The Lost Boy and The Gardener's Daughter (4 page)

Chapter Six

  Paul hid been living at the croft
fur
jist o’er three weeks when the young collie withoot the name became ill.  It hid crossed
his mind that he hidnae seen it
aboot much, bit he’d been too busy trying tae take in everything that Innes wis teaching him tae pay much heed.  He’d thought he’d heard whining the previous few nights, bit it hid been difficult tae tell through the sound ae the blustery wind that seemed tae kick aff through the night.  He’d jist assumed that it wis Tim, the big, pure black collie that went everywhere wae Innes.  Because ae his farting, or the smell ae it, Tim hid been banished fae the hoose tae sleep in the barn at night.

   “One hundred percent pure methane.  If only we could bottle it, we’d be rich, eh, Whitey?” Innes wid say every noo and again, wae a chuckle.

  “So, what are your plans for the pup, Innes?  How long are you going to wait?  We can’t have the poor thing suffering now,” Whitey hid said the night before.

“The young wan?  Whit, is he no well?” Paul hid asked.

  “Aye, the young collie…and him only aboot eight months old…the poor wee thing,” she’d replied.

  “Apart fae that dud eye it’s sporting, whit’s wrang wae him then?”

  “It must have been about three or so weeks before ye arrived, Paul.  John Sellar, who is The Duke’s factor, came around to remonstrate with Innes.  One of his sons, the oldest one, George, kicked the dog in the face when it went across, expecting a wee pat from him.   It was terrible to witness.  Just before the poor thing reached him, George let fly with his boot and caught the pup on its right eye.  He claimed it went for him, but I saw what happened with my own eyes.  Its tail was wagging when it approached him.  We took it to the vet in Lairg and they had to remove the eye.  Everything seemed to be healing nicely, but it’s obviously become infected again.  The first time it became infected, we took him back and got more antibiotics and that seemed to do the trick, but it looks like the infection is back.  We don’t have the money to pay for any more treatment so it looks like Innes will have to put the poor wee thing down, which is a pity, as Tim is getting older.  Innes was hoping to start putting him through his paces soon, but it looks like that’s out of the question now.  I’ve been washing his eye with salted water and giving him some herbal remedies, but I don’t think it’s doing much good.  Without penicillin, he won’t last,” Whitey hid said, shaking her heid in resignation.

  “So, who’s this Sellar then?”

  “John Sellar?  He’s The Duke’s factor.  He comes from a long line of trouble.  Although he denies there is any family connection, it was his ancestor, along with James Aird and James Loch, who did the dirty on the crofting community about here during The Highland Clearances in the last century.  They cleared folk off the land to make way for sheep.  When the people refused to budge, The Duke set Patrick Sellar and the militia from Fort George in Inverness upon them.  Everything was legal.  Even though most of the people couldn’t read or write, he’d produce the warrant, when he could be bothered, and flash it in front of people’s faces before sending them packing to God knows where.  Surely, you must have heard of The Clearances?”  Innes hid asked him.

  “Is that something tae dae wae the Battle ae Hastings in ten sixty six?” he’d asked.

  “You’ve never heard of The Highland Clearances, Paul?”  Whitey hid chipped in, surprise in her voice.

  “Naw.”

  “It was a terrible time for the people in the Highlands generally and really bad about here.  The Clan Chiefs, who used to look after their clansmen and families, decided they were landowners and turned their back on the people
who’d fought and died for them.  The demand for wool by the big mills in the industrial areas of England such as Huddersfield, Manchester, Leeds and Bradford, turned them greedy.”

  “So, all over the Highlands, they decided to clear the people off the land
and move sheep in,” Innes hid added.

  “So, whit became ae the people who wur evicted then?”

   “Some were put on ships bound for the new colonies in America and Canada.  If they didn’t die on the journey, and many of them did, they began
a new life there.  The majority, who had worked the land for generations, ended up down on the shores of the Moray Firth.  Untold numbers, up and down the Highlands starved to death or succumbed to that first winter of being made homeless.  The Duke never helped them once they had been cleared.”

  “And the Sellars?”

  “Our local John Sellar’s ancestor made sure the people never returned, by stripping the roofs off the croft houses and burning the rafters before demolishing the stonework.  Most of the crofts were situated way up in the glens, well away from access to wood.  He even set fire to a croft that had an old woman in it.  She was too infirm to get up out of her sickbed, so he torched the place with her still inside.  Her family just managed to get her out in time, but she died a few days later.  He initially got charged with murder, but it was The Duke’s man on the bench, so he walked free.  The Duke repaid Sellar by renting him a big stretch of land to start up his own sheep farm.  It meant Sellar had even more of a vested interest in clearing people off the land after that.  The Highlands never recovered, although some of us managed to keep roots.  My ancestors just about lost this place until some lord…Napier I think he was called…made rules that gave us crofters some protection by law.  If it wasn’t for that, we’d probably be talking with a Canadian accent somewhere.”

  “Bit, ye own aw this?”  Paul hid asked them wae a wave ae his haun, surprised by their bitter laughter.

  “We own these four walls, Paul.  Everything else you see is owned by The Duke.  We get to rent the parts that you can’t grow anything substantial on, apart from my wee vegetable plot.  The croft covers four acres. We pay rent to the big house, Culrain Castle, along the road,” Whitey hid replied.

  “And here’s me thinking youse wur rich.”

  “We are, Paul.  We’ve got our health, we never starve…well, hardly ever…and apart from when he’s had too much to drink, Innes plays a good tune on the fiddle,” Whitey hid chortled, smiling o’er at her man.

  “So, whit’s the score wae the wan that kicked the pup then?  Whit did ye dae when that happened?”

  “I couldn’t do a thing about it.  As well as John Sellar and George, who kicked the dog, the other son, Cameron, was leaning on the bonnet of their Landy, smirking.  Both boys are keepers on the estate.  Ye need to keep well away from them, Paul.  They’re very dangerous.”

  “Anywan kin kick a poor helpless pup.  Ma experience is that these type ae tadgers don’t really cope too well when the victim bites back.”

  “George must be about nineteen now.  The younger one, Cameron, is about a year younger. Two big lumps, with no brain matter between their ears.  The both of them are the spitting image of that brute of a father of theirs.  Tall, well-built, thick as fir trees, going bald early, with widows peaks up on top.  They look a wee bit like that Mick McManus, the wrestler fellow,” Whitey hid mused.

  “That’s a bloody sin fur the pup, so it is,” Paul hid murmured.

  “Unlucky,” Innes hid sighed,
lifting up that clay pipe ae his.

  The pup wis curled up oan a blanket oan tap ae a pile ae straw, underneath The Dignity, the boat that Innes hid built and wis nearly finished.  Tim went across and sniffed at the pup before turning and walking away.  Paul bent doon and lifted its heid.  The right haun side ae its face wis swollen and the eye wis matted.  Even so, it still managed tae wag its tail and lick his fingers.

  “Ye cannae put it doon, Innes.  It’s no right, so it isnae,” Paul pleaded, looking fae the pup tae Innes and back again tae the pup.

   “I don’t think I’m going to have much of a choice, laddie.  You heard Whitey…we can’t have it suffering.  It wouldn’t be right.”

  “How much wid it cost tae get the medicine fae the Vet?”

  “About three pounds, but we just don’t have that kind of money.  I wish we did.  I think we’ve got about two pounds.”

  “When ur ye thinking aboot daeing it?”

  “It
should’ve been done before now.  I’ve been avoiding it.  Whitey has been putting together different herbal concoctions that she lifted out of a book to see if she could reduce the infection.  We thought it was working, because he was up on his feet these past few weeks, but he hasn’t moved in the last few days or so, apart from doing the toilet over in the corner.  I’ll give it until after the Highland Games weekend.  If he isn’t better by the Monday and there’s no change, he’ll have to go,” Innes said wae finality, jist as a car horn sounded.

  Paul followed Innes oot intae the yard, squeezing alang the side ae the boat that wis taking up aw the room in the barn.  A wee blue van wis sitting up at the entrance tae the croft wae the driver’s windae doon and a beaming ruddy face looking oot.

  “It’s yourself, Donald.”

  “It is indeed, Innes.”

  “So, you’re looking to be setting up at the games in Ardgay next week, are ye?”

  “I am indeed.”

  “And what can a poor man like me do for a rich man like yourself, Donald?”

  “I’ll need some fresh rabbit.  How about if I come by first thing on Wednesday morning?  Would that be time enough?”

  “Aye, that would be grand, Donald.  Anything else?”

  “If Whitey has some honey and cheese, I’ll take all a poor man can carry.”

  “Oh, I’m sure she’ll be able to help you out with that...if the price is right,” Innes replied, jist as Whitey approached the van, wiping her hauns oan her apron.

  “Whitey, this poor man is in need of some honey and cheese,” Innes said, as Whitey greeted Donald, who wis sitting behind the wheel, licking his lips, jist thinking aboot it.

  “Och, that won’t be a problem, Donald.  I’m sure I’ll be able to help ye out.”

  “And who’s this fine figure of a laddie then?” Donald asked, eyeing Paul up.

  “This is Paul, who’s come to stay with us for a wee while.  Paul, this is Donald, the poorest butcher in the Highlands, who owns one of the biggest butcher shops north of Inverness, over in Golspie.”

  “How ur ye daeing, Donald?”

  “Fine, just fine, Paul.  That’s a funny accent now.  And where would I hear an accent like that if I was to venture far?”

  “Glesga.”

  “Glesgie?”

  “Aye.”

  “I heard that everyone in Glesgie is rich.  Would that be right now?”

  “Aye, that’s why Ah’m up here.  Ah wanted tae hiv a wee taste ae life oan the other side fur a change.”

  “Ha, ha, a joker too!  My, it must be a bundle of laughs sitting around the fire at night, trying to get a word in edgewise with this pair, Whitey, eh?”

  “You’ll need to come round one night, Donald.  I haven’t seen Isabella for ages.”

  “She’ll be over at the gala, flogging her pies to the good and the bad.  Speak to her and we’ll arrange a date.”

  Paul hid left them tae chat aboot whit wis happening in places he’d never heard ae like Rogart, Invershin, Spinningdale and Glen Cassley.  He’d spotted a poster stuck oan the side ae Donald’s van.

ARDGAY HIGHLAND GAMES & GALA WEEKEND

Fri 20th, Sat 21st & Sun 22nd June

Strongest Man

Highland Dancing

Tug ‘o’ War

Piping

Caber Tossing

Track Events

It’s a knockout Boxing Championship – Cash Prize

Fairground attractions

Marquee Dance on Saturday Night with

Sara May Todd & The Cowpokes

Zanussi & the Frigidaires

Raffles, stalls, food, drink

“Ur we aw gaun tae the Highland Games in Ardgay next weekend then, Whitey?” Paul asked her later, while Innes wis washing his hauns at the sink.

  “Apart from the New Year and the Lairg cattle auction, this is the biggest day of the summer for Innes.  It gives him time to tell tall tales to his friends from up and down the Kyle about what he wished he’d done instead of did.”

  “Don’t listen to her, laddie.  I’ve never told a tall tale in my life that wasn’t true,” he said, lifting o’er the bowl ae totties and scooping a mountain ae them oan tae his plate.

Chapter Seven

  “Morven?”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “I swear to God, if you call me ma’am once more, I’m going to get you banished from the castle,” Saba scolded.

  “Sorry ma’a…I mean, Saba.”

  “That’s better.  Now get that ass of yours across here and tell me all the news.  Forget the boring stuff.  I want scandal.”

  “There’s not very much to tell you.  Nothing happens about here, you should know that.”

  “Okay then, I’ll make it easy for you.  Tell me who you lost your tooshie to?”

  “My what?”  Morven exclaimed, laughing, her face turning scarlet.

  “You know?  What randy Highlander promised you the earth and then did a runner once he got his evil way with you?”

  “I’ll have you know that I’m as white as snow, madam.”

  “Oh, Morven, don’t give me that.  I sat next to you in Miss Galbraith’s class when we were ten, remember?  You couldn’t keep your hands off Jimmy Rabbit.  Talking of which, what’s he doing now?”

  “It’s funny you should ask, but he’s been working on the Scourie Estate and I heard a rumour lately that he’d got very friendly with one of Mrs Balfour’s chamber maids, and that she’s now pregnant.”

  “Oh my God, Morven!  I knew I recognised the name when I read it on the front page of The New York Times last week,” Saba snorted sarcastically, throwing up her hauns in mock horror.

  “No, it gets better.  The chambermaid in question, is not only forty and pregnant, but has had two other children, born in service, previous to this one.”

  “To who?”

  “Nobody knows.”

  “So, what’s happened to her then?”

  “They shipped her out.  Some say she’s off to Glesgie to have the baby.”

  “And what’s happened to the randy rabbit then?”

  “Oh, he’s still there, working for the estate.”

  “So, nothing’s changed then?  Bloody typical!  The woman gets pregnant and gets banished, while the man gets a pat on the back.”

  “He said she took advantage of him.”

  “I’ll bet he did.  So, any other juicy gossip then?”

  “The McKenzie twins that were in the year above us at school got married to the McTavish twins from over in Bonar Bridge on their sixteenth birthday.”

  “Don’t tell me...”

  “Aye, both of them were pregnant.”

  “Don’t tell me they went on honeymoon together?”

  “Oh no, they’re saving up to get a deposit to rent a house on one of the estates.”

  “What about one of ours?”

  “Oh aye, they spoke with Mr Sellar but he said they don’t have anything lying empty.”

  “And do we?”

  “There are three houses that I know of in the Kyle.  Two are semi-detached, next door to each other in Ardgay and there’s a detached one over in Braes.”

  “So, where are the blushing brides living now?”

  “PC McTavish has converted two of the cells in the police station for them.  I was talking to Kathleen and she says it’s hellish.  She says she and her sister are separated by the smaller cell in the middle of them and every Friday they’re kept up all night with the drunks and poachers that their dad crams in.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “Aye, the two boys, Anson and Angun are being driven mad.  They’ve won the Ardgay games singing competition every year since they were eight and Anson told me last week that since they moved into the cells three months ago, he’s yet to hear the correct words to ‘Make Your Way To Stornoway,’” Morven said smiling.

  “Ha, ha, I can remember them singing that at the games the year that I left here.”

  “Aye, that’s the song that’s won it for them every year.  As soon as they see that tear rolling down old Mrs Balfour’s cheek, they know it’s in the bag.  The field bookmakers won’t take bets on them anymore.  That’s still their party piece.  Can’t stand it myself though,” Morven mused.

  “So, why didn’t Sellar give them the semi-detached cottages?”

  “He says that they’re for his two sons, George and Cameron.”

  “Right, Morven, what killer outfit will I wear tonight then?” Saba asked, throwing open her wardrobe.

   She took a deep breath and slowly walked alang the landing towards the grand staircase.  She could hear the clinking ae glasses and the hum ae voices coming fae the salon oan the south veranda overlooking The Kyle, competing wae the drone ae somewan choking a set ae bagpipes tae death.  She hesitated, before aboot-turning, intending tae go back tae her bedroom, bit wis confronted by Morven who shooed her back tae the staircase. She hated being paraded like some mare at the sales, bit her father hid been insistent when she’d hid her first sit doon meal wae him in four years.  He’d been trussed up like a tartan turkey.

  “Darling Saba, welcome…welcome home,” he’d made the mistake ae saying.

  She’d decided tae be civil tae him, tae try and start oot oan the right fit and see which way the wind wis blowing.

  “Home?  I’m sorry father, but my home is in New York.  I think you’ve mixed me up with one of your other daughters.”

  “But Saba, darling, I only have the one daughter and I’m so honoured that you’ve come to stay in your, ah, er, second home,” he’d beamed, finding his words in the nick of time.

  “Why am I here…Daddy?”

  “Well, er, your mother, er, thought you could be doing with a break.  A holiday, yes, a summer holiday, that’s it.  So, here you are,” he’d beamed, erms ootstretched.

  “I haven’t spoken to you in years and the first thing you do is tell me a lie?  That’s a good start.  Carry on,” she’d retorted, no being able tae haud her wheesht.

  “Now, look here, Saba…”

  “No, you look here, Daddy.  If you love me, you’ll have me back on a plane to school this week.  My education is suffering.”

  “Saba, you were expelled from the most exclusive school on the eastern seaboard and the southern one before that.  You don’t go to school…remember?”

  “So, you’re sticking up for her…against your only daughter?” she’d spat back at him.

  “Your mother asked me to look after you this summer.  She needs a break.  She’s in love and she’s engaged to get married soon.”

  “What?”

  “I said she’s engaged to be married…you mean, you didn’t know?”

  Saba hid felt like the bottom hid just fallen oot ae her world.  She hated Antonio Barceló mair than she hated her father.  Every time her mother’s back wis turned, he’d sneer at her, rub his crotch and wiggle a darting tongue at her.  He gied her the creeps.  She’d tried telling her mother, but she’d jist laughed.

  “But he’s Spanish, darling.  All Spaniards do that.  It could be worse.  Imagine he was wearing a kilt when he was doing it,” she’d said laughing, and that hid been that.

  “But I thought you and Mother had never divorced?” she’d asked, a confused look spread across that face ae hers.

  “We’re not divorced…yet.  I spoke to your mother on the telephone earlier.  I said I would get the lawyers on to it first thing in the morning.”

  “You spoke to Mother?  Today?  Here?” Saba hid gasped, looking aboot, shocked.

  “Yes.”

  “And you didn’t let me speak to her?”

  “The line was bad.  We’ve got a problem with the exchange about here.  I didn’t think you’d want to speak to her so soon after leaving New York.”

  “So, apart from lying to me, you’re now deciding that I can’t speak to my own mother?”

  “Saba, darling, of course I’m not deciding who you can or who you can’t speak to.  I just thought…”

  “I want to go home.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’re here for the summer.”

  “Says who?”

  “Myself…and your mother.”

  “You can’t stop me.”

  “Saba, you wouldn’t get two miles before you were picked up,” The Duke scoffed.  “There’s not a bus or a taxi, nor man or beast, would dare take you out of the Kyle of Sutherland without my say-so,” he’d scowled, eyes narrowing, as Jessie, the parlour maid, laid doon a plate ae smoked salmon in front ae her.

  “I might be your daughter, but you don’t own me, the way you do everyone and everything else about here,” she’d spat at him, before adding pleasantly, “I would watch what you wish for, Daddy.”

  “Oh, and that reminds me.  We have a few guests coming for cocktails on Saturday evening, darling.  Try and practice that smile of yours before then…there’s a dear.”

  “What did you just say?”

  “Saba, I know there’s a smile lurking under that face of thunder…I’ve seen the photographs.”

  “What face of thunder?”

  “Your mother’s.”

  “Cocktails?”

  “A small gathering to welcome you back to the Kyle, a chance to meet people your own age, make friends, have fun.”

  “But I don’t want to meet people and make friends…your friends.”

  “Saba, you’ll turn up for cocktails on Saturday evening, even if I have to get my man, Sellar, to hogtie you to a chair.  So, I would appreciate a little co-operation from you.  How else am I going to get you off my hands?” he’d muttered.

  “What?  What did you say?”

  “I said, I tried to get some fresh water clams, but the salmon will have to do, darling.”

  “A minute ago you said you wouldn’t dictate who I could or couldn’t talk to and now you’re doing exactly that.  Have you ever had a conversation with anyone without lying?  No wonder mother left you.”

  “Eat up, darling, there’s a good girl,” The Duke hid said pleasantly, wanting tae run the length ae the twenty feet table and strangle his only daughter and heir.

  The sound ae the skirling pipes grew louder as she stepped aff the bottom step
and veered aff tae her right.  Fur the past hauf an hour she’d heard Riddrie shouting oot the arrival ae the Sutherlands, Vesteys, Westminsters, Moncrieffs, Elliots, Balfours, Bonnington-Woods, Wigans, Roxboroughs and Osbornes, who were aw dragging a gaggle ae spotty offspring, legal or otherwise, in their wake.  In the doorway tae the salon stood her father, resplendent in tartan trews, red cummerbund, white shirt and bowtie, wae a Clan MacDonald Glengarry stuck atop his heid.

  “Lady Saba Blair Macdonald,” shouted Riddrie. 

  The buzz in the room came tae a staunstill.  Only the screech ae the bagpipes wis left tae deafen her.  She tapped John Sellar oan the erm, who wis staunin tae the left and slightly tae the rear ae her father, huffing and puffing oan his chanter, while his two sons, George and Cameron, stood like two New York nightclub doormen, oan guard, either side ae him in their dress plus fours, Glengarry hats and wae their erms tucked behind their backs.

  The pipes screeched tae a halt.

  “Mr Sellar, be so good as to inform PC McTavish’s two daughters, Kathleen and Katrine, that they can move in with their husbands to the semi-detached cottages in Ardgay this coming weekend, please.  This is a belated wedding present from my mother, The Duchess and myself.  I’ll take care of the deposit with my father.”

  Silence.

  “I, er, ah…” the bloated, red-faced piper spluttered, looking at Saba’s father, who’d deliberately turned away, tae welcome Lady Paynter, who’d jist arrived and wis made up like a Harlem moneylender.

“Please inform them in person…this evening, please, if you’d be so kind.  Thank you,” she said, turning tae be introduced tae the guests in the queue.