The House Between Tides Read online

  Eventually she tired and turned back, picking her way slowly up the beach across the high-water mark of seaweed and driftwood. From somewhere a rank odour assailed her, and she stopped, looking about for the source, to find it lay almost at her feet, and she recoiled, stepping quickly back. An empty eye socket stared back at her, lips fallen away from bared teeth, a face half covered by the dried-out tangle of seaweed. It was a seal, a young one, its glossy pelt matted with sand and reduced to the texture of old felt. The creature had been dead for some time, its ribs visible under decayed flesh. Boring insects had left tiny holes in the taut skin, and the eye had been picked clean. A doomed selkie, she thought, looking down at it, or a selkie’s child stranded between two elements. Another child lost.

  She walked rapidly away from the unsettling stench and climbed into the dunes to find a sheltered hollow, away from the wind. After a while she dozed, her legs tucked up under her, lulled by the breeze rattling softly through the marram grasses, the sand warm beneath her. But her half-dreaming mind took her back to the dark days in Edinburgh, to where she had forged a connection between Theo’s shooting of the sea eagle and the disasters which had followed. Doubtless that crime will go unpunished . . . the man had predicted, but in her dream the words were spoken by Cameron . . . even as it tips the balance towards disaster. And disaster had struck, taking their child, their hope—and in her dreaming despair she reached out to Cameron for consolation. He gave an odd shout and came to her, drawing close, his breath warm on her face.

  She woke abruptly, her mouth dry and her head throbbing, to look into the limpid eyes of Bess as she nuzzled close, blowing into her face, before barking again. Groggy and disorientated, she was trying to pull herself together when Cameron appeared on the top of the dunes, silhouetted against the sky, his jacket blown open by the breeze.

  He stood there looking down at her. “I thought I might find you here,” he said at last, “when you weren’t at the old chapel.”

  She squinted up at him, still caught in her dreaming world, still reaching out to him. Wanting him. “You came looking for me?”

  “Mrs. Henderson sent me to find you.” His tone was brusque. “She was anxious.”

  “She had no need to be.”

  “Mr. Blake had told her you’d be staying close to the house.”

  She straightened her legs, stiff from her cramped position, and pushed her hair from her face. “House arrest, in fact,” she said, running her tongue over dried lips.

  He came down a few steps from the top of the dunes, his face still in shadow. “This was a long way for you to walk, more than you should have attempted.” She looked up at him again, the wanting becoming a need, but he refused to meet her eyes. “Let me take you home. The trap’s at the edge of the fields.”

  She gazed out across the bay, saying nothing while he stood watching her. “Sit with me a moment?” she asked softly, feeling the need in her growing, but he did not move. “Please, Cameron.”

  He came only a little closer and sat on one of the grassy hummocks, resting his elbows on bent knees, gazing out to sea. “Put your hat on, Mrs. Blake. Your face is fiery from the sun.” His tone held her at a distance.

  She made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob as she reached for her hat. “Are you still looking after me, Cameron?” Her need became a pain, but he said nothing, and they sat in silence. “I was remembering the day you brought me here to see the divers,” she said at last. “I thought I’d never seen a place more beautiful.” Still he said nothing. “And now there’s a seal pup down there, rotting away in the seaweed. Stinking of death—” Her voice shook, and the shoreline became blurred and indistinct.

  “Let me take you home, Mrs. Blake.”

  She wet her lips again, dragging her fingers through her hair. “And I was remembering the day at the seal island, when you damned us all to hell, pulled the edifice down around us.”

  The wind blew his hair across his eyes. “I damned the edifice, not you,” he said. “It was you, I recall, who was for anarchy.”

  “No. You damned us. Your sort, you called us. Self-indulgent despots. Living a fantasy.”

  He made no reply, then stretched out his legs and reached a hand to fondle Bess’s ears. “That whole day was a fantasy,” he said at last. “A silly pretence of equality.” Bess arched her neck, revelling in the attention. “And from that moment, I dropped my guard and let myself think you were someone I could be in love with.” Beatrice’s heart lurched and she turned to him, to find his eyes focussed on the horizon. “But you aren’t, are you, Beatrice? You’re someone else’s wife. The man who rules here, my one-time patron.” Patron? She watched him closely as he pulled at a handful of dune grasses, letting it score through his hand. “So all I can do is watch him finish what he began last summer. Destroying you.” He turned his palm over and examined the thin red cuts, the tiny beads of blood, before wiping them away on his knee, and looked directly at her at last. “And so you must take note of what your husband tells you. Pull yourself together, madam. Learn acceptance.” He hurled a stick out to sea, and Bess sat up, uncertain. The gesture was friendly but the tone was not. “It’s not a bad situation, after all. You’ll want for very little.”

  She looked back at him. “And that must be enough?”

  His eyes narrowed as he followed a string of gannets gliding down to the surface of the sea before disappearing against the waves. “Most people settle for much less.”

  “But I want more.”

  “I know.” The two words fell into the space between them and, like pebbles dropped into a rock pool, their ripples disturbed the surface of calm.

  She watched the gannets rise up again amidst the spray blown back from the waves. But I want more. The silence lengthened until she spoke again, taking her courage in her hands. “Both Theo and I have, in our different ways, disappointed each other.” She became transfixed by the sharp angles of the sunlight where they struck the waves far out to sea. “I don’t understand why.” She caught at her blowing hair, the uncertain breeze of the morning now a strengthening force. “Except—except that I believe it’s you he wants, not me.”

  Cameron looked up.

  “Such a tangle.” She felt faint again, the thrumming in her head growing louder. “I had thought that this summer we might repair the damage. There was to be a child, and you . . . you would not be here. For either of us.” She paused again. “You see, he cannot love me because of you.”

  He stared at her.

  Clouds of dry sand spiralled along the beach towards them, and the grains stung her face, blinding her. “It’s absurd, of course. We both want you, and while you reject him, he rejects me.”

  He slid quickly down the side of the dune and was there, beside her, his hands on her shoulders. “You can’t believe that.” And he took her head between his hands as he had done before. “You can’t—”

  “But it’s true.”

  “No!” He pressed her back against the grassy hummock, holding her close, and she felt the strength of him. There was salt on his lips as his mouth sought hers, and her fingers found sand matted in the texture of his hair as she raised her hands to him.

  Then Bess lifted her head, her ears flattened back by the wind, and gave a sharp bark. Cameron looked up. They heard a shout, and he rose, cautious now, and looked out towards the edge of the fields. “Donald,” he said, “probably sent on the same mission,” and he stood, raising a hand to signal. “He’ll have seen the trap.”

  By the time Donald reached them, Beatrice had put her hat back on, pulling it low across her eyes, and Cameron had moved away. “Mrs. Blake fell asleep and has a touch of the sun. Bess found her.” He spoke quickly, then turned back to her. “Are you alright to go now, madam?” She nodded dumbly, and he offered his hand, crushing her fingers briefly as he helped her to her feet, avoiding his brother’s eyes. “Take Mrs. Blake home, Donald, but stop by the spring first; some water will help. Drink plenty, madam.” Then, to Donald, “I’
ll go back by the Bràigh and check on the calves.” He gave them a quick, distracted nod and made off down the dunes.

  Beatrice slept better that night than she had since she lost the baby. She slept long and deep, and her dreams took her to sweet forbidden places where Cameron’s arms still held her, his face close to hers. And as she woke and lay there, grasping at the fading dream, a new resolve grew within her.

  Each day she had watched him set off early to tour the lambing fields, usually returning mid-morning astride a sturdy island pony, before heading off for other tasks. It was a pattern he seldom varied, and she rose, dressing quickly, planning to meet him on his return, and she left, reassuring Mrs. Henderson that she would not go far.

  Yesterday’s wind still blew in ragged bursts as she followed the winding field track. She gave up on her hat and let it fall on her back, feeling the breeze through her hair and savouring the warmth of the sun on her neck. Halfway along the track she saw him, and this time he did not try to avoid her but came steadily on. “You don’t learn, do you,” he called out as he approached. “You’ll get freckles and sunburn. Put your hat on, Mrs. Blake.” He slid off the pony and walked over to her, his eyes sharply alive. “What brings you out this way?”

  “I came to find you.” His look held hers. “I want you to take me to see the divers.”

  His eyes narrowed and he looked away, back over the pasture, and was silent for a long time. “No.” The word held finality. He locked his fingers into the pony’s coarse mane and stared across towards Oronsy Mhor. “It can’t be done. The tide has to be right, and even then you have to wade across one bit.”

  “I can wade.”

  “It’s too far.” He turned away, his face set and unyielding. “Mrs. Henderson would have them combing the island for you.” The pony lowered its head to crop at the grass, and he stared out across the fields, his hand on the animal’s neck, not speaking.

  “They might be nesting by now.”

  “Oh, they’re nesting alright. I went to see.” The pony raised its head, blowing softly at him.

  “Then you must show me.”

  “It can’t be done, Mrs. Blake,” he repeated, turning back to her. The pony nuzzled his pocket hopefully. “Give over, damn you,” he said, pushing its head away.

  “Last night as I lay in bed—” She broke off, daunted by his expression, then dropped the charade. “Cameron, these few days are all we have before Theo returns. Can we not allow ourselves that much?” He stared at her, and his eyes grew a shade darker, but he stayed silent. “Cameron?”

  “You’d tear up the rule book, would you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And let the devil take the consequences?” She made no response. “Have you actually considered the consequences?”

  “Of course.”

  He looked at her, unbelieving. “And you think you’re prepared to take that risk?” She watched his face harden. “And I’m to be as reckless with other people’s lives, am I?” He took up the halter and flung himself across the pony’s back, looking down at her. “If you stay out in this sun, you’ll grow faint again. Turn back and go home.” And he rode off rapidly, leaving her alone on the track.

  Beatrice picked at her meal that evening, eating little, gently scolded by Mrs. Henderson for overdoing things. Later she sat on the window seat in the drawing room and watched the light fade across the bay. It felt as if the ebbing tide was draining the last bit of spirit from her, for if Cameron too rejected her—what was there left? Then she heard a crunch on the gravel and looked up to see him approaching from round the side of the house, his face intent and unsmiling. He thrust a paper through the open window at her and was gone as swiftly as he had appeared.

  A single sheet. The scrawled words jumped before her eyes. So be it. Don’t go to church tomorrow. Give Mrs. H leave to visit her daughter after the service. Wear old clothes and be at the old chapel when everyone has left. I’ll bring the boat. Don’t be seen. But think what you’re about. There’ll be no time later for regrets.

  She stood up, fearful suddenly, and looked across the bay to where the last of the sun’s rays lit the peaks of Bheinn Mhor, setting it alight like the flames of a fire that was yet to burn there. A moment’s chill premonition quivered through her, and she clasped her arms across her chest, then turned, crushing the page in her hand, and threw it on the fire. A brief spurt of coloured flame consumed the words, and as she closed the door behind her, the paper, scorched by the heat, fell as ash into the hearth.

  Chapter 37

  1911, Beatrice

  It was easy to tell Mrs. Henderson that she would not go across to the church the next day, harder to persuade her not to remain as well. “Stay with your daughter for the day, Mrs. Henderson. She needs you, so near her time. I’m not unwell. I just crave a little quiet. Really, I insist.”

  She consented to breakfast on a tray in her room, and from her window she could see Cameron helping Mrs. Henderson and Ephie into the larger of the two boats. Then he and Donald rowed them across the tide-filled bay towards the main island. When they were safely away, she rose and dressed, her hands trembling as she did. Quite how Cameron intended to make the rendezvous she had no idea, but she followed his instructions, encountering no one as she walked to the old chapel and sat, crouched in her usual place, screened from the land, biting her lip, unbelieving of what she was about. Off-shore, the seals played in the sea, and the dark one lifted its head, as if in greeting, then dived sideways and was gone.

  Fifteen minutes later, when Cameron had not appeared, her courage began to fail and she scanned the bay one last time. She should go back—this was folly! Madness. Then she saw him, in the smaller boat, pulling hard towards her, and a moment later the bow scraped on the rocks.

  “You came,” he said as he moved forward. “I didn’t think you would, in the end.” He glanced at her as he helped her aboard. “Stay low. Sit on the bottom boards and keep your head well down.” And he pushed off again, rowing strongly away from the shore. “Alright?” he panted, smiling down at her. “Only for a little while. Just until we get round the headland.”

  From the bottom of the boat she watched him, turning his head, scanning the shoreline as he strained at the oars. His feet were bare, and he had changed from his Sunday clothes into an old woollen jersey and loose dark trousers, rolled to just below the knees—and she thought of that other time, when the boat had stalled between two waves. They made swift progress with the tide, and he soon told her it was safe to sit up. She rose, stretching cramped muscles, and looked around, trying to get her bearings, and discovered that they had swung around the northern tip of the island. But even at this distance she could see the chimneys of Muirlan House rising above a fold in the land.

  “Should be alright now. Most people will be at the kirk, but it would be thought odd enough that I’m out here on a Sunday, without seeing two figures in the boat.” He had left his family with the excuse of feeling unwell, he told her, and then hidden his Sunday clothes in the rocks. The boat he had concealed earlier. He began shipping the oars, glancing over his shoulder as he prepared the sail. “Take the helm?” He smiled at her, and she did her best, watching him intent upon his task until he was satisfied that the tan sail was filling. Then he stepped over the oars and came to sit beside her. He took the helm and lay his arm along the gunwale behind her, and pulled her shoulders back to rest against his chest, kissing her temple. “I wanted to kiss you that other time,” he said, glancing up at the sail, tightening the sheet, “but resisted. And besides, we had the sharp-eyed major in the bow.”

  “Rupert?” She turned to him. “What do you mean?”

  “He’s no one’s fool, isn’t Emily’s man.” She dropped her head as anxiety clutched at her. He reached out and turned her chin to face him. “I told you you were reckless, Beatrice, and it’s not too late to turn back.”

  But just then they left the shelter of the land and the wind caught the sail, blowing her hair across her face. The b
oat plunged and bucked in the broken water, and she tasted the salty spray on her lips. “You also said there would be no time for regrets.” He watched her for a moment longer, then laughed, kissing her swiftly before shifting his position and turning the boat towards the rocky shore.

  They did not speak again. His attention became focussed on keeping his course through the contrary waves, and occasionally glancing back over his shoulder. But they were on the wild, uninhabited side of the island, and they saw no one, and she glimpsed a fringe of white sand in the distance. “Torrann Bay,” he said, following her gaze, then went forward to take down the sail and retrieve the oars.

  A few moments later, the bow scraped softly on the sandy beach, and he helped her step ashore, then led her across the turf to a patch of slightly higher ground. From there she could see a long finger of water, once an inlet from the sea cut off centuries ago by a violent storm. Gradually it had become a freshwater lochan, fed by a spring, bordered on its margins by rushes and iris. A small promontory reached out into it, and at the end was an untidy pile of sticks and seaweed heaped together, apparently haphazardly. And sitting atop was a large black-and-white bird, its neck settled back, relaxed and unconcerned. Silently he passed her the field glasses.

  “Oh!” Then, “She looks so large out of the water.”

  “It could be him,” he replied. “One fishes and the other sits, then they swap.” A tremolo came from across the loch, and the nesting bird went on the alert, rising from the nest. Cameron bent close and spoke softly. “Watch as the other one comes ashore.” The two birds met briefly on the water and then the second bird laboured in an ungainly manner up to the nest. “I think this is the female. But see how she drags a leg? I believe she’s injured.” The bird settled herself onto the pile of twigs while the male bird dived. “It’s perhaps why she stayed.”