Beyond the Sea (15 page)

LATER THAT DAY,
sitting on the lamp-room floor, bathed in the warm late-evening light, Freya felt the love of her family wrapped close about her. Spring was melting into summer, the nights were growing longer, and rose and red hues spattered the cloud-speckled sky. She knew the contentment she felt was fleeting, that it wouldn't last, but for the moment she could hold it, tentatively, in the palm of her hand. She stroked the silver coiled around her neck, sitting so comfortably against her skin, and remembered what Torin had told her and what he had asked of her. Then she thought of the diary and that her son's first thought on finding the necklace was that she should have it. So it felt as though it was destined for her. What would it hurt if she wore it at home?

She picked up the phone and dialled Alister's number. She'd promised her mother some time ago that she would call, and somehow this evening seemed like a good time. It took a while to connect and then the ringtone came, faint and with an echo. Even Edinburgh was a long way away. Finally, someone picked up.

‘Hello.' Her father-in-law's voice had always been hard and abrupt. Yet now it was softer.

‘Hi, Alister. It's Freya.'

‘Ah, lassie. It's good to hear your voice. How are you?'

His tone was so different from how she remembered it that Freya let go of the breath she hadn't even realised she was holding. ‘I'm okay, thanks. And you?'

‘Ach, well. It's difficult. But I don't need to tell you that now, do I?'

Freya, surprised by his honesty, shook her head. He had always been so gruff and practical, never permitting of weakness. She tried and failed to think of something to say. Silence, heavy with their mutual sadness, hung on the line.

‘Are you still in London?' Alister asked after a few moments.

‘No. I'm on Ailsa Cleit. Have been for a couple of weeks now.'

‘Aye? And how is it to be back?'

Freya knew that Alister meant how was it to be back without Jack and Sam.

‘There are lots of memories. And that can be hard. But on the whole it's been good.' And then, quite why she wasn't sure, perhaps because he seemed different, Freya told him something she hadn't told anyone else. That in her grief, London had grown too big for her. It had crept up on her, slowly, but she had seen it with clarity as she walked down the street one day. As she looked at the people all around, anonymous and jostling for space, it occurred to her that they had no knowledge of her husband or her son and now they never would. They would never know what they looked like, the sound of their laughter, the joy they had brought and the sheer magnitude of the space that their passing had left behind. They would never know what had caused a black hole to form inside her, one that had collapsed her world and sucked all her pleasure into it. It was then that she had decided to leave. She needed a small, familiar place where the people around her had known Jack and Sam, knew that they had existed in the universe, and how dreadful it was that they were gone.

‘Aye. I can understand that.' Alister exhaled slowly down the line. ‘And Ailsa always said that your place was on the island. She saw something in you.'

Even though Freya had always felt this, she was surprised he was the one to tell her.

‘But she saw a lot of things no one else did. You know how she was.' And Alister chuckled lightly at the end of the phone.

Freya wondered if he was nodding his head. It had been a reflex with him – a swift, reinforcing nod after he had declared something. And yet now she couldn't imagine him doing it. Perhaps he had even begun to buy into Ailsa's mysticism. It became apparent to her then that grief had hit them all hard, jumbled them up and put them back together somewhat differently. She felt a sudden and unexpected fondness for him.

‘You know I found letters here when I came back.' She paused and let her hand rest beside her, on the copies that she had brought up to the lamp room. ‘Transcripts of the ones the National Museum of Edinburgh recovered from the Bellarmine jar. It was good of you to send it off.'

‘Aye, well. I thought if anything inside it could be salvaged then it should be.'

Freya smiled. ‘Have you read them?'

‘Aye. MacCallister sent me copies too. Quite astonishing they could recover so much. It's a pity Sam won't see them.'

‘Yes, he would have loved a soldier's tale of battle and shipwreck.' Less so one of lost love and mermaids, but Freya kept this to herself. In that respect he was probably like his grandfather and she didn't want Alister pouring cold water over it right now.

‘I went swimming today,' she said to change the subject. ‘Hough skerries and back.'

‘That's good, Freya,' he said. He had always been a fan of her swimming and yet she detected hesitancy in his voice. ‘Be careful, though. And make sure to pace yourself. Don't push yourself too much in the open water in the beginning.'

‘I won't. I couldn't have done much more. But as we get into summer and I build my stamina, I'll be back to swimming the big ones.' She smiled and hoped Alister was smiling down the phone too. It wouldn't do for them all to grow too cautious in their grief.

‘That's good, Freya,' he said again. ‘Perhaps Ailsa was right and you are exactly where you should be.'

Freya wondered. She thought of the pills, the alcohol she needed more often than not to prop her up. It didn't take much to knock her off any kind of even keel. But it had taken less in London. She shivered at the remembrance of it. Things were better here, she thought, even if she still felt her grief, acute and disabling sometimes. She thought of Torin's warning, the nightmares, Sam's face looking up at her, sharply, his clear voice warning her of danger. That too, she kept to herself. ‘I think so,' was all she said in response. Then, again to change the subject, she told Alister about Sam's diary and the necklace he had discovered on Tiree.

‘I can just picture the wee bairn,' Alister said. ‘All smiles and excitement.' He liked the tale, no doubt the symmetry and order of tracking and unearthing something, and while he talked for a while about the merits of this or that metal detector, Freya's mind strayed to the story he had told Sam about letters from St Kilda floated in wooden boxes on the tides. It was miraculous that they could circle the landmass of Lewis and Harris and make it to Skye on dependable currents. But then there were lots of miraculous things, it seemed, if you simply accepted they were possible. She stroked the silver at her throat and watched the sun creep below the sea, her mind filled with thoughts of Edward's letters, buried for so long beneath the waves.

11 September 1653

Speedwell

My dearest Josie,

Today we went after the Macleans. Pursuit – that is what our Colonel called it, although I could not believe it to be so when we knew so little about the destination of our enemies and therefore had so little hope of finding them. What did he have in mind, I wonder, upon our reaching Tiree? The Macleans would hardly be sitting aboard their ships, at anchor in some convenient harbour, awaiting our arrival. Were we to make an entire sweep of the island when we had no idea where the deserters might be hiding out and no idea of the terrain upon which we would find ourselves? In short, Josie, I found it an ill-advised venture.

Four ships set out northwards, circling round the coast of Mull until Coll, the island adjacent to Tiree, appeared. We were fortunate in that both the wind and tide seemed to be with us and we moved swiftly. In short time, we dropped anchor in Tiree's southern harbour of Scarinish and a small party was put ashore to try and gather information. Needless to say they returned with nothing useful. Some locals said the Macleans had headed inland, others that they had set sail westwards to the outer isles, others that they journeyed northwards to Skye. So it was decided that on the morrow, a number of small scouting forces would be despatched to search the land while the ships sailed around the island. All forces were to meet back at Scarinish Bay. I am among those who are to remain a-ship. The better of two evils I suppose. Although I suspect the Macleans have already moved on or gone to ground and I do not believe that we will find them.

This night we all sleep aboard, there being too much uncertainty to camp on land. So we are packed in and there is a deal of snoring and sound to aggravate me. Perhaps because of the noise and the stink, I was unable to sleep. I rose and went onto the deck. Before long I noticed that Duncan had followed me. He could not sleep either and was not in his usual humour, that is for sure. I asked him what the matter was and for a long moment he simply looked at me. Then he whispered that there are some in these parts that have second sight. His voice was quiet, conspiratorial even. No doubt he didn't want the others on board to hear him. He asked me if I knew what that was. I nodded my head, wishing that I had not asked what was bothering him. Feeling myself a little out of sorts, I was not in the humour for tales of witchcraft or other magic. But he went on to tell me that there have been too many instances of visions and the coming to pass of seen events for people not to believe it. He paused and I felt his eyes upon me again, even though I was looking out to sea.

His father had the sight, he said, and had predicted many things which came to pass in time. The woman a man would marry, for instance. And death. There was always death. He grew more and more agitated and told me that there were signs to show when death was at hand – sometimes the seer would hear a cry that no one else heard. And, at others, a shroud would be perceived around a person. That was a sure sign.

I nodded. I thought I sensed where this tale was taking us and I asked him if he too had the sight.

He smiled thinly and nodded. He saw things, he said, and often didn't realise until afterwards that it was a vision.

I asked him what it was he had seen now, feeling the sense of unease in my stomach grow.

He told me he had seen shrouds about the men on the
Speedwell
and at other times covering those on other ships among our party. Not all the men. But some.

I paused before I asked him when death would come.

Duncan shrugged. I cannot be exact, he said.

Of course not, I wanted to shout at him then. It is all hocus-pocus and nonsense. I wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. But I held my tongue and kept my body in check.

It is said, he continued, that the height of the shroud about a person is a signifier. If it is not seen above the middle, death is not to be expected for a year, perhaps longer. But the higher it ascends towards the head, the closer death is perceived to be.

And you have seen these shrouds high about these men? I asked.

Duncan nodded and then answered the question that I did not want to ask again. Death will likely come within a few days, he said.

I nodded, more to myself than him. It was a nod aimed to dismiss, to dispel from my mind this work of fiction I had just heard. For it was ridiculous, was it not, to give any credence to such a flight of fancy? And yet I could not shake his words from my mind. I was not,
am not
– as well you know, Josie – a superstitious man. But, as I stood there on the deck of the
Speedwell
, with the late gloaming light of the north upon me and Duncan, with the certainty of his visions, by my side; as I stared out into the vast ocean to the west and felt my own isolation, my smallness in the face of nature, in spite of myself, of my love of the harsh, dull realities of life, I began to wonder whether death would come soon and whether it would be by land, or by sea, in a fight against the Macleans or in some other guise.

For some reason my thoughts returned to the old man from the tavern, who had told the story of the mermaid. And I saw again in my mind's eye the way he had looked at me. For, doubtless, in spite of his milky eyes and his lack of sight, he had seen me and, more than that, perhaps, had seen into me. And he had felt a kind of pity or sympathy. I had seen it in his face at the time and it had made my blood run cold. And then I began to wonder whether he, like Duncan and his father before him, had seen something that had not yet come to pass. Perhaps he too was one of these seers of the north and had caught a vision of me, perhaps foreseen my death. For even though I did not ask Duncan, clearly it had been on my mind: whether he had seen a shroud about my own shoulders.

I shivered then, even though the air was mild, as if someone had walked over my grave. Duncan was still beside me but silent now, wrapped up in his own black thoughts as he stared out to sea. In the gathering darkness of the night, the stars grew in strength and cast a faint flickering glimmer upon the surface of the ocean. I looked down into the water, lapping quietly against the side of the
Speedwell
, and tried to see past its surface into the shadowy depths beyond. What lurked there in the darkness? For a long time I stared into the quietness of the night, for the men were asleep or, for once, speaking to one another in hushed rather than raucous tones. And I prayed to the mermaid, if she existed, that she spirit me back to you, and the life now growing inside you, on subtle winds and calm seas. That she let me escape this strange kingdom with my life.

Having read once more these words I have written to you, you will no doubt think me fast becoming a heathen. Much of my disquiet arises, I am sure, from the fact that it is night and we may well face a battle on the morrow. And that I am tired yet sleep evades me. But my thoughts, as well as my dreams, come back to you often and give me some comfort.

I pray for life so that I may see you again. If you receive another letter from me then you will know that I have survived tomorrow – both Duncan's curse and that of the wild Macleans.

Until then

I am your

Edward