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

by Ian Todd

  Chapter Nineteen

  Morven sat doon at the kitchen table and looked across at Isobel, the cook. Shouting and screaming could be heard coming fae the shaft ae the dumb waiter.

  “How long has this been going on?” Morven asked.

  “Oh, on and off for the last half an hour, at least. I wouldn’t venture out of here if I were you, until the dust settles,” Isobel replied.

  “What’s the problem this time?”

  “Lady Bitch is being taken down a peg and she doesn’t like it…stroppy cow,” George Sellar said fae the far end ae the table.

  “Lady Saba has just confronted The Duke regarding her forthcoming birthday and is insisting that she doesn’t want him to plan anything without first speaking to her. She’s accused him of planning behind her back. He’s denied it, but she said she caught him and Mr Riddrie discussing a big surprise for her. She went stark raving bonkers,” Isobel said, scattering a haunful ae flour across the surface ae the table before starting tae knead the dough wae her hauns.

  “He’ll never learn,” Morven sighed.

  “The problem with poor little rich girl is she needs to learn that she’s not in New York now. The Duke’s the boss about here. The quicker she learns and accepts that, the better it’ll be for her and everyone else.”

  “George, why are you such a shit-stirrer? It wouldn’t cost you anything to be nice once in a while,” Morven spat, staunin up and heiding fur the hallway, as the sound ae the breakfast room door slamming upstairs shook the bannister.

  “Are you alright, Saba?”

  “He’s organising a party for my fifteenth birthday. He just doesn’t get it.”

  “I think the whole estate heard you and your father sparring. I’ve just come from the kitchen and you could hear every word of what was being said, or should I say, shouted.”

  “So, you’ll know what he’s planning then?”

  “No, I had only just arrived when I heard you slamming the door of the breakfast room. The sound travels down the shaft of the dumbwaiter.”

  “I won’t have him running my life.”

  “A birthday party sounds good to me. It would be good to have a bit of music in this place,” Morven replied, picking up the clothes that wur strewn across the flair.

  “The invite list wouldn’t have your name on it anyway. I’m so angry that he never even considered speaking to me about it. He thinks we’re still living in the eighteenth century.”

  “You might want to give him a chance. After all, you’ve been away for four years. He obviously doesn’t have a clue about how teenage daughters work…the same as most fathers.”

  “For Christ’s sake, Morven, the only reason I found out was that I overheard him asking Riddrie to make sure that I didn’t find out and that any staff who let the big secret out of the bag would be sacked forthwith. Did you know about any of this?” Saba asked accusingly.

  “No, I think since I’ve been working directly with you, I’m kept out of the loop,” Morven replied, opening the wardrobe and taking her time in deciding where tae hing up the clothes.

  “I’d rather die than have my father organise a party for me.”

  “Who has he invited?”

  “I didn’t get that far. It’s probably the same rent-a-crowd that he invited when I first arrived. Morven, I have to get out of here. You’ll have to help me. We need a plan.”

  “I’ve told you, I can’t.”

  “What about your new boyfriend?”

  “Paul? You must be joking. And anyway, how can he help you? He lives up the strath. What could he do?”

  “He could drive me to the railway station in Inverness. I’d pay him.”

  “Saba, he’s only fourteen. He wouldn’t have a licence. And even if he could, you’re probably the last person he would help. He absolutely hates authority from what I can tell.”

  “Authority? What’s that got to do with me? I’ve no authority about here. I’m a bloody prisoner.”

  “Forget it, Saba. There’s no way I’m asking him to get involved in any wild scheme to get you away. Your father would have him put in jail.”

  “Oh, Morven, do stop being such a drama queen. Of course he wouldn’t.”

  “Did you know that your father got the two Sellar boys to sabotage Innes Mackay’s motor car?”

  “Who’s Innes Mackay?”

  “Innes and Whitey Mackay, who are in their sixties at least, live in Wester Achnahanat about five miles up the strath. The only transport they have is an old rickety Land Rover. George and Cameron removed its wheels and stripped some parts from its engine in the middle of the night months ago. It’s still sitting where they left it.”

  “And they can prove this? That it was George and Cameron?”

  “Oh, Saba, everyone knows it was them. Don’t be so naive.”

  “I’m not naive. So, what’s this got to do with lover boy?”

  “He lives with the MacKays.”

  “Oh.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Paul and Innes hid jist spent the past hauf an hour manoeuvring The Dignity oot ae the barn and across the yard, before tucking it in behind the croft hoose, oot ae sight ae the road. Efter they’d goat it oot ae the barn, Paul hid been surprised at how easy it hid been tae move it aboot oan the trailer. Whitey wisnae very happy at where Innes hid decided tae park it and hid been wandering in and oot ae the croft hoose muttering her displeasure tae hersel and the chickens that always followed in her footsteps, hoping tae get scraps fae her. She’d hauf dragged Innes intae the kitchen by the collar tae show him how much natural light hid disappeared since her view hid been replaced by the keel ae the boat. Innes wis like a greedy wean at Christmas though. Some big Highlander, who wis built like the side ae a brick shitehoose, hid jist arrived fae Tongue and drapped aff an engine fur his boat.

  “Not just any old engine, Paul. This is an original 7-9hp Kelvin petrol engine. One of the finest engines ever made. It’s known as the Fisherman’s Friend by all the fishermen who sailed up and down the West Coast of Scotland,” Innes hid said, in a revered voice, gaun aw misty-eyed, as he gently caressed the engine, the way a priest fae St Ninian’s wid stroke an innocent Care and Protection boy’s bare arse.

  “And here’s me thinking a fisherman’s friend wis a nippy wee sweetie that only grown-ups seem tae like,” Paul hid said.

  “You’re thinking of a lozenge for a sore throat. No, this little beauty is what allowed the herring fleet on the west coast to stave off starvation for the whole of the nation, back in the day.”

  “So, this is fur the boat then?”

  “This is the last piece of the jigsaw. Ten years I’ve been building myself an original Loch Fyne skiff…one piece at a time. Once this is on, it’s complete and ready to be launched.”

  “And I’ll get my barn back,” Whitey said, heiding fur the washing line, carrying an overflowing basket.

  “So, you’ll be whizzing up and doon the Kyle like Blackbeard, being chased by the Sellars in their shitey wee rowing boats, eh?”

  “Och, not at all, laddie. This beauty will be getting launched where she belongs, Loch Fyne, down in Argyllshire.”

  “Brilliant. Kin Ah come?”

  “Of course you can. The three of us will head down there once I get the Landy back on the Road.”

  “Why Loch Fyne, or is that a daft question?”

  “About forty five years ago I had to get off the estate for a while. The old Duke was on the warpath and myself and Black John…John Black from over in Lairg…got chased by The Duke’s keepers, all over Ross-shire, for two days and two nights. Even with dogs at our heels, we managed to keep one step ahead of them. They never caught us, although the keepers pointed the finger at us. In those days, a keeper pointing a finger at you was enough to get you sent down the road to hard labour. We crept out in the night and ended up working on the herring boats, out of Tarbert, on Loch Fyne. We were there for nearly three years, working up and down the West Coast. We even travelled as far up
as Orkney. I swore that if I ever got the chance of going back to sea, it would be on a Loch Fyne skiff.”

  “Why dae ye call it a skiff and no a boat?”

  “These types of boats started in Loch Fyne. As fishing boats go, they’re quite light in their construction, which makes them very manoeuvrable in the water. As well as being double-ended and sitting low in the water, which makes it easier for the fishermen to haul in their catch, these boats are characterised by their raked mast and steeply sloping keel, are deep at the aft end and shallow at the bow,” Innes said, stoapping suddenly and gieing the stern a slap as Paul walked intae the back ae him.

  Paul and Wan-eye hid been following him roond the boat as he pointed oot the shapes and curves ae it.

  “How did ye know how tae build it?”

  “I was at a roup sale up in Helmsdale. One of the big fish supply companies in Peterhead had gone bust. They’d had their own roup in Peterhead and what wasn’t auctioned off at the first sale, had been brought up to Helmsdale. As well as masts, engines, nets, you name it, there was also job lot boxes that had a mix of old tools and construction drawings for everything that floated on the sea. That plan was in a box that I bid for, near the end of the sale,” Innes said, nodding towards the open barn door and the auld construction diagram plan that wis broon wae age and looked as if it hid been stuck up oan the wall fur the last century.

  Paul went intae the barn and peered closely at the drawing.

  “Construction plans for The Dignity, eighteen something by J Fyfe, Boat Builder. Ah cannae make oot the year, other than eighteen something,” Paul said, straining his eyes.

  “It’s probably from the eighteen nineties or thereabouts. One of the transport boys who travels up from Tarbert to the Lairg sales each year, and who’s also a master boat builder, is always asking me how I’m getting on with the construction. He offered me five hundred pounds cash…no questions asked…in my hand for it, only last year, but I wouldn’t sell it. He says that if I ever change my mind, I should give him a shout. He only drives a wagon in his spare time. He’s got his own boat building business in Inveraray. A nice chap...you’d like him.”

  “Ah never knew they hid engines in the eighteen nineties,” Paul said, walking back oot tae the yard tae hiv a closer look at the engine.

  “They didn’t and certainly not on a skiff then. This Kelvin is from about nineteen eleven. It doesn’t have a clutch or reverse but it’s bulletproof. It’ll send this skiff through the water at about four knots.”

  “Look, it says Dobbies Loan oan the metal plate oan the side ae it,” Paul said excitedly, pointing.

  “That’s where they made them in Glasgow. Do you know where Dobbies Loan is?”

  “Aye, it’s in the Toonheid where Ah come fae. Seeing as Ah’ve broken intae practically every factory in Dobbies Loan, Ah’ve probably met aw this wan’s grandsons coming aff the production line at wan time or another,” Paul replied, laughing.

  “Aye, it’s a small world, laddie.”

  “So, whit dae we need tae dae tae get this engine oan then, Innes?”

  “We’ll have to bolt it onto the stern sheet on the starboard side. Although it’s not on the original plan, I’ve strengthened the hull to accommodate it. Having the boat out here will give us room to do it right.”

  “Starboard?”

  “Opposite the port side,” Innes said wae a smile, as Wan-eye lifted his back leg and pished oan Innes’s mechanical pride and joy.

  Chapter Twenty One

  He’d telt them efter tea, jist as he wis heiding aff tae meet up wae Morven at the burn, that he’d be leaving oan his fifteenth birthday, which wis within the next week or so. He said that while he loved staying at the croft, he missed being back hame in Glesga. Whitey reached across the table and put her haun across his and gied him a wee smile.

  “I’m sure you’re doing the right thing, Paul. Your family will have missed you. We knew you would be leaving when you felt the time was right. Isn’t that so, Innes?”

  “Aye, there’s not much of a future in a place like the strath for a young fellow these days. The only work about here is on the estate and I’m afraid living with us would have torpedoed any work opportunities there...that, and the two black eyes you gave young George,” Innes chortled.

  “Ah’ve met some amazing people and learnt a lot since Ah’ve been here, bit Ah’m getting this pull tae go hame. Ah don’t know why that is, bit that’s how Ah feel,” Paul admitted.

  As he heided through the trees, he wondered whether tae tell Morven jist noo or tae leave it and tell her nearer the time. He looked aboot. The trees and the plants wur aw in full bloom and the bumblebees wur making a racket, gaun aboot their business. He’d miss gaun fur a run aboot there first thing in the mornings. The last couple ae mornings hid been strange though. He’d come across The Gardener’s Daughter up oan that big fancy white horse ae hers while he’d been oot oan his run. She’d been dressed in full horsey clothes this time, although she’d still been wearing her John Lennon glasses. The first time he’d come across her, she hidnae clocked him as he’d sat watching her. She looked as though she wis looking fur something. She wid move oan through the trees fur a bit and then stoap, looking aboot. The second time, which hid been the previous day, she’d clocked him and hid heided straight fur him, waving her erms. When he’d disappeared through the trees and done a full circle tae come oot behind her, she’d followed the track tae where he’d disappeared and hid then gaun back tae her search fur whitever it wis she wis looking fur. He’d watched her fur aboot a hauf an hour and hid then slipped away and carried oan wae his run. He’d decided tae change his route. If he came across her, then there wis a good chance he’d come across wan ae the Sellars. He wanted tae avoid that at all costs.

  He heard their voices before he saw them. He crept tae the edge ae the clearing opposite the burn where he’d planned tae meet Morven. He couldnae believe his eyes. The baith ae them wur sitting oan the bank wae their feet dangling in the water, laughing at whitever it wis that wan ae them hid said that wis funny. They wur wearing shorts and baith hid semmets oan tap that he could see showed aff their nice pert paps, even fae where he wis staunin, which wis aboot fifty feet away. Morven wis in white and The Gardener’s Daughter wis in green. He swithered whether tae fuck aff back the way he’d come, bit hesitated. Why wid she bring the She-Devil up here? He thought he’d made it clear tae Morven that he didnae want anywan tae know that he wis coming up oan tae the estate. She’d hiv been jist as well tae hiv brought wan ae the Sellars wae her, as far as he wis concerned. Fuck it, let’s see whit the score is, he thought tae himsel, as he stepped oot intae the sunlight. They never noticed him at first until he wis haufway between the trees and them. It wis The Gardener’s Daughter that clocked him first.

  “Oh,” she said, stoapping kicking the water wae they feet ae hers.

  “You’re late,” Morven said wae a smile oan her coupon.

  So, she’d deliberately brought her boss pal then, Paul realised, feeling really annoyed and wondering whether tae dae an aboot-turn and piss aff back the way he’d jist come. He looked beyond them towards the trees at the sound ae a Cuckoo. His radar wis gaun haywire. Ignoring them, he held his gaze until he wis satisfied that it wis jist him and them that wur aboot. It wis clear that something wis gaun oan and he wanted tae find oot whit it wis.

  “Fur whit?” he finally replied.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Paul. I made Morven bring me,” Lady Muck said, wae an apologetic smile oan that rich face ae hers.

  “Did ye? And how did ye know Ah wis coming tae meet up wae Morven then?” he asked Saba, looking across at Morven.

  “I’m sorry, Paul. I thought you two should meet properly this time. The last time was a bit tense, to say the least,” Morven replied, looking nervous.

  “And ye didnae think ae maybe asking me first, tae see if Ah wis okay wae yer decision then?” he scolded, looking aboot, wondering if the Sellars wur jist aboot tae jump oot oan him.


  “The two of you are my friends. You should get to know each other better. It’ll save complications in the future,” she said, pleasantly enough, although her voice sounded a bit defensive.

  Paul felt his anger simmering jist below the surface ae his skin. Friends? He thought they wur supposed tae be gaun oot wae wan another. He wanted tae tell Morven tae fuck right aff because he wis pissing aff back tae Glesga soon, so he didnae gie a monkey’s fuck fur her or her pal.

  “Ah thought we wur keeping it a secret between us aboot meeting up here?” he reminded Morven, keeping his voice steady, as he scanned the tree lines, trying tae work oot where the Sellars wid be skulking, if it wis a trap.

  “It’s really okay, Paul. No-one else knows we’re here,” Saba said reassuringly, looking aboot tae confirm her statement.

  “Right, whit’s the score here, Morven? There’s something gaun oan, so spit it oot,” he said, staying alert and continuing tae look aboot.

  “Er, Saba wanted to ask you something and asked if I could bring the both of you together. Sit down,” Morven pleaded apologetically, realising that he wis really pissed aff at her.

  “Is that right? Fire away then,” Paul retorted, looking fae wan tae the other.

  “Er, well, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind doing me a terribly big favour.” Saba asked, as Paul sat doon, cross-legged, in front ae them.

  “Oh aye…and whit wid that be then?”

  “I need to get to my grandmother’s house, down in England. I think Morven has already mentioned that, despite my best efforts, I’m having problems managing to get more than a couple of miles down the road before I’m dragged back here.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because I don’t have anyone else I can ask. Everyone else is scared of what my father would do if he found out they were helping me. I’m not asking you to take me to England, just far enough away so that I can get a train or a bus. I’d be willing to pay you.”