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Authors: Robin Hardy
Tags: Fiction
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certainly not a prophecy. But re-reading the notes he had taken of the Englishman's statements (conversation with him was very hard to achieve), there was nothing that really seemed to point to cult-like activity.
One day towards the end of April, soon after his arrival in Tressock, and well before the Morrisons' trip to Glasgow, Orlando was comparing his notes with the possibly relevant articles he had culled from local newspapers, filed at the Tressock public library, when he heard the loud clattering of horses' hooves on the cobbled road outside.
Through the window overlooking the castle gates, he saw a woman galloping towards him on a mount which seemed dangerously out of control, certainly very over-excited and frisky. Not far behind, a man riding a much larger, black horse, seemed to be trying to catch up with her.
Orlando was still at his desk when the riders disappeared from view. They were now too close to the Police Station's front door to be seen from the desk and were creating an ever more alarming amount of noise. As he moved hurriedly towards the window for a better view, a series of terrific staccato bangs shook the door. A man's deep voice was speaking loudly, but reassuringly:
'Dismount Lolly! She'll calm down if I grab the rein.'
Orlando now quickly opened his front door to find a bucking, prancing horse's rear facing him, its lethal hooves coming dangerously close to his face. The rider had slid from the saddle and was holding a rein close to the animal's head, trying to calm it with a caressing hand on its neck. She was murmuring the soft words one might use with a fretful child. The man, tall in the saddle of the huge black horse, held the other rein. Seeing Orlando at the open door, he shouted:
'Watch her hooves, man! Close that bloody door!'
The police are not to be shouted orders by mere civilians – that might have been Orlando's first reaction. But he could see that, in this case, the man knew this horse. Where horses were concerned this man was to be obeyed. His door was already bearing the marks of a powerful kick which had splintered wood and shattered paint. Orlando closed the door and went to the window. The woman was succeeding in calming the horse. The man had dismounted and was waving reassuringly at him through the window.
'Alright to open the door now, officer,' he shouted finally.
Orlando did so and found himself facing the two deeply apologetic riders. She suppressed a laugh as she said:
'I am so sorry about your door, officer. The Laird and I had planned to call on you soon after you arrived to welcome you to Tressock. But we've been very busy…'
'Needless to say, it wasn't our plan to come and kick down your door. We'll have someone come over and fix it right away…' added the tall, distinguished-looking man who was obviously Sir Lachlan, the Laird.
'I'm PC Furioso, sir. Tom Makepiece's replacement,' said Orlando.
'Welcome to Tressock, officer. We were told you'd be coming by your ACC. I'm Lachlan Morrison,' said the Laird. 'And this is Lolly, who is our head groom, my right hand person and much else besides…'
Throughout this conversation, indeed from the moment when he first saw her just beyond the prancing mare's backside, Orlando had been conscious of a gloriously attractive woman. He remembered his instantaneous reaction long afterwards. Here was a radiant sun of a face that quite eclipsed poor Morag's beautiful but pale moon of a countenance. The suddenly enchanted Orlando's mind was fogged of all else but Lolly. Only she was in sharp focus, particularly her face. It was, he thought, a work of nature formed by what, in geography class at his school, they had called the agents of denudation . Sun, wind, rain, frost. Her tousled, tawny hair, her laughing grey-green eyes, creased at the corners from squinting through all sorts of weather, skin that had the russet blush that some apples have when ready to be picked…
'Officer Furioso.' It was Lolly's voice, breaking
One day towards the end of April, soon after his arrival in Tressock, and well before the Morrisons' trip to Glasgow, Orlando was comparing his notes with the possibly relevant articles he had culled from local newspapers, filed at the Tressock public library, when he heard the loud clattering of horses' hooves on the cobbled road outside.
Through the window overlooking the castle gates, he saw a woman galloping towards him on a mount which seemed dangerously out of control, certainly very over-excited and frisky. Not far behind, a man riding a much larger, black horse, seemed to be trying to catch up with her.
Orlando was still at his desk when the riders disappeared from view. They were now too close to the Police Station's front door to be seen from the desk and were creating an ever more alarming amount of noise. As he moved hurriedly towards the window for a better view, a series of terrific staccato bangs shook the door. A man's deep voice was speaking loudly, but reassuringly:
'Dismount Lolly! She'll calm down if I grab the rein.'
Orlando now quickly opened his front door to find a bucking, prancing horse's rear facing him, its lethal hooves coming dangerously close to his face. The rider had slid from the saddle and was holding a rein close to the animal's head, trying to calm it with a caressing hand on its neck. She was murmuring the soft words one might use with a fretful child. The man, tall in the saddle of the huge black horse, held the other rein. Seeing Orlando at the open door, he shouted:
'Watch her hooves, man! Close that bloody door!'
The police are not to be shouted orders by mere civilians – that might have been Orlando's first reaction. But he could see that, in this case, the man knew this horse. Where horses were concerned this man was to be obeyed. His door was already bearing the marks of a powerful kick which had splintered wood and shattered paint. Orlando closed the door and went to the window. The woman was succeeding in calming the horse. The man had dismounted and was waving reassuringly at him through the window.
'Alright to open the door now, officer,' he shouted finally.
Orlando did so and found himself facing the two deeply apologetic riders. She suppressed a laugh as she said:
'I am so sorry about your door, officer. The Laird and I had planned to call on you soon after you arrived to welcome you to Tressock. But we've been very busy…'
'Needless to say, it wasn't our plan to come and kick down your door. We'll have someone come over and fix it right away…' added the tall, distinguished-looking man who was obviously Sir Lachlan, the Laird.
'I'm PC Furioso, sir. Tom Makepiece's replacement,' said Orlando.
'Welcome to Tressock, officer. We were told you'd be coming by your ACC. I'm Lachlan Morrison,' said the Laird. 'And this is Lolly, who is our head groom, my right hand person and much else besides…'
Throughout this conversation, indeed from the moment when he first saw her just beyond the prancing mare's backside, Orlando had been conscious of a gloriously attractive woman. He remembered his instantaneous reaction long afterwards. Here was a radiant sun of a face that quite eclipsed poor Morag's beautiful but pale moon of a countenance. The suddenly enchanted Orlando's mind was fogged of all else but Lolly. Only she was in sharp focus, particularly her face. It was, he thought, a work of nature formed by what, in geography class at his school, they had called the agents of denudation . Sun, wind, rain, frost. Her tousled, tawny hair, her laughing grey-green eyes, creased at the corners from squinting through all sorts of weather, skin that had the russet blush that some apples have when ready to be picked…
'Officer Furioso.' It was Lolly's voice, breaking
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