Free House of Strangers by Anne Forsyth Page B

village.’
    The scene was very much as Flora had expected—the women with shawls around their heads, the girls with their baskets of heather, the background of hills, the dark cottages, the smell of peat smoke. And sitting there by a spinning wheel a figure in a long grey skirt and black shawl. Suddenly, she bent over her wheel and began to sing a lament, perhaps a song of the Clearances, of the people driven from their homes to seek a new life elsewhere.
    Flora gripped Will’s arm. ‘Look at her! And I know that voice!’
    The woman must have heard Flora, for she suddenly stopped her keening and folded her hands in her lap.
    ‘I think,’ said Will doubtfully.
    ‘Come away,’ said Flora hastily. ‘She may have seen us.’
    As they strolled through the crowds that were gazing at the Highland scene, Flora heard a voice. ‘Miss Flora!’
    She turned to see the Highland crone, her shawl flung back, hurrying past the small groups. ‘Excuse me, excuse me, please!’
    Even in the drab grey costume, she was instantly recognizable.
    ‘Miss Murgatroyd!’ Flora was at a loss.
    ‘Miss Flora!’ Arabella gasped. ‘I saw you… in the crowd there. I thought… I must speak to her… explain…’
    ‘You don’t need to explain ‘ said Flora quickly. ‘You have met Mr Harding. We are visiting the exhibition.’
    ‘May I speak with you, for a moment?’ Arabella laid a hand on Flora’s arm.
    Tactfully, Will strolled on for a few paces.
    Arabella nodded briefly at him then turned back to Flora. ‘I must I beg you: say nothing of this to the other guests.’
    ‘But of course…’ Flora began.
    ‘I am just between engagements,’ said Arabella. ‘This is just to keep in practice, you understand, until the call comes.’
    ‘I quite understand,’ said Flora, ‘and you may be sure I won’t mention it if you’d rather I didn’t.’
    ‘Thank you.’ Arabella grasped Flora’s hand. ‘Some people outside our profession can be very insensitive.’
    ‘Certainly.’
    Arabella turned away. ‘I must return to my place on stage,’ she said grandly. ‘The next piece—a lament for those who sailed from Greenock to the shores of Nova Scotia—is a very touching one. A challenge for those muscles in the diaphragm.’
    ‘Indeed,’ said Flora as Arabella turned to take up her place at the spinning wheel.
    ‘Let’s move on,’ she said to Will when she caught him up. ‘We haven’t seen the Tartan Shop, or the History section, or Bruce’s sword.’
    She glanced back and saw Arabella bent over her wheel, then raising her head and bursting into song—a strong, vibrant and, it had to be admitted, not very tuneful soprano.
    ‘I’ll explain later,’ she said, after they had toured the exhibition.
    ‘Over tea?’ Will suggested.
    ‘A good idea.’ Flora realised she was quite hungry.
    ‘Come on then.’ He led her into the tea room and found a table for two. ‘What will you have?’ He passed the menu to Flora.
    ‘Oh, a scone and butter, please.’
    ‘This is a special occasion,’ said Will. ‘Let’s have the high tea.’
    Flora had already looked at the menu. The fixed price high tea was a shilling - for ham, sausage and egg. Could Will afford it? She had no idea of his status in the shipping office; surely as a clerk he wouldn’t earn that much. She wondered briefly whether she should offer to pay, as women sometimes did nowadays, but perhaps that might hurt his feelings. She hesitated.
    ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘it’s a treat—my treat—and besides, I’m hungry.’
    Flora smiled, remembering how he tucked into the platefuls of soup that Nelly put before him. ‘I like to see a laddie eat,’ she would say as he passed his plate for more.
    ‘There,’ he said after he had given the order to the waitress. ‘Now tell me all about Miss Murgatroyd.’
    At first Flora had thought it comical—the would-be operatic heroine reduced to singing in a… well, a fairground, wasn’t it? Suddenly, it didn’t seem