The Lost Boy and The Gardener's Daughter: The Glasgow Chronicles 3

by Ian Todd

  “And why would a young fellow like you want to be running about the place like a demented hare first thing in the morning then?” Innes hid asked him, puzzled.

  “Ah don’t know. Tae keep fit, Ah suppose,” he’d replied.

  “Well, I think it’s doing you good, Paul. I haven’t heard you having a bad dream for a few nights now,” Whitey hid come oot wae.

  “Really?”

  “Oh, yes. It kept me awake for the first few weeks because I was always waiting for one. I thought you had died in your sleep one night because your room was so quiet. If running about the hills and woods in the morning is doing the trick, keep it up.”

  “It seems a waste of energy and time to me,” Innes hid murmured.

  “Right, well, while Ah’m at it, Ah’ll see if Ah kin blag a rabbit or two tae make it worth ma while,” he’d said, and efter that, he’d started laying doon a few snares alang the way. If he never caught anything oan the way back he’d nip oot in the early evening tae recover his snares.

  It wis a beautiful morning, the day that he clocked her. He’d left the croft and heided alang the road by the auld schoolhoose and then intae the trees oan the right, heiding up tae the tap end before turning east, avoiding Strathkyle Hoose, till he goat tae the edge ae Rhelonie Wood and then oot intae the open. It wis here, oot in the open, that he managed tae pick up his pace and shoot towards Balblair Wood, keeping the ridge ae Cnoc a’ Bhaid-daraich and Cnoc na Lapaich oan his right. He felt exposed oot in the open, so he wis always glad when he shot through the canopies and wis wance mair engulfed in the semi-darkness ae the trees. Wance he entered Balblair Wood, he kept gaun straight fur a couple ae hundred yards, before steering right, avoiding the low hung branches, past Creag a’ Choineachan oan his left, towards the Culrain Burn, where he usually stoapped fur a drink ae fresh water and tae catch his breath. It wis oan this part ae his run that he came across aw the proper woodland paths ae the estate and it wis here that he hid tae watch oot fur The Duke’s keepers.

  “Whatever you do, Paul, stay out of Balblair Wood. You’re practically in the castle grounds there. If Sellar or his laddies see you, they’ll set those Irish hounds loose on you,” Innes hid warned him.

  “Don’t worry, Innes. It’ll take mair than a couple ae scabby Paddy dugs tae get a haud ae ma arse,” he’d bragged.

  Fae the Burn, using the paths, he heided north in the direction ae where he knew the road wis and the Kyle ae Sutherland beyond that. It wis also at this part ae his run that he wid catch a glimpse ae the castle tower oan his right before turning wae Creag a’ Choineachan oan his left. He’d jist veered left that morning when the dugs gied themsels away wae their howls ae rage at somewan hivving the cheek tae be running through their patch. He only saw two ae them being unleashed by the handler who he assumed wis wan ae the Sellar boys. Rather than try tae ootrun them, he nipped under a big bush roond the first bend he came tae, whose flowers wur starting tae wither. Whitey hid telt him later that it wis probably a Rhododendron bush. Back in Glesga, when the polis wid send in the dugs, the best way tae avoid capture hid been tae hide, keeping quiet and still. Twenty seconds efter Paul settled under the bush, the two big grey beasts came bounding by, howling the place doon, followed a few minutes later by wan ae the ugliest basturts he’d ever clapped eyes oan.

  “Go on boys! Get the bastard!” Ugly Pug shouted oan the way past.

  He sat tight fur o’er an hour. Sometimes he heard the dugs coming close and then they’d fade away intae the distance. At wan point, he clocked wan ae them sniffing aroond a tree before lifting its leg and hivving a pish. When he hidnae heard anything fur aboot hauf an hour, he made his move. He trotted silently alang the path towards Inver Hoose, keeping tae the left ae it. Jist tae the south ae Inver Hoose, he came across the two snares that he’d left at the edge ae the trees and the open space the night before. He sat and waited, scanning the area fur any signs ae movement. Efter twenty minutes, he felt mair sure ae himsel and so started tae crawl oot ae the trees oan his belly intae the open towards the snares. When he peered o’er the lip ae a wee incline, he wis met by the sight ae two deid rabbits. He pulled the pegs oot ae the ground wae the rabbits still caught in the snares. Wance he crawled back intae the trees, he took the rabbits oot ae the nooses. He tied them thegither wae the bit ae string that he’d taken wae him fur that purpose. He stood up and hung them roond his neck before turning tae double back alang the track aboot fifty yards, then heid southwards tae where he’d entered Balblair Wood earlier, oot ae sight ae anywan driving alang the road. He wis quite chuffed wae himsel. No only hid he avoided a run-in wae the dugs, bit he’d a couple ae fat rabbits fur Whitey.

  “That’s stealing!” a voice suddenly said, sounding like the lash ae a whip cracking aff some poor basturts bare arse.

  He jist aboot jumped oot ae his skin when he whirled roond and looked up. A young lassie ae aboot his ain age, wae a bush ae fiery red hair, a face as white as snow and wae a strange accent, wis sitting astride a big white horse. She wis wearing whit looked tae him tae be a white nightie. The horse didnae hiv a saddle oan it and he noticed she wis in her bare feet. He tried tae speak, bit nothing came oot as he stood there, rooted tae the spot. He wis also trying, as hard as he could, no tae shite in they good running shorts ae his.

  “Who are you?” the thing oan the horse demanded.

  Silence.

  “Put those rabbits down this instant…now!”

  That hid been that. He wisnae gonnae fuck aboot. Being chased by dugs wis nothing tae this, he thought as he nearly decapitated himsel, plunging through the thicket tae his right before bouncing back up oan tae his feet and fucking aff as fast as they legs ae his wid carry him. As soon as he thought he’d put enough distance between himsel and The Gardener’s Daughter, he hit the open ground between Balblair Wood and Rhelonie Wood like a rocket. He decided tae take a chance and come oot ae the wood oan tae the road at Strathkyle Hoose’s lodge hoose. Luck wis oan his side and he didnae come across any traffic as he ran alang the road, before shooting doon intae the croft hoose, throwing up jist before he entered.

  “Paul, Paul, what’s up, laddie?” Whitey squealed at him, wae her haun oan his shoulder and concern in her voice.

  “Aye, I told you to avoid Balblair Wood. The dogs will get you sooner or later,” Innes scolded.

  “Och, Innes, hold your tongue. Now Paul, will ye tell us what happened, laddie?”

  He telt them aboot hiding fae the dugs and how chuffed he wis wae the rabbits in the snares. Innes wis lighting his pipe, blowing oot clouds ae blue smoke, trying tae get the tobacco tae take, wae wan eye shut and the other focussing oan the glowing red tobacco pot.

  “The gardener’s ghostly daughter, you say?” Innes puffed, ogling him wae that wan eye.

  “Who else could it be? Red fiery hair, face as white as the nightie she wis wearing, nae socks or shoes oan, sitting astride a big white horse withoot a saddle? Whit dae youse think?”

  “Hmm…” Innes groaned, wan eye still shut, as Whitey watched them baith.

  “Could be a ghost or could be a holidaymaker,” Innes eventually came oot wae.

  “A holidaymaker? Away ye go, Innes. Now, why would a holidaymaker be wandering about in these parts, wearing nothing but a nightie and in her bare feet at that time of the morning, eh?” Whitey asked.

  “That’s the kind of thing that holidaymakers do, Whitey.”

  “Anything else you can remember, Paul?” Whitey asked, turning fae Innes, ignoring him.

  “Aye, she wis wearing a pair ae John Lennon glasses.”

  Chapter Nine

  “PC McTavish, m’lord,” Nicol announced, staunin aside tae let the Highland’s finest enter the drawing room.

  “M’lord? Gentlemen?” PC Swein McTavish said oan entering, before staunin, twisting his chequered hat between his hauns in the middle ae the room.

  “Ah-ha, you’ve arrived, McTavish. Right, tell us what the local constabulary has planned to save my estate from bei
ng invaded, plundered and raped by every bla’guard poacher from here to Tongue?” The Duke demanded.

  “Well, m’lord, we…er…myself and my colleague, PC Delnie Morrison, have joined forces to thwart those who would prey on defenceless estates such as your own and have issued a statement through The North Star, The Northern Times and The Ross-shire Journal that poaching of any kind will not be tolerated,” he said, beaming at The Duke, Riddrie and John Sellar.

  “Right, very well, and?”

  “And m’lord?”

  “And, is that it?”

  “Actually, no, m’lord. What we’ve planned is that if we hear that the poachers are heading north, PC Morrison will intercept them. If they head south, I’ll be waiting at this end,” he replied proudly, puffing out that chest ae his.

  “Is this the Delnie Morrison who works out of Bettyhill, over to the east of Tongue and only has one leg?”

  “Aye, he caught one in Korea, Mr Sellar, sir.”

  “So, as long as the poachers are on four wheels, he might be able to keep his eye on them, but if they go cross-country on foot, we’ve no-one to cover our northern flank. Is that right, McTavish?” The Duke asked.

  “Er, if you put it like that, m’lord, there is a good possibility that they may catch us on the hop here and there.”

  “Good God, man! The Highland Games and Gala season is about to start and we’ve got a police constable in Bonar Bridge and a one-legged Korean war hero in Tongue or Bettyhill who can barely walk. Meanwhile, my hundred thousand acres of prime estate is lying bare-bottomed, waiting to be rogered by every Tom, Dick and bloody Harry and there’s nothing I can do to stop it happening,” The Duke exploded.

  “Not forgetting Mackay…Innes Mackay, m’lord, sitting just along the road, laughing at us,” John Sellar interjected.

  “What? Mackay, who’s married to the communist? What about him, Sellar?”

  “If we could take him out, that would be a warning to all the rest that we mean business, m’lord.”

  “I thought we had got rid of him and his heathen wife after he was caught taking one of my salmon from the Shin, Riddrie?” The Duke shouted at his man.

  “Not as yet, m’lord. The court order to put him off the land was rejected on the grounds that it would be challenging his security of tenure and would fly in the face of the Taylor Commission and the recommendations of the nineteen fifty five Crofters Act, m’lord. As for the incident with the salmon, I believe he’s still to appear in court for that.”

  “We did manage to get his boat confiscated, though, m’lord,” Sellar reminded him.

  “They’ve got more bloody rights than I have,” The Duke fumed, looking towards the windae fae behind his desk, across the expanse ae the Kyle.

  “Well, it’s not stopped his nocturnal wanderings. He’s still active and becoming more cocky by the day,” Sellar volunteered.

  “And what do you base this on, Mr Sellar, if you’ll be begging my pardon, sir?” PC McTavish asked, reminding them that the strong-erm ae the law wis still present and ready tae spring intae action at a moment’s notice.

  “My boy, George, gave chase this very morning, here in the grounds proper, m’lord.”

  “What? Innes Mackay had the cheek to invade me here? Trespass in my own wee bit of Highland heaven?”

  “Not Mackay himself, m’lord. He’s got a lodger. A right shifty-looking bugger if ever I saw one.”

  “And did you, Sellar?” Riddrie asked.

  “What, sir?”

  “See him?”

  “No, sir, but George spotted him up at the Culrain Burn, sitting in the sun as if he was entitled to be there. By the time George had got a couple of the hounds out onto the grounds, he’d moved on. They tracked him towards Inver House, sir. He must have doubled back on them and escaped.”

  “And how do you know he’s lodging at Wester Achnahanat, Sellar?” The Duke asked, staunin up and walking across tae the window tae get a better view ae the Kyle.

  “By the time young George doubled back, the poacher’s trail had gone cold. He took out one of the Land Rovers and headed along the road in the direction of Brae to see if he could catch him on the skyline. He’d just turned the bend after the old schoolhouse when he caught sight of the lad entering the croft, m’lord. My George said he was carrying two rabbits. George drove further on and parked-up down in Kilmachalmack Farm. After a couple of hours of waiting and watching through the binoculars, he gave up and came home, sir.”

  “Riddrie, I will not tolerate anyone entering Balblair Wood or any other parts of my estate without my explicit say-so. I am sick of this MacKay flouting the rules. He has been a boil on my family’s neck for generations. I want him stopped, by fair or foul means.”

  “I could always apply for a search warrant from the Sheriff in Tain, sir?” PC McTavish suggested, being ignored.

  “How confident are you of getting him, Sellar?” The Duke asked.

  “Well, the Highland Games are next week. He’ll have his orders from the butchers in already. I don’t think he’ll go far. He’s more than likely to stay local and take what he can from here. He’s still got a problem with transport since we snatched his wheels and removed the rotor arm from his Landy last year. It’s still sitting there rusting away,” Sellar said, revelling in the satisfied smiles in the room.

  “And the dog?”

  “He keeps that well under wraps, m’lord. It never leaves the croft without him. We nearly got it with the Irish Hounds recently. I’m confident we’ll get it. My boy, George, had a pop at a pup that Mackay has managed to get his hands on. I’ve heard it’s poorly, and he can’t afford the vet’s bill, so here’s keeping our fingers crossed that it won’t survive.”

  “Yes, I’ve spoken to the vets in Bonar Bridge and Lairg, warning them that they’ve to hike the price of the treatment for the pup beyond Mackay’s reach. Hislop in Lairg put up a slight protest, but I think he got the message when I informed him that the ground his practice was sitting on belongs to the estate and what hurt the estate, would also hurt him,” Riddrie volunteered.

  “I’ll pay anyone in the district twenty pounds for either one of MacKay’s dogs, dead or alive, Mr Sellar,” The Duke said, turning fae the windae and looking at him.

  “I would settle on the big blackie first, sir. It will take MacKay a good six to nine months to train that young one up, if it survives. We’ve tried leaving poisoned sheep’s liver out, shooting it and setting the Irish hounds on it. I’m confident we’ll get it eventually, m’lord.”

  “We need to fight fire with fire. If he’s confident enough to be swanning around here on my own doorstep helping himself to my game, despite the known consequences, then we’ll have to up the ante. I think it’s time to start deploying a few strategically placed poachers’ retreats. I do not want myself, my property, or my daughter’s safety to be compromised by these ruffians,” The Duke growled, turning back tae the view.

  Silence.

  “But, er, well, er...” PC McTavish gulped.

  “You have a problem with The Duke protecting what is rightfully his, Mr McTavish?” Riddrie challenged him.

  “Well, er...it’s just the question of the legality of using poachers’ retreats, sir.”

  “Legality? And what about my legal rights, McTavish?” The Duke demanded, spinning roond and glaring across at him.

  “Er, yes, m’lord, but poachers’ retreats were outlawed in the last century.”

  “Oh, I meant to ask you earlier, Mr McTavish. Have your sons-in-law and those fine daughters settled in to their new accommodation in Ardgay yet?” Riddrie asked, as a sly smile appeared on John Sellar’s face, and the shoulders ae wan ae the Highland’s finest slumped.

  Chapter Ten

  “It just doesn’t feel right, Saba,” Morven said.

  “What doesn’t?”

  “Me sitting here, getting paid for watching hunky men, stripped to their waists, hammering in marquee posts,” Morven replied, laughing.

  �
�I told you, you’re my personal lady’s maid for as long as I am in situ at the castle, which hopefully won’t be for long,” Saba replied, as the two ae them dipped their heids simultaneously and slightly tae the right as wan ae the marquee boys bent o’er tae pick up a wooden post in the field behind the church in Ardgay.

  “I wish I was rich.”

  “It’s not all that it’s cracked up to be, Morven, believe you me.”

  “But you’ve lived in America. I bet you’ve met lots of famous people.”

  “Some.”

  “Pop stars?”

  “Rock stars.”

  “Like who?”

  “Graham Nash from Crosby, Stills and Nash.”

  “Never heard of them…or him.”

  “He used to play with the Hollies.”

  “Oh yes, my mum plays ‘Bus Stop’ all the time. So, who else then?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “The Beatles...any Beatles?”

  “I said ‘Hi’ to John Lennon at a party my mother hosted once.”

  “Really? What did he say?”

  “He said ‘Hello’ back,” she replied, and they baith burst intae a fit ae giggles.

  “Who else?”

  “I don’t know...lots of people.”

  “Who was your favourite?”

  “I met The Monkees once. I even kissed Davy Jones.”

  “Oh, Saba, he’s such a darling. What was it like?”

  “He had bad breath...either that or he had been eating garlic and onions beforehand.”

  “What’s garlic?”

  “It’s a…a vegetable. It tastes great, but stinks for days afterwards. The Italians and the French eat it all the time.”

  “Remind me not to marry an Italian, unless he’s a count.”

  “My mother’s marrying a Spaniard.”

  “Oh Saba, it all sounds so romantic. What’s he like?” Morven sighed, snapping aff a blade ae grass and chewing oan the end ae it as she lay back oan the grass, looking up at the sky.