'Afternoon Hamish,' he said genially. 'I'm not coming in right now. Going home.'
'Oh very good, sir,' said Hamish, this time directing the traffic so that the Rolls could immediately continue on its way. Whereupon a motorcycle cop appeared, his siren blaring, and led their car through the Nuada plant's home-going commuter traffic. They cleared the vicinity of the power station, crossed an old stone bridge, and then the road led into a section of thick forest, where the motorcycle cop stopped at the roadside and waved them on.
'You seem to be quite the famous guy round here, sir,' said Steve, smiling.
'What makes him famous is that everyone works for him. He's the chairman of the Nuada board,' said Delia.
'Infamous, more like,' laughed Lachlan. 'When things go wrong, I'm usually the villain.'
'So is nuclear OK here?' asked Steve politely
'Not with everyone,' answered Lachlan. 'But one day oil and gas will run out or become just too expensive. So we're working on making nuclear cost effective. When I was a boy, my science teacher held up a golf ball. Unleash the atomic energy in this object, he said, and you could drive the Queen Elizabeth liner to New York and back on that power. So far it hasn't worked out quite like that. But your American submarines, and ours, are circling the globe running on nuclear and hardly needing to refuel.'
'Do you think your God approves of nuclear?' asked Delia rather unexpectedly.
'That's a tricky question, darling,' said Lachlan, almost reprovingly.
'Well, He disapproves of quite a lot. We're here to learn from Steve and Beth. So, if you don't mind,' Delia said this with a smile, 'I would like to know.'
'
When asked tricky questions,
' Beth remembered Terry saying, '
keep real cool. Never risk telling a lie, even if what you are saying seems likely to be true. To be caught out in a lie is to devalue your whole mission and possibly destroy it. Remember the Bible holds the answer to everything. If you are asked something you cannot readily answer go check it out in the Good Book and make sure you tell the questioner what he or she wanted to know before you go to bed that night.'
'Delia, I just cannot recall the subject being mentioned in the Bible,' Beth said, after a pause. 'So I guess it is probably OK. But I will check and let you know. '
To Beth's relief, and as she thought she heard Delia murmur, 'I'm not sure I can stand the suspense,' this was the moment when a diversion appeared in the shape of a young woman on a beautiful black horse. They had left the woodlands behind and were once more in open country with the outskirts of a small town appearing ahead. 'Tressock Welcomes Careful Drivers,' a sign said.
Steve was staring hard at the young woman, who Beth thought was certainly borderline attractive, her hair blowing and cheeks reddened in the chilly wind and all. She looked to Beth as if she pretty much lived on that horse. She knew the type. There were plenty of them that hung out by the cowboys' stables at the Dana Ranch where Steve had worked at one time. More fixated on the horseflesh than the cowboys, to hear Steve tell it. Beth rather doubted that. Lachlan had lowered the window and shouted across to the young woman as she galloped her horse parallel with the Rolls.
'Hullooo Lolly! And how's my Prince today?'
'He's been missing you.'
'Lolly, Delia and I are giving a rather special party on Sunday – up at the castle,' said Lachlan. 'Everyone is invited, so spread the word. Beth here will be our very special guest. She is a famous American singer. Lolly is our head groom, Beth.'
'Hi!' Beth said, and gave her the smile. Lolly waved her riding crop in reply.
The Rolls had slowed as it reached Tressock's 30 mile an hour speed limit area and Lolly trotted alongside. She was returning Steve's stare.
'What a beauty!' said Steve.
'Steve!' Beth's reaction was one of surprised irritation.
'The horse, Beth. Did you ever see such a beauty? And rare too. You don't hardly see black horses like that.'
'That's right, Steve,' confirmed Lachlan. 'Quite rare. I collect black horses for the Queen's household cavalry. Apart from those, you don't see many. I'm sorry… and this is Steve. He's from America too,' he glanced sideways at Steve. 'How'd you like to ride him?'
Lolly, still taking in the rugged attractions of young Steve, pretended to think Lachlan's question was addressed at her.
'I'd like it fine,' she said, laughing. 'But I expect yon Beth would kill me first.'
'And you'd deserve it,' said Lachlan severely. 'I'm asking Steve. Would you like to ride Prince?'
'Ride that horse? You bet.' Steve suddenly looked more energised than he had all day.
'Then you shall, Steve. Preaching is hard work I've no doubt. But you must have a little recreation while you're here.'
Lolly was cantering ahead into Tressock, Prince's hooves echoing sharply from the macadamed street as the whitewashed row houses with the brick-lined windows and doors started to appear on either side of the advancing Rolls.
Beth was wondering why she had thought that Steve had to be staring at that woman, when it seemed to have been the horse – well of course it was the horse – all along. How dumb of her. Not that she felt entirely comfortable with the thought that he might get to go riding with Lolly. There was something slightly suggestive about that name. She trusted Steve absolutely, she told herself. Being lovers was a bond with a man, there was no denying that. But it wasn't what the Lord wanted, so other ways to bind must be found. Working together in this alien atmosphere would help. Although Lachlan and Delia were being so friendly and helpful, Beth knew that Steve shared her sense of isolation when everything around them, every new encounter, was so – so foreign.
Lolly was practically obscured from view for a few minutes by a wheeling, cawing mass of black birds.
TRESSOCK IS DESCRIBED in the very short entry it gets in the
Michelin Green Guide to the United Kingdom
, under Local History:
Tressock is located close to the border between Scotland and England. Founded sometime before the departure of the Romans from a still Celtic Britain, its inhabitants had originally been British speakers; the language that still survives in the Principality of Wales. Some place and family names are still evidence of this. Myth and History are mixed in the local custom collectively called the Border Ridings which extends to neighbouring towns too. Each town has its special ritual, but they generally involve the election of a king for a day who is hunted over hill and dale, ending with his presiding over a feast. Tressock's is known as the Riding of the Laddie.
Tressock's history has been closely linked to the castle and the steeple of its now ruined church of St Ninian is inhabited by a rare branch of the Raven family (
Corvus Corax
). These birds, which elsewhere do not live in colonies, have for centuries been cared for at the expense of the Morrisons of Tressock Castle. A Guardian is appointed to feed the birds which are carnivorous. Similar to the legend attached to the ravens at the Tower of London and the apes at Gibraltar, it is believed that were the birds to depart then the Morrisons of Tressock would be no more. The river which flows through the town, a tributary of the River Tweed, is still known by its pre-Roman Celtic name Sulis.
Had Beth and Steve been conventional tourists and had they read the admirable French guide book they would probably have been particularly pleased to find that they had arrived in Tressock just as one of the ritual feedings of the birds was taking place. This was a twice daily rite and was timed to coincide with 'opening time' at the pub. Michelin didn't mention the fact that, in parts of Scotland, bars open for business very much at the convenience of innkeepers rather than customers, and that to have them open at all after 10 p.m., in parts of the kingdom, is but a recent innovation.
Lolly had cantered through the town well ahead of the Rolls, and all those citizens who happened to be on the streets then dematerialised almost at once into the inn or their nearby homes. As she passed the inn, the feeding of the ravens was sufficiently interrupted by the clattering of Prince's hooves for the birds to take off in a wild fluttering, whirling flight before settling down again outside the inn's front door where their feeder patiently awaited them.
A small man with tight curly fair hair had a flat baker's basket on his arm, upon which appeared to be dozens of blind baby mice. They wriggled and made squeaky, mewling sounds as he threw them one by one into the air for the wheeling, flapping ravens to catch in their lethal yellow beaks. It was as this process occurred that the Rolls pulled up outside the inn's front door.
Beame, clearly used to the ravens, could be seen braving the still fluttering, excited birds, taking Steve's case out of the trunk of the Rolls and handing it to him. Beth had also got out of the car, but her luggage had not been fetched. Lachlan held the door open and Delia remained in the car.
'So when do I see you?' said Steve to Beth, unaware of dozens of faces watching them from inside the pub and through the windows of adjacent houses.
'You can see her any time you like,' said Lachlan, answering for Beth. 'She'll be just down the road. Tomorrow you'll both have to rehearse how you're going to handle the prayer meeting on Sunday.'
Beth did not care for this separation at all. Nor, she knew, would Steve. So she leant back into the car to address Delia:
'Couldn't I stay here at the inn too?' she asked.
'Of course,' said Delia calmly. 'But Mary Hillier's house is where the girls mostly hang out. Staying there will give you a chance to meet some of the young women you may want to convert.'
'Delia has been to a lot of trouble,' interjected Lachlan, 'to arrange things with your mission in mind.'
Steve's expression was really troubled, but Beth climbed back in to the car, deciding that it was too early on this gig to start arguing with the organisers. 'It's cool Steve. That's a great idea, Delia. Thank you,' she said.
Steve was left standing outside the inn as the Rolls drove off. He paused for a minute, fascinated by the man feeding the ravens. He thought them ugly birds, a little like vultures with their balding heads. Curiously, the man seemed equally intrigued by the sight of Steve, who thought it might be because of his cowboy hat. He'd noticed quite a few folks here stared at that. The man's basket of food for the birds was now empty and the birds were flying away, up to the church tower, except one particularly shiny black fowl that sat now on the basket as if hoping for seconds, his head wobbling sideways as he eyed his feeder. Then the man spoke. He seemed to be addressing the bird, but his quick side-glances showed that he was aware of Steve watching him.
'"Prophet," say I, "thing of evil! Prophet still, if bird or devil!"' The man's voice was sepulchral, theatrical, his accent not Scottish.
'"Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted –
On this home by Horror haunted – tell me truly, I implore –
Is there – is there balm in Gilead? – tell me – tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven…'
And then an astonished Steve seemed to hear the bird, the raven itself, in a croaky, unearthly voice, say:
'Nevermore.'
'It's just ventriloquism,' Steve heard another, this time Scottish, voice beside him say. He turned and saw the smiling face of a youngish man with a bristly red moustache and horn-rimmed glasses. He was reaching for Steve's case.
'So welcome, Steve. We have been expecting you. Come on in. Your room's ready if you want to rest up after your journey…' He turned to the man with the raven. 'If you're coming in Jack, will you please leave that bird outside. We're tired of cleaning up after it.' He grabbed Steve's hand. 'I'm Peter McNeil by the way. Anything you need here, just give me a shout.'
The room they entered was a spacious saloon which, in Steve's eyes, looked to be very old with great big beams across the ceiling and a long mahogany bar with a zinc top. He had not seen the great number of people who had watched his arrival through the big windows of this bar, but right now there were maybe twenty in the room, mostly men standing in groups, drinks in their hands. Upon his entry they were all silent, turning to look in his direction, most smiling and welcoming. He smiled right back, but something about the people in this bar made him feel uneasy. Perhaps because he had never, in all the times in his young life that he had entered a bar, back in Texas, been greeted like this. Peter McNeil was introducing him – like he was someone real important – and that seemed strange too.
'This is Steve, everyone,' said Peter. 'He's Sir Lachlan's guest and he's here with his fiancée who is staying with Mary Hillier and the girls. As you probably heard she is Beth Boothby, the well-known singing star from the good old US of A.'
'I'm mighty glad to be here,' said Steve loudly, 'thank you all.'
He followed Peter up a big staircase that led off the far end of the bar, next to a small band-stand with an upright piano, drums and a jumble of other musical instruments. His bedroom, which seemed to have no key, looked out on the street. It puzzled him that it was still quite light out there. Just how far north was this place? No one had ever taught Steve any geography, but having crossed an ocean to get here he wondered, for the first time, exactly where he was. He knew that normally if you wanted to know a thing like that you went to a travel agent. His ignorance of this and so many other things he'd seen or heard in the last twenty-four hours made him feel particularly vulnerable. Putting aside his mission, something he knew he would be able to share with Beth, there was so little here that was familiar. Prince, and the promise that he should ride him, was reassuring. He knew horses. He was sure that anywhere on God's green earth, horses would always be his kind of people. But when it came to human people he couldn't think of anyone that he'd met here to whom he could easily relate. Back home you would class Lachlan and Delia as like toney, up scale Yankees, except their voices were all wrong. As for Jack, the guy with the ravens, what a weirdo he was! At least Peter McNeil was normal and friendly. One person did stand out. That Lolly. What a heck of a lot of woman she was. Steve thought how he would like to… and then he remembered Beth.