Little Bird Flies by Karen McCombie

Author:Karen McCombie [Karen McCombie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780857639516
Publisher: Nosy Crow
Published: 2019-07-17T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 11

The lochan is the most peaceful spot on the island, its still waters ringed by the raggedy beauty of Scots pines.

But those gathered around it this afternoon have no peace in their hearts. The only one that is content is Patch, who Will came across in the woods that back on to the Big House this afternoon as he waited for Mr Samuel. The dog abandoned what was left of his stolen goods and followed Will and Mr Samuel here, despite their urging him home. He is now lying near Lachlan, sleeping off his bellyful of ill-gotten ham, while Lachlan lies with his head in Effie’s lap.

It was a surprise to me that our sister joined us here this afternoon. But I think she had no taste nor energy for chores, not once her anger and tears were eventually spent over the sight of the weal on Lachlan’s cheek and the news of Ishbel’s dismissal. Indeed, a listlessness came over her and she trailed along with Lachlan and myself to the lochan. Since we arrived she has sat staring at the rippling water, stroking Lachlan’s still head and softly singing, “A ghaoil, leig dhachaigh gum mhàthair mi…”

“Love, let me home to my mother…”

The way that she is, I am not sure Effie is even aware that she is singing, let along what she is singing. It is a very old song about a young girl in danger, which seems fitting for this moment, after the news Will told me when he called for me at the cottage earlier, on his way to meet Mr Samuel. For is not every Tornish girl in danger, along with every boy, man and woman who calls the island their home?

“So your father does not yet know what has befallen your sister and brother, Bridie?” asks Mr Samuel, taking a seat upon a tree stump.

“He is gone to the furthest west township to advise them of the Laird’s intentions to increase rents,” I tell him, “so no, he does not yet know.”

“And you do not know the worst of it, Mr Samuel,” says Will, balancing on his haunches as his hand searches out stones in the shingle by the water’s edge. “I dared not tell you till we were far from the Big House and any crofts as we walked here.”

“What is it, Will?” Mr Samuel asks with a concerned frown. “I cannot believe you have worse news to tell me?”

Will stands, shoots me a look and shrugs as he tells his tale to our gentleman friend.

“Aye, it’s worse. Before Fergus left the yard earlier, he took his horse to the water trough and overheard some lads talking; the groom and another of the Laird’s London staff,” says Will, breaking his story every few words to angrily skim stone after flat stone over the water’s surface. “It seems the Laird’s plan is to raise rents so high that tenants will eventually come to realise they cannot pay what he asks and so will begin to leave the island, having no other choice, and no means to survive.

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