An Island Apart Read Free Page B

timidly on the front door-step of ISLAY clutching in her hand an envelope addressed to ‘Mrs Ross of ISLAY ’ in which was a letter signed by the Reverend Donald MacLean, minister of the Church of Scotland, testifying that Kirsty had been born and brought up on the Island of Killegray by her Granny Morag MacLennan. It had gone on to state that he had known Morag MacLennan personally during his time there and that she was a good widow-woman and a good churchgoer. Her death four years earlier had resulted in Kirsty being sent to an elderly aunt, also a good churchgoer, who had resided in his present parish in the city. A year ago, he’d explained, the aunt’s health had deteriorated and she had gone to live in a home, and since Kirsty had no other living relatives he and his wife had felt they ought to be responsible for her. His wife had seen to it that the girl was well-trained and she would vouch for her good character.
    Kirsty had been shown the letter before it had been put in the envelope and had nodded diffident approval. She’d noticed that the minister had made no reference to her parents. She hadn’t been surprised. No one had mentioned either of her parents in her presence since the day she’d asked her Granny, ‘Where is my mother?’ She’d expected to be gravely told that her mother had ‘passed on’, but instead her Granny had cackled light-heartedly, ‘Ach, she took one look at you and straightaway took herself off to Canada or some such place.’
    Kirsty had tried to be similarly light-hearted. ‘And my father?’ she pursed. ‘Ach, didn’t your mother get you from some fellow in Glasgow. I doubt she’d know more of him that you do yourself. He’s best put out of mind.’
    Kirsty had been too unused to affection to be much disturbed that neither of her parents had wanted her. Such accidents were not rare in the Islands and the ‘cailleach’, as she’d always called her Granny, had brought her up and in an offhand way, had bestowed on her a degree of affection that had saved her from feeling rejected.
    She’d been nervous as she’d reached up to press the bell at the side of the ISLAY ’s front door and even more so when the door was opened by a short, plump, white-haired lady with blue probing eyes behind gold-rimmed spectacles.
    â€˜You will be Kirsty MacLennan, will you not?’ the lady had asked.
    Kirsty had held out the letter. ‘I am to give this to Mrs Ross,’ she’d managed to say.
    â€˜I am Mrs Ross and you see the name ISLAY above the door so give me the letter and come away inside so I can take a good look at you,’ the lady had said, leading Kirsty into the kitchen at the back of the house.
    All Mrs MacDonald, the minister’s wife, had told Kirsty was that Mrs Ross was looking for a servant girl to help her run her boarding house and has asked a friend if she knew anyone who might be suitable. The friend had told Mrs MacDonald and so Kirsty’s name had been put forward. Mrs Ross was reputed to be a shrewd but tolerant woman who demanded good and reliable service from her employees. Her previous servant had been with her fifteen years before she’d left to get married, the minister’s wife had emphasized.
    As Mrs Ross had scanned the letter the minister had written Kirsty had hoped she would not ask her about her parents. City people, she had discovered, were mighty curious about such things but Mrs Ross appeared to be satisfied with the minister’s recommendation. After scrutinising Kirsty for a moment or two she’d said, ‘D’you think you’d like to come and work for me?’ Kirsty had nodded seriously. ‘You would?’ Again Kirsty had nodded. ‘Have you not got a voice, Kirsty MacLennan? You’ll need one if you’re going to work for me.’
    Kirsty had seen that the blue eyes were lit with teasing. ‘Yes,