‘We need to be patient, Kenneth,’ Alistair said curtly. He sipped his whisky, and then turned back to Lachlan. ‘You best see to the others, Padre.’
Lachlan nodded, quite unperturbed by the other’s curtness, since he was renowned for it throughout West Uist, just as his father and grandfather before him had been. He went over to a trio, two young women and a man, standing by the door. Katrina Tulloch, the local vet was chatting with the two newest crofters, Megan Munro and Nial Urquart.
‘Anyone for a dram?’ he ventured. ‘To see old Gordon off.’
A pretty girl in her mid-twenties with finely chiselled features and spiky blond hair smiled and took a glass of water. ‘I’d love to have a beer, Padre, but I’m afraid I am still on duty. A vet is always on the go in the Hebrides, you know.’
‘Like a minister, eh Katrina?’ said Lachlan, giving her a wink. ‘I doubt if the sheep will notice the smell of beer. They never seemed to mind your uncle when he had the practice.’
‘I’ll have a glass of water as well, thank you, Padre,’ said Megan Munro who was about the same age as Katrina Tulloch, the West Uist veterinary surgeon. Unlike the other mourners Megan had come in her work clothes, a beanie hat pulled down over her auburn hair, and almost over her earlobes from which dangled large hooped ear-rings. Despite her lack of make-up and grooming she still had the looks and curves that would make many men turn their heads. Her features were only slightly marred by a certain sternness of expression that seemed fastened around her mouth. ‘I don’t approve of alcohol,’ she said firmly. ‘I don’t know why everyone thinks they should drink at funerals. I think it’s a sad occasion.’
The Padre was about to say something when Nial Urquart, her partner, chipped in. ‘That’s a bit harsh, Megan. Gordon was a neighbour and we’re all sad to see him go, especially the way he did, but it is natural to have a little party. Give him a send-off so to speak.’ He nodded at Lachlan. ‘That was a beautiful funeral service, Padre.’
Lachlan smiled, noticing that two pink patches had formed on Megan Munro’s cheeks; a mix of ire and embarrassment, he thought. Although the couple had only lived on their croft for six months he had already had enough contact with her to form an opinion on her character. She was strong-willed, passionate about animals and the environment and moderately outspoken.
‘This is a community, Nial,’ she said, arms hanging rigidly at her sides. ‘Poor old Gordon died in this cottage and no one noticed for two days – and that’s us included.’ She looked about the room melodramatically, then asked, ‘And just where are the rest of the Wee Kingdom residents? Where is Vincent Gilfillan? Where are the Morrisons? They should be here now!’
‘Vincent was at the funeral, Megan,’ said Lachlan, turning to dispense drinks to a party of mourners, consisting of various tradesmen and shopkeepers from Kyleshiffin, who had known the deceased crofter for decades.
‘But why isn’t he here now?’ he heard Megan Munro persist. ‘This is a time when a community should pull together.’
The Padre smiled to himself as he heard Nial Urquart remonstrate with her. Lachlan quite liked the young Scottish Bird Protection officer, and thought that he had taken on a challenge when he moved into Megan Munro’s holding with her. The word was, of course, that she had seduced him after one of the public protest meetings that she had organized after it had been announced that there was to be a cull of the hedgehogs on the island. Nial Urquart was there to lend strength to the argument that the hedgehogs were devastating the seabird population by stealing eggs. However she did it, whether by art, craft or sexuality Lachlan did not know, but he had moved in with her and now he helped her to run her croft.
‘Would you listen to her, the wee madam,’ Rhona whispered in his ear, as she met him back at the big table where she was picking up another salver of sandwiches. ‘She’s only been a crofter for six months and she’s telling everyone where they should be. She’s really put old Alistair’s back up with her hedgehog sanctuary and all her vegetarian propaganda.’
‘Alistair has been appointed in charge of the hedgehog culling, hasn’t he?’ Lachlan asked in a half whisper.
‘That’s right, and a fine to-do they had over it. And there’s another war brewing over the way he slaughters the livestock. And she’s already made it clear to me that she doesn’t think we should be making pâté from the duck livers.’
Lachlan frowned. ‘But he’s been doing it for years. He’s a trained butcher, isn’t he? And the Wee Kingdom pâté sells all over the islands.’
Rhona shook her head as she screwed another cigarette into her ebony holder and lit it. ‘But that doesn’t cut any ice with Megan. She thinks we should all turn vegetarian.’ She sipped a whisky. ‘I doubt that she will last long as a crofter. We never had any trouble with her great uncle, Hector Munro. He’d be turning in his grave at the way she carries on. And that poor Nial.’ She shook her head sympathetically.
‘Where is Vincent, by the way?’ Lachlan asked.
‘On his way to Benbecula. Oh it’s quite legitimate. He talked to me after the funeral. He has to be there to meet the tweed buyer. It’s normally Geordie Morrison’s job, but he’s gone off somewhere and taken the whole family with him.’
The smell of tobacco had given the Padre a craving and he pulled out his cracked old briar from his breast pocket and filled it. ‘But it’s still school time. He surely can’t have taken wee Gregor and Flora away with him?’
‘Och, Geordie is a law unto himself. Sallie Morrison has just about given up. He gets a bee in his bonnet about going off looking for whales or something, and just tells her that it’ll be educational for the children. And off they go. They’ll be back in due course.’
‘So they don’t know about Gordon’s death?’
‘No, they’ll be devastated when they find out, but we have no idea where they are just now.’
Lachlan struck a light to his pipe and picked up a glass of beer. He was about to take a sip when Megan Munro’s raised voice carried across the room and caused all heads to turn.
‘But you’re a vet, Katrina! You can’t condone the killing of innocent hedgehogs.’
‘Megan, we’ve been through all this before,’ Katrina returned, patiently. ‘The hedgehog population is getting out of control.’
‘It’s no good, Katrina,’ came Nial Urquart’s voice. ‘Megan just won’t accept that point. She doesn’t like birds; she’s just into cute little hedgehogs, hence her Mistress Prickleback Sanctuary,’
‘I might have known you’d bring it round to your precious birds,’ said Megan, heatedly.
‘It’s not that simple, Megan,’ Nial returned. ‘The golden eagles up in the Corlins may take a lot of eggs and young seabirds, but not as many eggs as the hedgehogs. In any case they are a protected species, unlike the hedgehogs. Here the hedgehogs are regarded as vermin.’
Megan was about to reply, when the McKinleys joined the discussion. ‘They are vermin right enough,’ said Alistair, his beard bristling. ‘But so are those eagles in my opinion.’
Katrina Tulloch looked aghast. ‘You can’t be serious, Alistair? The golden eagles are a national asset. We’re lucky that they are nesting on West Uist again.’
‘Not when they take our young lambs,’ cut in Kenneth McKinley.
Katrina McKinley shook her head and smiled at him. ‘I think you’ll find that’s a superstition, Kenneth. Eagles don’t take lambs.’
Kenneth McKinley stood up straight. ‘Don’t patronize me, Katrina Tulloch. You may be a vet, but I’ve lived on Sea Edge with my father all my life and I’ve seen them.’ And suddenly his eyes widened and he pointed out of the window at the majestic sight of a golden eagle in the distance flapping its way towards the Corlins. ‘If I only had a rifle now, I’d get that one.’