The Murder of Busy Lizzie

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The landing-beach at which the boat had put in stretched northwards for upwards of a mile. Surveying it from the cliff-top on the following morning, Sebastian, who had a towel round his neck and his swim-trunks on under his flannel trousers, remarked to his sister, who was similarly clad except that she wore a bikini top under her sweater, that he was not impressed by the facilities which the greyish shore afforded.

‘I don’t think I want to bathe here,’ he said ‘and then there’s that awful grind up the hill to get back. My legs always feel like jelly after I’ve been swimming.’

‘Well, let’s walk about a bit,’ suggested Margaret. ‘Breakfast isn’t until eight. We’ve heaps of time.’ They walked to the tip of the island. From there, the mainland, which at first had been discernable through the early morning haze, was out of sight and all that faced the holiday-makers was a vast expanse of sea. They rounded a headland, glanced back at the south-east lighthouse of the island and then found themselves looking down on a tiny cove. ‘That might do,’ Margaret went on. ‘Let’s find a way down.’

‘It still looks rather mucky,’ objected Sebastian. ‘I hate bathing from shale and pebbles. Besides, the sea looks pretty rough and there are rocks.’

‘There’s somebody swimming, anyway.’

The descent to the beach was precipitous, but there were steps cuts here and there, and at the back of the cove they found a large cave with a rocky ledge on which were the clothes presumably belonging to the swimmer. They shed their own outer lendings and picked their way painfully over sharp pebbles and precariously over bright-green slippery rocks to get into the water. It was shallow and clear, except for dark strands of seaweed, and it struck cold at that hour of the morning. Margaret crouched in the shallow sea on what appeared to be a shelf of rock and then, using her hands, lifted herself sufficiently to be able to propel her body forwards towards the dark green billows. The rocky shelf ended with some abruptness, and she found herself submerged in six feet of water. She surfaced and began to swim. Sebastian followed suit and the next moment they were hailed by the other swimmer, who came threshing towards them on a clean, crisp stroke which made their own quite adequate efforts look puerile and clumsy.

‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Just thought I’d better tip you off to stay pretty well inshore. Out there is the race they call Dead Man’s Day. Once you get caught in that, you’ve had it.’ She turned and threshed away. Five minutes later she was on the rocky shelf and was wading purposefully towards the cave.

‘That’s her,’ said Margaret, floating and allowing the waves to carry her slightly shorewards.

‘That’s who?’ asked Sebastian, pushing the long hair away from his eyes.

‘The woman we saw yesterday. Gavin. She waved to us from outside that house.’

‘Wonder how long she’ll take to dress? I shall soon have had enough of this. It’s damn’ cold and I want my breakfast.’

‘Oh, dear, yes, it is cold, isn’t it?’

‘Well, there’s nothing to stop you going ashore. I’ll have to wait until she’s through, though, I suppose.’ He turned and swam along level with the coast, mindful of the warning about Dead Man’s Day. Margaret watched his somewhat laboured stroke and contrasted it with the human torpedo who had come in to speak to them, then she turned in the direction of the shore, swam as fast as she could, hoisted herself on to the ledge and staggered ungracefully over stones towards the cave.

The woman, who seemed to be as energetic out of the water as in it, was just pulling a sweater on over a towelling shirt. Having done this, she unconcernedly dried her magnificent legs, shook back her damp hair, which appeared to have received a vigorous preliminary rubbing, and said, as she pulled on her trousers,

‘Hope you didn’t mind my butting in.’

‘Of course not. Very good of you, although my brother and I are pretty careful in strange waters.’

‘Good for you. Staying here long?’

‘A month. Your name—my brother spotted it on your luggage…’

‘Gavin. Laura to my friends.’

‘Our name is Lovelaine. I’m Margaret, my brother is Sebastian. We’re staying here with my father. The hotel belongs to my aunt.’

‘Oh, yes? Well, I hope I’ll see you again.’ She pulled on a pair of rope-soled shoes and added, ‘Wouldn’t your brother like to dress now? I’m just off.’

‘Yes, I expect he’s feeling cold,’ said Margaret. ‘I’ll signal him.’ She stepped out of the cave and waved and beckoned. Sebastian thankfully waded ashore, but, when he reached his sister, he said,

‘Oh, dear! I thought you meant the cave would be vacant, but she’s still in there, isn’t she?’

‘I’ll get your towel,’ said Margaret. ‘You can begin to dry yourself out here.’

‘This wind is chilly. Why did you wave if she isn’t ready?’

‘She said she was.’ Margaret went into the cave. There was no sign of Laura. She and the wet swimsuit which she had flung down were both gone. Bewildered, the girl returned to her brother. ‘The cave’s all yours,’ she said. ‘Laura Gavin seems to have done a disappearing trick. Hurry up and get dressed. I want my breakfast.’

‘She can’t have disappeared,’ said Sebastian. ‘She certainly didn’t leave the cave while I was coming out of the water. I’d have seen her.’

‘I suppose you would. Anyway, she isn’t in there now.’

Sebastian entered the cave, dried himself and dressed and then said, ‘I think I’ve got it. This cave must have been a smugglers’ hole. That means there’s another way up to the top of the cliffs from the back of it. I’ve heard of such things before. There must be a natural fault in the rock. Let’s find it.’

This proved to be a simple operation. Not only was there a natural fissure in the back of the cave, but rough steps had been chopped out to make a steep ascent and a short cut to the cliff-top.’

‘Fun!’ said Sebastian. ‘But I don’t think I’ll bathe before breakfast another time. I got damn’ cold hanging about waiting to get into the cave.’

‘Well, you don’t need to bother about me. You never do. I’ll tell you what. I saw some steps up to the lighthouse while I was in the water. Let’s go that way back.’

‘Worse than the climb up from the cave, wouldn’t it be?’

‘I don’t know, but I like steps.’

‘And what happens when we get to the lighthouse? Ten to one we’ll have to come all the way down again.’

‘Oh, well, all right, then. I’ll do it by myself sometime.’ They toiled up the rest of the slope, flung their wet swim-suits down on the sitting-room floor of the chalet and found their father already at breakfast when they went over to the hotel.

‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘Have you been swimming? I hope you didn’t take any risks. I’ve been talking to the porter. He has come back on duty today. He tells me that the currents around the island are very treacherous and can be extremely dangerous.’

‘Yes, we know,’ said Margaret. ‘The Gavin woman—Laura—was there, and she warned us about Dead Man’s Day.’

‘That was very good of her. Well, sit down and have your breakfast. The bacon and eggs come from the farm and are excellent.’

‘Any news of Aunt Eliza?’ asked Sebastian.

‘None. I could hardly ask the porter about her, and so far there is nobody in charge of reception. I think you may like to make yourselves scarce as soon as you have had your breakfast. The hotel is already in a state of near-confusion preparing for a vast influx of visitors, so that it promises little hope of any peace and quiet this morning.’

‘Oh, the bird-watchers’ conference, I suppose,’ said Sebastian. ‘Maggie and I will be out of it, anyway. We’re going to explore the island. Do you think, Father, that we could ask for a packed lunch? If there’s going to be a sort of spring-cleaning done here, I want no part of it.’

‘I should have liked to come with you, but I think I will stay here to greet Lizzie upon her arrival. I did ask the porter about steamers and it appears that one is due today, but not another one until Saturday. Wednesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays are the arrival days, and as the conference people are expected to come by the Saturday boat, your aunt will certainly not delay her own arrival until then. I confidently expect her this morning at about half-past eleven or so. It appears that the Thursday boat puts in earlier than ours did yesterday.’

‘Oh, well,’ said Margaret, ‘perhaps we had better come back to lunch, then, if Aunt Eliza is expected.’

‘There is no need for you to put yourselves out, my dear. In fact, it is so long since I saw my sister that I believe I would prefer to break the ice before I introduce you to her.’

‘Thank goodness for that!’ said Sebastian, when they had left the hotel and were making their way towards the northwest corner of the island. ‘We didn’t want him tagging along and making us look at what interests him and bores us crosseyed. He has such weird ideas of enjoyment.’

‘Poor old Tutor! Do you sometimes think perhaps we’re a bit lousy where he’s concerned?’

‘Good heavens, no! He’s got a job he likes and isn’t much good at (so he’s lucky to keep it, and he wouldn’t, except at a university), we don’t cost him much and he’s stingy about my allowance, anyway, and I don’t drink (much) or dope at all, and we’re both quite reasonably intelligent—and that’s a miracle when you think of Boob. Besides—’

‘Oh, not that ancient Sicilian Vesper about not having asked to be born! I’m jolly glad I was born, and I’m going to enjoy myself as long as I can manage to stay alive. Look, there’s the church. Shall we take a look at it?’ said Margaret.

Sebastian took a look at it and snorted disgustedly.

‘Victorian Gothic,’ he said.

‘Well, John Betjeman likes Victorian Gothic, and he’s the Poet Laureate now, so don’t be snobby.’

Sebastian tried the door, but the church was locked.

‘Oh, well, that’s that, and I don’t think we’ve missed much,’ he said.

‘I wonder whether there are any interesting old grave-stones in the churchyard,’ said Margaret.

‘There couldn’t be. I should think the building was put up in about 1880, and not a day earlier.’

‘There might be an amusing inscription or so, all the same. Come on, let’s look around. We’ve time to kill.’

‘Not if we’re going to get as far as the northern end of the island.’

‘Well, we need not do that today. We’ve got a whole month to mess about in.’

Sebastian gave way and tagged along after her as she inspected the graves. The churchyard was ragged and untidy and on three of the headstones vandals had been at work. Red paint had been splashed on them in the forms, respectively, of a giant letter s followed by the word murder, a five-pointed star labelled lucifer and a sprawling, badly-executed swastika.

‘Amateur satanists!’ said Sebastian. ‘Cor!’

There was one more item of interest. A notice in the church porch, addressed to visitors, supplied the information that services were held once a month, but that special arrangements could be made with J. Dimbleton at Lighthouse Cottage by any who wished at any time to go to church on the mainland. tariff by mutual agreement depending on numbers, the notice stated.

‘Might come in useful, even if one didn’t want to go to church on the mainland,’ said Sebastian. ‘Sundays are bound to be pretty grim in a place like this. Oh, well, let’s press on, shall we? There’s only one track in this direction, so there’s no need to argue about which way we should go.’

The track brought them to a farm and continued past it. The farmhouse was perched high up on the plateau in what seemed to be an unnecessarily exposed position and adjoining it were piggeries, cattle-sheds, a walled kitchen garden and a good-sized cottage and smallholding. Apart from the buildings and the rough road which hereabouts was muddy with the tramplings of cattle and plentifully endowed with large pats of cow-dung, there was nothing to be seen but pasture dotted freely with the black and white of Fresian cattle and also a number of white-faced Herefords which were quietly grazing.

As they approached the cottage a man came out. He gave them a polite good-day as they passed, and as soon as they were out of earshot Margaret remarked,

‘He was on the boat that brought us ashore. I was certain he and the older man with him were natives. He might be able to tell us quite a lot about the island.’

‘What I’d like him to tell us,’ said Sebastian, ‘is whether the island supports a pub. We have sandwiches, but nothing to drink.’

‘They did offer us a thermos flask of coffee at the hotel.’

‘I know, but it’s such a drag hauling drinks about.’ He turned, ran, and caught up with the man, who had turned towards the farmhouse. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘but is there a pub within measurable distance? My sister and I could do with a drink.’

‘A drink? Oh, sure. I could do with one myself. It’s this way, if you’d like to come along. You’ll be visitors to the island, no doubt.’

‘Yes, we came over yesterday. Didn’t we see you on the boat?’ asked Sebastian.

‘Me and my dad, yes, I expect you did. We were on it, anyway.’

‘There were two other people, two women.’

‘That’s right. Dame Beatrice Lestrange Bradley and her secretary, Mrs Gavin.’

‘Is Dame Beatrice really a criminologist?’ asked Margaret.

‘Shouldn’t think so, except that she’s a psychiatrist. It might come to the same thing, I suppose.’

‘Does she come here often?’

‘Never been before, to my knowledge.’

‘But you know all about her.’

‘Well, she’s famous, I believe. Writing her memoirs, so I hear, and has taken Puffins for three months to get away from her friends and relatives. A gaggle of servants came over last week to get the house ready.’

‘To get it ready?’

‘Well, yes. The family left when the other house was turned into a hotel. It’s been up for sale for years. The agents let it when they can, but that’s not often.’

‘We wondered,’ said Margaret, falling into step beside him while Sebastian loitered behind, ‘whether our Aunt Eliza —Mrs Chayleigh—was expected back this morning.’

‘Expected back? Back from where?’

‘I don’t know exactly. From the mainland, anyhow. We were told she had gone over to make arrangements.’

‘For what?’

‘Well, isn’t she expecting to have a bevy of bird-watchers at the hotel?’

‘Goodness knows! Is she?’

‘So we were told. That’s why Seb and I have to sleep in one of the chalets. She couldn’t let us have rooms in the house because of all these ornithologist people.’

‘I know nothing whatever about it. I never go up to the hotel. It will be nice for my mother to have it full, I should think. It doesn’t usually do too well, I believe.’

‘Oh, doesn’t it?’ said Margaret, concealing her interest in what she had just learned.

‘No, not really at all too well. Even in August it never seems anything like full. I know a bit about it, you see, because we supply her with farm and garden stuff, so according to the orders she sends down we can always tell roughly how many guests she has.’

‘I should think, then…’ Margaret hesitated before completing her sentence.

‘What should you think?’

‘Oh, well, I only meant that I should think you’d get bumper orders for your produce next week, when all these people turn up. I believe forty of them are expected. Of course, we should never have come if my father had known that the hotel was going to be crowded out, but I expect it will be a very profitable thing for Aunt Eliza.’

‘Oh, well, that’s no business of mine. As for our produce, well, my father lets her have it at bargain prices, so it won’t be at all to our advantage to let her have enough for forty people. We’ve a built-up market on the mainland, you see, where the prices are very much better. How many people are already staying at the hotel?’

‘I don’t really know. There were only five other people at dinner last night, apart from the woman at the reception desk who had a table to herself just inside the service door, and there were only two others at breakfast this morning.’

‘That’s what I mean. The place is never more than one-fifth full, I would say.’

The track they were following dipped to a little, fast-running river and a bridge. Near the bridge and high above the river-gorge was the pub. It was a slate-roofed, long, low building covered with white-washed rough-cast and it had a stone wall along one side of its yard with a gap in it to give access to a small building of quarried stone which was half woodshed and half earth-closet.

Right across the front of the pub itself there was a long board between the downstair and upstair windows which bore in very large letters executed by an unpractised hand the information that the building was the Great Skua tavern and general stores. There were two front doors, one leading into the bar and the other into the shop. Sebastian pushed open the former and held it for the others.

‘Expect we’re too early for drinks,’ he said. ‘It’s only a quarter past ten.’

‘No, that’s all right,’ said the man. ‘No nonsense like permitted hours on Great Skua. Now, then, sit down. What will you have? Not that there’s any real choice. It’s beer or whisky and there won’t be any ice for the whisky, so it’s no good asking for Scotch on the rocks, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh, beer for me,’ said Sebastian, ‘and a lemonade shandy, if they can do one, for my sister.’ When they had finished their drinks, he added, ‘My round now. Same again for everybody?’

‘Not for me, thanks,’ said the man. ‘Got to be getting back. Glad to have met you. Why don’t you drop in at the farm some time? Come and have some tea. Any relations of Eliza Chayleigh are welcome. She used to be called Eliza Lovelaine until she inherited old Miss Chayleigh’s property. The old lady made her change her name as a condition of being made the heiress.’

‘Well!’ said Margaret to her brother as they took their way north-westward again. ‘What do you make of that!’

‘Make of what?’ asked Sebastian. ‘What on earth made him give us an invitation to tea at the farm? It would be frightful. I don’t know the first thing about pigs and mangold-wurzels.’

‘Oh, Seb, don’t you know what that man is? That must be his reason for inviting us. He knew us when we mentioned Aunt Eliza.’

‘Oh, Lord! Not Ransome?’

‘I’m sure of it. There’s the smallholding and the farm, and he said that the older man on the boat with him was his father and he spoke of Aunt Eliza as his mother. I’m dying to know more about him.’

‘Why on earth?’

‘Oh, I don’t know, except that I liked him. Didn’t you?’

‘I didn’t have much to do with him. He seemed all right, but he talked mostly to you.’

‘I wonder what he really thinks of his life?’

‘Goodness knows, and I couldn’t be less interested.’

‘Well, where do you think he fits in? And how do you think he reacts to Aunt Eliza? He said he never goes up to the hotel.’

‘That could mean anything or nothing. Aunt Eliza must be kept pretty busy and I expect this chap is busy, too, if he runs that big kitchen garden which goes with the cottage and helps the farmer as well.’

‘He seems fairly well-educated, doesn’t he?’

‘I should think he went to an agricultural college and then she let him have the cottage and the smallholding. She’d feel bound to do something for him, and the farmer would, if he’s his father, you know.’

‘It might come as a big jolt to The Tutor to find that Aunt Eliza seems to have taken enough interest in him to have him trained and to find him a job on the island. I wish we knew more about it all. Are we going to tell The Tutor we’ve met him?’

‘Yes, but not that you like him. We must mention the meeting itself because he may find out about it for himself if we don’t and that might prove embarrassing.’

‘Do we go down and watch the boat come in? I’d like to get a first sight of Aunt Eliza.’

‘We shouldn’t know which person was Aunt Eliza. Besides, I’m not going to sweat down and up that cliff road again today. What about those sandwiches?’

‘If we eat them now we’ll be hungry before we get back to the hotel.’

‘I’m hungry now,’ said Sebastian. ‘There is a mass of granite rock sticking up there ahead of us. Let’s find a flat bit and sit and stodge. We can then get another drink at the pub on our way back.’

‘Aren’t we going to explore the rest of the island?’

‘Yes, when we are refreshed and “Richard is himself again”. It’s going to be hot this afternoon, though.’

The rest of the trackway skirted a small disused airfield and led out to the north-west lighthouse. Here, in spite of the warmth of the afternoon, the wind was strong, so that, instead of following a cliff path which, they could see, would take them southwards along the rocky coast which formed the west side of the island, they skirted its tip and took the more sheltered but very rough path on the east cliff, stopping here and there to rest. The turf was close, dry and springy and the day was hot. The east cliffs were high and steep, but were less formidable than those on the Atlantic side of the island, and the path they were following dipped occasionally into boggy hollows. One or two small streams made their way down to the sea, but were summer-thin and easily forded and their waterfalls were pleasant but not spectacular.

The brother and sister talked little and were often apart as one or the other found something of interest in the dips and hollows or scrambled up a goat-track among the bracken to reach a view-point which disclosed a stretch of the coast.

Sebastian found what he thought were some primitive hut-circles. Margaret gathered wild flowers. Both stopped to watch sea-birds and saw what they thought must be seals lying out among the flat rocks.

Beyond the little streams the path rose again, but soon descended to, and wandered across, a large and beautiful combe which ran down to the sea. This they explored, and found another small beach with a cave which penetrated far into the cliff.

They marked it for future exploration and then re-traced their steps, since there was no way round the next headland from the shore. When they regained their cliff path they soon found a deviation from it which led across to the farm, the buildings of which stood out prominently on the grassy plateau.

‘We don’t want the farm or that chap again,’ said Sebastian. ‘Let’s go this way.’ Another deviation, almost overgrown with bracken, led up to a hillock on which was perched another lighthouse, but this was an eighteenth century building long out of use. Sebastian, who tried it (tentatively at first then more determinedly), found the door in the surrounding wall had been made fast.

‘It probably isn’t very safe, anyway,’ he said, surveying the structure over the top of the wall which, by taking advantage of his height, he found himself able to do. He was peering over when a thickset, middle-aged man came up to watch him.

‘You don’t want to bother with that there,’ he said. ‘No admittance. That’s a very dangerous building. Try one on’t’other side the island. Just as good. Safe, too. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Best keep away from here.’

‘Thanks. We couldn’t climb over, anyway,’ said Sebastian. The man nodded and walked off in the direction of the farm. ‘That’s the bloke who was on the little boat when we came over,’ he added to his sister. They returned to their path, but Margaret looked back once or twice at the lighthouse.

‘There’s that other old one on the other side of the island,’ she said. ‘I spotted it when we came out of the pub. He mentioned it, didn’t he? They might even open it up to the bird-watchers. There must be thousands of sea-birds on those western cliffs, and from the lamp-room gallery there ought to be very good views of the rest of the island.’

‘Oh, well, we’ll certainly mark it for future reference if we find we can get inside the tower, but I expect that’s locked up, too,’ said Sebastian. ‘If they’ve had to build the two new ones, these ancient structures may never be opened to the public. By the way, I wonder what The Tutor has done with himself all day?’

‘Written to Boobie, I expect, or found himself some sheltered spot in which to read and snooze. Oh, no, he won’t, though, because surely Aunt Eliza is back by now?’