An Island Apart (2 page)

‘Really?' taunted Isabel. ‘I'll decide how you'll be spoken to, not you. D'you hear that, Mac?' she mocked, snatching away the newspaper that covered her husband's face. ‘Milady here is telling me I mustn't speak to her as if she's just a servant. She really does believe she owns the place now.' Mac grunted a startled expletive.

Kirsty took a few seconds to compose herself before she countered, ‘I will give up my time off to help you but only because I care about the comfort of the guests. I will not be ordered by you to do so. I may only be a paid servant as you choose to call me but if you ever speak to me in such a way again I will pack my belongings and walk out of that front door and, guests or no guests, you will not see me again.' She paused, aghast at her own recklessness while Isabel, startled by the sudden outburst, could only retaliate with an incredulous glare.

‘I will go now and change into dry clothes and then, by my own choice, I will come down to the kitchen,' Kirsty continued resolutely. ‘There need be no panic about the evening meal being ready on time. I will see to that because I care about the comfort of the guests and I will help clear away afterwards but then I shall take the rest of the evening off as is my due.'

‘Oh, thank you for nothing,' Isabel attempted to sneer, and as Kirsty was closing the kitchen door behind her she heard Mac's voice asking scornfully, ‘Where in hell does the old boiler think she could go if she walked out of here, I'd like to know?'

Lazy, good for nothing lout, Kirsty reflected angrily as she climbed the stairs. Since he's at home why doesn't she get him to prepare the vegetables?

Once in her dry room she hastily took off her damp clothes, changed into dry stockings and slipped on a pair of house shoes. Finally she put on a plain black dress. The dress was by no means a stipulated uniform,
ISLAY
not meriting such a degree of formality but apart from the suitability and economy of plain black she liked to wear it in the evenings considering it complemented her smooth pale skin and enhanced the rich auburn of her hair. She was not, nor ever had been, vain about her appearance and now at nearly forty years of age and with a sturdy rather than shapely figure, she had accepted that she could aspire only to be neat and clean in her person and dress.

Shaking out her abundant hair which, she knew was the only feather that preserved her from plainness, she towelled it dry before pinning it into a loose bun. That done, she surveyed herself in the wardrobe mirror, glanced at her bare hands, and satisfied with her appearance was tempted momentarily to further aggravate Isabel by dawdling before she went down to the kitchen. But pride in her own standards and in upholding
ISLAY's
reputation quickly banished the temptation and since there now seemed only a slender chance of Meggy turning up in time to serve the evening meal she decided it would be wiser to do it herself rather than risk the sulky Isabel upsetting the guests by her inattention. She was halfway down the stairs when the doorbell rang. ‘I'll answer it,' she called in the direction of the kitchen, being sure she knew who would be waiting to enter.

‘Ah, 'tis yourself, Mr MacDonald!' she greeted the man as she opened the door. ‘Come away in now out of the rain.' Though hardly more than half an hour had elapsed since they had parted company her tone had the same easy cordiality with which she greeted all
ISLAY
guests.

Mr MacDonald seemed a little nonplussed by the impersonality of her manner. He swallowed nervously before he spoke.

‘Indeed I will be well pleased to do that,' he acknowledged in an undertone as he stamped his boots on the thick doormat.

Once inside the vestibule he produced from his jacket pocket a half bottle of whisky which, a little diffidently he offered to her. With a gesture of dismissal she pushed his hand back towards his pocket and ushered him into the hallway. ‘Go you now and get into a dry jacket and I will hang this one in the kitchen where it will dry overnight,' she instructed. He looked a little dashed and a tiny patch of redness appeared high on his cheekbones. Kirsty treated him to an explanatory nod of her head in the direction of the kitchen. Instantly nodding his comprehension he slipped the half bottle back into the jacket pocket.

‘Just you get yourself into some dry clothes,' Kirsty repeated, her voice taking on a louder note as they entered the hallway. ‘You could easily catch your death.' Acknowledging her advice with a hesitant smile and more vigorous nodding he began to climb the stairs. She watched him covertly, disguising her interest by a show of rearranging a vase of artificial flowers on the chiffonier. Not until she heard the door of his room close did she go into the kitchen.

‘You've taken your time,' Isabel grumbled. Kirsty ignored the allegation. Moving away from the sink Isabel dried her hands on the roller towel and took a packet of cigarettes from her apron pocket. ‘My God! What an afternoon!' she complained, collapsing into a chair and immediately lighting a cigarette. ‘Talk about rush. I've never had to rush so much in all my life.'

‘Meggy hasn't come then?' Kirsty asked, starting to peel the potatoes.

‘No!'

‘Has there been any word from her to say why?'

‘Nothing. Not a squeak from the little bitch,' Isabel snapped.

‘I hope she's not ill or that she's not met with an accident,' Kirsty observed anxiously. ‘It's not like Meggy to let folks down without a word.'

‘She's very likely been put off by the weather,' Isabel said tartly.

‘I'd say that was most unlikely,' Kirsty contradicted. ‘She's always been very punctual and weather has never put her off before.'

‘Maybe she's found herself a boyfriend at last,' Isabel sneered. ‘With a squint like hers she'd be that glad to get a fellow to take some notice of her she'd very likely forget all about having a job to go to. She'll get her notice when she does turn up unless she's got a good excuse, I'm telling you.'

‘She's always been a jolly good little worker and I'm sure there's an excellent reason for her not coming,' Kirsty insisted.

‘Anyway, with no Meggy to serve the meal, you'll have to attend on the guests or else tell them to help themselves or go hungry. I've set the tables but I'll not wait on.' She tossed her head, plainly confident of Kirsty's compliance.

‘I will do all that is necessary for the comfort of the guests,' Kirsty stressed. Isabel flicked her a smug glance and left the kitchen.

The meal was served at the regular time and when the tables had been cleared and the guests had gone about their various evening activities Kirsty washed and dried and stacked away the dishes. She was standing by the stove filling a thermos flask with hot tea ready to take up to her room when the door opened and Isabel and Mac entered the kitchen bringing with them the mingled smell of scent and cigarette smoke. Seeing that they were both dressed in their outdoor clothes she glanced at them with raised eyebrows and waited for them to speak.

‘We're away to the flicks,' Mac announced in a slurred voice which betrayed he had already taken a substantial evening dram.

Kirsty made no comment.

‘You'll have to see to the ten o'clock tea and biscuits for guests and pop the hot water bottles into their beds,' instructed Isabel, pulling on her gloves and looping a scarf around her neck.

Kirsty fought to control her rising indignation. Putting down the flask she turned to face them. ‘Indeed I shall do nothing of the kind,' she asserted. ‘Must I remind you that it is still my half day off and tonight as I have already told you I particularly wish to have the time to myself.'

For a second or two she was able to rejoice at their flabbergasted expressions before she went on, ‘When your aunt was in charge here I was never called upon to work during my time off unless there was a special reason for me to do so and then, more than willingly, I gave up my time.'

‘She was a damn sight too soft with you!' Mac interjected testily.

Ignoring him Kirsty looked straight at Isabel. ‘You will not be trying to tell me that going to the cinema is in any way a special kind of reason?' She screwed the cup firmly onto the flask.

‘But you'll be here in the house, won't you? It's surely not much to ask you to do us the favour of taking in tea and biscuits and seeing to the hot water bottles. It won't take you more than a few minutes,' expostulated Isabel.

‘No, it is maybe not much to ask,' Kirsty agreed. ‘But you did not ask me, did you? You told me I would have to do it.' She reached for a cup and saucer, took a couple of her own baked scones from a tin and set them on the tray with the flask.

‘Just you stop this hoity toity,' Mac interposed more as if he felt it was time he contributed to the disagreement rather than in the hope of ending it.

With a gesture Isabel silenced him. ‘It's the last night of a film we particularly want to see and if we stay to the end it'll be too late to see to the guests. They'll have gone to their beds.' Her manner was only a little less unpleasant.

‘What d' you do on your nights off anyway? Just sit in your room knitting or reading stuffy old books or listening to the wireless?' jeered Mac.

‘Just that,' affirmed Kirsty equably. ‘And that is exactly what I am planning to do this evening.'

‘You'd still have time to do all that,' Isabel quibbled. ‘You wouldn't have to forsake your pleasure for more than a few minutes to oblige us.'

‘That's true,' Kirsty acknowledged. ‘But tonight I am not intending to oblige you. As you can see I have my own supper here on the tray which in a moment or two I shall be taking up to my room and then I shall not be coming down to the kitchen again until the morning.' She surveyed them coolly. ‘You must learn that I am not a slave to be hectored and bullied as you two have tried to hector and bully me. You must get back from your cinema in time to attend the guests or,' she continued, ‘you can tell them they must get their own tea and biscuits and see to their own hot water bottles tonight.' Again Kirsty was surprised at her own audacity.

For a full moment the couple glared at her without speaking as if convinced that their glares were menacing enough to weaken her resolve. Disregarding them she picked up her tray and with a curt ‘goodnight' started towards the door. Seemingly dumbfounded by her unexpected outburst the couple moved sullenly to let her past.

‘See that!' Isabel remarked spitefully as Kirsty opened the door. ‘Wouldn't think of doing anything for anyone but herself.' Mac opened his mouth ready to speak but Isabel went on, ‘You'll just have to stay here or go to the cinema on you own.'

‘What the …?' Mac began to protest but before he could continue Isabel cut in. ‘Go on, I wouldn't be able to enjoy going out now, not after all this nastiness.'

Seemingly unperturbed Kirsty carried her tray to the stairway. She could still hear the couple wrangling in the kitchen. ‘Well, haven't I told you often enough. It's your own fault. Never mind what you promised your aunt. Give the bloody woman her notice. You can manage without her,' Mac rebuked his wife.

‘Oh, shut your mouth and go,' Isabel snarled at him. With a muttered oath he came shambling past Kirsty and jerking open the vestibule door let it slam behind him.

Up in her room Kirsty switched on the light and drew the curtains. The wind-swept sleet scratching against the window reminded her of the cold outside and, lighting the gasfire, she drew her chair as near as she dared to its hissing warmth. She sat stiffly, giving her clenched nerves a chance to relax, for despite her show of composure during the altercation with Isabel and Mac, she had felt outraged at the way they had spoken to her. Now in the privacy of her room outrage waned slowly into self-reproach for having been stupid enough to allow such a shabby pair to crack her customary forbearance. Tonight, especially tonight, she had needed to be calm so as to ponder over the events of the past few days.

The dispute had not been her fault, she comforted herself. It wasn't her nature to be easily roused to angry retort. A child of the Hebrides, she had been inculcated since birth with the pride and the tolerance of the Islander: with the essentiality of masking anger with placidity. She was no stranger to censure. There had been trying times even when her friend Mrs Ross had been the owner of
ISLAY
, for though the old lady had always taken great pains to ensure that guests were respectable and well-behaved, there had been the inevitable misfits and bracing herself to endure their crankiness had imbued in Kirsty an equanimity of character that had proved well able to withstand provocation.

The unpleasantness in the kitchen had not been her fault, her mind reiterated and yet the conviction tended to rebound interrogatively. It had begun trivially enough so could it have been her own too hasty reaction that had resulted in it developing into such a peevish wrangle?

She could so have easily yielded and agreed to give the guests their late tea and biscuits, and it would have been very little trouble to her to put hot water bottles into their beds and thus enable the couple to go and see their wretched film. But she had acquiesced so often when they had made demands of her free time that they had become arrogant even to the point of giving the impression that she should be beholden to them for allowing her the freedom of choice!

The desolating knowledge that she could not continue at
ISLAY
had settled in her mind – but so had the realisation that at her age it might not be so easy to find a position that would suit her. She had come to accept that she would have to endure the situation at
ISLAY
as long as she possibly could … until today. Today her life had suffered a sea change!

Settling more comfortably into her chair and taking up her knitting, she let her mind travel back to the well-remembered day nearly twenty-five years previously when, as a naïve fourteen year old, she had stood timidly on the front door-step of
ISLAY
clutching in her hand an envelope addressed to ‘Mrs Ross of
ISLAY
' in which was a letter signed by the Reverend Donald MacLean, minister of the Church of Scotland, testifying that Kirsty had been born and brought up on the Island of Killegray by her Granny Morag MacLennan. It had gone on to state that he had known Morag MacLennan personally during his time there and that she was a good widow-woman and a good churchgoer. Her death four years earlier had resulted in Kirsty being sent to an elderly aunt, also a good churchgoer, who had resided in his present parish in the city. A year ago, he'd explained, the aunt's health had deteriorated and she had gone to live in a home, and since Kirsty had no other living relatives he and his wife had felt they ought to be responsible for her. His wife had seen to it that the girl was well-trained and she would vouch for her good character.