the stone, the empty bucket swinging.
When she came back Aunt Lucy was leaning over the rail, looking north towards the boat they’d seen. Just looking at her from behind, Breesha could see how Lucy’s shoulders had suddenly relaxed. ‘It’s just a smack. It’ll be slow going for them today. Poor weather for fishing, too.’
The relief in Lucy’s voice was palpable. So everything was all right again; the unknown threat had passed. But Breesha knew she was right: there was something. And if Lucy and Diya didn’t mean to tell them, she and Billy were going to have to find out what it was.
CHAPTER 8
ARCHIE SAT IN THE PARLOUR OF THE GEORGE, IMPATIENTLY skimming the latest copy of The Manx Advertiser. The Water Bailiff was late. On the second page of the paper there was an outspoken article on Reform, reprinted from the Westminster Review, severely trouncing the recalcitrant Tories. For a few minutes Archie forgot the time altogether. That the Tories could do this! In the face of the will of the people so uncompromisingly expressed! In the face of a government majority, the Prime Minister, the whole law and constitution, let alone justice, progress, industry and equality! The Tories had forced a dissolution of parliament rather than let the Reform Bill go through, and now, after all the excitement, a landless lighthouse surveyor still had no right to vote unless he took ship to America and started life all over again. If the coming election didn’t bring the Whigs back, and Reform along with them, there’d be barricades up in London as well as Paris, and what’s more, if it wasn’t for the Beagle, he’d be tempted to join the revolution himself. It was all a man without a vote could possibly do. Archie threw down the newspaper, and strode over to the window.
Twenty-five past eleven. There was no real reason for him to meet this Water Bailiff at all. The Commissioners had referred to it as a ‘courtesy visit’. Mr Stevenson had been more forthright. ‘The Isle of Man Tynwald has no rights in the matter at all, but they like to think they have. We’ll need them to co-operate later, when we’re building. In fact we’ll probably have to ask for favours. So just do your best to turn them up sweet, Buchanan. There’s nothing else you can do; it’s up to the Commissioners really. These Manxmen haven’t a leg to stand on, but don’t for God’s sake say so to their faces.’
‘Ah, Mr Stevenson?’
Archie turned round. He’d been told that Quirk was a lawyer, and had imagined a shark-like adversary moving in for the kill. There were plenty of those in Edinburgh. In fact the Water Bailiff was a stout, genial fellow in an old-fashioned embroidered waistcoat and broadcloth suit. ‘Quirk, sir, George Quirk, at your service.’
Archie shook the outstretched hand. ‘Buchanan, sir. I’m not Mr Stevenson. I’m one of the Company’s surveyors.’
‘Buchanan. Yes, indeed. My father had the pleasure of meeting Mr Stevenson. That must have been, what … thirty years ago? I was a mere boy, but I remember much discussion concerning the lighthouses. Yes, there was a lot of talk about Mr Stevenson’s visit – but that’s thirty years since. Long before your time, sir, but I remember it well.’
Archie flushed. Just because thirty years ago he’d not yet been weaned he had no need to feel at a disadvantage now, but if that had been Mr Quirk’s object it had not been unsuccessful.
‘A difficult business this, sir, a difficult business,’ went on Mr Quirk. ‘Shall we sit down? What can I order for you? A pint of porter?’
‘Nothing for me, I thank you, sir. I hope our business isn’t going to be difficult.’
They sat at the window. Mr Quirk retained his kindly smile, but the way he took out a pocket book filled with papers, and laid them open on the table in front of him seemed alarmingly business-like. Archie recognised the familiar seal of the Commissioners of Northern Lights. ‘Well, well, we may as well come straight to the point, Mr Buchanan. It’s this matter of harbour dues.’
That was what Archie had expected him to say. ‘Mr Stevenson told me there’d been questions asked about harbour dues.’ He did his best to emulate Mr Quirk’s urbanity. ‘But it doesn’t apply to us. The Commissioners of Northern Lights have never had any extra revenue from their Manx lights. The Manx dues have always been included in the charge for Scottish lights – it says so in the Act of ’15.’
‘For the new lights built by the Commissioners at the Calf and Point of Ayre that is correct – what you say is perfectly true so far as it goes. But the Ellan Bride light raised a very considerable income from harbour dues while it was in private hands. And that income is still going – always has gone – straight out of this country. In short, sir, all profits have gone to Scotland, to the owner’s estates.’
‘But the Ellan Bride lighthouse belongs to the Crown now. That means the new light will be built and maintained by the Commissioners of Northern Lights, in the same way as the ones on the Calf of Man.’
‘And the revenue will go back to Edinburgh, collected by the Commissioners. I should remind you, sir, that Ellan Bride is part of the Isle of Man, and any income arising therefrom should be administered by our own government.’
‘But there won’t be an income! It’s quite the opposite – the purchase of the old light, and the building of the new one, is going to be an enormous expense. It’ll take the Commissioners years to recover the money! And your government isn’t paying a penny for that, is it?’ He’d been too forthright. For a moment he had a vision of Mr Stevenson at his elbow, shaking his finger reprovingly. ‘What I mean to say is,’ added Archie, as mildly as he could, ‘if there are any harbour dues they’d have to be used to recoup the expense of purchasing and building the light, just like in Scotland.’
‘If there are any dues, you say. I abhor casuistry, Mr Buchanan.’ The Water Bailiff was no longer smiling benignly. ‘What I think you mean to say is that the Commissioners have every intention of collecting dues for Ellan Bride, and they have every intention, that being so, of retaining all monies in Scotland, overriding the claims of the Manx government. It’s all one with Crown policy on our ports and harbours, sir. We make the investment, and maintain the properties, and not a penny of the income do we recover.’
‘But, sir, in this case you’re not making the investment. The Commissioners – I mean the Crown – bought the light from the Duke of Atholl, and if there is any income in the future – and as to that I simply don’t know – I’m just the surveyor – but if there is, it would have to go first to recoup the expense – the huge expense – of taking over the light in the first place.’
‘The Duke of Atholl,’ remarked Mr Quirk, ‘was much inclined to promote a Scotch connection, for which, saving your presence, sir, there is no historical precedent. In 1815 it was the Duke who allowed the care of Manx lights to be devolved upon the Scottish lighthouse authority.’
‘Well,’ said Archie, ‘it was going to be that or England, wasn’t it? But the Liverpool merchants wouldn’t have Trinity House here, and so you got us. I thought your Manx Parliament was pleased to have lights at Point of Ayre and Calf of Man. Now we’re going to improve the light on Ellan Bride. There’s no change of policy in that.’
‘Allow me to correct you, sir. The light on Ellan Bride is a very different matter. It already exists – has existed for fifty years – as a Manx lighthouse.’
They seemed to be going round and round in circles. Archie looked out at the canvas awnings over the shambles opposite, and tried to work out if there was any wind at all. Even if there were, it was no use to them here. They should be in Port St Mary, standing by the boat … Quirk was still
