Jim Carruthers
by obohobo
Chapter 1. The meeting
"I'm going riding and neither you or anyone else or the weather is gong to stop
me," Sally McCraig shouted as she slammed the door behind her.
Striding across the courtyard, she spied Johnny lurking under the coachhouse
door overhang and ordered him to fetch Victor's saddle. "You ain't going riding
in this weather are you miss?"
"I didn't ask for a weather report," snapped Sally, "Just get me the saddle."
"Sorry, Miss."
Indeed the weather was bad. Although the rain had eased a little, storm clouds
threatened and the wind was picking up again. It had been wet like this for
three weeks, the land was sodden and the rivers running almost as hard as in
Spring when the snow melted from the hills. However, it was still only early
October and the Winter rains and snow had yet to come. Older folks nodded to
each other and declared it had been the worst September Scotland had known in
living memory and October was continuing in the same vein.
Sally lived with her parents in the rambling old Bencarran Lodge. The McCraig
family had resided there for three centuries and at one time owned the whole of
the peninsula but during bad times at the turn of the century, Sally's
grandfather had sold the western tip and the small island of Sula, which was
separated from it by about two miles of water, to Frederick Carruthers a
business man from Glasgow. At that time a small group of crofters eked out a
living on Sula but all left during the depression era. Frederick Carruthers
liked the peace of the island and employed some of the crofters to build a
goodly sized house near the small harbour.
Ian McCraig, Sally's father and indeed the whole of the McCraig family, always
regretted the selling of this part of the estate considering it rightfully
theirs and stating openly their belief that Carruthers had wheedled the land
from them for a pittance. Even today there was no love lost between the
McCraig's and Jim Carruthers, the present owner. Jim had tried to appease the
McCraig's by allowing them to run sheep on his part of the peninsula for a
peppercorn rent but forbade any hunting or shooting. His interest was in wild
life in general and marine biology in particular.
Locals gave Ian McCraig the courtesy, if ill fitting title of, 'The Laird'.
Neither he nor Gertrude his wife, were up to the task of managing the large
estate and wobbled from one financial crisis to the next. Neither had any real
control over Sally whose forceful ways easily overcame any of their timid
objections.
At 25 Sally could not be called beautiful yet she was not unattractive at least
not until she opened her mouth, then her sharp tongue turned away all except a
few friends and they were not close. Sally was a loner. With no other children
nearby her early childhood was spent on her own in the large house. At school
she was a middle of the road pupil collecting a handful of GCSE passes but not
going on to further education. She left home for a while and worked at a variety
of jobs, none lasting very long. Her forceful criticism of those around her, her
sour disposition and inability to work with others soon led to dismissal. After
three years in the city she returned to Bencarran Lodge theoretically to work in
the estate office but only when weather conditions dictated she couldn't go out,
did she appear in the office and then only to comment unfavourably on the way it
was run.
As is often the case with lone females she had an empathy with animals
particularly her horse, Victor. Whenever possible she rode over the moors,
through the glens and by the rivers on the estate. Her family and staff were
only too pleased to see her go. Peace would reign for a few hours.
On the fateful Tuesday, Sally had woken late, missed breakfast, vehemently
rebuked Mrs. Simpson the cook, for having poached salmon on the luncheon menu
two days running. The cook protested that Sally loved poached salmon and it was
fresh from the nearby river. As the argument became more heated, Sally
questioned the cook's ability to do her job properly and Mrs Simpson decided to
see the Laird and hand in her notice.
Ian McCraig tried to persuade his cook to stay. She was a good cook and they
were hard to come by especially for the wages he could offer. Mrs. Simpson
pointed out she could get a job for more money in the hotel in Tarpin only ten
miles away. She liked working for the Laird but when Sally was at home, life
could be hell. Finally Ian was able to reach a partial compromise. If he could
control Sally's behaviour for the next fortnight Mrs. Simpson would stay. Two
weeks to get Sally under control; he hadn't been able to do that for twenty five
years!
Summoning Sally to his office, he tried to explain the position and get her to
apologise to the cook. Sally, still in her bad mood, demanded, "Is the cook then
worth more than me?" Ian thought to himself that she probably was. Sally reading
this in his facial expression, turned and announced she was going riding.
"You can't go out in this weather Sally."
"I can and I will." Sally stomped out of the room, grabbed her Barbour jacket,
picked up her hard hat and riding crop, slammed the door and was away. Anger in
her heart at everyone around her.
Usually she calmed down after riding Victor for a while but today was not one of
those days. She followed the old drovers trail towards Tarpin to the south-east
of Bencarran but after only a mile, found the track washed away and her path
barred by a mud-slide and a ranging torrent of water. Victor seemed edgy but she
allowed him to pick his own way and follow a small, almost unmarked track back
towards the western end of the peninsula. The rain came in gusts now and there
was a distant rumble of thunder. None of which lifted the gloom from around her.
Nearing the end of the trail where it crossed a little rivulet and descended
steeply down to the shore, Sally was perturbed to find the rivulet now a full
blown river. Following it upstream a little way she found a place where it was
wider but shallower and was able to entice Victor across.
The descent to the shore was now a muddy slippery, steep path and she knew she
should dismount but decided not to. Victor picked his way down but nearing the
bottom, startled by the thunder, slipped and tipped Sally over his head. Landing
on her back she slid like a toboggan down the slope ending at the feet of Jim
Carruthers.
"Hello, Sal. You really didn't need to fall at my feet like that! Jim laughed.
In a flash of humiliation induced rage, Sally slashed a back-hander with the
riding crop across Jim's face. A livid stripe immediately appeared across his
right cheek, scar like from the corner of his mouth to above his ear.
Jim reared back, grabbed the whip which Sally still held motionless in her hand
and threw it to the ground. "You will pay for this tenfold bitch," he said
quietly and coldly.
