Chapter Five

FROM THE FRONT window of his little blue house on the hill, Duncan gazed down across the harbour as he lifted a fine china teacup to his lips. Rain ran in torrents down the glass. To his left, he could just about see the steep roads that formed the main part of the village, where every house and shop was locked down for the weather. Across the field and down the hillside was the schoolhouse, where earlier children had been excitedly running around in hats and scarves, delighted at their unexpected premature dismissal. At the old cottages on the far side of town, some older children had helped the elderly residents close up their homes, and guided them down to the Moth & Moon, where people were gathering to wait out the storm. The bad weather obscured that side of town from his vision now. Only vague, grey shapes were visible. Ghostly outlines in the distance.

The boats in the harbour tipped from side to side in the growing winds, and the waves splashed high against the lighthouse sitting on its tiny islet in the bay. He knew the keepers would be entirely isolated for the duration of the storm. The only way to access the islet was by sea, which would be impossible in the choppy waters of the storm. The keepers lived for months at a time at the lighthouse, but there was a difference between choosing not to leave a place and knowing you couldn’t.

He considered taking up Robin’s offer of sheltering in the Moth & Moon, but his house had stood for many years, long before Duncan had ever lived there, and this storm wouldn’t get the best of it. It would be nice to have some company for the duration, though. Part of the reason he loved his home so much was its relative isolation, but having grown up on a farm, he was used to being surrounded by activity, and every now and then, he missed having some life around him. He finished his tea and went back to barricading all the windows at the rear of the house and in the small workshop.

The walls of Duncan’s home were decorated in a rich forest-green wallpaper, swirled with ornate patterns of what appeared to be gold peacock feathers. His furniture was dark walnut wood, most of which he’d bought with the house. What he hadn’t bought, he’d made himself. The trees north of the village were mostly walnut, cherry, and chestnut, so good quality wood was easily available. The previous occupant had died and left everything to his only family member—a distant cousin on Blackrabbit Island—who wanted to sell the house quickly and be done with it. A sideboard, writing desk, and cabinet sat in this room, and a giltwood mirror hung above the fireplace. On the mantelpiece sat a collection of small items he had carved. A bird, a cat, and a boat sat at one end, and a sleeping dog at the other. There was a thick-trunked four-poster bed and a spacious wardrobe in the bedroom. Everything had its place, carefully thought out and tested; everything had a purpose, either practical or emotional. Everything was just so.

Duncan had come to the village with a trunk full of clothes, a set of tools, and some money which he used to buy a house at the start of Anchor Rise. He began making toys and games from driftwood he’d collected on the beach and then selling them every morning at the market down by the harbour. He’d soon saved enough to buy permanent premises on Hill Road. Robin had been a great help and support through those early days. While this was a friendly village, he had come from Blackrabbit, and having someone vouch for him so early on, even someone with a reputation like Robin Shipp’s, certainly helped Duncan gain a solid foothold.

Not long after he’d first opened his shop, he spotted a sublime coat at the market. A passing trader was setting up for the day, and there on his stall was a rich midnight-blue overcoat, inlaid with the finest gold thread, which swooped and swirled around the edges in mesmerising, intricate patterns. He’d fallen in love with it at first sight but, sadly, was unable to afford it. Some days later, he awoke to find it hanging on the coat hook in his hallway, with a note saying Because you deserve it. Well, what it actually said was Becose you diserve it. Robin hadn’t spent much time learning to how to write as a child, preferring instead to be on the water as often as he could.

Robin explained how the coat would add to the atmosphere of Duncan’s toyshop and his role as toymaker. A touch of showmanship and luxury. Duncan looked magical in it, and to the children of the village, he was something of a magician with his ability to create the most amazing toys from lumps of dead wood. Duncan revelled in this image, truth be told, and he still wore the overcoat, despite the memories it had come to embody. Also, unknown to everyone but himself, he kept Robin’s note tucked at the bottom of the inside pocket.

After he and Robin had parted ways, Duncan sold his house with all its meagre furnishings and moved to the opposite side of the village, which was as far away from Robin as he could get while still being in Blashy Cove. It was a gesture he knew would hurt Robin deeply, though if Duncan had chosen the house on the hill specifically for that reason, he would never admit it.