The Lost Boy and The Gardener's Daughter (3 page)

  He couldnae put his finger oan when his nightmares hid started fur real.  He knew something wisnae quite right when he couldnae stoap thinking or dreaming, day and night, aboot seeing Mick Murphy go up in flames.  He’d started tae feel dizzy a lot ae the time and hid even fainted twice, which hid been really embarrassing, especially in front ae the other boys in the school.  He’d also started tae get sore heids and the feeling as if he wis coming doon wae some sort ae a fever.  He’d been walking aboot, as pale as a bottle ae milk maist ae the time, and hid jist withdrawn intae himsel.  While he’d thought he wis awright, the other boys in the school hid started tae gie him a body-swerve whenever he showed up at recreation in the evenings.  Wan night, he’d stood up in the dining room and gied a table full ae the Carlton Tongs the biggest sherricking they hid ever hid in their lives.  There hid been some tough basturts sitting in amongst them, bit they’d aw jist shrank back, looking at him as if he wis possessed or something.  He jist didnae hiv any control o’er whit he wis daeing.  Wan minute he widnae hiv a clue where the hell he wis and the next, he wid get aw excited and want tae kill everywan in the school.  It hid been bad enough that the other boys wur avoiding him like the plague, bit then he’d realised that there wis something definitely wrang when the Catholic brothers in charge hid started tae avoid him.  Two ae the wans who’d thrashed him the maist efter
he’d arrived back efter his wee sojourn oan the run, hid jist aboot shat themsels wan day when he’d walked towards them.  Apart fae turning a whiter shade ae pale, wan ae them hid picked up a sweeping brush and hid shouted at him tae stoap exactly where he wis.  When Paul hid suddenly stoapped in his tracks, the other wan hid demanded tae know whit the fuck Paul wis up tae.  The two ae them hid made the sign ae the cross at him.  He’d been transferred later that same day tae Lennox Castle nut-hoose.  They’d put him through a lot ae tests and kept asking him whit the hell wis wrang wae him.  He’d tried tae tell them that that’s whit he wanted tae know himsel.  Efter a couple ae weeks ae being telt nothing, an army quack, who’d been across fae America and who wis visiting the joint at the time, hid come and spoken tae him.  The quack seemed quite decent and Paul hid met wae him aboot a dozen times o’er the next month.  Jist before the doctor hid been due tae go back tae the war in Vietnam, Paul hid asked him if he thought he wis ever gonnae be cured, seeing as nowan seemed tae know whit wis wrang wae him.  The doctor hid laughed and telt him no tae worry.  He’d said that he knew exactly whit wis wrang wae Paul and wis writing up a report wae recommendations fur his recovery.  The doctor said that he’d been surprised that Paul hidnae hid a breakdoon before then, given the length ae time that hid passed since Skull hid goat burned tae death.  In wan ae their sessions, Paul hid telt him aboot Skull’s death back in nineteen sixty five, bit no aboot Mad Mick, the human fireball, earlier in the year.  The doctor hid telt him that the symptoms that he wis displaying wur similar tae sojers in the second world war and in Vietnam.  He’d gied Paul the example ae wan ae his patients, who’d clocked wan ae his buddies being trapped and burnt tae death inside a tank that hid jist been hit by a shell.  The quack hid said that, although there wisnae a cure or a magic wand tae make him better, he felt that Paul needed a rest fae stressful situations and that he wis recommending that he be put oan some kind ae programme where he could be left in peace tae recover.  He’d said that he wis gonnae recommend that Paul be taken aff the drugs that they wur shoving doon his throat.  A week later, efter being interviewed by some social worker, Paul hid been called intae the heid bummer’s office and telt that he wis being put aff tae stay wae a family up in the Highlands fur a while, where he’d get some peace and quiet and time tae recover.  There wur conditions attached tae this though.  If he agreed tae the break, then he widnae need tae go back tae St Ninian’s or any other approved school, wance he’d reached his fifteenth birthday.  If he refused, they wur gonnae detain him indefinitely through whit they called ‘Compulsory Admission under Section twenty four ae the Mental Health Act, nineteen sixty.’ 

  When he’d arrived at the croft, Whitey and Mr MacKay hid telt him that they’d been helping disturbed weans fur years through a friend called Anita they knew who originally came fae Lairg and who wis noo daeing missionary work in Glesga through the Sally Army.  Paul wis the auldest wan they’d taken in so far, as the others hid aw been between the ages ae five and ten.  They’d baith made it clear tae him that he wisnae their prisoner and that he could leave anytime he wanted.  They widnae feel hurt or anything if he chose tae dae that.  Aw he hid tae dae though, wis tae decide whether he wis gonnae stay or go.  Mr Mackay…Innes…hid said at breakfast that morning that it wis time fur him tae make up his mind, seeing as he’d been living at the croft fur the past two weeks.  If he wanted tae leave, Innes wid drive him doon tae Ardgay and pay his fare back tae Glesga oan the bus, wance he goat the engine and the wheels oan his car sorted oot.  If Paul stayed, he’d gie him an apprenticeship ae sorts, oan how tae live and work oan a croft, in return fur Paul helping him oot, daeing labouring jobs aboot the place, until it wis time fur him tae leave officially. Paul wis desperate tae get back tae Glesga.  The Mankys wid be watching oot fur him.  The only problem wis, wis he ready?  The American quack hid telt him that he needed tae avoid stressful situations.  No matter how much he tried, he couldnae imagine a less stressful place tae be at that moment in time.  He looked doon at the croft-hoose.  Whitey and Innes wur sitting oot in the efternoon sun oan two auld rickety deckchairs at the side ae the hoose, facing Beinn Sgeireach.  There wis an empty chair sitting beside them.  Paul winced, thinking back tae the reaction ae the boys in St Ninian’s when he wid turn up fur breakfast, before he’d been shipped aff tae the nut-hoose.  He wondered how he wid survive if he went back tae the streets in the Toonheid before he wis fully fit, given the amount ae howling and screaming he’d been letting rip wae during the night since he’d arrived at Wester Achnahanat.  He stood up and stretched, before the two dugs and him sauntered doon tae join the MacKays.

  “If it’s okay wae yersels, Ah widnae mind hinging aboot a wee while longer and finding oot mair aboot this crofting game,” he said.

  “Why, Paul, that’s wonderful.  Of course, you can stay as long as ye want, laddie.  Isn’t that right, Innes?”

  “Of course it is.  Now, hand me over that wee glass, laddie, and Ah’ll give ye your first wee dram ae God’s own amber nectar…a hundred and twenty percent proof Glen Morangie, straight from the bottom of the barrel of his Lordship’s own special thirty year old malt, which was bottled only last week,” Innes said smiling, as Whitey exaggerated her disapproval.

Chapter Four

  The Rolls Royce Phantom V-wan slid silently away fae the pavement ootside number two hunner and thirty wan East Forty Seventh Street in midtoon Manhattan.  It wis six o’clock in the morning.  The Duchess opened her purse, took oot a compact and flipped open the cover tae inspect her face in the mirror.  She wisnae too displeased at whit stared back at her, despite the fact that she could only see her mooth, nose and the bottom ae her eyes.  Earlier the previous evening, before the start ae the party,
she’d watched a preview screening ae ‘Trash,’ written and directed by Paul Morrissey.  It wis shit, bit artistic shit.  Joe Dellasandro played himsel, chasing his next hit, and Paul claimed it wis an original inspiration, thought up wan night when he couldnae get tae sleep.  That originality should fool a few people fur a few weeks, at least, she thought tae hersel.  She fumbled in her purse fur a few Benzos, until she remembered that she’d left the bottle oan her bedside cabinet in the apartment.  The car hid arrived and slid tae a halt oan Seventh Avenue, opposite Central Park.

  “Will I give you a hand to waken Mr Barceló, madam?” George, her sweet and helpful driver drawled.

  “I think that would be wise, George.”

  She waited until George opened her door first, before stepping oot oan tae the sidewalk in the early morning sunshine.  Unfortunately, he shut the door beside her before gaun roond tae the other side tae help wae Antonio.  Her reflection in the backseat windae ae the car encouraged her tae make her first important decision ae the day, which wis tae get aff the sidewalk before anywan she knew saw her.  Her perfect coiffured hair ae the previous evening noo looked as if a crow hid taken up residence in it.  She managed tae hauf-stagger across the sidewalk, withoot keeling o’er, and entered the building, wan step aheid ae George, who wis dragging Antonio behind him, jist as Mr Brunch, the doorman, held open the glass entrance door.

  “Thank you, George.  I’ll manage from here,” she said, as George gently dumped Antonio oan tae the flair ae the elevator that would whisk them straight up tae her penthouse apartment. 

  She felt happy, very happy.  In fact, she couldnae remember when she’d felt as happy as she did at that precise moment.  It hid nothing tae dae wae the fact that earlier oan, she’d snorted a few lines ae amphetamine, although that hid obviously helped.  Whit hid made her happy wis that Antonio hid proposed tae her during the screening ae the film.  Obviously, she wis gaun tae accept, bit her upbringing hid kicked in and she hid explained that protocol dictated that she must speak tae her fourteen-year-auld daughter first.  At the mention ae Saba, Antonio’s chin hid drapped.

  “Don’t worry, darling,” she’d purred soothingly.  “She loves you,” she’d lied.

  The lift came tae a gentle halt at the
apartment.  She wis glad tae be hame, as she’d been crossing and uncrossing her legs ever since she’d exited the car.  She kicked aff wan ae
her Roger Vivier high-heeled shoes and jammed it in the elevator door, while she made a limping dash tae wan ae the restrooms
that wur scattered throughoot the apartment.  When she returned, Antonio hid manage tae revive himsel and Pierre, her butler, wis assisting him up oan tae his feet.

  “Thank you, Pierre.  Bring him through here,” she commanded, opening the door tae her spacious living room, which wis the envy ae maist New York socialites, oan account ae the breath-taking views fae the flair tae ceiling wall ae glass that ran the length ae the room, overlooking Central Park and the Manhattan skyline.

  The ensuing scream that emitted fae that throat ae hers wid’ve put Fay Wray ae King Kong fame tae shame.  She thought fur wan fleeting second that she must’ve somehow been projected back tae Andy Warhol’s Factory oan two three wan East Forty Seventh Street in Manhattan.  The room wis a shambles.  Auld masters and Picassos that hid earlier hung thegither in respectful harmony lay strewn aboot amongst empty booze bottles and drugs paraphernalia.  The straw that broke the camel’s back wis the Botticelli painting ae Venus and Mars that hid ‘Orgy’ scrawled across it in bright red paint, starting oan the wall oan the left and continuing across it tae the wall oan the other side.

  “Saba!” she howled.

Chapter Five

  The train pulled oot ae Ardgay.  She knew her stoap wis next.  Within the next few minutes she’d be arriving at Culrain Station, which wis practically in the shadow ae the castle.  She looked across at the detectives fae the Pinkerton Agency, who wur sitting opposite her in the rolling carriage.  When she’d attended The Brearley School fur girls in New York, before she’d been expelled, wan ae the Pinkerton Agency executives hid come tae gie the girls a lecture aboot personal safety and whit tae dae in the event ae being kidnapped. 

  “We always get our man,” the bumptious wee bumpkin hid proclaimed.

  They’d allowed her tae freshen up in the ladies’ restrooms, efter they’d come aff the London tae Inverness train.  Before they’d let her go in, the wan who wis the spitting image ae Charlie Chaplin, right doon tae the hat, cane and walk, hid gone in and inspected them tae ensure that there wur nae other exits.

  “Ma’am,” he’d drawled, slightly tipping his bowler hat and staunin aside tae let her pass.

   She wis struggling wae her emotions.  Wan minute she felt like bursting intae tears and the next, she wanted tae staun up and hurl abuse at them.  She knew they wur only daeing their jobs, bit wae her anger simmering jist beneath the surface, she felt desperate and capable ae anything.  She knew that as soon as she stepped aff the train, she wis doomed.  There wid be nae gaun back…at least fur the remainder ae the summer.  Nae money, parties, bagels, jukeboxes, New York Yankees, make-up, designer clothes, boys, rock music…fun.

  “What?  Have we arrived already, Bull?  But, we’ve only just left the last station,” Hank said tae his companion, surprise in his voice, as the train slowed doon and hissing steam covered the windae ootside their carriage.

  Saba took a deep breath as she stepped through the open door oan tae the platform.  She looked aboot.  The station wis small and pretty.  She wisnae too sure if the people staunin oan the platform wur waiting fur the train or wur waiting fur the arrival ae the Duke’s daughter.
Peering through the steam, she estimated that there wis probably aboot twenty five or so people, who wur staunin, gieing her curious, shy glances, while the younger weans wur jist blatantly staring.  She thought she recognised some ae the faces as being families who worked oan the estate.

  “Is that a real princess, Mammy?” wan wee lassie in a smock asked loudly, as Saba looked aboot the platform, wondering whit tae dae next.

  “And what’s your name, little one?” she asked, bending doon tae the wean, who instantly buried her face in her mother’s skirt.

  “Go on, Alexina, tell the Lady Saba your name then,” the mother encouraged, as Alexina buried her face even deeper into the folds ae the skirt.

  “They obviously scared her,” Saba said, smiling, as she jerked her thumb behind her at Hank and Bull bringing up the rear.

  “Welcome home, Lady Saba.  It’s about time there was a bonnie lassie up in that big empty castle again, even if I do say so myself,” the mother sang, smiling.

  “Aye, welcome home, Lady Saba, and not before time,” somewan else said.

  Saba’s eyes started tae well-up wae tears and she quickly brushed a finger across her face as she felt wan escape and run doon her cheek.

  “Thank you,” she said tae another wummin who’d produced a snow-white handkerchief oot ae thin air and haunded it tae her tae dab her eyes wae. 

  It wis clear that everywan thought that it wis tears ae joy aboot being back in the Kyle that she wis shedding, as big grins appeared oan aw their faces.  If only they knew, she thought tae hersel bitterly, as everywan turned at the sound ae a booming voice.

  “Righty-ho there, step aside, righty-ho now, let me through.  Make way now,” Cawley Macleod, chauffeur and general castle
odd job man shouted, pushing himsel through the ensemble, followed closely by Lurch, the butler fae The Addams Family’s TV Show.

  “Riddrie?”

  “Lady Saba?  Pleasant journey, I hope?” he said, smile instantly freezing oan that face ae his when he saw the auld Duchess’s deadly glare coming oot ae they fourteen-year-auld emerald green eyes in front ae him.

  “Lovely, and now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long journey,” she said politely tae the throng ae men, wummin and weans, who wur aw staunin there, smiling at her.

  Ootside the station, two horse drawn carriages wur waiting.  The first wan wis her great, great grandmother, The Duchess Blair’s favourite.  It sat majestically squat, gleaming in the sun like a magnificent ladybird aboot to take flight, while the two golden-plumed black carriage horses, in front ae it, pawed the ground impatiently tae get gaun and turned tae look at her.  A footman in full MacDonald regalia held open the carriage door and she quickly disappeared inside, followed by Riddrie.  The Glengarry-hatted, uniformed driver sitting oan tap ae the carriage flicked the reins.  As the carriage moved aff, making a sharp U-turn tae the right using the junction at the road into Culrain, she looked oot her side ae the carriage tae see Cawley Macleod supervising Hank and Bull, who wur loading thirteen different shapes and sizes ae Louis Vuitton luggage oan tae a flatbed carriage that hid jist enough seating fur three.  Her friends at Brearley hid expressed wonder at the photographs ae the castle, including the auld Duchess’s carriage, in
Life Magazine, when it hid ran an article aboot her parents’ very public separation.  She desperately wanted tae be sitting oan that three-seater bench, insteid ae in the silk-upholstered carriage, sitting opposite a wary and worried looking Riddrie. She looked silently oot ae the carriage windae, as the horses trotted through the castellated pillars that held open the black wrought iron gates and heided up the drive.  She wanted tae apologise tae Riddrie fur her earlier steely look, bit decided no tae, as she knew he wid pass oan every little detail ae her arrival tae her father, the present Duke.  Oan her right, she managed a fleeting glimpse through the arch intae the courtyard ae the stable and coach hoose complex, where she’d first learned tae saddle her first pony, Dimple.  She clasped the haun rest as she felt the horses take up the strain as the carriage carried oan up the sloping drive towards her jailer and prison.  Wance o’er the brow, the horses took a sharp right as they entered the wide courtyard, only tae slow tae a crawl as the carriage eased between the stone porte-cochere shelter tae stoap at the entrance. 

  The Duke felt as saft and misty-eyed as any father wid’ve been when they hidnae seen their only child and heir, even though in this case, it wis a fourteen-year-auld daughter, rather than a son, since she wis nine or ten years auld.  Misty-eyed or no, he’d decided tae play it cool…fae a distance, tae see whit direction the wind wis blowing fae.  The tone ae Bea’s telegram and the o’er the tap ootburst fae his daughter at their last meeting at Martha’s Vineyard hid made him decide that he wid strategically keep a low profile and see whit kind ae entry she made oan arrival.  Noo, here she wis, coming through the doors, where the servants wur awready lined up in two rows, in anticipation ae her arrival.

  “Welcome home, ma’am,” Riddrie proclaimed oan behauf ae everywan wae a sweep ae his erm, fae where he wis noo staunin, closest tae the door, as his senior position in the castle dictated.

  “Hello, everyone,” Saba said cautiously.

  “Ma’am,” they aw chorused.

  The Duke fully understood why the aulder staff members wur solemnly respectful and hid serious looks oan their faces.  It wisnae jist because ae the memories ae Bea’s last visit tae Culrain, grim though that must’ve been fur them aw, but it wis because they wur aw auld hauns, steeped in tradition and knew how tae show proper respect tae family members and guests.  The younger servants and scullery maids, however, aw stood there agape, some wae open mooths and some wae big grins splashed across their faces.  He could see why.  She’d been staunin in the shade ae the entrance, bit wance she moved tae talk tae the grinning young wenches, her shoulder length, golden-red hair looked as if it wis catching fire as she passed through the light streaming in fae the windae behind her.  She wis wearing a white micro-mini crepe dress wae a Zadora Duncan Kyle tartan scarf loosely tied at the neck that her mother, The Duchess, hid ordered oan his behauf the previous Christmas.  Her legs wur covered wae sheer shiny tights and she wore ankle-strapped sandals oan her feet, while, o’er her shoulder hung an enamel mesh purse oan a chain.

  “Let me show you to your room, Lady Saba.  You must be tired after your long journey,” croaked auld Nicol, the castle’s ancient valet who The Duke hid inherited when the seventh Duke passed oan.

  “Don’t worry, Nicol.  I know the way,” Saba said, fae hauf-way up the grand staircase, before auld Nicol hid even hauf-turned tae lead the way.

  The Duke jist managed tae scamper away and slip intae the smoking room, as he heard the friction ae her shiny tights whizzing past the door.  A moment later, Riddrie appeared.

  “Well, Riddrie?”

  “Well, m’lord?”

  “So, how is she?”

  “She seems, ah, fine, m’lord.”

  “Come on, man, you know what I mean.”

  “I think she may be, er, a little tired after her long journey, m’lord.”

  “And?”

  “And, well, she was, er, what they would call in these parts, ‘a wee bit nippy,’ m’lord.”

  “A wee bit nippy?  What, she was cold?  In this heat?”

  “I think, frosty would be a better way to describe it, m’lord.”