Whistlers Of The Dark

Chapter 2-1

CHAPTER 2

“You must be Ellen,” the present kitchen maid said. Plump, pretty and pregnant, she wore her dark hair piled on top of her head. Three inches taller than I was, she greeted me with a smile. “I’m Agnes. Have you had the tour of the steading, yet?”

“Not yet,” I said, already prepared to like this woman although it was far too early to consider friendship.

“We’ll go out in a few moments,” Agnes said. “Don’t let Mrs Lunan worry you. She criticises everybody. I think it’s because she’s Mr Lunan’s second wife and younger than he is, so has to prove herself.”

I nodded. I was not concerned about a carping woman, for I had faced much worse in my time. “Thank you,” I said, hoping the words suited the occasion.

“Come on, then,” Agnes said. “We don’t get much free time here, so we’ll go now before it gets too dark.” She hesitated, “Make a long arm, Ellen, and fetch down that light,” she pointed to a battered brass lantern that hung from a hook on the wall, “and be quiet near the steading. Mr Lunan disapproves of us going out after dark.”

“Why is that?” I asked, stretching for the lantern. I shook it, hearing the whale-oil slosh inside, and checked the wick was in place.

In reply, Agnes indicated her belly. “Maybe that’s why,” she said and laughed. “It’s all right, we’re getting married soon anyway.”

I smiled, although I was unconcerned if Agnes and her lover should get married or not. The idea of making something moral after the event seemed somehow hypocritical. “Congratulations,” I said. “Who’s your intended?"

“Andrew,” Agnes said. “Andrew Ferguson, the second horseman. You would meet him in the bothy.”

“The man with the serious eyes,” I said.

“Serious eyes, yes, that’s my Andrew,” Agnes agreed at once. “Better put your coat on, Ellen; it’s cold out there. Come on.” Scratching a match, she applied it to the wick of the lantern and opened the door. We negotiated the kitchen and stepped outside, where a snell wind from the hills flapped the coats around our legs and nipped our noses.

“We’re north-facing,” Agnes explained, “and the hills attract the cold.”

It was dusk, not yet full dark, and the hills were soft edged against the night. “You already know the bothy where the boys are,” Agnes said, pointing to the long stone barn. I heard rough male voices and a burst of singing, with words unsuitable for delicate ears.

“It’s sometimes better not to listen to their songs,” Agnes said.

I laughed. “I’ve heard worse,” I said.

The dark was gathering, creeping into the steading from the surrounding fields, carrying noises I tried to identify. I heard the creaking of a gate, the distant lowing of cattle, the brush of wind through the trees, and, further out, the bleating of sheep. They were all natural sounds. I did not hear the sound I feared the most.

“Over here.” Agnes led me to a pair of barns. “This is where we store the winter fodder and next year’s seed. The byre – well, you’ll know that already. That’s where we milk the cattle beasts.”

I nodded. I had already had a stint of milking with the cows warm, friendly bodies around me.

Agnes pointed to the sprig of rowan above the byre door. “Mr Lunan insists we keep that there. He gets all upset if the wind blows it away.”

“Why?” I asked. “What’s it for?”

Agnes screwed up her face. “It’s to keep away witches, I think. That will be one of your duties, ensuring the rowan is always there.”

I nodded, hiding my smile. “Maybe one of the boy’s should do that,” I said. “It’s right high.”

Agnes laughed. “Yes, you’re not the tallest of girls, are you?” She patted her swollen belly. “I’m not one for climbing up ladders in my condition. I had to ask one of the boys. Andy did it for me, but maybe Jim will help, or the halflin. If you ask in the right way, they’ll oblige.”

“That Dougie may oblige too much,” I said.

Agnes laughed again and patted her belly again. “Andrew already has!”

We walked on, with the wind increasing, rattling an open door, howling from the eaves of the farmhouse. A bat fluttered past, its wings brushing my hair. The darkness had gathered now, so the hill-ridge had merged with the night.

“You see that building there?” Agnes nodded to what looked like a ruin. It was a tumbledown thick-walled place with a low blue-slate roof. A twisted rowan tree grew outside the low doorway, nearly stripped of leaves.

“I see it,” I said. The door was heavily barred, with two padlocks holding the bolts in place.

“We don’t go there,” Agnes said. “Not even Mrs Lunan ever goes in there.”

“Why not?” I asked, insatiably curious. “What’s inside?”

“We don’t know, and we don’t ask,” Agnes said. “Mr Lunan says the building is dangerous. Oh, God!”

“What’s wrong?” I asked, wondering if her baby had decided on a premature entrance.

Agnes pushed me back into the doorway of a barn and closed the shutter of the lantern, plunging us into darkness. “Hush! Here’s Mr Lunan!”

“Why?” I began until Agnes clamped a hand over my mouth.

I stood still, crowded into the shadows as Mr Lunan walked past, with three black mastiffs at his heels and a shotgun held under his left arm. The dogs stopped, lifted their heads, and sniffed the air. I felt Agnes stiffen beside me as her hand slid into mine.

The leading dog bayed, once, and the others followed, with the noise echoing from the cold stone buildings. Mr Lunan stopped.

“What’s that, boys?” His voice grated, like gravel under a farm gate. He peered into the darkness and lifted his voice. “Who’s there? Show yourself, or I’ll loose the dogs on you!”

Agnes cringed into me, her hand squeezing mine.

Mr Lunan took one step closer. “I know you’re there! Is that you, Jock? By the living Christ, you’d better not be poaching on my land!”

“No, Mr Lunan,” Agnes spoke in a small voice. “It’s us! Agnes and Ellen.”

“What the hell are you doing there?” Mr Lunan asked. “Come out of that! Show yourselves!”

I was first to move, stepping into Mr Lunan’s line of vision, with Agnes slightly behind me. “It’s just us, Mr Lunan,” I explained. “Agnes was kindly showing me around the steading.”

“Was she now?” Mr Lunan eyed us both as his dogs set up a horrendous din of barking. “I don’t like my girls walking about after dark. We’re a long way from anywhere here, and Heather Jock is in the vicinity.” I was unsure if Mr Lunan was giving us a lecture or looking after us.

“I don’t know who Heather Jock is,” I said.

“You don’t want to,” Mr Lunan said. “He’s a poacher, vagabond and a thief; a dangerous man.” He snarled at his dogs as they tried to surge forward, “Get back! Damn you! Can’t you see its only two wee lassies?”

“We’ll get back to the house now, Mr Lunan,” Agnes said.

“You do that,” Mr Lunan said with his eyes deep in shadow.

Agnes edged past the dogs, keeping as far from their slavering jaws as she could. I was less afraid, for I could sense no harm in the mastiffs. The leading dog sniffed at me and would have leapt forward if Mr Lunan had not grabbed the scruff of its neck and hauled it back. “Keep still, damn you! What’s got into you?”

Agnes and I lifted our skirts and ran back to the farmhouse, slamming our room door shut and collapsing on the bed. I could not help giggling, and Agnes joined in, stuffing a hand in her mouth to control herself.

“I thought these dogs were going to tear us to bits,” Agnes said.

“Who is this Heather Jock that Mr Lunan is looking for?” I asked.

Agnes shrugged took off her coat and began to remove her shoes. “I’ve never met him; I’ve only heard the name. Mr Lunan patrols the toun every night with the dogs so Jock must be quite a lad.”

We brought water from the pump and washed in our room to get ready for bed. I hoped I could sleep that night. Even more, I hoped I had left the whistling behind me, this time. Most of all, I hoped to carve out a normal life for myself, although normality was a disappointingly elusive aspect in my life.