathed in sunshine,' Rory explained politely to Jemima.

'I always think the charm of our dear Scottish weather is its changeability,' Lady Edith threw in.

'It's true,' said Clementina, 'you can look out of the windows of Castle Beauregard and find the Wild Island has quite vanished from one moment to the next.'

'I don't think we should stalk if it gets too thick,' Ossian Lucas spoke languidly but with conviction all the same. 'I agree with Lady Edith. It could be dangerous. Someone could blunder over the cliff edge.'

'Oh, nonsense. We've all been playing this game since childhood.' Ben sounded quite angry.

'Miss Shore hasn't, said Rory.

'That she hasn't,' Father Flanagan threw in grimly. The inference of his remark was quite plain: Jemima was a stranger in their midst. Up till now the priest had maintained a somewhat grumpy silence throughout the picnic His birthday present to Jemima, proffered with a fierce aside - 'Ye may like to glance at this or again ye may not' - consisted of the current parish circular of St Margaret's. It included a passage from the 
Bible which, by coincidence or otherwise, happened to be the story of the woman taken in adultery. Jemima had a feeling that Father Flanagan's own approach to such a situation would have smacked more of the Old Testament than the New.

'Exactly,' said Ossian Lucas. Jemima got the distinct impression that camps were forming: Ben was keen on the stalk; Rory not. Kim dead keen; Hamish, who had evidently recovered from his fit of neurosis earlier in the week, keen as mustard, judging from his sole sporting comment - 'Jolly good fun if somebody does go over a cliff!' Lady Edith was increasingly and openly worried about the consequences to her brood; Father Flanagan, despite Lady Edith's plaints, had become obstinately for, as though determined to spite Jemima. Clementina Beauregard, who throughout the picnic had remained perfectly pleasant but passive, as though drained of all her frenzy by the recent events at the Castle, showed no signs of trying to make such a difficult decision. Ossian Lucas was positively against. But Colonel Henry was for, and in the end, as usual, it was his will which prevailed.

He explained the rules of the stalk briefly but lucidly. Looking at him standing over the picnic scene - they were on one of the neglected terraces below the house, quite near the river -Jemima thought that this was how he must have briefed his men in those far-off heroic days of
Brother Raiders.
The same notion struck Clementina, who came to life for the first time.

'Uncle Henry, you sound so military,' she giggled. Her voice had changed slightly, very slightly but perceptibly. Jemima, becoming alert to her moods, looked at the cigarette in her fingers; at some point she had swapped a Rothman's for the familiar small white stub.

Colonel Henry was to be the focus of the stalk, designated as the Prey. All those present were his stalkers. Like a stag, he was aiming for sanctuary, in this case sanctuary being the Gothic shrine at the other end of the island. He would set off shortly from the terrace, being given fifteen minutes to get away and conceal himself. In order to kill the Prey, the stalkers had to touch him, the conventional words being: 'Colonel 
Henry Beauregard, you are my Prey!' But they had to do this unobserved, since in this hunt at least the stag also had the right to turn on his attackers. Unlike the stalkers, the stag did not have to touch to kill. If the Prey merely spotted any of his stalkers and was able to name them correctly, then that stalker was held to be dead, killed by the stag.

'How long does it all last?' enquired Jemima.

'Ages,' answered Kim gleefully. He was definitely the most enthusiastic member of the stalking party.

'The Prey must reach sanctuary by dark. He has to make a run for it then, if he hasn't got there already,' explained Colonel Henry. *I should explain that there's a fifty-yard radius round the shrine where the stalkers can't lurk and the Prey can't hide. Once he enters it, he has to belt for sanctuary. The stalkers have to stalk him properly, up hill and down dale
-I
can safely promise you a great deal of exercise.' He smiled at Jemima again. 'There are all sorts of dips and caves at the top of the island. You can get quite lost in the bracken too. I've every intention of hiding myself for a good long time.'

'We can't wait till dark in this weather,' Ossian spoke softly but firmly.

'We're guid Scots - the most of us. We'll not mind a drop of moisture', was Father Flanagan's typically gruff contribution. But he found no further support. Even Ben, an advocate of the stalk, joined in on the other side.

'Yes, Dad,' agreed Ben. 'It's much better if we have a fixed time.'

After some discussion and some slightly pettish flashing of his watch by Colonel Henry - 'Is this accurate enough for you ? Gift of my brother officers when I got married' - the rime of six o'clock was agreed. Colonel Henry did not like the idea of the afternoon's sport being cut short. Nevertheless by six o'clock, if the Prey had failed to reach the shrine, victory was to be declared to the stalkers.

But already dark was coming in the form of a thickening of the atmosphere. The mist had begun to roll up from the river just as Rory had predicted. The swirling clouds, light at first, but deepening, were grey: the effect was deadening, depressing, shutting out light, and reducing the colours of the island itself. The many greens became one rather dank green. The glimpses of yellow and purple - the wild flowers - the occasional brilliant berry were no longer prominent without the sunshine to pick them out. The house's dark Gothic shape loomed above them, floating out of the mist.

Quite soon the river itself vanished from view; but you knew the river was there from the perpetual sound of running water, the noise which never ceased on the Wild Island, and higher up too you could hear the soft roar of the Fair Falls plunging into the pool where Sighing Marjorie had perished 
And Charles Beauregard.

Clementina. His sister - and his heiress. The warning; the mysterious Chief s warning: the girl's high voice repeating it from the telephone: i'm in danger, he says.' And Clementina was invited to Eilean Fas, taking part in the Beauregard family picnic for the first time in years. Wasn't it odd, after the incident of the Red Rose, how first Colonel Henry had genially invited her, then Ben had looked after her in such a courtly fashion ? Clementina Beauregard, if she no longer owned the Castle in which she lived, was still an extremely rich young woman. Other words floated back: 'I'll give it all to the Red Rose... If I die without children, half the money goes to the next owner of the Beauregard Estates, Uncle Henry or Ben.

'An appalling notion struck Jemima. Land itself was good, but land with money is better. Just who was the intended Prey of this delightful family game ?

She dismissed it with horror at herself. But just as the stalkers began to move off, fifteen minutes after the Colonel's disappearance, his tall figure last seen striding away up the terraces into the mist, she heard Rory say urgently to someone beside him:

'You must stay close to Clementina. Don't lose her. Don't forget.' Jemima was not sure whether to be reassured or otherwise by this remark.

As the mist continued to thicken, she herself resolved very firmly if unadventurously to stay on the path and head in the general direction of the shrine. Let the young Beauregards scramble over the hill if they wished. As for stalking Colonel Henry, she had a strong inkling that he on the contrary would be stalking her.

Like their Prey, the stalkers vanished quickly. Afterwards Jemima would recall perfectly the exact order in which they left. Lady Edith, aided by a reluctant Kim, and followed by a now submissive Jacobite, left first to deposit the remnants of the picnic in the Land-Rover before setting off to join the stalk. They would go separately - Kim having brushed off Lady Edith's suggestion that they should stalk together for safety with a furious 'Oh,
Mum.'
Father Flanagan strode off too in the same general direction. Jemima personally felt relieved once the mist had swallowed up his tall black figure with its aureole ofwhite hair. He had the air of a prophet going off into the wilderness - a prophet in a bad mood.

Hamish said, 'Dad mentioned going up the hill, didn't he? I think I'll follow.'

'Please yourself,' said Rory. 'Knowing Dad, he'll try to trick us. He'll expect us to go up the hill, so he'll lurk close to the house until the last moment. Then he'll dash very fast, over the hill towards the shrine, in order to make it before the deadline. He'll take the rest of us by surprise, kill us from behind, so to speak. No, I'll stay down by the terraces near the house, somewhere in the bushes.'

He went off.

Ben, like Rory, voted for exploring the hill but suggested searching the far side, away from the main path, where the cliffs were steepest.

'I've a notion there's a small cave on the underhang ... Worth a look.' He too set off, saying as he went, 'Coming, Clementina ?' But she did not follow him, announcing her intention rather vaguely of going towards the Fair Falls 'because they are so pretty’.

Jemima was reminded briefly and nastily of Duncan's sons in
Macbeth,
dividing their ways for security after their father's death. But no death had yet taken place, had it? The Prey was still at large.

Jemima was left alone with Ossian Lucas. She half expected him to volunteer to stay with her. Instead he exclaimed, 'Henry and his absurd games! I'll just pad around and keep an eye on things.' And he too was gone.

Jemima was now aware that although it was not actually raining, the mist had brought a kind of dampness of its own into the air. Moist globules were forming on her face and clothes. She yearned for her Burberry and jeans. Her honey-coloured suede skirt and waistcoat were hopelessly impractical for a stalk. Nor did she fancy chancing her long suede boots, which she had not been able to resist displaying, in the island rough.

Of course it had been firmly laid down that the house itself was out of bounds to everyone.

'This is a bracing outdoor manoeuvre, not a damned house party,' Colonel Henry announced. 'No one goes into the house without my express permission.' Jemima had been amused: he had evidently forgotten that she was the house's official tenant. Then she found Colonel Henry looking at her. He gave her a faint smile and lifted his eyebrows. So the gallant Colonel intended the house, not the bracken, as their rendezvous. Well, why not? Feeling rather reckless - besides, she refused to spend three hours combing the hill for a human stag -Jemima gave him a nod. Then she found that both Kim and Rory were looking at her. Kim was glaring again; Jemima felt slightly embarrassed.

Now she slipped rather furtively into the house to change her clothes. The rhododendrons near the house did not stir. She was fairly sure no one had spotted her.