‘I’m experimenting with dyes,’ Vigga explained, when Flóvent expressed curiosity about the plants. ‘For an artist here in town. You won’t have heard of him. He’s nothing special.’
‘Do you make herbal cures? Mountain plants have strong medicinal powers, don’t they?’
‘Sometimes. If I’m asked to.’
‘Did Rósamunda ask you to help her?’
‘She told me her problem. Took her forever to spit it out. I told her straight off there was nothing I could do for her. She was almost hysterical, poor child, when she first arrived, but she soon calmed down. Sat where you’re sitting now. I gave her a tea that I brew myself. Felt sorry for her. I get visits like that from time to time because they think I’m some kind of witch who can sort out their problem. It’s to do with the soldiers, if you get my meaning. I directed her to a woman I know, but I’ve no idea if she ever went to see her.’
‘Which woman is that?’
‘I’m no snitch. You won’t get her name out of me so don’t bother asking.’
‘All right. Then what did you and Rósamunda talk about?’
‘The huldufólk, mostly. She started rabbiting on about the elves for some reason, so I told her about that girl up north in Öxarfjördur.’
‘What girl up north?’
‘The one who went missing.’
‘Who was she?’
‘A girl from the countryside. I met her once when I was working as a cook for the road-building crew. Hrund, her name was, if I remember right.’
‘What happened to her?’
Vigga stuck a sprig of wild thyme in her mouth and tipped the reindeer lichen into the concoction in the saucepan. Then she began to relate the story of a girl who had grown up on a poor croft in a rural farming community up north, one of a large brood of children; she’d received a good Christian upbringing and had just started walking out with a boy from the same district. One day, when she was twenty, she was sent to see her eldest sister, who was married and lived on a nearby farm. The girl arrived on foot at the appointed time, completed her business and set off home. But she didn’t turn up until twenty-four hours later, and when she did she was in a state of shock, weeping uncontrollably one minute, unable to speak the next, and proved incapable of explaining where she’d been, how she’d come to lose some of her underwear, why one of the sleeves on her jumper was torn, and how she had come by the injuries to her face and neck. She was terrified of being left alone and refused to leave the house. When questioned, all she would say was that she’d got lost and couldn’t really remember what had happened. She’d been out all night and only found her way home in the morning.
After two days she was a little calmer but still refused to describe what had happened in any detail. And she was in such a fragile state that no one had the heart to coax or scold her into revealing the truth. It would all come out in time, but no one could fail to see that she had gone through some terrible ordeal.
‘They should have kept a better watch on the poor child,’ said Vigga, ‘because one morning they found her bed empty. She’d run away in the night and was never seen again. They’d been keeping a close eye on her, but not close enough. They checked all the neighbouring farms but nobody had seen her. Later a big search party was sent out but they never found anything.’
‘Was this after the British occupation?’
‘Yes.’
‘Were there troops in the area, do you happen to know?’ asked Flóvent.
‘There were soldiers around — at Kópasker, for example. You used to see them from time to time.’
‘Was the girl involved with one of them?’
‘I don’t think so. But you never know.’
‘So it’s not impossible?’
‘I really couldn’t say.’
‘What did people think had happened?’
‘There were rumours doing the rounds that she wasn’t right in the head. That she may even have lied about the incident, invented it to cover up something else, something she didn’t want people to know about.’
‘Like what?’
‘Haven’t a clue.’ Vigga stirred the contents of the pan. ‘Nobody knew for sure.’
‘What do you think happened to her?’
‘How should I know? Some people thought she’d thrown herself into the waterfall at Dettifoss. But that’s just a guess. Nobody knows what became of her.’
‘Did it occur to anyone that the soldiers might have played some part in her disappearance?’
‘Nobody even considered that angle, as far as I know. The poor girl was assumed to have killed herself and that was that. But I expect people had their suspicions. Of course it was seen as a tragedy, but there was never an investigation or anything like that. That’s why I’m a little surprised by your interest.’
‘What did you say the girl was called?’
‘Hrund.’
‘Had she been having problems before the incident?’
‘No. Apparently not. I... well, I gather she was the gullible type: believed in the elves, used to lap up folk tales about the huldufólk as if they were the gospel truth. A bit simple, poor dear. Or so it was said.’
‘So the whole thing took everyone completely by surprise?’
‘Yes, I believe so. The only thing she ever said...’
Vigga’s herbs were in danger of boiling over, and she turned back to them, stirring them vigorously with a large wooden spoon.
‘Yes?’ prompted Flóvent.
‘This is too damned hot,’ said Vigga, blowing into the saucepan. ‘The only thing the poor girl said about it was something her younger sister reported later on.’
‘Which was?’
‘They were very close and Hrund had told her a bit about what happened to her that night — some nonsense about being waylaid by one of the huldufólk.’
‘The huldufólk?’
‘Yes. She insisted that an elf man had attacked and beaten her. Even had his way with her. I had to repeat this three times for Rósamunda. She couldn’t believe her ears. Then suddenly she was off. Ran out of the house without stopping to say goodbye, poor girl.’
When Flóvent didn’t respond, Vigga stopped stirring and turned to find that he had risen to his feet and was staring at her in disbelief.
19
‘What’s the matter? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’ Vigga stood over her saucepan, observing Flóvent’s reaction with curiosity. The coal crackled in the range. The woman with the pram walked back past the window on her way home.
‘She mentioned the hidden people?’ said Flóvent after a moment. ‘That she’d been attacked by an elf man?’
‘That’s what her sister said. She claimed she’d run into a man from the other side. It was all very muddled and ridiculous, unless you happen to believe in those sorts of old wives’ tales, which I don’t. Don’t believe in the elves or any other invisible creatures.’
Flóvent didn’t know what to think. Two girls, on opposite sides of the country, with identical stories; one found dead behind the theatre, the other missing, possibly a suicide. Both had mentioned the hidden people. Could it be a coincidence? No one but himself and Thorson and the young seamstress knew that a man had raped Rósamunda and told her to blame it on the huldufólk. And neither he nor Thorson had breathed a word about it to anyone else.
‘When was all this?’
‘Three years ago.’
‘And how did people react to the girl’s explanation?’
‘Some thought she’d gone round the bend. Others started repeating all kinds of stories about ghosts and elves, and found nothing odd about it. The old beliefs die hard.’