The Flight of Gemma Hardy_ A Novel - Margot Livesey [64]
At lunch I met the other people who worked at Blackbird Hall. Besides Vicky and Seamus, there was Syd, the cowman, and his wife, who lived in a cottage behind the steading, a girl from the village, Nora, who came in to help Vicky, and her brother, Angus, who worked with Seamus. We were all in the employ of Mr. Sinclair, who, as Mr. Johnson had said, was a businessman in London. Although he lived more than five hundred miles away, he had strong views about his niece’s upbringing, which was why no one ever laid a finger on her. “Spare the rod,” Vicky said. “Thank heavens.”
She was in charge of the house while Seamus ruled the farm. I was glad to know he had no authority over me. At lunch on that first day I studied him across the table, curious to see what darkness had hidden the night before. His fine brown hair fell over his forehead and his skin was weather-beaten to the colour of Mr. Waugh’s pigskin gloves; beneath fair eyebrows, his eyes were the blue of a newly scoured knife. He must have sensed my scrutiny. Just for a moment, he looked up from his shepherd’s pie and those steely eyes fell upon me. Quickly I turned back to my own plate. From then on, whenever I saw him coming, I ducked into a henhouse, or chose a different path across the fields.
Blackbird Hall was, as Vicky had warned, a lonely place. Kirkwall, the main town on the island, was an hour’s drive; the neighbouring farms, to the north and south, were several miles away, and the village was a good half-hour’s walk. I went there on my second day and found a few dozen houses, a church, a small school, and a post office that sold milk, bread, and other necessities. I bought a postcard of Kirkwall to send to Miss Seftain. I was retracing my steps when I heard a horse whinnying. In the nearby field a boy was riding a pony round half-a-dozen homemade tents. He waved and I waved back. Later Vicky told me this was the Gypsies’ encampment.
For years, as I peeled potatoes and mopped floors, I had daydreamed about being free, but now the delight of my long, empty hours soon faded. I volunteered to feed the hens and gather the eggs, and I spent hours organising the schoolroom. Still the hands of my new watch circled slowly. I had told Vicky my strategy of letting Nell come to me, and she had agreed that it made as much sense as anything else.
“Miss Cameron behaved as if she were still in school, where all she had to do was ring the bell and the pupils ran to their desks. That certainly didn’t work. But I’m no expert on Nell. At her age I would have flown around the treetops before I went against my parents. I’m afraid Alison let her get away with murder.”
“Alison was Nell’s mother?” I asked, just to be sure, and Vicky nodded.
On my third day on the island I drew the curtains to discover rain scribbling across the windows. The rooks had vanished and the two beech trees stood like grey ghosts. After breakfast I trudged round the henhouses. Then I retreated to the library and lit the peat fire. A shelf in one of the bookcases held games and jigsaw puzzles. I cleared the largest of the tables, chose a puzzle of Edinburgh Castle, and began to sort