That afternoon, the children were bundled onto a tour bus that wound its way along a well-worn route through the city. Morag had thought it would be a good way for the children to become better acquainted with the layout of Edinburgh, as well as an opportunity to have a rest before their first guest lecture that evening. The driver delighted them with all sorts of facts about the various buildings, parks and attractions. They’d seen the Queen Street Gardens, the monument to Sir Walter Scott, the Princes Street Gardens and the Scottish National Gallery.
Before embarking on their excursion, Morag had given the driver explicit instructions to abstain from mentioning the landmarks on the worksheet the children had to complete during the journey. She was pleased to see the man was sticking to the script, until they pulled up at a set of traffic lights and a fellow crossed the road leading a little Skye terrier.
‘Ah,’ the driver sighed with affection. ‘That wee pup reminds me of Greyfriars Bobby.’
The children peered around the seats in front of them to see what the man was looking at. Davina’s eyes widened in alarm. She was certain the man wasn’t meant to divulge that tidbit of information.
‘Stop!’ Morag shouted, but the man either didn’t hear or was determined to tell the story.
‘See that statue over to our left just outside the pub named in his honour? Well, that wee doggie sat on his master’s grave no matter the weather for fourteen long years,’ the driver continued. ‘When the gun was fired at the castle at one o’clock each day, he’d run to the eatin’ house for his food and then return to his master. People would come from all over to see him. Now, that’s a faithful hound if ever I heard of one.’
Morag exhaled loudly. ‘Thank you for not telling the children about Greyfriars Bobby.’
The man grimaced. ‘Och, sorry about that. Just got carried away with meself. I promise not to point out the Parliament or the National Monument that was never finished.’
A ripple of laughter ran up and down the aisles of the bus as the kids realised the man had given away some other important clues.
‘Thank you, sir! I think we have a good idea of what we will be looking for to complete our worksheets!’ Junior called out in a thick South African accent.
Morag put her head in her hands. ‘So much for getting any sleep tonight,’ she muttered to Davina. ‘I’ll have to come up with another activity to replace this one. Perhaps you could give me a hand?’
Davina bit her lip and worried the hem of her cardigan. ‘I’d love to, but I’m afraid I have a wee bit of organising of my own to do. If I manage to finish it early enough, I’ll gladly give you a hand.’
Morag smiled tightly and nodded. She could feel her blood pressure rising. For the rest of the journey, she closed her eyes and tuned out. There was no point getting upset.
The children nattered away, getting to know each other and talking about which aspects of the program they were looking forward to most. After lunch, Mr Ferguson had asked them all to think about leaders they admired, and what it was about them they found particularly impressive.
Britt Fox was sitting with Lucinda halfway down the bus and across the aisle from Alice-Miranda and Millie. They’d just started discussing what Mr Ferguson had said.
‘Katherine G. Johnson is my hero,’ Lucinda said.
Britt had no idea who she was, but Lucinda soon filled her in on the incredible work the woman had done for NASA during the space race. The fact that Katherine Johnson, on grounds of being African-American, had only recently been properly acknowledged for her mathematical genius seemed so unfair. Britt had been a long-time fan of Nelson Mandela and could recite several of his speeches off by heart.
‘I wonder who we’re going to meet tonight,’ Lucinda said. ‘I never thought of myself as a leader at all until I met Alice-Miranda and she showed me what it meant to have strength and the courage of my convictions.’
Britt nodded. ‘Well, you know what John F. Kennedy once said – leadership and learning are indispensable to each other.’
Alice-Miranda looked across the aisle at Britt and grinned. ‘I used that exact quote in my application.’
‘So did I,’ Britt said with a laugh.
‘Maybe you’re secret twins,’ Lucinda said. ‘You look super alike – apart from the colour of your eyes and hair.’
‘Perhaps we’re kindred spirits like the sisters in Little Women, one of my all-time favourite novels,’ Alice-Miranda said.
Britt gasped and clasped her hands. ‘That’s one of my favourite books!’
Caprice leaned forward and whispered to Millie through the gap in the seats. ‘Looks like you’ve got some competition there.’
Millie plugged the gap with her scarf and ignored the nefarious girl, though it was hard to do the same with the uncomfortable twist in her tummy. Maybe it was something she ate at lunch.
A few rows along, Neville and Sep were catching up on news from Spain. Neville had the boy laughing out loud as he regaled him with stories of his mother’s latest craze of making giant pans of paella and inviting half the neighbourhood round for tea. Last weekend the party had been going swimmingly until Sep’s mother, September Sykes, had spotted a lizard and she was off home like a shot. The woman still hadn’t got over her morbid fear of skinks – a phobia created by Sloane, who had told her they were poisonous so the girl could have some time in the garden on her own.
Amid the chattery buzz, Alice-Miranda turned her attention outside the bus window. She adored the architecture of the city, with its grand stone buildings and charming cobbled streets. Best of all, she loved watching the people going about their daily business: men and women in suits and overcoats on their way to meetings, mothers pushing prams with their babies rugged up against the cold, and tourists – lots of them, from all over the world – taking photographs and enjoying the sights.
Alice-Miranda was watching a young couple walking arm in arm when she spotted some one she recognised ambling along behind them. ‘Look, there’s Mr Onslow!’ she exclaimed, grabbing Millie’s sleeve. She pointed to a fellow who had just turned into the Royal Mile, which led up to Edinburgh Castle. ‘Perhaps he lives there somewhere.’
Alice-Miranda had told Millie over lunch about meeting him at the top of the steps on the way to the castle that morning.
Millie noticed that the man still only had on one glove, and the weather was looking particularly grim. The blue skies of the morning had given way to a blanket of grey, with fat raindrops starting to splatter against the windows. She was glad they were touring inside the comfort of the bus and not on foot.
‘The poor fellow looks as if he’s freezing,’ Alice-Miranda said. She thought for a moment, then jumped up and grabbed her daypack, as the bus had slowed to a crawl in the traffic.
‘Do you want me to come with you?’ Millie asked, knowing full well what her friend was intending.
‘It’s okay. I won’t be long,’ Alice-Miranda called back as she hurried to the front of the bus. She gently tapped Barclay Ferguson on the shoulder, jolting the Scotsman from his sneaky doze.
‘Wha …? What’s the matter?’ he asked groggily.
‘Is it possible for us to pull over, just for a minute?’ Alice-Miranda asked. ‘I have something I urgently need to return to someone.’
Barclay Ferguson wondered what the girl was talking about, but the driver was way ahead of him. He spotted a bus stop outside a pub called Deacon Brodie’s Tavern. The vehicle came to a halt and he opened the door with a whoosh.
The girl beamed. ‘Thank you very much. I won’t be a minute.’
Alice-Miranda ran down the steps and around the corner onto the Royal Mile. She sprinted up the footpath, her eyes darting about as she tried to find the man again.
‘What in heaven’s name is the girl doing?’ Davina called loudly. She’d been busily going through the itinerary and checking arrangements when she realised the child had hopped off the bus.
‘She’s returning a glove to a friend,’ Millie answered.
Morag was roused from her zen-like state as a gust of chilly air rushed in through the open door. Her eyes fluttered open and she gazed out the window. ‘Oh, heavens be!’ she gasped, leaping to her feet.
Seeing Mr Onslow up ahead, Alice-Miranda wove her way through the crowd that was walking down from the castle. Although it was only four o’clock in the afternoon, it was getting dark and many of the city’s attractions were already closing. She saw that he had finally stopped in a doorway. ‘Mr Onslow!’ she cried out.
This time the fellow turned around. He wore a look of surprise on his weathered face.
Alice-Miranda reached him, puffing hard. ‘Thank goodness,’ she said, unzipping her daypack and grasping for the glove inside. She handed it over with a smile. ‘I think this belongs to you.’
The man’s forehead puckered and he studied the item closely. When he looked up, his grey eyes took on a glassy sheen. In the distance, Miss Cranna’s shouts were getting louder. Seconds later, the woman appeared right next to them.
‘What were you thinking, young lady?’ Morag panted. She glanced at Gordy Onslow and could barely mask her distaste. ‘We need to get back to the bus. You’re holding everyone up. Hardly the mark of a good leader.’
‘Sorry, Miss Cranna, but I thought I mightn’t have another chance to return Mr Onslow’s glove and it’s frightfully cold. I’d hate for him to get frostbite,’ the child explained. She turned to the old man. ‘Perhaps we should help you home. It’s chilly now and you don’t want to catch a cold.’
‘Here,’ he said, pointing at the door. ‘I live here.’
Alice-Miranda peered around him. ‘Oh, how lovely. What a beautiful street to live on – with all this history around you. You must see so many interesting things each and every day.’
Gordy Onslow managed a nod of his head. ‘Thank you, lass. I willna forget yer kindness.’
Alice-Miranda smiled and hugged the man around his middle. ‘You’re very welcome.’
For a frozen moment, Gordy Onslow had no idea what to do with himself. It was the first time he had been hugged by a child in more years than he cared to remember. He dropped his bag of bottles and embraced the girl for just a few seconds before pulling away to dab at his eyes.
‘I hope you’ll take care and look after those hands,’ Alice-Miranda said.
Morag Cranna hesitated. There was something disconcerting about the fellow, but she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what it was.
‘Goodbye, Mr Onslow,’ Alice-Miranda said. ‘Are you coming, Miss Cranna?’
The woman was still deep in thought. ‘Aye, what?’ She turned and looked at the child, who was waiting to go.
‘We should get back to the bus,’ Alice-Miranda said. ‘I’m afraid I’ve probably thrown out our schedule a little. I’m terribly sorry about that.’
Morag nodded. As they walked down the road jostling with the crowds, she couldn’t help turning back to look at the man, but of course he’d gone into his house. Morag felt an increasing uneasiness. She’d have to tell Mr Pienaar to keep a closer eye on the girl in future and make sure she didn’t wander off talking to strangers. The last thing Morag needed was for one of them to disappear.