Even below ground, the storm made itself felt, gales slamming against boulders and whistling through the cleits, rain falling like poisoned arrows and making the sheep skitter. The wind moaned past the open door, the entire sky a battlefield as the tumbling clouds were pierced with spears of lightning, cracks of thunder making her jump.
The weather had broken just as the sun set and Flora had retreated to her bed to reread James’s letters. Mhairi – with a guilty conscience for throwing her to the wolf earlier – had insisted on taking the last of the milk churns up to the ridge, but that had been hours ago and Flora kept getting up and looking out for sight of her coming down the slopes. Where was she? Sheltering in a cleit until the rain lessened? This tempest looked set fast for the night.
‘Mhairi?’ she called with relief, as she saw something moving – lumbering – towards her at last over the grass. ‘What took you so long?’
But Mhairi wasn’t alone.
‘Lorna?’
‘Help me, Flora,’ the nurse stammered, struggling to support Mhairi’s weight.
‘What’s happened?’ Flora cried, rushing out and feeling the storm grab her too.
‘There’s been an accident . . . Mhairi fell, badly. She’s bleeding. I need you to help me get her onto the bed. Hurry now.’
Flora draped Mhairi’s spare arm around her shoulders and together, scuttling sideways, they got her into the souterrain; protected from the wind, in the dim light, her face glowed a ghostly white. Mhairi could scarcely support herself as they dragged her through to the sleeping cell and Flora could see Lorna’s arms shaking with the effort as they laid her down and got her legs up. Had she really just transported Mhairi down from the ridge all alone?
A groan escaped Mhairi but she seemed barely conscious, her eyes rolling back in her head.
‘Bring me your blankets, clothes, anything we can use to elevate the pelvis. Quickly now,’ Lorna said, reaching for the blanket on Mhairi’s own bed and folding it beneath her buttocks. Flora flew back to her room and returned a moment later to find the nurse reaching for Mhairi’s Sunday best shirt and using it to stem the blood flow between Mhairi’s legs. Flora stopped short at the shocking sight – there was so much blood, Mhairi’s legs lambent in the crepuscular light, her skirt pooled around her waist like an inky puddle.
Lorna took the blanket from her and used it to lift Mhairi’s hips even higher.
‘Get some rocks – the biggest you can carry. Carry safely,’ she warned. ‘I don’t need yet another emergency on my hands.’
‘Rocks?’ Flora was confused.
‘For resting her feet on. They need to be higher than her head.’
‘Right.’
Flora ran back out into the night, the wind gusting her like the wingbeat of swans, pushing her back. She scanned the ground by moonlight for a couple of smoothish boulders she could carry. She picked them up carefully and staggered back in. She could hear the nurse’s distinctive clipped voice drifting through the underground chambers. There was nothing down here but soil and stones and yet Lorna’s words held within them the education, wisdom and experience of city hospitals, and it was all the reassurance she needed. If Lorna was here, Mhairi’s baby had every chance.
‘Here . . .’ she panted, setting them down.
‘. . . Good,’ Lorna said distractedly. She had her arm between Mhairi’s legs, a look of concentration on her face. Automatically Flora fell still and silent, sensing the importance of her examination. After another minute or so she drew back, pressing the blood-soaked shirt to Mhairi’s groin, and pulled her skirts back down. Lorna took off her gloves and set the stones under Mhairi’s feet, wrapping them with the brown-and-white houndstooth-check lambing shawl she often wore, to soften the pressure against Mhairi’s bones.
Flora watched in apprehensive silence as the nurse performed her medical observations, reading Mhairi’s pulse, temperature . . . Mhairi was lying on her back, her gaze dully fixed on a point on the ceiling. She hadn’t said a word.
‘Very good, Mhairi,’ Lorna said in a low voice finally, smoothing her hair back from her face. ‘You’re doing well.’
Flora winced at the sight of her friend, prone and pale. She shouldn’t be going through this alone. ‘. . . Should I get Donald?’ she whispered.
Both Mhairi and Lorna’s heads turned at his name. The nurse gave a stern look. ‘No – he’s not well enough yet.’
Too late, Flora remembered Donald’s own injuries from his fall on Boreray – both of the lovers wounded and stricken in their beds. Was it a coincidence that they should have been struck down within a day of one another – or retribution? How futile their efforts had been keeping their secret from the minister and villagers when God knew – he saw everything, and this was his judgement, surely?
Lorna stepped away from the patient and the two of them went and stood in the oval chamber, heads bent together. Lorna’s expression was sombre, a deep frown between her brows. ‘There’s nothing more that can be done now. All we can do is wait.’ The concern in her voice was distinct from the encouragement she had given Mhairi only moments before.
‘. . . Haemorrhage?’ Flora asked, her eyes wide, as she showed she knew and understood the grave risk to Mhairi’s pregnancy. She had been a cautious student these past few weeks; Lorna, on her regular visits over here, was vocal on the risks faced by the expectant mother. Haemorrhage, convulsions and puerperal pyrexia were three of the Four Horsemen of Maternal Death. The fourth, abortion, was the only one Mhairi didn’t need to fear.
‘Yes, but it’s slowed considerably. She’ll continue to bleed a little over the next few hours but I’m satisfied she’s clotting satisfactorily and it should stop very soon, especially now her hips and feet are elevated. Her waters are still intact and there’s no sign of induction of labour, all of which is good. Most importantly, I’ve felt the baby kicking. You’ll need to check for that every two hours, even if she’s sleeping. Put your hand to the belly and feel around for movement.’
‘Me? But where are you going? You can’t leave us.’
‘I have to get back to Donald. He’s under observation too.’
Flora wondered how long it had taken Lorna to bring Mhairi down here, in the dark, in a storm, bleeding . . . She must have left the McKinnons’ cottage at least a few hours ago now.
‘There’s nothing more I can do here for Mhairi at the moment. I’ll come back again in the morning.’
‘But—’ Flora felt the panic surge.
‘Mhairi’s quite safe in herself, and so long as she doesn’t move, I think the baby will be too. All you have to do is let her sleep and comfort her when she’s awake. They’ve both been in distress but if she can remain calm, it will soothe the baby as well.’
‘But . . .’
Lorna clasped her upper arms and squeezed them firmly. ‘You’ll be all right, Flora. You can do this. I have faith in you.’
Flora murmured uncertainly as she watched Lorna reach for her medical bag. It was always ready packed by the door of her cottage, filled with bandages, vials, needles and all manner of potions that were indecipherable to the villagers.
‘I’ll be back in the morning, all right? I’ll check on the patient and bring Effie with me.’
‘Effie?’ Flora asked in another panic. Effie knew nothing of the predicament over here. ‘But—’
‘She knows now, Flora. She was the one who came to fetch me tonight.’
Flora frowned. What had Effie and Mhairi been doing together in the storm?
‘And besides, you’ll need someone to come and help you with the milking, seeing as Mhairi isn’t to leave her bed.’
Flora nodded, feeling sick. It felt as though the ground was churning and not just the sky – as if greater forces were at work here.
‘. . . Will you at least tell Donald about what’s happened?’ Flora asked, trailing after Lorna as she headed for the entrance.
‘No. Not yet,’ Lorna said firmly.
‘But—’
‘If he hears, he’ll only want to come over here, and he’s not strong enough for that yet.’
‘But doesn’t he deserve to know?’ Flora pressed. What if Mhairi didn’t stop bleeding? What if she did lose the baby?
Lorna turned back and pinned her with a sharp look. ‘The state he’s in right now, if he knows, the entire village will know. Is that what Mhairi would want?’
Flora swallowed. ‘No.’
‘No. It’s in her best interests that we all act with caution and discretion. Mhairi has suffered a serious fall and I’m concerned about her; it’s imperative she stays lying down – but I’m also worried for Donald, and it doesn’t serve either one of them to be putting themselves through any undue stress. Rest is what will bring them all the best outcome.’ She put a hand on Flora’s shoulder. ‘As soon as I think he’s turned the corner, I’ll tell him what’s happened. Hopefully by then, I’ll be giving him happier news with it too.’
Flora nodded as Lorna pulled her shawl up from her shoulders and tied it tightly around her hair – scant protection in these conditions. ‘Sleep now, while you can. The most important thing is to keep her calm and off her feet. Bring her water when she needs it and check her belly every two hours for the baby’s kicks.’
‘And if there are none?’ Flora asked, feeling the full weight of responsibility settle upon her shoulders. They were a two-hour walk from the village, and in the dark and in a storm . . .
Lorna looked back at her sadly. ‘Then there would be nothing more we could have done for the child anyway. It’s out of our hands. All we can do now is pray.’
Outside, the wind still howled, tearing up the sky and screaming around the glen as the nurse stepped out into wild night, her skirt immediately flapping and beating around her legs. Flora watched her go, a solitary dark speck on a starless night, on a rock in the middle of the sea. Within minutes she was out of sight. Flora stepped back into the souterrain, feeling the enormity of the burden upon her shoulders alone.
‘Floss?’ Mhairi’s voice was weak and frightened.
Flora hurried back through. ‘I’m here,’ she said quickly. ‘I was just saying goodbye to Lorna. She’s gone but she’ll be back over in the morning.’ She crouched beside the sleeping ledge and clasped Mhairi’s arm. ‘. . . How are you feeling?’
Mhairi closed her eyes. ‘Better.’ But her voice was flat and toneless.
‘Lorna says it’s imperative you rest. Completely. No getting up at all.’
‘No,’ Mhairi breathed. Even talking seemed to drain her.
Flora looked down at her friend’s inert body. It was impossible to see the trauma beneath her clothes. ‘The bleeding’s still stopped?’
Mhairi hesitated, as if feeling for the sensation, before she nodded.
‘Well, as long as there’s no more, she thinks the baby will be safe.’
‘. . . Really?’ A tremor of hope flickered in the word.
‘Aye. But no getting up,’ Flora said firmly.
For several minutes, neither of them spoke as they settled into the reality of the night ahead of them. They were alone over here, two young women in the dark, and a baby fighting to survive.
‘What . . . what happened up there?’ Flora whispered.
She felt she could almost hear the thoughts whirring in her friend’s head as Mhairi tried to make sense of the memories.
‘I think . . .’ she said haltingly. ‘I think I walked in on Effie jumping the broom.’
‘. . . What?’
A broomstick marriage was the age-old custom of their forebears when a ceremony needed to be held but no minister was resident on the island. It was recognized by the community, and there was a great romance associated with assembling a broom on an isle without trees: driftwood would need to be gathered, patience a virtue . . . But it had no legal status. As an educated man, Sholto would have known that; it was simply the perfect bluff: appearances without substance. ‘She married Lord Sholto?’
‘No.’ Mhairi looked at her and there was suddenly an intensity in her gaze that was startling. ‘. . . The factor.’
Flora fell back, her back scraping against the wall, but she felt nothing. ‘The f . . .?’ The word wouldn’t come. ‘Effie jumped the broom with Frank Mathieson?’
‘He forced her to do it. He was wild, Flora,’ Mhairi breathed, sounding distressed. ‘Deranged! A madman! I never would have imagined he could be like that. He was attacking her.’
Flora’s hands flew to her mouth. ‘You mean . . .?’
‘They had been fighting. I think Poppit had bitten him . . . he almost killed Poppit.’
‘. . . Effie and Mathieson?’ Flora repeated, in shock. ‘It makes no sense. He’s twice her age! He’s never . . . I mean . . .!’
‘I know. She was horrified, Flora. Terrified. I don’t think she had any idea he . . . thought of her like that.’
‘My God. My God,’ Flora murmured, trying – and failing – not to see it playing out in her mind’s eye. She had seen the man’s viciousness for herself today as he humiliated her for his own pleasure, but that he had actually attacked Effie . . . For all her friend’s wiry strength and agility, Mathieson was twice her size, not just twice her age. ‘Where is he now? Is Effie back home? Is she safe from him? We need to get over there and tell everyone what he did!’ She went to spring up.
‘No. No,’ Mhairi said quietly. ‘He’s gone again. He left with the earl and his son. He came with them and he’s set sail with them.’
‘Oh.’ Yet another heartbreak, then. Sholto was gone. Two tragedies in one hour. ‘Poor Eff. All that in one night.’
‘I know. Although right now, I don’t think she can think on anything beyond Poppit being all right.’
‘Of course,’ Flora mumbled. She bit her lip, staring into space. ‘. . . It just makes no sense, coming out of nowhere like that. Why? Why now?’
Mhairi gave a sigh, a long-drawn-out exhale carrying a weariness that seemed to hail from her bones. ‘I think it might have been because he knows he’s going to lose her. Or rather, lose control over her.’
Flora looked at her blankly. ‘Huh?’
‘I met David on the ridge when I was bringing up the churns. There’s been some news.’ Her eyes met Flora’s. ‘They’ve granted the request. We’re going to be evacuated at the end of the summer.’
Flora could feel the blood draining from her cheeks. ‘What?? They actually said yes?’
‘They did.’
Both women were quiet for a moment. Their own futures off the isle had already been decided upon, their fates set, but for their families, for their friends and neighbours, everything was about to change. For old and young, those for or against it . . . After over two and a half thousand years of continuous human settlement, St Kilda would finally fall silent?
‘It means Mathieson is going to come back here again soon. The evacuation will mean things need sorting.’
Flora brought her attention back to Effie again and what this news meant for her. If Mathieson was coming back, then she wasn’t safe. ‘Then we have to tell people what he did. He can’t just come back and—’
‘No. Effie doesn’t want that. At least, not yet. We need to talk to her first. She begged me not to tell Lorna that Mathieson had even been up there; he’s made all sorts of threats against her father and she’s terrified he’ll act on them. We have to do as she asks. She made me say we’d just been walking and fell down in the dark.’
Flora frowned at the weak cover story. ‘And Lorna believed that?’
‘Seemed to.’
She dropped her head into her hands, scarcely able to believe all she had been told. A broomstick marriage; evacuation; the factor’s violence against both Effie and Mhairi; Sholto’s effortless departure; Mhairi’s threatened pregnancy. Here they were, the two of them alone in a glen in a storm, and it felt as if the entire world was ending. Or their world, anyway.
‘Everything’s such a mess,’ she despaired.
‘I know,’ Mhairi whispered.
Flora looked back at her friend. ‘How did we get here, Mhairi?’ she asked, her voice thick and eyes shining with tears as they clasped hands.
For a moment, Mhairi looked blank. But then she gave a shrug, as if it was obvious. ‘. . . Love.’