Crow Boy

by Philip Caveney

  ‘Incredible,’ he muttered, at last. ‘Absolutely incredible.’ He reached out to a brass bell that stood on a nearby table and rang it, the noise so shrill that it made Tom flinch.

  After a few moments, Millie, now dressed in her uniform, bustled into the room. ‘You called, my Lord?’

  ‘Yes, Millie. I wish you to instruct McTavish to take my coach and go forthwith to the Constable’s Lodge on Edinburgh High Street. Tell him to ask for Captain Dalglish and to request that he send two of his best men to me directly. Tell him to be sure they are burly fellows because they will be required to apprehend a villain.’

  Millie raised her eyebrows. ‘Very good, my Lord,’ she said and hurried out of the room. Lord Kelvin returned his attention to the boys. He looked troubled. ‘So, am I to take it that the pills this so-called Doctor left me are also a lie? Only, I had thought that Annie seemed a little more settled last night.’

  ‘Oh no, the pills are good,’ Tom assured him. ‘They really should work.’

  ‘And this Doctor Wikepedia you mentioned. He will send more?’

  Tom shook his head. ‘There’s no such person,’ he admitted. ‘I made him up to keep The Doctor off my back. I’m sorry, but there’s no way of getting any more. I really wish I could help.’

  Lord Kelvin frowned. ‘But they must have originated from somewhere,’ he insisted. ‘Think what wonders we could achieve here in Edinburgh, if we had more of them. Would you have any idea what the ingredients are?’

  Tom could only shrug his shoulders helplessly. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘I really haven’t a clue.’

  ‘And if we were to send you back to Manchester, could you not lay your hands on more of them?’

  Tom shook his head. It was hopeless. How could he tell the old man that in order to get them, he’d also have to go hundreds of years into the future? And that most of the pill’s ingredients, listed on its packaging, hadn’t been discovered yet. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘The pills that Annie has are the only ones in the world right now. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true.’

  Lord Kelvin thought for a moment. ‘That’s a pity,’ he said. ‘A great pity.’ He got up from his seat and walked across the study to a wooden desk which held a selection of papers and writing implements. He took a seat at it. ‘The orphanage you spoke of,’ he said. ‘Mrs Grierson . . .?’

  ‘Missie Grierson,’ Cameron corrected him.

  ‘Ah, yes. It seems to me that I have heard of this place before, but I can’t quite recall where and when.’

  ‘She wrote to you,’ said Cameron. ‘Asking you to be our patron.’

  Lord Kelvin’s eyes widened as he remembered. ‘Ah, yes, of course,’ he said. ‘In my capacity as President of the Foundling’s Trust!’ He considered for a moment. ‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘I rather fear I declined her invitation.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Cameron, flatly. ‘You did.’

  Lord Kelvin allowed himself a twisted smile. ‘I wonder,’ he said, ‘Would it be too late to reconsider my position?’

  ‘Huh?’ said Cameron.

  ‘I think he’s saying he’s changed his mind,’ said Tom excitedly.

  ‘What, really?’ asked Cameron.

  Lord Kelvin nodded. ‘If you two splendid boys are an example of the young men who originate from there, then I think it would be the least I could do. We might also think about finding you a home somewhere more suitable than that stinking Close.’ He nodded, as though his mind was made up on the matter. ‘I shall write to Missie Grierson immediately,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you’d be kind enough to convey my letter to her?’

  Cameron grinned. ‘Oh, yes, Sir,’ he said. ‘Thank you, Sir.’

  ‘And while I’m about it, I think I’d better write to the real Doctor Rae and tell him to be a little more careful about who is hanging around his gates at night. What was the other fellow’s name? The one who takes the names and addresses? McLeish, did you say?’

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ said Tom, ‘I think that’s his name.’

  ‘We’ll have the constables pay him a visit too, just in case he’s of a mind to find a replacement for your imposter.’ He picked up his pen and began to write, but then seemed to think of something else. ‘I wouldn’t mind betting that you boys haven’t had any breakfast yet,’ he said.

  ‘No, Sir,’ said Cameron. ‘We’re starving.’

  Tom elbowed him in the ribs, but Lord Kelvin just grinned his rotten grin.

  ‘Then once I’ve written these letters and I’m properly dressed, you shall join me for an early breakfast,’ he said. ‘We may as well fortify ourselves before that scoundrel turns up to claim his payment.’ He smiled. ‘I don’t know about you two, but I’ve quite an appetite this morning!’

  Some time later, the two boys found themselves in an opulent dining room, sitting at a long, oak table, while three liveried servants stood ready to dish up the breakfast. The table had a view of the driveway up to the front entrance.

  A door opened and Lord Kelvin, dressed now in his more familiar style, and wearing his powdered wig, entered the room and took a seat at the head of the table. He gleefully told the boys that he had just called in on Annie and that she seemed much improved from last night.

  ‘She even feels up to taking a little nourishment,’ he told them. ‘And, judging by the look of you, you’re ready to do the same.’ He gestured to the servants and they began serving the breakfast, bringing over a series of silver platters, each of them heaped with food. Tom looked at Cameron’s face in sly amusement. The boy’s eyes got bigger and bigger as each successive dish was brought out for his inspection and more and more food was heaped onto his plate – succulent sausages glistening with fat; thick juicy rashers of pork; fried eggs with bright yellow yolks; and dark, tangy smoked kippers – all washed down with cup after cup of hot sweet tea. Tom had forgotten how hungry he was and soon, he and Cameron were in competition to see who could devour the most food, though Tom had to admit, Cameron was winning by a mile. It seemed incredible that a boy so skinny could put away so much grub. Meanwhile, Lord Kelvin picked at his own meagre portion with all the delicacy of a bird.

  ‘You boys seem to be enjoying your food,’ he observed at one point and they could only nod in agreement, their mouths too full to comment.

  As they were finishing up, a coach rattled to a halt in front of the house and Tom felt anxiety rippling through him, in case it was The Doctor, calling to visit Annie – but instead, two brawny strangers wearing frock coats and tricorn hats stepped out of the vehicle and strode purposefully to the front door. Millie ushered them into the dining room and they introduced themselves as special constables Taggart and McVeigh. Lord Kelvin invited them to sit and have some tea while they waited for The Doctor’s arrival. He told them that once they had the imposter in their clutches, they were to convey him to Captain Dalglish’s lock-up to await trial.

  ‘If the scoundrel gives you any trouble, please feel free to give him a good walloping,’ said Lord Kelvin, brightly.

  They all settled down to wait and presently, another coach moved into view and, sure enough, the figure that emerged this time was cloaked and hooded in leather, a white stick clutched in his gloved hands. As Tom watched him striding towards the front door, he felt a curious mingling of emotions: fear, because he knew how angry The Doctor would be when he discovered how Tom had betrayed him – and triumph, because he would be helping to finish the man’s crooked career, once and for all.

  Lord Kelvin told Taggart and McVeigh to stand ready and then beckoned to Tom. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and meet your Master.’

  Tom felt apprehensive but did as he was told. He and Lord Kelvin walked out into the hallway, to find The Doctor standing with Millie. The Doctor turned to greet Lord Kelvin and saw Tom. His face of course, was hidden, but his eyes widened and Tom could imagine the look of shock that must have been there.

  ‘What . . . what are you doing here?’ he snarled. ‘How dare you come here, bothering his Lor
dship?’

  ‘Oh, but he’s been no bother at all,’ said Lord Kelvin. ‘On the contrary, he’s been telling me a very interesting story indeed, Doctor Rae . . . but that’s not your real name, is it?’

  There was a short, stunned silence before The Doctor tried to bluff it out. ‘Your Lordship, I wouldn’t take notice of anything this boy has to say,’ he argued. ‘He’s a natural born liar.’

  ‘Is that a fact?’ said Lord Kelvin. ‘So it’s not true that you’ve been impersonating Doctor George Rae? Or that you stole the so-called Sassenach pills from this boy?’

  ‘That . . . that’s ridiculous!’ blustered The Doctor. ‘You don’t want to be listening to anything he tells you.’

  Tom felt a rush of resentment pulse through him. ‘You’re calling me a liar?’ he cried. ‘That’s rich coming from you!’

  ‘You shut your mouth!’ snapped The Doctor. ‘Lord Kelvin, if you would just give me a chance to explain myself . . .’

  ‘Oh, you’ll have a chance to explain, all right,’ said Lord Kelvin. ‘In court. Gentlemen?’

  At that point, Taggart and McVeigh stepped briskly out from cover. Before The Doctor could even think about making a run for it, they were standing on either side of him, each of them clutching an arm.

  ‘Take your hands off me!’ he roared. ‘Do you know who I am?’

  ‘No, we don’t,’ said Lord Kelvin. ‘Let’s have a wee look, shall we?’

  He gestured to Taggart and the man took hold of The Doctor’s mask and pulled it off his head, revealing his sweating, surly features.

  ‘Well, well,’ said McVeigh. ‘William McSweeny!’

  ‘You know him?’ gasped Tom.

  Taggart smiled. ‘Oh, aye, we’re old friends, aren’t we, Willie? He’s crossed our paths a few times before, usually for petty thieving and brawling. But this is a new departure for you, isn’t it? Impersonating a doctor?’ Taggart tutted loudly. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if this latest venture takes your skinny neck in reach of a hangman’s noose.’

  ‘There’s been a mistake,’ argued McSweeny, struggling to free himself ‘I never said I was somebody I wasn’t. I . . . I was only trying to help.’

  ‘Help yourself more like,’ said Taggart.

  ‘You have to listen to me! I was a villain once, but these days I’m an honest man.’

  ‘You wouldn’t know honesty if it bit you on the backside,’ said Taggart. He glanced at Lord Kelvin. ‘Begging your pardon, Sir,’ he added.

  ‘Please don’t trouble yourself,’ said Lord Kelvin.

  ‘Is your filthy old scarecrow of a mother still around?’ asked Mcveigh ‘And is she still drinking her own weight in neat gin every day?’

  ‘You watch your mouth about my mother,’ McSweeny warned him. He turned to look at Tom and his eyes blazed with hatred. ‘You little snitch,’ he hissed. ‘You’d better sleep with one eye open from now on, boy, because I’ll get you for this, you can depend on it. I will find you and I will destroy you. That is a promise.’

  At that, the two constables turned him roughly around and propelled him towards the door which Millie was now holding open for them.

  ‘All you’ll be getting is bread and water,’ observed McVeigh. ‘Until they call you out for trial. And the day they hang you, Willie boy, I’ll be there, dancing a jig as you drop.’

  Then they were out of the door and bundling McSweeny’s cloaked figure into their coach. They pushed him into a seat and positioned themselves on either side of him. As the coach moved away, he leaned forward and directed a cold glare through the open window to where Tom was standing in the doorway. Tom could feel the venom in those eyes burning into him.

  Lord Kelvin’s hand came down on his shoulder, startling him.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘after all that excitement, I think I could use another cup of tea. After that, we’ll think about getting you home to Mistress Grierson’s orphanage. She’ll no doubt be worried about you.’

  Twenty-One

  Tom lowered Lord Kelvin’s letter, which he’d just finished reading aloud. He could see that there were tears in Missie Grierson’s eyes and it seemed to take her considerable effort to find the right words.

  ‘But . . . this is . . . incredible!’ she said, at last ‘I don’t understand. What made him change his mind?’

  ‘Meeting us,’ said Cameron, beaming. ‘He said if we were examples of the young men that were coming out of this place then he’d made a mistake turning us down. Isn’t that so, Tom?’

  Tom grinned, nodded. They were all in the kitchen of the orphanage. Morag was there and even Alison, dressed in her nightgown and with a blanket draped around her shoulders, had refused to stay in bed once she’d heard that Tom was back. Though still weak, she was well on her way to a full recovery, getting stronger every day. Missie Grierson had told Tom that they’d now had official permission to take the white sheet out of the window and that everything was getting back to normal. Or at least, it had been, until Tom and Cameron arrived with their incredible news.

  ‘Did Lord Kelvin really say that?’ gasped Missie Grierson, as though she couldn’t believe her own ears. ‘That he’s going to try to find a place for us out in the country?’

  Tom nodded. ‘He says he’s already got somewhere in mind,’ he reminded her. ‘You’re to receive a proper wage as governess of the orphanage . . . and he’s talking about you having more children . . . maybe twenty or thirty of them!’

  The children were very excited at this news. ‘I hope some of them are girls,’ said Morag, nudging Alison. ‘We’d like that, wouldn’t we, Allie?’

  ‘Well, that’s all to be decided,’ said Missie Grierson. ‘We’ll just have to wait and see. What was it he said in the letter, Tom?’

  Tom glanced at it again. ‘That he’ll keep you informed of future developments.’

  Missie Grierson beamed. ‘You know what this means, children?’ she cried. ‘We’ll no’ have to take in any more laundry!’

  There were murmurs of delight from everyone at this news.

  ‘What do you suppose we’ll do with our time?’ asked Alison.

  ‘We’ll think of something,’ Cameron assured her.

  Missie Grierson looked at Tom. ‘I don’t know how you’ve managed to do this,’ she said, ‘but I thank you. I thank you from the bottom of my heart.’

  ‘It wasn’t just me,’ Tom insisted. ‘Cameron was there too. In fact, if he hadn’t got me out of that cage, none of this would have happened.’

  Cameron beamed and Morag came over to him and gave him a hug.

  ‘You’re no’ so bad, after all,’ she said. ‘And I forgive you for punching Tom the way you did.’

  ‘Ach, I still say he asked for it,’ muttered Cameron, but he was grinning delightedly, basking in Morag’s unexpected show of affection.

  Missie Grierson sighed. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘much as I hate to bring us all back down to earth, there’s still the everyday duties to consider, at least for the time being. I need somebody to go to the market to collect the vegetables. Morag? We can hardly ask Tom or Cameron to go, after everything they’ve been through.’

  ‘I’ll go,’ said Morag, walking across the kitchen and collecting the straw basket.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ offered Tom. He felt excited and restless and he wanted to be out in the hustle and bustle of the Close.

  ‘Well, if you’re sure,’ said Missie Grierson. She turned to look at Alison. ‘Let’s get you back to bed,’ she suggested. ‘We don’t want you overdoing things, not when you’re on the mend.’ Alison nodded and with an effort, got back on her feet. Missie Grierson guided her towards the stairs.

  ‘I might just grab forty winks,’ announced Cameron.

  Missie Grierson eyed him. ‘Don’t push your luck,’ she advised him.

  Tom grinned and accompanied Morag out of the door and into the hall. They stepped outside into a brilliant summer’s day and began to stroll along the cobbled street towards the market. As ever, the Close
was packed with people, all pushing and shoving their way through the melee, but after everything that happened, it seemed boisterous and joyful.

  ‘I thought you’d gone forever,’ said Morag, falling into step with him. ‘I couldn’t believe it when you and Cameron turned up at the door, the way you did.’ She smiled. ‘Do you think he believes you now? About being from the future?’

  Tom laughed. ‘I doubt it,’ he said. ‘Cameron believes what Cameron wants to believe. He’ll never change.’

  They passed by the butcher’s shop. On the road outside, another pig was hanging by its heels, a big pink creature, kicking and struggling against the ties that held it. As Tom and Morag went by, a man stooped and drew a sharp knife across the creature’s throat. Blood spilled into the gutter. The man looked up at Tom and gave him a sly wink.

  Tom felt a chill run through him. He felt suddenly nervous, unsettled. Something didn’t feel right. He glanced quickly around at the swirling sea of faces surrounding him.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Morag asked him.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said, but he had the strong sense that something was wrong.

  He carried on walking, trying to tell himself he was just being foolish, but he couldn’t shake off the feeling of impending danger that was settling around him like a cold, clammy cloak.

  ‘Are you sure, Tom? You’ve gone pale.’

  ‘It’s just . . . a feeling I’ve got.’ He looked around again, and this time he caught a glimpse of somebody back in the crowd, somebody elbowing and jostling a way through the press of bodies. He had a brief impression of a dark, scowling face and a long leather cloak. The blood in his veins seemed to turn suddenly to ice. He put a hand on Morag’s shoulder and quickened his pace. She must have sensed the anxiety coming off him and she looked up at him in alarm.

  ‘Tom, what is it?’

  ‘Just keep walking,’ he advised her. He glanced back over his shoulder, looking for another glimpse of that face, telling himself he must have been mistaken, because McSweeny had been arrested, there was no possibility of him wandering around the Close on this hot summer’s day. And yet . . . and yet . . .