The Lost Boy and The Gardener's Daughter Read online

“I don’t suppose you’ll need a personal lady’s maid when you go back to New York, will you?”

  “That’s the problem, Morven. I don’t think I’ll be going back,” Saba sniffed. “I’m not here through choice. My mother shipped me back here because she was getting married to Antonio Barceló Rodriguez Gonzales, Count of who knows what pig-shed...”

  “Oh, Saba, that’s awful,” Morven said, rolling o’er.

  “And for me wrecking the apartment after having some friends around for a party one night that got slightly out of hand.”

  “Wrecking it?”

  “Some toad painted an obscenity on one of her old oil paintings.”

  “Was it an expensive one?”

  “It’s called Venus and Mars, by some artist called Botticelli.”

  “What was the obscenity?”

  “The word ‘orgy’ was painted in bright red letters. The O started on the wall to the left of the painting and the Y ended on the wall to the right of it. It actually looked really neat, in a strange sort of way.”

  “I’d love to have seen that,” Morven said, laughing.

  “It wasn’t funny afterwards, believe you me. She fainted and Antonio was too drunk or wasted to be of much help. He tried to be gallant by swooping her up in one go and ended up sprinting across the apartment, with her in his arms, before crashing into a Ming Dynasty vase that was sitting on a pot stand in the corner. Pierre, her butler, had to make a nine one one call for the both of them to be rushed to Mount Sinai…her to get the gash on her scalp plastered and him to get his stomach pumped before he overdosed. I certainly wasn’t the darling little lady that day, I can tell you,” Saba groaned, as the baith ae them cracked up laughing again.

  “So, you’ve been banished to the tower in Culrain Castle to wait for some Prince Charming to come and whisk you away?”

  “Will you help me, Morven? To escape, I mean?”

  “Saba, what can I do? I wouldn’t know where to start, and anyway, I’ve never been beyond Inverness in my whole life.”

  “You must know someone who could give me a ride south…someone who would be willing.”

  “Saba, there’s no-one about here that would dare get involved. Everyone is scared of what The Duke…your father, would do. People depend on the estate, not only for work, but all the local businesses that supply the estate rely on its trade too. My advice is to work on your father. I don’t think there’s anyone around here who’ll help you. And anyway, the Highland Games start this weekend. There’s a ceilidh on Saturday night. You might meet some handsome gypsy lad who’ll sneak you away in the night.”

  “Why do people put up with it? Why don’t they stand up to him?” Saba asked, sitting up and resting her chin oan her knees.

  “Saba, it’s always been that way and always will be. Don’t be so naive. They still sing the old songs in the evenings about what happened to people who tried to stand up to the Kyle ‘o’ Sutherlands…especially at wakes,” Morven said, looking at Saba.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Right, remember what I’ve told you, Paul, and watch you don’t trip on your arse and scare all the rabbits while you’re at it, laddie,” Innes whispered, as Paul walked backwards, unravelling the net.

  Paul looked up. Innes wis following him, hooking the rope that ran alang the tap and bottom ae the net oan tae the four feet long wooden stakes he’d pegged intae the ground every six feet.

  “Right, Paul. You just follow Tim here and he’ll keep you right. Take your time now, laddie. He’ll know when to start. Don’t do anything until he makes the first move,” Innes whispered, turning tae Tim and gieing him the nod, then quickly walking tae the far end ae the net, plapping his arse doon oan the damp grass tae wait.

  Paul bent o’er, keeping his ootline tae a minimum and gingerly followed the dug back the way they’d come earlier. He jumped the small burn at the bottom ae the hill and hurried tae catch up wae his four-legged leader.

  Whit the fuck wis he daeing, he thought tae himsel. Taking orders fae a mangy auld dug? Christ, whit wid Tony and the boys think ae that? They’d laugh him aff the street if he telt them. He came tae a sudden stoap. Tim stood like a statue, wan paw up in the air, then slowly sank doon oan tae his haunches and looked back at Paul as if tae say ‘Hey big man, Ah’m the main man aboot here. Whit ur ye waiting fur?’ Feeling stupid, Paul followed suit and knelt doon oan wan knee, jist as Cameron Sellar slowly drove past oan the road, squinting through the trees tae see if there wis anywan aboot. Paul felt his heart quicken when he heard the faint sound ae whining coming fae the back ae the canvas-topped Landy. Efter staying in the same position fur five minutes withoot moving, the feeling ae cramp started tae creep intae that leg ae his, so he wis relieved when Tim wis suddenly up and oan the move again, scurrying forward before disappearing through a hole in the thicket. When Paul goat through, he saw Tim trot alang the bottom ae a drystane dyke, stoap and look back tae see if Paul wis still wae him, before continuing. The dyke wis only aboot four feet high, so Paul hid tae run bent o’er. When he caught up wae Tim, the dug wis awready sitting waiting fur him tae arrive. Withoot further ado, the dug leapt o’er the wall and heided in a southerly direction, before turning intae a left curve, heiding east. Paul leapt o’er the wall and ran straight up the field waving an auld sack above his heid, bit keeping his trap shut. It wis as if a meteorite hid landed in the middle ae the field. The startled rabbits scattered in aw directions. He noticed the wans that ran south, towards where Tim wis coming fae, curve aff tae the left and heid fur the horizon, before disappearing o’er the lip ae the hill. By the time Paul arrived panting and oot ae breath at the nets oan the other side, Innes wis jist completing his task ae scudding the writhing rabbits, whose heids wur still stuck in the net, wae his rabbit heid-slapper.

  “Right, Paul…in the bags with them, laddie,” he whispered, pulling oot the silent whistle fae under the collar ae his shirt and blowing intae it. Tim gied the pair ae them a fleeting glance before he shot aff back alang the route that Paul hid followed him alang fifteen minutes earlier and disappeared through the trees. Paul could still feel the warmth ae the rabbits as he disentangled their heids fae the net and slung them intae the sacks. When he looked up, Innes hid unhooked the net, and wis walking towards him, haudin it up as he gathered it, concertina fashion, before slinging it o’er his shoulder.

  “Right, Paul, let’s go. Grab a couple of the sacks and follow me,” he whispered, picking up two himsel, before turning and briskly heiding in the direction that Tim hid gone.

  The barn looked like something oot ae a Davey Crockett movie. There wis aboot forty-odd rabbits, aw hinging upside doon, some wae blood dripping oot ae their noses, waiting fur Whitey tae come and butcher them intae neat piles ae fresh meat.

  “Paul, come over here, laddie. Sit down…I want to show you something,” Innes said, sitting oan a wooden box beside the boat and placing something oan his knee that he’d taken fae behind a row ae auld rusty paint tins oan wan ae the shelves above his heid.

  “Aye?”

  “Do you know what this is?”

  He picked up the object in question, aff ae Innes’s knee. It looked like a cut-aff fae a square four by four wooden fence post. It wis aboot ten inches long and wis obviously auld. Oan tap ae it sat some sort ae contraption that wis screwed oan tae it. It looked like a bit ae a plumbers brass T-joint, like the wans he’d come across when he wis stripping copper pipes oot ae the ootside landing toilets in the tenement buildings back in Glesga. Oan wan ae the open ends ae the T-joint, there wis a brass ring screwed oan tae it. Oan the opposite end, it hid whit looked like some sort ae a brass plunger. At the base ae the plunger, a wee spike wis visible. The wooden block hid two holes in it at each end that went straight through it. Hinging fae the T-brass contraption wis a piece ae wound copper wire, aboot four inches long, wae a wee disc aboot the size ae a shilling bobbing aboot oan the end ae it. He stared at it, turning it o’er in his hauns, before he pulled the plunger back and let it go a
couple ae times. He unscrewed the brass ring before screwing it back oan, then stuck his finger in and oot ae the end where he wid expect the plumber tae slip oan a copper pipe.

  “Okay, Innes, Ah gie in. Whit is it?” he asked, looking o’er at Innes, who wis sitting there, clearly enjoying himsel.

  “Have you ever heard of a poachers’ retreat? No? I didn’t think so.”

  “So, whit’s it fur then?”

  “What happens is, the rogue laird, or in our case, The Duke, will get one of his keepers to plant these on the estate. The keeper, or in our case, one or both of John Sellar’s sons, will drive two long metal pins through the holes on the block to secure it to the ground. He’ll unscrew the brass ring from the barrel you were playing with and slip a twelve gauge shotgun cartridge into the barrel and then he’ll place the ring over the cartridge and slip it down to where the ring joins the threads at the base and he’ll tighten it up. Once he’s done that, the cartridge is locked in. He’ll then pull out what you called a plunger and what we call the trigger. When you pull the trigger back far enough, you can then slip in the small disc into that cut groove on the stem of the trigger, carefully releasing the pressure on it until the disc prevents the trigger from dropping back into the casing, just like this. The gun is now cocked,” Innes said, slipping the disc intae the groove and releasing the pressure, looking at Paul tae see if he wis following him.

  “Ye’ve lost me, Innes. Ur ye saying this is some sort ae a gun?”

  “It’s a man trap. Totally illegal, of course.” Innes said, nodding, staunin up and placing it beside the wheel ae the trailer underneath the boat.

  “How dis it fire?”

  “Watch,” Innes said, bending doon and tying a length ae fishing line oan tae the wee coiled wire that wis attached tae the disc.

  He then drew the fishing line across the gap between the boat and tied it roond the haundle ae a big steel box, which wis sitting against the barn wall, before plapping his arse back doon oan tae his wooden box.

  Fae where Paul wis sitting, he could jist make oot the near-invisible line across the path between the metal box and the boat, where himsel and Innes hid tae walk tae reach the pup, who wis lying at the bottom ae the barn. The fishing line wis aboot six inches aff the flair.

  “Tim!” Innes shouted, followed by a wee whistle.

  A few seconds later, Tim came lumbering through the door ae the barn, wae his tail wagging. He spotted where they wur sitting and trotted straight towards them before suddenly freezing oan the spot. He let oot a wee faint whine and then squatted doon oan his haunches a couple ae inches fae the fishing line. He never took his eyes away fae it. Paul could hear and feel his heart thump aff ae his collarbone.

  “Right, Paul, step over here without touching the line,” Innes instructed, as Paul and himsel, wae Tim sitting between them, stepped back aboot five feet.

  “Aye?”

  “Right, shout on the pup. Ask him to come to you.”

  Paul kneeled doon and looked alang the keel ae the boat. He could see the pup wae his swollen eye, sitting oan his blanket, watching them, wondering whit the hell wis gaun oan.

  “Here ye go, son. C’mon boy, there’s a good boy. Come tae Paul,” Paul sang, haudin oot his haun.

  The pup looked at him fur a few seconds and then stood up and sauntered towards them wae its tail wagging. Paul felt his heart pumping faster. Baith Innes and Tim sat motionless beside him, as the pup goat closer and closer tae the line before tripping the wire. The pup wisnae aware ae whit hid happened as he blissfully licked Paul’s haun.

  “Did you hear it?” Innes asked him.

  “The snapping click? Aye, Ah did.”

  “Well, if that poacher’s retreat had been loaded with a shotgun cartridge in it, the pup would be splattered all over that wall. Look,” Innes said, bending o’er and haudin up the block.

  The disc oan the end ae the copper wire wis dangling free. The plunger hid shot doon intae the barrel.

  “The spike on the flat end of what you call the plunger acts the same way a hammer would on any gun. That’s what fires it. Pretty clever, eh?” Innes murmured grimly.

  “Fucking hell! That wid take the legs aff ae ye, so it wid.”

  “That’s what it’s meant to do. They were banned in the last century. It was not only poachers that were found bleeding to death on some hillside or in some forest on a remote country estate, but animals and even families with children out for a walk on a sunny day.”

  “Dis oor Duke use them?”

  “Oh aye, laddie. This one was from the year before last.”

  “Whit a basturt…and it being illegal as well.”

  “Aye, well, this is the Kyle, Paul. The Duke is the law about here.”

  “Ah could’ve done wae a few ae these in Glesga. They wid’ve come in pretty handy when Ah wis running aboot.”

  “It sounds as if the pup’s got a new name, Whitey,” Innes said, as Paul cleaned his plate wae a chunk ae homemade breid.

  “Oh?”

  “Well, go on, tell her, Paul. Whit did I hear you call him?”

  “Wan-eye.”

  “I’m not sure that we should be giving the poor wee thing a name, especially if we’ll have to put him down,” Whitey said, looking o’er at the baith ae them.

  “Ah think it’ll aw come good at the end ae the day,” Paul replied.

  “What makes you think that? We haven’t the money to pay for the vet. We won’t get much for the rabbit meat,” she said.

  “Ah don’t know, it’s jist a feeling Ah’ve goat.”

  “So, where did the name come from, Paul?”

  “Wan-eye? Er, he’s only goat wan eye?”

  “That’s original,” Innes said sarcastically, looking across at Whitey wae a smile.

  “Don’t listen to him, Paul. The only reason the pup hasn’t got a name is because Innes couldn’t think of one.”

  “I’ve got plenty of names in this old head of mine, but as you say, we don’t know how long he might be with us,” Innes sighed, shaking his heid.

  “That trick wae the fishing line, Innes. How did ye manage tae teach Tim that wan?”

  “Och, with a wee bit of patience and a smart dog, you can teach them anything.”

  “Ah’d love tae try and teach a dug something like that,” Paul said, wiping his hauns oan his troosers.

  “Aye, but the trainer has to have more than just sawdust between his ears. He has to be smarter than the dog. It’s important that there’s only one master.”

  “Well, Innes Mackay...talking of being smart. Is there anything about those rabbits that might have caused you to think twice before bringing them home?” Whitey asked.

  “Aye, which ones were fat and meaty and which ones weren’t. That’s another wee trick I showed Tim,” Innes said, wae a twinkle in his eyes, looking at Paul.

  “Is that right? So, you’ll have spotted the black dyed spot on the heads of a few of them then?”

  “Get away! There wasn’t, was there?”

  “Three of them had obviously been to the hairdressing salon.”

  “Whit ur youse oan aboot? Dye and hair salons…up here? Ah’ve never even clocked a shoap since Ah’ve arrived,” Paul said tae them.

  “Christ, I’ll need to get glasses for these old eyes of mine,” Innes declared, as he put a finger o’er the crack in his pipe, struck a match and puffed away until the tobacco wis oan fire.

  “Dye? Ah don’t get it. Whit’s happened?” Paul asked again.

  “Sometimes the keepers on the estate capture a few rabbits and put a dyed spot on their heads and release them back onto the hill. It means every time they drive by that particular field they look for the spotted rabbits. If they’re there, fine. If they’ve gone AWOL, it tells them that there’s a poacher working the area. It’s hard to spot the dyed rabbits when you’re out netting them because it’s usually at dusk and everything happens so fast. Spotted heads, you say, Whitey?”

  “Yes, just you be careful, I
nnes MacKay. John Sellar and his boys won’t take too kindly if they find out you’re working so near the big house.”

  “Aye, we’ll need to watch what we’re doing. Spotted heads? Blast the fly buggers, and here’s me wanting to go out tomorrow night as well.”

  “Well, I would steer clear,” Whitey advised.

  “Right, that’s settled it then. Paul, have you ever caught a salmon before?”

  “The only fish Ah’ve ever caught wis a stickleback oot ae Alexandra Park boating pond.”

  “Well, go and get a few hours’ sleep. We’re off on an expedition tonight. Do we have waterproofs for my apprentice, Whitey? We wouldn’t want the boy getting his feet wet, now would we?” Innes said, wae a big smile splashed across his coupon.

  “Salmon? We’re gaun fishing fur a salmon?” Paul whooped, sounding as excited as a five-year-auld being telt he wis aff doon tae Butlins Holiday Camp in Ayr fur the day.

  “Paul, if you listen carefully, do what you’re told and watch me, just like Tim, I’ll teach you to be the best salmon poacher in the Highlands,” Innes declared, getting equally excited, while Whitey rolled her eyes tae the ceiling.

  “I better make up some provisions for the both of you then. I’ll wrap up some meat for Bob while I’m at it, Innes,” Whitey said, staunin up, taking the dishes across tae the sink fae the table.

  Chapter Twelve

  “So, how are things in Glasgow, Frank?” The Duke asked his friend and business partner, Sir Frank Owen, proprietor ae the West ae Scotland’s biggest selling daily newspaper, The Glesga Echo, who wis sitting comfortably opposite him, sipping his malt.

  “There’s going to be a Royal Commission into the recent corruption scandal involving the police, local councillors and city corporation officials.”

  “Good grief...is that right?”

  “John, don’t tell me you haven’t heard about it? The whole country is talking about it. It’s been in the national news for months now.”

  “The reason I’m up here in the Kyle is to get away from the news. There’s too much tittle-tattle these days. I have more important things to be getting on with.”