Collector of Lost Things (40 page)

Several hours later, Simao brought me a note to say the captain requested my attendance in the chart room. I stared at the paper, the captain’s signature written in a flourish of dark ink, then looked at the steward for guidance.

‘He is not angry,’ Simao said.

‘And the bird?’

He reassured me the auk was still alive.

‘Did you know we had it on board?’ I asked him.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Well—thank you,’ I said, grateful for his honesty.

The chart room was small, not much larger than its table. Not the ideal place to meet once again a man I had so recently levelled a rifle at, but Sykes, as always, was determined to assert his own mood. I found him in an unbelievably jovial frame of mind.

‘Mr Saxby!’ he exclaimed, quite unnecessarily. ‘Just the man. I wonder if you could help me with this.’

In his hand he had a half-unrolled maritime chart. ‘Please take the opposite corner to mine and place some weights upon it.’

He began to unravel the paper across the table; obediently I held it, to keep it flat. He was keen to make our meeting brief. It suited me also.

‘You will see that this chart refers to the outer isles off the west coast of Scotland,’ he said, running a dry hand across its surface and gazing with some excitement at the contours and depths. I listened, but only to learn his intention.

‘We have St Kilda, the Hebrides, Skye, do you see their shapes and outlines? The Hebrides are rather like the vertebrae of a whale, poking out through the sea, do you not think? Imagine—the Vikings navigated through this labyrinth with just a few bare scratchings carved upon bone and the like. It is quite humbling, as is every day upon the sea—it is a constant reminder of the bravery and vision of the men who have gone before.’

‘What is your purpose?’ I asked.

‘Aha, yes, thought you might ask. You will know of it presently,’ he said, enjoying, as always, the sound of his own voice and his roundabout way of coming to the point. ‘We have had a strange voyage, would you not say? I must admit, I had no reckoning of it when I first saw you on deck. I thought you to be a most meek and obedient fellow—a flash of humour here and there, of course, but nothing like you turned out to be. I have been most educated by you.’

‘I think we can safely say that goes both ways.’

‘Yes, yes, I know you are infinitely disappointed by me, but I have little regard for what you may or may not think. We had a pretty little scene this morning and I have no intention of getting into that kind of situation again. I have seen many men like you, Mr Saxby. They all slow down and fatten up in the end, it is the way of the world. Men are born with sparks in their eyes and fires in their veins. But fires become embers, and finally ashes—there is no other way.’

‘Am I in this room for a lecture?’

He put his hands up, in mock surrender. ‘No. Absolutely not.’ Then he regarded me with a sly smirk. ‘But we have learnt about each other, nonetheless. You have also surprised me with your intimacy with another of our passengers. That has had me quite amused.’

‘I’m glad you have had your fun.’

‘Let us not spar, Mr Saxby, do you not see I’m here to offer a solution?’

I waited.

‘There is room for manoeuvre in the smallest of spaces, would you not agree? And also in the thorniest of situations and negotiations. It is my role as a captain to spot these changes in tack—and I must admit that this morning I was quite at a loss as to where I might steer my craft with you. Or, indeed, why I should even bother.’

‘You are talking in riddles, sir, as usual.’

Sykes clapped his hands with delight. ‘I have the tendency, for sure I have,’ he said. ‘I will come to the point. It has been suggested to me that various choices might be made at this juncture. Miss Gould really is quite a remarkable person, isn’t she? Well—what am I saying—you know that full well, from what I gather. Yes, a most intelligent and clear-thinking individual—she is able to see through situations with the utmost clarity. In fact, she would make a fine ship’s captain—her skills are wasted being a woman.’

I glared back at him, unimpressed.

‘So, to the point,’ he continued. ‘Are you interested to hear? Yes, good.’ He placed his finger on the chart, keen to make the meeting brief. ‘Here are the isles of Lewis, Harris, North Uist, Benbecula, South Uist and Barra. Together they form the Hebrides. The chart is precise in the surveys of ports and anchorages, but less specific with general coastline. At the southern tip—here—is the hamlet of Castlebay. The word is written there, you see? In a couple of days you shall be put on shore at that spot, with your precious bird and its egg, and this ship shall continue to Liverpool, as before.’

He straightened, satisfied.

‘How has this been arranged?’ I asked.

Sykes regarded me, an avuncular look in his eyes.

‘Please tell me,’ I said.

‘Accept good news, sir,’ he said, assertively. ‘Do not question it.’

Late at night the
Amethyst
passed the solitary outcrop of Rockall for the second and last time. It appeared, several miles distant, a black void against a dark sky, with only the scarring white of breakers surrounding its base to give it away. Upon first sight, it appeared as if there was a tear in the fabric of the world, through which an angry but silent torrent of water was pouring. Even as we neared and the glint of moonlight began to shine from several of its sheer facets, it was difficult not to view it as an empty and unholy object. I shall never see it again, I am sure, and neither do I wish to, it is such a bleak and distant sight, and the memory of it returns to me with sadness. I stood by the rail, noticing a solemnity cast across the deck, with several of the crew halting their tasks to watch its passing. In the near silence, I believed we could hear the waves as they shook the island, but the sound came and went with a phantom quality. It seemed that all the land of the world had shrunk into this single blunt finger that pierced through the ocean. I felt as if I was facing all I knew of land itself. Land was sheer and inhospitable and something that could not be clung to.

Clara refused to discuss the deal she’d made. It was late at night. She had opened her cabin door, but only after I had been knocking for several minutes. She didn’t want to come out, nor to invite me in.

I decided to be straight: ‘Did you pay him?’

She stared at me, tight lipped and fearful. ‘I offered, but it was refused.’ She looked pale and distracted. The talking of the day had drained her.

‘I was summoned by Sykes this afternoon,’ I said. ‘How did you achieve it? What could you possibly have said to persuade him?’

‘Him?’

‘Sykes.’

She smiled, but it was strained. ‘I didn’t go to
Sykes
,’ she said, ‘I went to Quinlan French.’

I felt a stab of panic. ‘French? That snake in the grass!’

She seemed to consider the problems of the day anew. ‘A snake has a useful bite,’ she said, dreamily. ‘Even you must admit that.’

‘So you got French to talk on our behalf?’

‘Something like that. I’m tired, Eliot.’

‘But what could French say to change Sykes’ decision?’

‘You told me once before—they have a special obligation to each other. Persuade one, and the other follows.’

‘It cannot be that simple. If you have put yourself at risk I shall need to know. What are you concealing?’

‘I answered French’s letter. That is all. Please be glad.’

‘Have you promised him something?’

She smiled. ‘The promise is theirs—you are to be put ashore, with the bird and its egg. I have been made aware of the arrangements.’

‘Clara …’ I urged, ‘please don’t face this alone. Tell me what you have done.’

‘French seemed to think it was not the bird—but you—who was the problem,’ she said, enigmatically. She shook her head. Her skin looked paper thin, blue beneath the eyes and her mouth looked as though a child had drawn it with a simple straight line.

‘Oh Clara!’

She leant her forehead against the door-jamb. ‘I am very tired, Eliot, and my head hurts with a terrible aching. It will all be fine.’

‘Are you in trouble? Let me help you.’

‘Sykes told me what you did this morning, with Edward’s rifle.’

‘It was a rash and stupid thing.’

‘No, it took courage. But it is not you, Eliot. You must not be like the rest of them, do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘Men find it easy to kill. Yet the true mark of a man is not to kill, but to save.’

She looked to be in pain.

‘Will you tell me the story once more, Eliot?’

‘Which story?’

‘About Celeste. I want to hear it again.’

‘No.’

‘Please,’ she urged. ‘I am going to shut this door and listen to your voice. It will help me. Please, let me do this.’ She began to close the door—I resisted it with the pressure of a single finger. She looked at the finger, where it touched the wood.

I let go, and she closed the door with a soft click. I heard the lock being turned from within. Then her voice, close to the wood:

‘You talked, like this, a young man and a girl, on either side of a locked door. It must have been brave of you, to go up there, to the top of the house, and whisper to her every day.’

I leant my forehead against the wood. ‘It was.’

‘Did you not think you would be caught?’

‘I didn’t care.’

‘And when you let her escape—when she ran past you—what did you think?’

‘I don’t want to remember it.’

‘You must, Eliot. Please, do it for me.’

‘Let me in.’

‘I cannot.’

‘
Celeste
, let me in.’

‘Tell me … how you felt when she ran past you.’

‘I felt betrayed.’

‘Yes, of course you did. But you followed her, into the wood? You didn’t give up. You never give up, do you, Eliot? You followed her until you found her. Where was she?’

‘I don’t want to remember.’

‘You must.’

‘But I can’t. I’ve forgotten … I’ve learnt to forget that day.’

‘You found her. Where was she?’

‘In the lake.’

‘Yes. In the lake. Did you rush in to save her?’

‘There was a coot, floating in the middle of the lake.’

‘Do you see the coot, now?’

The coot, bobbing silently on the dark water, turning towards the ripples that radiated across the surface.

‘Yes.’

‘Tell me.’

‘It floats on the water, in the middle of the lake. It looks so peaceful.’

‘But it’s not peaceful, is it, Eliot? It is a place of great hurt and pain. Let me know what you can see.’

Celeste’s hair, spread out on the water, her back half submerged, her dress dragging her under.

‘She’s in the water,’ I said.

Reaching for her, her arms extended towards me, but in a stretch that is not far enough.

‘Celeste drowned, didn’t she, Eliot? She drowned that day.’

‘I
WISH YOU WELL,
’ Sykes told me. I really believe he meant it. We stood together on deck, watching the whaleboat being lowered over the side, in mutual resignation.

Below us, I remember how still the water was, surrounding the ship like quicksilver, then the soaring easy flights of the gulls and terns as they wheeled above the headland, lazy flight so early in the day. I remember how low and unassuming the shape of the Hebrides island of Barra was, dark and without definition, and the few scattered houses of Castlebay, around its sheltered cove. Wood and peat smoke collecting above the roofs, a light on in the windows here and there. I tried to fix that time in my mind as one remembers all turning points in a life. With clarity. With precision. You remember them in the same way a fork in a path is etched into a memory. The feel of a flint wall, the particular shape of an oak’s trunk. Remember these moments, and you won’t become lost.

‘These are for you,’ Sykes said, offering a handkerchief in which he’d placed one of the flattened bullets from his draughts set, and one of the discs of seal bone. Objects in opposition. I took them without comment.

‘You have what many naturalists do not have,’ he added. ‘More than curiosity or observational rigour—which are easily come by—you have the desire to save. It makes you unusual.’

‘Goodbye, Captain Sykes,’ I replied, seeing the boat nearly ready. ‘We shall not meet again.’

Sykes smiled at my turn of phrase, pursing his lips in a half-whistle. He nodded, amused. ‘Who knows,’ he said, deliberately teasing. ‘Take good care of that little bird, now. Remember you told me the Scots clubbed the auk, for they thought it was a sea-witch.’

‘Yes, I told you that.’

‘Bear in mind, then.’ He touched his nose, emphasising the secret. Below us, the auk and its egg had been lowered into the whaleboat in the slack cask.

‘I was becoming quite fond of the bird,’ Sykes said, ‘it has a comical expression that makes it endearing.’

Before I could reply he had turned away from me, crossing the deck in the pursuit of some task. I thought about calling after him, needing to say the last word, but, really, the last word is never necessary.

Clara and I had agreed that she shouldn’t come up on deck to see me leave, and that it was best to say goodbye in her cabin. I had sat in there while my luggage was removed from my room, trying to ignore a sense of dread and finality.

Clara had attempted to be in a bright mood. ‘I think the egg will hatch in a matter of a day or two,’ she said. ‘I held the egg this morning and I thought there was movement inside, although perhaps I was just wishing it. It will be a miraculous moment—but you will have much to do and organise.’

I nodded. I was holding a cup of coffee, and very aware that as soon as I finished it, I would have to leave. The sounds of my case being taken up on deck could be heard. In just a few minutes it would be placed in the whaleboat and the men would be sitting, resting on their oars.

‘You are quiet’ she said. I imagined the turbulence she must have been concealing, her emotions channelled into trying to be practical, being brave, being anything other than dealing with the here and now. She began to tie her hair, her fingers working quickly at a knot at the back of her head. I watched the silky winds of her hair being gathered and turned, a knot developing that was intricate and soft.