The Lost Boy and The Gardener's Daughter (18 page)

Failure to comply and attend the said court on the said date, without informing the said court, Tain Sheriff Court, an arrest warrant will be issued and the said Innes MacKay will be arrested.”

  “Och, I’m surprised it’s taken them so long.  And here’s me thinking they had forgotten all about me,” Innes said, striking a match and haudin the flame tae the bowl ae his pipe.

  “In your dreams, Innes MacKay,” Whitey said, a worried cloud appearing in her eyes.

  “So, ye goat caught, Innes.  Ye didnae let oan aboot that wan,” Paul said, laughing.

  “Aye, well.  It was bound to happen someday, I suppose,” Innes mused, taking a puff.

  “Och, it was awfully embarrassing, seeing as he was charged by Swein McTavish, who’ll probably have to appear in court and give evidence against him,” Whitey said, shaking her heid.

  “Aye, whit is it they say aboot the polis?  Always oan duty, day and night?” Paul retorted, remembering wae a shudder how PC Shiny Buttons hid sat where Paul wis noo sitting, drinking Innes’s good knocked-aff malt.

  “Swein is a fine man, Paul.  He was only doing his job.  He hadn’t any choice, seeing as George Sellar was present,” Whitey said disapprovingly tae Paul.

  Paul met up wae Morven at the Culrain Burn as planned.  She wis pretty nervous tae start wae, bit settled doon wance she realised that the Sellars or their Irish wolfhounds wurnae aboot tae jump oot and maul them.  She telt him aboot her life, growing up and gaun tae school, first in Culrain and then in Tain and aboot working at weekends and the school holidays up at the castle, the estate being the only real employment available in the area fur locals.  She’d wanted tae go tae college tae be a vet’s assistant bit her registration teacher hid convinced her that this wis a waste ae a good brain.  She wisnae sure whit she wanted tae dae noo, although she hid tae get her skates oan as she only hid jist o’er a year tae go before she wis sixteen.  When she asked Paul aboot his background and whit his school and family life wur like, he skirted o’er maist ae whit he telt her, keeping it clean and decent as he didnae want tae put her aff ae him, even though he’d awready made up his mind that he wis heiding aff soon.  He telt her that he hid an aulder sister called Kathleen, who wis married wae two wee snappers and a brother-in-law who wis a porter oan the railways and that his maw worked as a cleaner while his da drove a wagon fur Ushers, the brewery people.  He could tell she wanted tae dig deeper, bit it wis obvious tae him that she’d sussed that whit she wis telt so far, wis aboot as much as she wis gonnae get oot ae him.

  “So, whit’s the score wae that boss pal ae yours then?”

  “Saba?  Oh, she’s only recently come back from New York.  She was living with her mother after her and The Duke split up.  If you think The Duke’s bad, you should meet her mother.  She’s got something to do with the Belgian royal family, I think.  She’s got a look that would freeze a pond over.  Saba was sent back to Culrain because she had some sort of wild party and some expensive paintings got ruined.  She hates this place and is forever scheming on how she can escape down south to her grandmother’s, the old Dowager Duchess, who she thinks will be able to influence her father to send her back to New York.”

  “So, why dis she no jist jump oan a bus or a train the same as everywan else?”

  “She’s tried twice.  The first time she walked down to Ardgay and caught the Inverness bus.  George Sellar was waiting for her by the time it arrived in Tain.  Someone must have spotted her.  The second time, she got on the train at Ardgay and was picked up by The Duke’s man in Inverness, a police inspector by the name of Cotter.   Anyone about here suspected of helping her wouldn’t work again locally and that would apply to their close family members too.”

  “So, Cotter caught her?  I like that wan,” Paul said, smiling.

  “I can see why you would find it funny, but I feel sorry for her.  Despite what you think, she’s actually a nice person.”

  “Dae ye no think aw this is totally oot ae order…the way these people don’t gie a shit and control everybody and everything they touch?”

  “Saba is different, even though she can come across as grumpy.  Her red hair gives her that temper you’ve mentioned.  She doesn’t place value on the things her parents do.  Take the estate for instance.  The Duke owns land between here and John O’Groats, has vast amounts of tenants, but she isn’t interested in any of that.  She gets embarrassed with pomp, ceremony and tradition.  She loathes hunting and shooting.”

  “That’s because she kin afford no tae be interested, unlike a lot ae people aboot here.”

  “Anyway, tell me what’s happening up at Wester Achnahanat Croft and how the pup is.”

  “Wan-eye?  Packer McKenzie drapped aff antibiotics fur him.  Ah don’t know if it’s ma imagination, bit Ah kin see a difference in him awready.  The swelling looks as if it’s gaun doon.  Innes his said that seeing as Ah invested in the medication, he’s mine as long as Ah’m living oan the croft.  He also said he’d teach me how tae train Wan-eye up tae be a working dug.”

  “A working dog?  I wouldn’t have thought there was enough work for two dogs with the amount of sheep Innes and Whitey keep,” she said, with a knowing twinkle in her eye.

  “Aye, well, it’ll take a wee while before Tim goes intae retirement and as Ah’m new tae the teaching game, it’ll probably take a year or two as Ah’ll need tae get trained up first,” he’d replied unconvincingly.

  “So, you reckon you’ll be around for a couple of years then?”

  “Oh, er, who knows, and anyway, whit’s aw the questions fur?  Come o’er here and gie me a kiss,” Paul said, quickly crawling across tae her as she jumped up, screeching wae laughter and started running through the burn in her bare feet, towards the trees.

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.