Once again, Fletcher was up with the lark, familiarising himself further with Edinburgh’s excellent public transport system as he made his way out to leafy Leith to surprise an unsuspecting couple over breakfast. Requests for missive carriage were coming in thick and fast so that, no sooner had he returned to the Old Town, than he was delivering messages of affection and comfort to grateful recipients at lofty hotels and crepuscular caves. Ms. Gardner’s attentions had thankfully not provoked too much demand, but the Butlers were finding themselves consistently busy, Thompson and Jancis with many and various flyering duties, Purcell with the provision of bedtime stories. Meanwhile, following a visit to the renowned Greyfriars Kirkyard the day before, Fletcher was becoming increasingly captivated by the life and work of a certain William Topaz McGonagall, that excellent poet and tragedian from Dundee. His researches were necessarily curtailed, however, by the arrival of a quiet four o’clock tea, followed by a productive spell ensconced upon the Royal Mile. An early evening assignation with some geese who are gay then culminated in a most convivial draught in the local hostelry to round off another satisfying day.
Fletcher the Butler