After a fond good-night, I returned the phone to Damian, who was sitting in his armchair watching the flickering images of Dundrillin on his laptop.
“Have you put your finger on what’s wrong?” I asked.
“Not yet,” he replied. “But I will.”
“If you need a sounding board,” I told him, “I’m available.”
Damian looked up from the computer screen, and a faint but genuine smile touched his lips. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll bear that in mind.”
I left him in the foyer with his laptop, crossed the sitting room, and stepped onto the balcony. The afternoon’s storm had blown itself out, the moon was rising, and stars were brightening in the twilit sky, but I had eyes only for the saw-toothed silhouette of Cieran’s Chapel. I stared at it until my eyes watered, but no light appeared. Finally I gave up, went back inside, and got ready for bed. Then I reached for the blue journal. It was time to bring Aunt Dimity up to date.
I curled myself into an armchair in the bedroom, with Reginald nestled in the crook of my arm, opened the journal, and said, “Dimity? Are you sure Brother Cieran has left the Chapel?”
Her reply came swiftly, curling across the page without hesitation.
Quite sure.Why do you ask?
I began at the beginning and went on describing the day’s events until I reached my conversation with the barmaid at the pub.
“Mrs. Muggoch agrees with Mick Ferguson,” I said. “They’re both convinced that Brother Cieran’s still haunting the Chapel. Mrs. Muggoch told me outright that the islet is cursed, tainted by the mortal sin of Brother Cieran’s suicide.”
How intriguing. Do Mick Ferguson and Mrs. Muggoch speak for the rest of the islanders? Do they all believe that Cieran’s Chapel is cursed?
“Mrs. Muggoch thinks they do,” I said. “According to her, everyone believes that bad things happen to people who go there. Mick Ferguson said his wife didn’t like him going out there, and Percy told us that one of his guests broke a leg two days after visiting the Chapel.”
Sir Percy added to the legend, did he?
I gazed down at Aunt Dimity’s words in puzzlement. “Do you think an evil spirit has taken over the Chapel, Dimity?”
I do not.There are no spirits, evil or otherwise, inhabiting the Chapel. If there were, I’d know it. The islanders and Sir Percy are either suffering from a mass hallucination or they’re telling fibs.
“Why would they lie to me?” I asked.
I have little doubt that our dear Sir Percy is exercising his well-known sense of humor. As for the others, it may be that they’re trying to frighten you.
“Frighten me?” I said. “Why?”
It’s a common ploy, one that’s been used throughout history. If you want to keep people from visiting a place, you scare them off.You tell them the place is haunted or cursed or unlucky. If you wish to take the scheme a step further, you use visual or auditory tricks to authenticate your claim. It’s been done more times than I care to count.
“The light I saw,” I said slowly. “Do you think an islander was out there waving a lantern just to spook me?”
It’s possible. If everyone on the island knew of your arrival, you can be sure that some, at least, know that your balcony overlooks the Chapel.
“But I didn’t find any footprints on the Chapel,” I protested.
Footprints wouldn’t be easy to find in the springy vegetation you described.
I shook my head. “I don’t know, Dimity. It sounds far-fetched to me. Why would the islanders want to scare people away from the Chapel? There’s nothing out there except the old laird’s grave. Unless . . .” I paused as a new line of reasoning began to take shape in my mind.
Unless? Dimity prompted.
“The island’s not set up for tourists,” I said, thinking aloud. “There’s no proper landing facility for the interisland ferry, and there’s no hotel, just Mrs. Muggoch’s two guest rooms.” I sat forward as my thoughts crystallized. “Maybe the islanders don’t like tourists. Sir Percy said that they were keen on self-sufficiency. Maybe they don’t want day-trippers littering their fields or hogging their favorite tables at the pub.”
The so-called curse could be part of a general antitourism campaign. Is that what you’re suggesting?
“Sure,” I said. “Why not? I’ve seen what the summer crowds leave behind in Finch. The twins and I spend weeks picking trash out of the hedgerows. I think the people of Erinskil have come up with an extremely clever way to protect their island from the ravages of tourism. I only wish someone in Finch had thought of it a long time ago. I suppose it’s too late to put a curse on Sally Pyne’s tearoom.”
I doubt that Sally Pyne would thank you for it.
“No, probably not,” I conceded. “But it makes sense, doesn’t it, Dimity? As you said, if you want to keep people from visiting a place, you scare them off.”
It does make sense. I’m sure you’re right. My goodness, it has been an eventful day.