But all victories bring dark moments to the conquering spirit. The fish weighed eighteen pounds when the Laird – full of praise for Smiler – put it on the scales. And there was more jubilation when it was discovered that it had been caught on the Smiler fly. But there was an agony in Smiler during all the jubilation. The moment he could get free, he slipped out of the castle and raced with Bacon up through the woods to the cliff edge overlooking the spot where he had first hooked the salmon. Lying with his head thrust out over the cliff top, he looked down, knowing that, if the salmon he had so often watched was not there, then wild horses could never drag him to eat a mouthful of fish at the birthday party.
To his great relief, the fish was still there, a long dark shadow, lying in the lee of the boulder. Smiler got up, and with Bacon at his heels, went happily back to the castle.
7. The King Of The Castle
The Laird’s birthday party was the best party Smiler had ever known.
The next morning before lunch two large motor boats arrived from the far end of the loch bringing Laura’s mother and father and her brother who worked on the farm, and six other people, neighbours and friends of the Laird. In a short while everywhere there was a great laughing and chattering, and joking and to-and-froing, and a climbing up to rooms and down again, and people being lost in the maze of corridors, and a stern warning coming from Laura and her mother that nobody, but nobody, would be welcomed in the kitchen.
The sun blazed down on the loch as though its thirst was so great and lasting that it meant to drain it dry and still not be satisfied. Bacon got excited with so much company and ran in and out of legs and got chased out of the kitchen. Midas lay in the sun across the terrace entrance and, as people passed unwarily, nipped and growled until he got tired with the whole process and went soundly to sleep. And the birds, the fantails and the whole coloured collection of jay, owl, magpie, siskin, sat around on the parapets and window cornices and wondered what was happening. But the wild fowl, a little upset by the confusion, kept well away at the far end of the beach, and Laggy paddled out into the bay and turned his back on the whole affair.
On the terrace Smiler and Laura had set up a long trestle table for lunch. One end was covered with glasses and bottles of beer and whisky and cider and jugs of milk and orange juice – and, while they were all drinking before lunch, Smiler’s salmon, yet to be cooked, was brought in on the great silver dish and exhibited. Smiler and Laura had to tell the whole story of its catching and they were bombarded with questions. Smiler, who never meant to part with it as long as he lived, brought the Smiler fly from his pocket and it was handed around and discussed by the men and a note made of its dressing. Laura’s father, Jock Mackay, a craggy man with warm brown eyes wreathed in weather wrinkles, declared, ‘Aye and it must be a bonnie flee that can bring a fish up with the loch as it is.’ Then he winked at Smiler and added, ‘And I’ve no doubt that Laura, here, badgered you with her shouts and instructions. Ye should have been warned that she’s a good but noisy ghillie.’
When Smiler fairly said, ‘She was fine, sir. I couldn’t have done it without her,’ Mrs Mackay, warm-skinned, dark-haired, a big-bodied, handsome woman, said, ‘There you are, Jock Mackay, there’s a lesson in gallantry that all ye men could take to heart.’
The Laird, who was wearing his best jacket and kilt and had banished the mice, grass snakes and other occupants from his clothes for the day, went from one to the other, joking and chatting and refusing to be drawn about his age – except to say that he would never see twenty-one again.
In the afternoon while Smiler was in his bedroom, there was a knock on the door and Laura came in carrying a parcel and put it on his bed.
‘What’s that?’ asked Smiler.
‘It’s a present from my mother.’
‘A present? What sort of present?’
‘If you open it you can see.’
Smiler opened the parcel. Inside was a green and white striped shirt, a grey cardigan, a pair of brown trousers with a little white stripe in them, a pair of suede shoes and some green socks.
Before Smiler could say anything Laura went on, ‘For dinner tonight everyone dresses up. And knowing you had nothing … well, Mum thought …’
‘But I can’t … I mean, she oughtn’t to do this. She doesn’t know me.’
‘Don’t be daft. Of course she knows you from me. And don’t you tell her that she mustn’t do something. That’s the quickest way to get a piece of her tongue. Anyway –’ she grinned teasingly ‘–you’re the birthday hero. You’ve got to look your best.’
She was gone before Smiler could think of anything to say. But as he looked down at the clothes he had a nice warm feeling about Mrs Mackay.
When Smiler put on his new clothes and went down to the main hall that evening, he was glad that he had them for everyone had changed to their best clothes. The men were sitting around on the terrace, having their drinks before dinner. One of them was dressed in full Scottish piper’s regalia and he was marching up and down the terrace playing on his pipes a selection of laments and marches that went wailing and rolling and skirling out over the quiet waters of the loch.
When the dinner was served Laura came in bearing the great silver dish with the birthday fish on it, led by the piper who headed her twice round the table before the dish was set in place. Everyone clapped and cheered and then rose and was silent as the Laird said grace. Smiler couldn’t stop looking at Laura, who was wearing a long white velvet dress with a great sash of Mackay tartan looped over her shoulder and caught at her waist with a silver buckle that held a great cairngorm stone. Suddenly, remembering how he had kissed her on the beach, he lowered his head as he felt his cheeks burn. Gosh, what a thing to do!
But he soon forgot his embarrassment as the dinner got under way and the evening celebrations began. The flames from the candles in their silver holders rose still and golden in the warm night air. The noble fish was served and it melted in Smiler’s mouth like cream and caviar. It was followed by a great saddle of lamb and dishes of steaming vegetables. The glasses were filled with wine and a glass was served to Smiler – but he didn’t care for it much and soon changed to hard cider, telling himself to be careful for he knew from experience that it could be dangerous. At the end of the dinner Jock Mackay rose to his feet and proposed a birthday toast to the Laird, and the Laird replied, and then it seemed that everyone wanted to get up and propose a toast to someone or something. Everyone was laughing and talking and the babble of sound spread from the great room out over the terrace and echoed above the quiet waters of the loch.
But it was the part after dinner that Smiler liked. The old piano was dragged from the Laird’s study and Mrs Mackay played and the piper piped and songs were sung and dances danced. Smiler, who soon picked things up, found himself part of reels, jigs and strathspeys that – with the help of his cider – set his head spinning. Laura helped him to pick up the movements and told him the names of the dances which Smiler found fascinating. They had Strip the Willow, the Strathspey dance, Jenny’s Bawbee (which was done by Laura and Smiler and Mr and Mrs Mackay), and then a host of others: Ye’re Welcome Charlie Stuart, Roxburgh Castle, Dashing White Sergeant, Highlandman Kissed His Mother, and My Love She’s But a Lassie Yet.
Then two swords were taken down from their place on the wall above the wide fireplace and Laura did a sword dance. With her hair, tartan sash and skirts flying, Smiler thought she looked wonderful and he clapped his hands and shouted with the rest of the company in applause. After that each man and woman had to sing a song or tell a story or riddle. Smiler sitting with a glass of cider in his hand, face flushed from the dancing and singing, could see his turn coming. Quite suddenly it seemed that every story or song he had ever known had gone from his head and he dreaded the moment when his name would be called and all eyes would be on him.
When his turn came Laura called to him, ‘Song or story, Sammy?’
‘A song, of course,’ said the Laird. ‘ He�
�s aye singing about the place like a bird.’
From the piano Mrs Mackay looked at Smiler and gave him a warm smile. Somehow her smile drove all the nervousness from him. He stood up and sang the first verse of the first song which came into his head and Mrs Mackay soon picked up the melody on the piano.
Ye Mar’ners all, as you pass by,
Call in and drink if you are dry.
Come spend, my lads, your money brisk –
And pop your nose in a jug of this!
And here Smiler, remembering how his father used to do it and make him laugh, raised his cider glass and drank. Then he went through the whole song, and finished with the verse which his father always rounded off with a big wink and a swig at his glass.
Oh, when I’m in my grave and dead,
And all my sorrows are past and fled,
Transform me then into a fish,
And let me swim in a jug of this!
To his delight they made him sing the last verse again and they all joined in and raised their glasses on the final line.
After that the rest of the evening went by in a whirling and swirling of songs and games and buffoonery which set the great hall ringing. It was a great tidal wave of companionship and gaiety which finally swept Smiler away like flotsam on the flood and he found himself, exhausted but happy and his head reasonably clear, in his bedroom. The window was open and he rested his arms on the sill, looking out over the roofs and towers to the loch and the hills that framed it.
There was a movement behind him and Laura joined him, taking a place by his side at the window. They said nothing. They just leaned out, watching the night.
It was then that Smiler, not knowing what prompted him, began to tell Laura about himself. He told her the whole story of the approved school and his escape and about all the adventures which had finally brought him to Scotland so that he could meet his father in October. He finished by saying, ‘ The Laird knows – and now you do. But I don’t want anyone else to know. You’ll keep it secret, won’t you Laura?’
Laura touched his arm with her hand and said quietly, ‘Aye, I will, Sammy. But I’m glad you told me – and I’m sure your father will settle things fast when he gets back.’
Then, as though for their special benefit, Nature put the final crown to a wonderful evening.
Slowly in the north, the dark sky began to lighten. From high in the heavens it was as though some unseen hand was slowly letting spill a great, pleated fold of silver, pink and grey silk. As the silk fell it spread wide at its base and was slowly lacquered with green, orange and pale purple washes of fire, all leaping upwards, flickering and shimmering about the swaying folds. Smiler watched spellbound. He’d never seen anything like it in his life before.
Beside him Laura said, ‘Yon’s the Northern Lights.’
As she spoke the tight gathering of fires at the apex of the curtain suddenly swiftly unfolded, flashing wide, and the whole sky was flooded with a blaze of silver and pink which swept round from the north encircling the entire heavens and then was gone.
All the visitors left on the Sunday evening. The following few days seemed very flat for Smiler. He polished up the silver and put it back in the safe, and he hid the key away in the staircase post. For the rest of the week the weather stayed hot and sultry except for two thunderstorms when the rain deluged down for about an hour. But the water from the storms did nothing to raise the level of the loch. Each day now it dropped a few more inches. By the end of the week Smiler had long recovered from feeling dull.
Between them, he and the Laird finished the extension to the wild-fowl pen. But they were both worried about the greylag gander. Laggy paddled on the bay or grazed in the meadow with the other wild fowl, but he showed no signs of wanting to fly. Once or twice as the Laird and Smiler watched him on the water, he would raise himself up and flap his wings, as though airing and exercising them – but he never made any move to take off.
They took him into the surgery and the Laird made an inspection of the wing in case it had not set properly.
When he had finished, he said, ‘It’s as good as it ever was, Samuel M.’
‘Then why won’t he use it?’ asked Smiler.
The Laird considered this for a moment and then said, ‘Well, I can only suggest one thing. Say now you’d been a bonnie long jumper and you broke your leg. When it was mended – if you were of a certain turn of mind – you might not be too keen on risking it for the long jump again.’
‘You mean Laggy’s scared to try to fly?’
‘It could be, lad. He’s got all the food and comfort he needs here without risking a flight. But I don’t think we need worry. Every creature in nature needs more than food and safety. When the time comes and he sees the other greylags flying over, away to their breeding grounds … Well, then, the mating instinct will be too strong for him. The need of a wife will hit him like a bolt from the blue and he’ll be up and away. Aye, old Mother Nature won’t stand any nonsense from him then.’
So they put Laggy back with the other wild fowl and Smiler hoped that the Laird was right. But each evening when he took the boat out and Laggy followed him to the limit of the bay Smiler used to call out to him, ‘Come on, you silly old Laggy – fly!’
However, Laggy’s problem faded from Smiler’s mind when that next weekend Laura arrived on the Saturday without the flag being flown for her. She brought up some supplies – but she had really come because a telegram had arrived at the farm for the Laird. It was from his married son in London to tell him that he was a grandfather. His son’s wife had just given birth to a baby boy.
The Laird, who had been expecting the news, was very excited about this because it was his first grandchild. By now Smiler knew that the Laird had had two older sons but they had both been killed in the fighting long ago in Korea.
They all went into the great hall and they drank the health of the new baby and the Laird with a twinkle in his eye said, ‘Well, they’ve taken over long enough about it.’
Laura, in her forthright way, said, ‘You ought to go down to London and see the baby, Laird.’
‘No, lass, I couldn’t do that. There’s too much here to do. Besides, I couldn’t leave Samuel M., alone.’
‘Why not?’ asked Smiler. ‘I could manage, and I wouldn’t mind. I’m not afraid of being here alone.’
‘And, anyway,’ said Laura, ‘I could come up and keep him company for a few days later on. Why don’t you go?’
‘I’ll give it some thought,’ said the Laird.
‘If you give it too much thought, you’ll never go,’ said Laura bluntly. ‘You could do with a holiday away from here.’
The Laird considered this, and then he rubbed his beard and gave Smiler a look over the top of his wire-rimmed spectacles. ‘You really think you could manage, lad?’
‘Of course I could, sir.’
‘It’s a big old place to be in alone.’
‘It doesn’t scare me. And anyway, sir – if anything went wrong I could always fly the flag at half-mast.’
‘Aye, that you could.’
‘And I’d be up in a flash,’ said Laura. ‘So thats settled then. You can come back in the boat with me tomorrow morn and my father will drive you to Fort William for the London train.’
‘That’s right,’ said Smiler.
The Laird smiled. ‘Ye’ve got it all fixed between you it seems. Still …’
‘You’re going,’ said Laura firmly.
‘Of course you are, sir,’ said Smiler. ‘You haven’t seen your son for ages. And now there’s the baby.’
The Laird slowly shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well, it seems I am. But only for a few days. It wouldn’t be right to leave you here on your own any longer, though I must say you’ll have enough work to do to keep you out of mischief and to send you dead to sleep the moment your head touches the pillow at night.’
The next morning the Laird, looking quite different dressed in a tweed suit and with his beard carefully brushed and
combed, went off in the boat with Laura and Smiler was left on his own. He stood on the jetty and waved to them as they went out of the bay. Then, when they were gone, he turned round and looked up at the castle. A pair of jackdaws sailed over the high turrets and a pack of hunting swifts screeched as they flashed above the terrace, hawking for flies and midges. Samuel M., Smiler thought, you’re here all alone. You’re the king of the castle! At this moment Bacon pushed his cold nose into his hand as though to remind him that he was not quite all alone.
Whistling to himself, Smiler walked off the jetty to begin his morning chores.
But Smiler would not have whistled so happily if he had known that at that moment he was being watched from the far southern shore of the loch. Hiding behind the boulder from which he had watched the castle before was Billy Morgan, field glasses to his eyes, and a can of beer on the ground at his side. He watched the boat with Laura and the Laird in it disappear into the heat haze down the loch and then came back to Smiler and followed him as he began to go about his morning work in the pens. Slowly he lowered the glasses, took a swig of his beer, and then rubbed his plump face thoughtfully. Being a man who had the habit of talking out loud to himself, he said, ‘ Well now, Billy Morgan – what do you make of that, mate? The Laird away in his best suit with the girl, and that tow-headed lad left all on his own. Yes, Billy what do you make of that, after all your watchin’ and plannin’ and being eaten half to death by flies on this hillside? Has the moment come? Are you perched on the edge of riches? Are your Lucy Lockets at last going to ring with the sweet music of silver?’ He took another swig of beer, and went on, ‘Who knows? Maybe yes, and maybe no. I think I’ll have to take the long walk back and have a chat with that squint-eyed Willy McAufee.’ He stood up and smiled contentedly – but for all the plump wrinkles on his face his grey marble eyes remained cold.
Flight of the Grey Goose Page 11
