It was very quiet in the little cottage, a fire burned slowly on the hearth, for the evenings are often chilly in Ardfalloch, and, besides, Iain liked a fire—it was company. Iain was busy at the table working out the accounts for the estate. He had not seen Linda for two days, but he was not really impatient—he was sure of her now.
The table was covered with books and papers and bills. Iain was trying to decide how much money he would have in hand for improvements and renovations, and to decide what was necessary and what was not. The repairs to the boat-house were absolutely necessary, he must get an estimate from Fraser for that, and Donald’s cottage must have a new roof unless the old roof could be satisfactorily repaired. He owed it to Donald and Morag to do what he could for them—they were doing so much for him and they would not accept payment in the ordinary sense. And he had promised Alec MacNeil that he would build him some pigsties—that was a promise. He would have to see what all this was going to cost before he could think of deepening the harbour, or putting wire along the road to Balnafin, or doing a hundred and one things that he wanted in the house itself. Simpson wanted some of the money put aside for the land taxes, and the overdraft at the bank must be paid off.
Iain sighed. The money had seemed so large at first, but now he began to think it would not go very far. He wondered how other landowners managed; how did people make money—Mr. Finlay, for instance. Supposing he asked Mr. Finlay for a stock exchange tip and put the thousand into that—it might double itself, and then he would not have to let Ardfalloch next year. Iain lay back and thought about it—had he the right to risk it? There was very little risk really. Mr. Finlay knew what he was doing. It wasn’t like gambling on horses—that was a mug’s game if you like! Iain thought—other men make money, but I can’t do that, partly because I haven’t been trained to make money, and partly because I haven’t time. If I had a factor—but what factor could run Ardfalloch as I can? I suppose I shall just have to make up my mind to let the place every year—but it seems hard. It seems hard that I can’t live quietly in my own home. Mr. Finlay said the estate should be self-supporting, but, instead of that, it actually costs money to run. Could a business man make it self-supporting? And if so, how?
He was still thinking about it, trying to find some way out of the difficulties of his position, when he heard light steps on the path and somebody knocked at the door.
Iain went to open the door. It was quite dark outside, dark and cloudy, a slight figure was standing on the step.
“Linda!” he exclaimed in amazement.
“Let me come in, Iain,” she said breathlessly.
He took her hand and led her into the little sitting-room. The hand was cold, it trembled in his.
“I had to come,” she said, still in that breathless voice. “I ran—nearly all the way—”
“My dear—what is the matter?”
She sat down and loosened the silk scarf which was tied round her head; he saw that she was in evening dress beneath her fur coat—a little string of brilliants was clasped round her bare throat, they rose and fell in time with her hurried breathing.
“I was mad to come—like this,” she said, raising her eyes and looking at him. “But I had to see you, Iain—I had to see you—”
“Of course,” he said incoherently. “Why shouldn’t you—it’s all right, Linda, why shouldn’t you come.” He thought—how lovely’ she is! How lovely—and dear—something has frightened her and she came to me. He was very gentle with her.
“Tell me what is the matter,” he said, taking her hand again.
Linda let her hand lie in his—how kind and comforting he was! She was glad now she had come, glad that she had given way to that wild impulse to see him.
“I’ll tell you what happened,” she said in a calmer voice. “Perhaps you’ll think I’m mad to make such a fuss. It was Richard—he was out in the woods—he often plays alone in the woods near the house—he’s quite sensible really, he doesn’t go far. He was playing in the woods after tea, and all of a sudden he came running back, terrified, simply terrified—I couldn’t find out at first what had frightened him, he just clung to me and shook all over. Mrs. Hetherington Smith told me to give him a hot bath and put him to bed—she is such a sensible, practical woman, so kind, and—and calm. I got him into bed and he lay there holding my hand, and at last I got it out of him—he had seen Jack—”
“You mean—Medworth?” Iain said.
She nodded with her eyes on his face.
“But that is—that is awful,” Iain said. “Awful that the boy would be so frightened of—of him.”
“It wasn’t just seeing him,” said Linda slowly. “There was more in it than that. It was something he said that frightened Richard so. I couldn’t find out exactly what he did say—Richard wouldn’t tell me—couldn’t tell me. He just clung to my hand and said, ‘I don’t want to go away’—he said it over and over again. He was frantic.”
“Are you sure it really was Medworth?”
“That’s what Mrs. Hetherington Smith said. She thinks it was a tramp or something—tinkers, there were some tinkers camping in the quarry—of course Richard hasn’t seen Jack for months, so he might have been mistaken, I suppose. I couldn’t question Richard much, he was so frantic. Then Mrs. Hetherington Smith gave him some bromide and he went to sleep—”
“It can’t have been Medworth.”
“I feel it was,” she said desperately. “I feel it was Jack. He’s followed us here—I’m frightened, Iain.”
“There’s no need to be frightened, darling,” Iain said quietly. “He can’t do anything to harm you, even if it was Medworth; but really and truly it isn’t likely that it was Medworth, is it?”
“No,” she said doubtfully. “And yet—”
“It isn’t likely that Medworth would follow you here, and skulk in the woods just to frighten Richard—there’s no sense in it, is there?”
“Not just for that,” she admitted. “There must be some other reason—he must have some plan—”
“If it really were he,” said Iain again. He saw that his doubts were beginning to affect her.
“Mrs. Hetherington Smith thinks the same as you,” Linda said. “She thinks it couldn’t have been Jack. She thinks it was a tinker—a sort of gypsy—and that he said to Richard, ‘Wouldn’t you like to come with me,’ or something like that, as a kind of joke, and that Richard thought he really meant it and connected it with Jack. Jack used to say things like that and Richard was always frightened; he used to say, ‘I’ll take you away from your mother and make a man of you.’”
What a beast! Iain thought—what an unutterable swine! He stifled his rage and said aloud—“Well, you see how easily the mistake might have occurred—especially as Richard hasn’t seen Medworth for such ages. I don’t suppose he remembers Medworth’s appearance, but merely that he was a man who frightened him in that particular way.”
“Richard is so terrified of anyone taking him away,” said Linda thoughtfully, “it’s a sort of obsession—”
“That’s because he was frightened when he was very small,” explained Iain gently. “Medworth frightened him and made such a tremendous impression upon him that the fear was created in the child’s mind. I think it will pass away in time—Richard is a plucky little boy really.”
“You said that before—the first day.”
“It’s true. He is plucky. But he is highly strung, and that particular fear—the fear of being ‘taken away’ has been planted in his mind.”
“Yes, I see what you mean,” Linda said slowly.
They were silent for a little, thinking their own thoughts. Iain was sitting on the arm of the big chair with Linda’s hand in his.
She said at last, “I’m frightened, too.”
“What are you frightened of, Linda?” Iain said quietly. “Even if it were Medworth—I don’t see how it could have been, but even if it were, what possible harm could he do? You’re not—you’re not afraid of physical violence from him, are you?”
“No. Oh no, Jack wouldn’t do anything like that,” she replied confidently. “He’s too—too civilised—too afraid of the law—of putting himself in the wrong. He’s reckless when he’s driving a car, horribly reckless, but—oh, I can’t explain it, but I just know that he wouldn’t.”
Iain thought about this. He wondered whether Medworth had any idea of kidnapping Richard, but he wasn’t going to put that thought into Linda’s head.
“He’s afraid of the law?” Iain said doubtfully. It seemed to him a queer thing for a man to fear the law. A man might be afraid of a storm, or a wild beast, or he might fear death—that great plunge into the unknown. But to fear the law—that was quite incredible to the Highlander descended from generations of men who were, to all intents and purposes, brigands and pirates.
“Yes, he is afraid of the whole big machine of the law,” Linda told him. “From the judge who tried our case down to the traffic policeman at the corner. Jack wouldn’t do anything that would put him on the wrong side of the law.”
“Well, what could he do, then?”
“I don’t know,” Linda said. “I don’t know—that’s just the horrible part.”
There was silence again, and suddenly Iain heard a slight noise—it was so slight that he could not tell what it was, but the night was very still and the room was very quiet.
“Hush,” he said, raising his head.
“What is it, Iain?”
“I thought I heard something—”
They waited in silence, not a sound broke the stillness save the rapid whisper of Linda’s breathing and the beating of his own heart.
“Oh, Iain, what was it?” she said again.
“Wait here,” said Iain. “I’ll go and have a look round—it may not have been anything at all—”
He took his electric torch out of the cupboard and went outside; it was still very cloudy and very dark. The moon was hidden behind the clouds, it made a luminous patch in the sky but gave little light. He stood in the doorway for a few moments until his eyes became used to the darkness, and then he began his tour of the house. He looked in the little wood-shed, flashing his torch into the dark corners; he looked behind the water-butt. He went down to where the boat was drawn up on the shingle, and looked about carefully amongst the bushes—there was nothing to be seen. He stood still for a minute, considering—the noise might have been made by some night creature of the woods—only night creatures don’t make any noise as a rule. He tried to think what kind of a noise it was, but the more he thought about it the less clear it became—it was like trying to recapture a dream. He thought—was it a human noise, a step on the path or the snapping of a dry twig? I can’t pin it down as being anything. Supposing it was somebody prowling about—the tinker who frightened Richard—or was it really Medworth who frightened Richard, and is it Medworth—but no, that’s absurd—absolutely ridiculous. I’m being infected with Linda’s fears. All the same she had better go home.
Linda was waiting for him; she had not moved. She looked up at him when he came in and her eyes met his. He saw that all her fears had returned.
“There was nobody and nothing,” he said lightly.
“Are you sure?” she asked in a low voice.
“Quite sure. I’ve looked everywhere—perhaps it was a mouse.” He laughed and added, “Fancy a mouse frightening us like that! Perhaps you are frightened of mice.”
“No,” she replied, trying to smile. “I’m not frightened of mice—women are supposed to be terrified of mice, but I’m not. It’s funny, isn’t it?” She added in a different tone, “I keep my fears for—for other things.”
He looked at her gravely, he could see by her eyes that she was frightened, but she had her fear under control.
“You had better go home now,” he said gently.
“Yes, I must,” she agreed, standing up and tying the scarf round her hair. “You will walk back with me, won’t you, Iain?”
“Certainly not.”
She looked at him quickly, in surprise.
“My dear,” he said, taking her hand, “did you think I would let you walk back alone—did you think it for a moment?”
“Then—there was someone—” she whispered.
“There was nobody. I wouldn’t deceive you, Linda. If I had seen anybody, or any trace of anybody, I would have told you. But the woods are dark, and—I should like to walk back with you, my dear. D’you think this is easy for me,” he added desperately. “D’you think it’s easy for me to let you go?”
“I shouldn’t have come,” she said. “It wasn’t fair, really—”
“No, don’t say that. I’m glad you came—proud. Always come to me, Linda. I’m not impatient, I can wait. I’ve waited five years—I can go on waiting—”
“Wait,” she said softly. “When I am free—if everything is all right—”
He was satisfied with that. He drew her arm through his and they went out into the night. Iain locked the door behind him and put the key in his pocket. They walked up through the woods together.
It was very dark. Iain’s torch made a spot of yellow light on the ground before them as they went; it showed the roots of the trees, and the stones in the path. They went slowly because Linda was tired—he felt her lean on his arm—she was tired out with fears and anxieties.