Free The Cone Gatherers by Robin Jenkins

Our friend is unique.’
    She uttered that last remark cuttingly, but remembered a moment after that the perfect exemplar of uniqueness was Christ Himself. She could not endure that rebuke, and snatched up the telephone.
    â€˜Mr Tulloch?’ she said haughtily. ‘I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting. It seems we require every help we can get, otherwise the drive is sure to fail. Therefore I’d like your permission to approach your men. We shall do our best to protect their sensibilities. Is that all right then? Thank you. Good morning.’
    She put down the telephone firmly.
    â€˜He agreed all right,’ she said, ‘but he did not sound at all pleased.’
    Duror had discreetly sat down again while she was telephoning. Now he rose.
    â€˜I’ll talk to them, my lady,’ he said. ‘I’m quite sure I can persuade them.’
    â€˜Yes, please do, Duror.’
    When he was at the door, she called sharply: ‘Duror!’
    â€˜Yes, my lady.’
    She was staring at her clasped hands. He was sure she had moved the portrait so that she could not see it.
    Her voice was still harsh. ‘Are we being unfair to this poor wretch?’ she asked. ‘After all, he is deformed, and a simpleton.’
    â€˜He’s an active man, my lady, and he’s sensible enough to earn a pay.’
    â€˜Yes, yes,’ she said testily. ‘But he does seem to be abnormal. Heaven knows what may go on in his mind.’
    He waited as she made up her mind.
    â€˜I tell you what,’ she said, ‘if you are convinced his reluctance is genuine, for whatever reason, just leave him in his tree to gather his cones. His brother alone will have to do.’
    â€˜I doubt, my lady, if they’ll separate.’
    â€˜But good heavens, they’re not children.’
    â€˜I know, my lady, but they’re always together; even in a tree where there’s sometimes little room.’
    â€˜In that case, Duror,’ she cried, ‘they’ll just have to come. We cannot have them dictating to us in every way.’
    â€˜No, my lady.’
    â€˜Be sure and tell them you have my and Mr Tulloch’s authority.’
    â€˜Yes, my lady.’
    â€˜Oh, and by the way, Duror,’ she said, with an attempt to restore the pleasantness and music to her voice, ‘tell your wife I’ll be dropping in to see her soon.’
    â€˜Thank you, my lady. I’ll be sure to tell her. She’ll appreciate it very much.’
    Then he shut the door quietly, walked calmly along the corridor hung with stags’ heads and cases of stuffed birds and fish, and entered the kitchen. To Mrs Morton’s obvious annoyance Jean the maid was there, pert and talkative. He chatted for a minute or two, and then went to the door. Mrs Morton accompanied him.
    In the sunshine his dogs showed their red pleased tongues.
    Mrs Morton asked him in a whisper if he had told the mistress about the hunchback.
    â€˜No,’ he said.
    She smiled nervously. ‘Maybe you should have, John.’
    â€˜I’ve got to be sure, Effie. As you said yourself, such a charge would break the man. His life’s not worth tuppence ha’penny, I fancy, but to him it’s precious.’
    â€˜It’s generous of you to say that, John, especially when you’ve got such worries of your own.’
    â€˜What worries, Effie?’ he asked, with a laugh.
    He thought, from her quick breathings and furtive peeps at the sky, that she wished to make some assignation but still found shame in the way.
    He touched his cap and left her in her predicament. The dogs, so innocent of lust or hate or cunning, followed him like guardians.

CHAPTER FIVE
    They were safely in another good tree by the lochside. So brightly shone the sun, amongst the orange branches and on the blue water, it dazzled their eyes and made every cone glitter, so that they seemed to be plucking nuts of sunshine.
    In Neil, so canny