Unknown (9 page)

“Then I could stay at home with you,” Susan put in quickly.

Judith yielded. After Robbie left, she and Susan pottered around the house, making beds and tidying. When she looked at the clock, she could scarcely believe that the time was only a few minutes past eight.

Stuart came when she was out in the garden, feeding the hens.

“Aren’t you ready? You’ll lose the only train of the day, the only one that will get the connection at Stirling.”

“I’m not going today. I may stay longer.”

“Are you worried about Robbie and Susan? Granna will be delighted to have them at our house.”

“That’s very kind of Mrs. Huntly, but Andy must decide where they go.”

“I came to take you all down to the ferry,” he said slowly. “Then I’d intended to see you on the train and take the children back home with us.”

A smile curved the corners of her mouth. “You seem over-anxious to get rid of me. I’ve told my employers that I shan’t be at work tomorrow. This is Thursday, and I’ll take Friday and Saturday off and make up for them another time.”

She would not say aloud in Susan’s presence that by Sunday surely there ought to be news of Barbara.

Stuart was on the point of leaving when Robbie came hurrying towards the house. The boy’s white face warned Judith that he was not bringing good news.

“Dad telephoned Mrs. Fraser. He’s gone to Glasgow.”

“Glasgow?” echoed Judith.

“Yes. Muni’s in hospital there.”

“An accident?” Stuart asked.

“Mrs. Fraser didn’t know,” Robbie replied.

Susan clung to Judith. “I want to go to Mummy. She’s ill, and I want to see her,” she whimpered.

Over the child’s head, Judith met Stuart’s glance. “We’d better go over to Frasers’ and see what further news there is,” Stuart suggested.

The two children ran on ahead and she walked with Stuart, strangely comforted by his presence at her side.

At the ferry house, Mrs. Fraser spoke quietly. “I could not be telling the lad all that Andy said. Mrs. Greenwood was found on Glasgow station in a state of collapse. She was taken to hospital, and Andy is on his way now. That is all he had time to tell me.”

“You don’t know which hospital?” Stuart queried.

Mrs. Fraser shook her head.

“Pity. Otherwise we could ring and ask for details.” After a few moments, he said, “Look, Judith, there’s no point in your going back to the house yet. Let me take you and Robbie and Susan over to my place. We shall be able to get quickly whatever news comes along and the children can roam about the gardens to take their minds off their worries.”

As they walked up the long drive towards the big grey stone house, Judith said, “I wish I’d persuaded Barbara to come with us yesterday to Port Appin. Then this accident—or illness—would never have happened.”

“And by now you’d be in the train speeding away to London.”

She turned her head slightly towards him, but he was staring straight ahead. It was impossible to detect from his tone or manner whether he was glad or sorry that she had been forced to stay. But underneath her own pain and anxiety for her sister was a flicker of quickening interest in his reactions.

Most of the day went by before Judith learned anything more definite about Barbara’s mysterious illness. About six in the evening, Stuart and Andy drove up to Garranmure together, for Stuart had gone to Cruban while Judith stayed with the children.

“What is it? What happened?” she asked.

“Barbara caught the evening train to Glasgow,” Stuart explained, giving Andy time to recover himself. “She had a single ticket to London, but instead of taking the connection, apparently she sat most of the night in a waiting room. Then a woman attendant found her in a very overwrought state.”

“She couldn’t even remember her name,” Andy murmured brokenly.

“But she recognised you when you saw her at the hospital?” Judith queried.

“Yes. But it’s all my fault. I should never have—”

“Don’t blame yourself, Andy,” Stuart cut in sharply.

“Where is she now? When will she come home?” Judith wanted to know.

“The doctor thinks she may be fit to travel tomorrow or the next day. D’you think you could stay until Sunday?”

“Of course I will, Andy. Don’t worry.”

“I suppose I was blind,” Andy continued. “I didn’t realise the terrible strain that Barbara’s been going through these last few months. She’ll need a very long rest, the hospital says, or she may be in for a very serious breakdown. But when she’s safely home, I can probably make arrangements to have her looked after.”

“We’ll talk about that later,” Stuart decided. “In the meantime, you’re all staying here to dinner. Then afterwards I’ll take you back to Kylsaig in my boat”

Afterwards, when she accompanied Andy and the children in Stuart’s cabin cruiser, Judith sat in the bows and watched the shores of Kylsaig slowly gliding by as the boat rounded the point.

Almost from the first, it seemed that the island had stretched out delicate tentacles to bind her there. Now it was definitely claiming her and, with vague prescience, she foresaw that Kylsaig would be reluctant to let her go.

SITTING up among a mound of pillows, Barbara seemed more relaxed now in her own bedroom at home, but Judith had been shocked when she went with Andy to the hospital. The lovely contours of Barbara’s face were made sharp by pallor, her mouth drooped and deep shadows under her eyes indicated not only lack of sleep but some inner distress that touched Judith’s heart.

Before leaving the hospital, the doctor had stressed the fact that Barbara needed a prolonged rest and no worries. Almost her first question to Judith was, “Are you going to leave me?”

In the back of Stuart’s car, for he had offered to drive to Glasgow to fetch Barbara home, Judith laid her hand over her sister’s wrist. “Don’t worry, darling. I shan’t leave you until I’m sure you’re going to be well.”

Now, home on Kylsaig, with Barbara a semi-invalid for an indefinite time ahead, Judith realised that she was no longer a temporary visitor, but had already become an integral part of the household. The children, lovingly affectionate to their mother and anxious not to upset her by noise or worry of any kind, looked to Judith for smooth attention to their everyday comforts.

Andy, unhappy about the real cause of Barbara’s illness, was grateful to her for disrupting her personal plans in order to stay with Barbara.

“I know you have to do what you can to soothe Barbara,” he said one evening, “but I don’t expect you to stay here indefinitely. It’s been wonderful to have you. You’ve tided us over a very bad patch, but I can’t—”

“Stop worrying, Andy,” Judith broke in. “I told Barbara I’d stay and I meant it.”

“But there’s your job.”

Judith gave him a guilty little smile. “I’ve already written to the store in London and told them that owing to family illness, I can’t come back just yet. Perhaps, later on, they may give me my 'job back.”

“But throwing up your chances like that—” protested Andy.

“I’m not sacrificing all that much. I wanted to get into the design part of the trade. This may even turn out to be the time to break away from the sales department.”

“Bless you!” Andy exclaimed. “I know I could probably ask neighbours to come in, but Barbara would rather have you with her than anybody else in the world.”

Kim began his subdued bark in the yard and Andy went to the door.

“Oh, Mairi!” Judith heard him say. “Yes, come in.”

Mairi brought a large bunch of mixed flowers from her garden. “And how is Barbara?” she asked.

“I think she’s a little better,” Judith answered. “She’ll love these flowers. I’ll put them in water and arrange them later.”

For a short time the two girls talked of the weather, Mairi’s school affairs and the prospect of coming holidays.

Then Mairi said suddenly, as though she had vainly tried to find an opening to lead into the subject, but had now decided to tackle it boldly, “Judith, it’s been quite marvellous the way you’ve stayed on here to look after your sister and the rest of the family, no doubt at tremendous inconvenience to yourself, but there’s absolutely no need for you to feel compelled to remain.”

“But I’d like to—”

Mairi smiled gently with her mouth, but not with her pale blue eyes. “It’s sweet of you, but not even Barbara or Andy would wish to impose on you. I came to tell you that I’ve been able to make arrangements with Alison— you know, Neil’s housekeeper—she works only part-time for Neil because there isn’t much else to do, but she’d be quite glad to come here for half of each day and—”

“Thank you, Mairi. That’s very kind of you, but—”

Andy came in from the kitchen. “Yes, we’re very grateful to you for thinking of us, but Judith is going to stay on for a while. She’s given up her job and—”

Mairi swerved towards Judith. “Given up your job?” Her blue eyes glinted with anger. “But what could you do here?”

“Just look after the family, I suppose. The less worry Barbara has to cope with, the sooner she’ll be really well.”

Defeat showed plainly on Mairi’s fair face, but then she pulled her shoulders back. “At this moment, of course, you’re all in a state of chaos, but when you have things straightened out, you might be glad to accept Alison’s offer.”

“We’ll remember it, of course,” Andy assured her. “Would you like to go up and see Barbara?” Judith suggested.

“Not now, I think. She’s probably asleep and I wouldn’t like to disturb her. But give her my love.”

Andy accompanied her to the top of the path, and when he returned, he grasped Judith gently by the elbow. “Mairi seems anxious for you to go. Now I wonder why? What have you been doing to her?”

“Nothing, as far as I know.”

Andy chuckled. “She’s terrified you’re going to try to steal her young man away from her. You don’t answer. Does that mean you’re up to something?”

She laughed. “No. I shan’t try to steal Neil.”

A day or two later, Judith met Mrs. Drummond at the ferry post-office.

After enquiries about Barbara, Mairi’s mother said, “I hear from Mairi that you’re considering living on Kylsaig for the whole summer.”

“None of us has planned as far ahead as that,” Judith replied. “Nothing very definite.”

Mrs. Drummond beamed. “That’s what I told Mairi. I said there was no need to worry.”

“Why should Mairi be worrying?”

The older woman flushed a little. “Och, she likes to be siding with Neil, and it seems he thought it would be a good plan if he offered Alison—to let you get away.”

So the originator of the plan was Neil, thought Judith, with Mairi only too willing to aid and abet.

“The truth is, Judith,” Mrs. Drummond said now in a confidential whisper, “that Neil is a very odd young man. Truly, I could be wishing that Mairi was not quite so fond of him. But perhaps that will pass.”

Judith nodded, although uncertain as to whether she should have shaken her head.

“In my opinion,” Mrs. Drummond continued, “although it’s not for me to advise you, he’s a young man to keep away from. He’s dangerous—with his moods and his secrecy. Well, goodbye, my dear. Give my love to your sister.”

On her way back to Andy’s with the letters and parcels she had collected, Judith laughed aloud, startling a nearby stonechat who flew off in a flurry of protesting wings. Mrs. Drummond’s strategy was transparent enough. By hinting at Neil’s “dangerous” character, Judith was to be tempted to try out her powers of attraction on him, to entice him away from Mairi, so that Mairi would recognise defeat, or at least be forced to admit that Neil was unreliable and that he was unworthy of her affection.

But this, Judith told herself, she would never do, just to please a matchmaking mother. Mairi might be coldly vigilant, even actively jealous of Judith where Neil was concerned, but Judith would never set out deliberately to harm the other girl. If Mrs. Drummond wanted to wreck her daughter’s prospect of happiness, she must choose another way.

Barbara was half asleep, but roused when Judith tossed the letters on to the bed.

Judith recounted the interview with Mrs. Drummond. “She’d be delighted if I’d sink my claws in Neil. Poor Mairi. I shall do no such thing. Even if I did annex Neil—”

But Barbara was scarcely listening. The slow tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Oh, darling, what is it?” Judith exclaimed in alarm. “Are you feeling ill again?”

“No, just silly weakness.” Barbara struggled nearer to a sitting position and Judith rearranged the pillows for her. “Judy, there’s something I want to tell you.”

The doctor had impressed upon Andy and Judith that Barbara was not to be worried with probing questions, and since her sister’s return over a week ago, Judith had carefully avoided asking anything about Barbara’s disappearance or the reasons for it. It was possible that Barbara had told Andy, but he had not passed on any information to Judith.

“Don’t talk until you’re ready,” Judith said now.

“But I must. It’s important”

Judith sat on the side of the bed and waited.

Barbara, whose impeccable poise in almost all circumstances had often been envied by her younger sister, was now nervously twisting and pleating her handkerchief while she groped for words.

“That day,” she began, making a tremendous effort at self-control, “your last day—”

“Barbara dear, don’t tell me anything if it distresses you,” pleaded Judith. “It can wait until you’re stronger.”

“No, it can’t!”

Judith detected the rising note of hysteria in her sister’s voice. “All right. I’m ready to listen.”

“I—I’d planned it all. I’d been wanting to do it for a long time. I felt I couldn’t stand it much longer. While you were here on holiday with us, it wasn’t so bad, but what was a fortnight? When it was near your last day here, I realised that if I didn’t get away before you went back to London, I’d never be able to go.”

“But, darling, why didn’t you tell Andy how you felt?”

“Judith, please listen. Andy wouldn’t even consider any kind of job that Graham could offer him. So that was the last straw. My only chance of escape was to go before you did. So I decided to leave Andy and go to London.”