Billie's Kiss (17 page)

This was rather uncomfortable, Geordie thought, any way
you looked at it. Any questions proceeding from such
information
were likely to be more than a little delicate. Geordie didn't care to see how Murdo handled it – he only wanted to spare Billie Paxton any embarrassment. He cleared his throat, but found he hadn't any speech with which to follow his noise.

Billie said to Murdo, ‘I think I'm the only one who saw.'

‘And what did you make of it?' Murdo asked.

‘Nothing. Do you think it matters?'

‘We have so little to go on. Please try to think.'

Billie frowned, then looked about her for a chair and sat down. ‘Look,' she said, ‘if it matters – have you thought – do you remember that the captain pointed out to the pilot Lord Hallowhulme's automobile? It was tied down on the stern deck…'

‘Yes?'

‘The captain told the pilot – by the by – that its seats were in the hold, where they'd be safe from the weather.'

Geordie managed to start his voice again by complimenting Billie on her memory.

She was impatient. ‘I'm always having to remember when people tell me what something says – trains leaving at ten after four, or best mustard seed at tuppence a pound. My memory makes up a little for my muddle about words.' She looked back at Murdo. ‘I'm sure you won't mind me being coarse. If Mr Macleod didn't like Lord Hallowhulme, perhaps he did something to the leather seats. Something that required him to pull his pants down.'

Murdo frowned at Billie. Geordie said that he thought it was very unlikely. The pilot wouldn't want to risk his job.
Surely
not.

‘No,' said Murdo.

Billie Paxton kicked the leg of her chair with the heel of her boot. To cover her impatience she got up. Her face was pink. She said that
that
wasn't the only thing she could think of. She could imagine another thing – but none of it was
relevant. Her sentences became a series of stuttered hisses. She said, ‘It wasn't sin or sh … shank that sip … sank that ship,' then, recovering, ‘whether it was malice and dirtiness, or … or they went down there and liked the leather so much they …' She trailed off, stared from Geordie to Murdo, her throat working, swallowing over and over as though she were about to be sick. ‘There's no answer in what I saw Macleod do or what I thought he might have done.'

Geordie started toward her, full of concern, but Billie put her hand in her pocket, found something and held it out, straight-armed, between them. Geordie saw a button made of plaited pigskin, which she gripped by its looped brass post. She held it out between her and them as a priest brandishes a crucifix at armed heathen. ‘This is a button from Henry's jacket. It was found in Edith's hand,' she said. And then, pocketing the button once more, she bolted from the room. She slammed the door on her skirt, and the men heard her fall. They watched as the door opened again, just enough to free the skirt, and listened to her blunder away down the hall.

Geordie turned back to Murdo. He was about to say he thought Miss Paxton hadn't told
herself
that before telling them. But Geordie saw that Murdo had his eyes closed. ‘Mr Hesketh?' Geordie said.

Murdo, quietly, from some very peaceful place, possibly a grave, said, ‘Mr Betler.'

‘I'm sure you didn't intend to precipitate that crisis.'

‘How kind of you.'

‘But it could have been better managed.'

Murdo opened his eyes and Geordie found himself looking at Ian's white bear. The snowbank suddenly had eyes, its breath became visible; still, it was impossible to tell what it intended until it moved. ‘Betler managed, you mean, Geordie,' Murdo Hesketh said. For half a minute he was silent, and only stared, then he used Geordie's name again. ‘Geordie,
one minute you say “two heads are better”, then you say “
you
” –
“
you
didn't intend
”.
It isn't consistent. Are we not allies? Are we not looking for exactly the same thing – a reason for Ian's death – and redress for it? Geordie – haven't you done sorting Ian's affairs? Haven't you seen him decently buried? Why are you still here? You're not my man, Geordie. You're Andrew Tannoy's man.'

‘Well.' Geordie was irritable. ‘I hadn't realised I was expected to make a declaration of loyalty or to refrain entirely from criticising your manner of proceeding. Are those the terms of our alliance, Mr Hesketh? You're being ridiculous. The fact is that you don't want an ally. You hate help so much that Ian had to go about like a mute for these last few years. Deaf and dumb and inoffensive to your dignity.' Geordie heard himself say all this with some surprise. He had only thought to defend himself, show some mettle. He watched Murdo Hesketh's eyes pale, turn almost silver in the indoor light, and his lips turn white. Geordie said, quickly, ‘I beg your pardon.'

Murdo went and sat by the fire. He put a hand up to the side of his face, shielding it not from the flames but from Geordie, who watched the orange light shining through fingers, a rosy ear, the thick, glassy hair. ‘I know what Ian did for me,' Murdo said.

‘He admired you – too much, I always thought. I've spent the last three years on and off trying to persuade him to leave you.'

‘Ian didn't drown because he admired me too much.'

Geordie wondered if he'd heard that right – Murdo's emphasis on his brother's name. That emphasis said that there was someone else who
had
drowned because they admired him.

Murdo went on, directing his words to the fire. He said, ‘I want to make this clear. I don't need your help, and I don't want it. Ian was my friend. But I don't want your friendship,
and I don't need it. Because we have the same goal we will inevitably find ourselves working together. But just remember: I don't want you.'

It was at that moment that Geordie, in a surge of pity mixed with stubborn indignation, decided that he was going to save Murdo's miserable life. He said, ‘Very well. You can stop now. I understand you.'

‘Listen.' Murdo was about to propose something. Geordie stopped him by saying he'd listen only if Mr Hesketh looked at him, and Murdo turned from the fire, conscious and ashamed of the signs of tears on his face but determined neither to hide nor show them. And Geordie saw why Ian had loved Murdo Hesketh – he saw nerve, pride independent of dignity, the man who lied to his doomed brother-in-law about his dead sister, the man Karl Borg imagined could somehow save him. Murdo was saying something Geordie had to hear. Geordie held up a hand and made Murdo go back.

‘Listen,' Murdo said again, and paused to see that he had Geordie's attention. ‘Miss Paxton couldn't be expected to think of this. Macleod was buckling his belt and tucking his shirt back in. She said he stopped on the ladder to do it. He didn't mean to be seen. She was the only passenger on the windward side of the ship, in the cold, where no one could reasonably be expected to be lurking.'

Geordie nearly laughed at the image of Billie Paxton lurking.

‘Macleod had something under his shirt. He'd removed it in the hold.'

Geordie lifted his brows.

‘It was wound around his waist. It was measured, down to the last minute, and maybe no one was meant to die – but the ship was too slow. It was a fuse.'

SUNDAY MORNING was calm and clear. Billie left Henry under the eye of Jane Tegner, who had undertaken to read
him the main stories in yesterday's newspaper. Jane hadn't gone to church. She said that with her back she couldn't endure even an hour in Reverend Mulberry's hard pews. No one had pressed Billie to attend. Perhaps they guessed she'd not find God in a church she'd only entered to identify her sister's body.

Billie ran down to the gatehouse. She found Alan and tried for size the half a vest she'd knitted – held it against his back. She said that Minnie should have thought of it, and he said Minnie was too busy
thinking
to have thought. Then he apologised – he'd forgotten about the beach. They pelted back to the castle together, and while Alan harnessed Kirsty, Billie put her knitting away and fetched the matches and paper that Alan said they'd need.

They hurried Kirsty through town before church was out. As they passed it they heard singing –
Eternal
Father
,
strong
to
save
,
Whose
arm
hath
bound
the
restless
wave
,
Who
bid
'
st
the
mighty
ocean
deep
,
Its
own
appointed
limits
keep
…

THE SUN was hot, the air still. Kirsty put her nose down and blew at the dry sand, each nostril making its own dimple. Billie could see that Alan was disappointed. On the way over they had noticed that the sea wasn't as smooth as it had been on their last visit. But until they got down through the dunes and onto the beach they weren't able to gauge the scale of the surf. Though the air was still, and had been for twelve hours, the sea hadn't yet come down. Steep five-foot waves were breaking at the high-water mark. The beach was steep, too, and the waves broke close into shore once their troughs began to drag and slow and their crests to topple.

Well – Alan said – they were here now, and it was a nice day with no wind so at least the smoke of their fire would go straight up and not whip around and get in their eyes. He went a short way toward the water and chose a spot where the southerly had heaped fine sand up against a tuft of dune
grass. He bent the grass to incorporate it into his pyre, and over the grass and balled newspaper he made a cage of the split kindling he'd brought with him. Kindling, and a bag of dried peats. Billie told Alan that the sea she knew best was often like this – its shelved stony beaches, beaches built up with river stones and broken roof tiles. There was usually a strip of pebbles where the waves broke, on which it was possible to stand upright. But of course the larger stones were often spherical, or near to it, and, as the beach was shelved, it was impossible to walk into the water. ‘People limp, as if lame,' Billie said. ‘Or they sit down where the surf is creaming – I've seen boys whose backsides are dappled with bruises from being lifted a little on each wave then dropped back down on the stones.' She laughed at Alan's look. ‘I was little – we were all ragged and savage – though my backside was always covered.'

Alan grinned at her, he poked the fire.

Billie realised that she'd laughed. Several times now. She went on to say that those who could swim – when the sea was high like this – would time their entry so as not to be knocked back into the broken water by the breakers. The trick was timing, to jump out over a lower wave and swim beyond where they were breaking. Then to tread water – sometimes for hours – going up and down and only slapped in passing by the peaks of the waves.
This
kind of sea was, in fact, safer, because there was no undertow. ‘See,' said Billie. ‘The water is only white at the shore, and all along the beach rollers are coming in even furrows. And there's no smooth patch, no false quiet of a rip.'

Alan's fire was going well, and noisily. The driftwood wasn't wholly dry. It sang and smoked, but its smoke went straight up.

Then Billie asked how Ingrid Hallow had drowned.

‘It was “death by misadventure”. That was what the coroner said. Lord Hallowhulme got a coroner up from
Edinburgh. It was August – hot weather. She was wading and took a fall. Her skirts hampered her movements. That was what the Edinburgh man found.'

‘Do you think he was right?'

Alan wasn't surprised by her question. He said that Kissack men saw sin everywhere. ‘Believing as they do that any sin you commit you carry around your whole life. Some of them even think that God has all our sins set out for us from the hour of our birth, so that some men are born damned.' Alan spat in the fire. He wiped his lips. Then, because, of course, he had also heard Minnie say that she thought Murdo Hesketh had something to do with her sister's death, he went on. ‘These Kissack men want to think badly of Mr Hesketh because they don't like what he does for Lord Hallowhulme. Lord
Hallowhulme
is here at Christmas and rides around town with a dray full of hampers, and he's putting heating in the old customhouse and has turned it into a meeting hall. Mr Hesketh hires and fires and lures men away from reliable work so that the barley goes in late and the peat is cut late and is still damp in October. So of course he has to be a seducer, too.' Alan added, ‘Minnie knows you hate him. She's just throwing fuel on the fire. But – but you should understand that Minnie doesn't hate him. She likes him really.'

Billie wanted to know why, if Ingrid Hallow drowned on Scouse Beach, Alan wanted to go swimming there?

‘You said, “I can teach you,” Miss Paxton.'

‘Billie.'

‘I take up all offers to be taught.'

‘All I know is needlework, knitting, the piano, swimming, and how to cheat at cards.' Billie said. ‘I'm sure you won't want me to teach you all of that.' Alan didn't answer; he fed the fire and stood on his dignity. Billie watched him for a moment, then alarmed him by saying she was going to go in.

She wrestled with the buttons on the back of her dress, then asked for Alan's help, waited patiently as he fumbled,
clumsy despite his small fingers. Then Billie pulled the dress off over her head, and sat down to remove her shoes and stockings. She left her hair in its long plait. It wouldn't do any good to pin it up – it wasn't the kind of sea you could go in and keep your hair dry. She told Alan she'd be quick, because the water would be cold. He said he'd get more wood to build up the fire. Then he ran up the beach to get a blanket from the box under the seat of the dogcart. While he was gone Billie went down to the water. She'd remembered modesty – that the moment her drawers and camisole were wet they'd be transparent. She didn't want to embarrass Alan.