‘Which you’ve got tae start sellin’, boyo, you have tae!’ William exclaimed. ‘They’re tha’ good Andy, they truly are, Aurora hersel’ has told me this, many times, an’ I dare say she’s rather emphatic about it. She says you’ve got more talent in your wee pinkie finger than most ay her peers at the academy ha’ in their whole bodies. And tha’, boyo, tha’ is sayin’ a lot, as my girlie has seen some ay the finest artists in all ay Britain.’
Andrew blushed, the creases in his cheeks deepening into a shy smile.
‘Thank you Will, you an’ your lovely lass are way too kind. But tae get back tae m’ point, well, maybe you’re up fir seein’ the world Mikey, but as fir me, I’m happy out here. I love workin’ wi’ the horses, I really dae. An’ Sir MacTaggart, well, he asks a hard day’s labour ay us, but in return he’s given us an education, an’ allows us enough freedom tae pursue our own interests as well. He’s been such a wonderful employer tae us. I’m sure we can all agree tha’ he’s been almost like a father tae us lads, has he no’?’
‘Three cheers fir our lovely employer, Sir Gordon MacTaggart!’ William shouted.
All four of them bellowed a chorus of ‘hurrahs’ into the night, and a few moments after that a window from a farm cottage fifty yards up the road opened, and a furious man inside bellowed at them.
‘Oy! Take your bleedin’ carousin’ elsewhere, you drunken louts!’
The men all laughed and stumbled off at a jog. When they had slowed down from their impromptu flight, Michael draped his arms around William and Paul’s shoulders, and pulled them in for a quick, tight hug.
‘My, my, I am blessed tae call such fine gents as you lot my brothers. Brothers we are, lads, brothers we are, an’ always we shall be.’
‘I dunnae think such a fine company ay men has e’er walked the earth,’ William declared, with a genuine love for his friends aglow in his eyes, which burned like coals in the night. ‘No sir, I dunnae believe a finer company ay lads has e’er set foot upon God’s green earth.’
‘We’re the emperors ay all the Highlands, we are!’ Paul cried. ‘Aye! We’re true kings among men!’
Andrew, who had been trailing behind the three of them and staring up in silent awe at the celestial glory of the starry sky above, also added his two cents to the conversation.
‘Lads,’ he ventured in his soft-spoken tone of voice, ‘if one was tae measure a man’s wealth no’ in gold but in the quality ay the company he keeps, an’ the joy he takes in friendship an’ the simple pleasures ay life, well, I dare say we four lads would be the richest four fellows in the whole wide world.’
They all shouted one last ‘hurrah’, and then, laughing boisterously, they sprinted away when they saw a lamp flaring up inside the stone cottage down the lane.
It was an hour later, soon after they passed through the two great oak trees that marked the entrance to the grounds of Sir MacTaggart’s estate, that they realised that something was wrong. Although it was almost one in the morning, a number of lamps were burning in the main house, and they could see the silhouettes of people standing and talking outside, holding candles and torch brands.
‘What’s this now?’ Michael asked, his voice sharp with an edge of worry.
‘Come lads, hurry, let’s go an’ see!’ Paul urged as he took off at a run down the mile-long, tree-lined lane that led to the front entrance to the house.
All of them ran after Paul, their hearts pounding, for a sinking feeling that something was terribly wrong was growing in nauseating intensity with every step they took towards the house.
As they reached the lawn, with its fountains, statues, sculpted shrubs and rose gardens, they came across the plump old cook, Mrs Clark, weeping and embracing her daughter Mildred, who was one of the servants. William hurried over to the pair of them. Mildred turned to face him, and he saw in the writhing firelight that her eyes were red and puffy, and her cheeks wet with a wash of tears.
‘Milly! Mrs Clark! What’s happened here?!’ William asked anxiously.
‘It’s, it’s, it’s the master, young Will,’ Mrs Clark sobbed.
‘Sir MacTaggart?’
‘A-, aye.’
‘What’s wrong? Has he taken ill?’
‘He’s … he’s…’ the old woman gasped.
‘He’s dead,’ Mildred interjected hoarsely, sobbing and sniffing as she said it. ‘Right after I s-, served him his nightcap ay wh-, whiskey. He had a wee dram, then smiled, s-, s-, stood up, asked me t-, tae clear up his writin’ desk … an’ then, out ay the blue, he just gasped, clutched at his ch-, chest, an’ promptly fell tae the floor. I ran downstairs tae send out a rider tae get the village doctor, but b-, by the time the good physician arrived, Sir MacTaggart was … was gone.’
William felt as if he’d just been thumped by a vicious blow from a warrior’s mace; his knees felt as if they were about to buckle beneath him, and his head started to swim. It seemed as if the realm of the real had shifted abruptly and without warning into that of dreams, for all the lights and shadows seemed to be stretching and distorting and melting into indefinable and indistinct shapes and colours. Somehow, pushing through the surreality of it all, William stumbled over to his friends, his eyes wide, his limbs numb and his extremities tingling.
‘Will, what’s happened?! What’s going on?!’ Michael asked, his voice hoarse.
‘It’s Sir MacTaggart, lads,’ William managed to murmur through the shock of it all. ‘He’s … dead.’
23
WILLIAM
September 1853. A village tavern near the MacTaggart Estate
Michael almost dropped his tankard of ale when William repeated what he had just told him. He wiped the foam off his dense beard with the back of his heavily
