Graeme Burnet - His Bloody Project

I did not see Flora Broad for some days after this. I was occupied labouring on Lachlan Broad’s schemes and in the evenings Father invented tasks for me to do when there were none. I do not know whether this was intended as punishment or merely a measure to keep me from seeing Flora. In any case, it achieved its purpose. When my father had finally done with me, I sat three evenings on the dyke, hoping that Flora would pass by on some errand, or on seeing me there invent some pretext for doing so. But she did not come and I confess that despite the small amount of time we had passed together, I found myself yearning for her company.

It was around this time that I took to travelling abroad at night. Sleep no longer came easily to me and even when I drifted off I was awoken by the slightest stirring of the twins or of an animal outside. In the quiet of the night, all sorts of visions summon themselves from the embers of the fire or the lowing of a stirk. I sometimes fancied that I saw figures rising from the smoke, or heard some voice outside whispering to me, and I would lie on my bunk in a state of fearfulness, awaiting the arrival of some horror. I thus took to forsaking my bed and wandering the hills. I imagined myself as one of my own visions, a shape half-seen in the murk, glimpsed from the corner of one’s eye before being dismissed as a fancy. My habit was to disappear between the gables of houses, climb some distance onto the Càrn and gaze down upon the township. In the yellow months, the nights here are never properly dark. The world appears instead as if all colour has been drained from it, and when the moon is high, everything is silver, as if rendered in the etching of a book. If I found myself close to the windows of my neighbours, I would gaze enviously at the slumbering bodies. My object in these excursions was only to empty my mind of uninvited thoughts, and this I achieved by roaming the hills to the point of exhaustion. Not wishing anyone to know of my nocturnal activities, I always returned before my father or sister rose in the morning and would spend the ensuing day in a state of light-headedness. I once or twice fell asleep where I was working, causing Jetta to think I had fainted and come running to my aid.

I determined to use one such nocturnal jaunt to establish whether Flora had returned to the Big House. While I longed to see her, I hoped that she was once again in Lord Middleton’s employ, and was thus not avoiding my company of her own volition. On this particular night the moon was obscured by clouds and emitted only the weakest glow. I made my way between the outbuildings and climbed some way up the Càrn. The nature of my mission made me all the more anxious to remain unobserved. I placed my feet soundlessly on the ground and kept my back stooped until I was out of sight of the village. I then traversed the hillside until I was beyond the point where the Broads’ house lay. I had never once encountered any more than a sheep on my excursions, but now the blood coursed in my temples. Even in daylight, I dreaded setting foot on Lachlan Broad’s property, but to do so under the cover of darkness was an altogether more forbidding prospect. If discovered, I could hardly state the motive for my presence there. Ever since I was a child I have found it hard to dissemble. Once when I was five or six years old, I was sent to the barn to fetch the eggs. I neglected to take the bowl we used for this purpose and rather than retrace my steps to the house, I decided that there was no need of it. I collected the eggs and as I left the barn with them piled in my hands, a bird flew up, startling me and causing me to drop my load. I stared at the mess of albumen and yolk on the ground and immediately the thought came to me to claim that I disturbed a tinker stealing our eggs. When my mother came to look for me, however, I merely burst into tears and told her I had dropped the eggs because I had forgotten to bring the bowl. She took pity on me, wiped away my tears and told me there was no harm in it, there would be more eggs tomorrow. Later when we sat down for our meal, she told my father that there had been no eggs that day and winked at me. I could not, however, count on Lachlan Broad similarly taking pity on me if he were to disturb me lurking behind his house in the dead of night.

Nevertheless, having set my course, I felt compelled to see it to its conclusion. As I made my way down the hillside I struck upon an idea. I had heard tales of those who rise unconscious from their sleep and move about the world as if they are fully awake. Yet, when addressed, they are quite unseeing, as though there is another reality before their eyes. These are the somnambulists and I resolved that, were I to be apprehended, this would be my defence: I would be a somnambulist. In this spirit I approached the dwelling quite unguarded. I was not familiar with the layout of the house, but as there were two small windows in the rear wall, I supposed that these must be the sleeping quarters. To my surprise there was a faint glow in the second of the windows, and I pictured Flora there in her nightclothes, waiting for me by candlelight.

I pressed myself against the wall and inched silently towards the first window. The stones were mossy and damp against my palms. I hesitated, then, holding my breath, slowly moved my head towards the glass. The chamber was in darkness. After some moments I discerned a bed and the dark outlines of bodies wreathed in blankets. Nothing stirred. At the foot of the bed was a cot, and I could see the yellow hair of Flora’s infant brother. My breath condensed on the glass. I took three sideward steps towards the second chamber. Abandoning all caution I stepped in front of the window. A candle was flickering and, in a heavy chair, swathed in blankets, sat not Flora, but an ancient woman, Lachlan Broad’s invalid mother who had not set foot outside the house for years. Her eyes were open and directed towards the casement, but she did not appear to register my presence. She seemed quite dead and the sight of her set my scalp tingling. To her right was a small bed, empty, and this I thought might be Flora’s. I watched the crone for a few moments, until I saw the faint rise and fall of her blankets. Then she blinked slowly, as if regaining her sight, and a bony finger emerged from beneath the covers and pointed towards me. Her lips moved soundlessly. I turned and bolted back up the hillside. Somewhere a dog set to barking and I imagined Lachlan Broad stirring from his sleep and blundering out of bed to investigate the disturbance. I threw myself into the damp grass behind a hummock of heather and lay there awhile, waiting for my breath to come back to me. No one stirred in the houses below and I returned home undetected. I spent what remained of the night lying awake on my bunk, thinking of Flora’s empty bed, and feeling quite pleased with the success of my enterprise.

* * *

Our crops grew poorly that summer. I cannot say if this was for the want of sea-ware on our land or due to some other cause. My father had taken the view that we would have a poor harvest and so tended the croft less diligently than usual. When Kenny Smoke commented on the weeds growing in our furrows, Father shrugged and said, ‘What’s the use? The land is exhausted.’

It seemed to me that it was not the land that was exhausted, but my father. I spent many days working on Lachlan Broad’s projects. There were first the days that I was myself obliged to give. Then, as my father’s state of health meant that he could not usefully be employed in heavy labour, I worked in his stead. In addition to this, I sometimes laboured for half a shilling a day in lieu of others who were busy with more profitable occupations. I turned over everything I earned to my father and was glad to contribute something to the family’s income. Nevertheless, labouring for Lachlan Broad was an irksome business. There was rarely a moment when the constable or his brother were not strutting about like great roosters, ensuring that none of us paused to take breath or wipe the sweat from our brows. Even when Broad was absent we worked relentlessly, fearful that he would suddenly appear and order us to give another day’s labour for our idleness. This constant toil meant that I had little time to tend our own crops and, as a consequence, there would be less to eat in the black months.