The Locket of Dreams

by Belinda Murrell

  A great clod of mud flew up from Nell’s horse’s hooves and struck her sister, Charlotte, on the cheek, splattering her bodice.

  Charlotte smeared the clod away with the back of her gloved hand and whispered in Rosie’s ear. ‘Come on, girl. Let us show them what you can do.’

  Nell’s horse slowed slightly on the steep slope, sides heaving and clouds of steamy breath snorting from her nostrils. Rosie’s ears pricked with excitement and her stride lengthened, gradually outpacing the horse in front of her.

  ‘Whoo hoo,’ shrieked Charlotte, crouching over Rosie’s neck, her hands tangled in the horse’s mane. She leant forward, reins flapping as the wind stung her cheeks and whipped her breath away.

  Charlotte felt as if she were flying; the horse’s hooves barely seemed to skim the earth.

  Over the crest of the hill they galloped, ducking under a low-lying branch, the leaves whipping Charlotte’s burning cheeks. At the top, the horses thundered to a stop, their sides heaving and steaming. The black-and-white dog flopped gratefully on the spongy heather.

  Over the hill erupted a stunning vista. The girls didn’t speak; their eyes roamed the familiar landscape as joy pounded through Charlotte’s body. She could never tire of this view.

  Rolling hills of emerald-green grass were crisscrossed with grey stone walls and studded with bright-yellow broom and tufts of snowy-white thrift. To the right stretched a steel-grey loch fringed with lichen-spotted rocks, its surface ruffled with the breeze.

  A grand mansion of golden stone faced the loch, smoke curling from its many chimneys, its slate-roofed turrets jutting against the sky.

  Even further to the right was a small island, quite close to the shore, its surface scattered with the crumbling remains of an ancient stone castle, Castle Dungorm. In the distance the loch opened up to embrace the endless swell of the sea.

  ‘We had better head home, Charlotte,’ called Nell, breaking Charlotte’s reverie. ‘Nanny will be wondering where we are.’

  Charlotte nodded reluctantly. It had been a long winter and today was the first spring day the girls had been able to escape the army of people whose sole aim in life seemed to be to keep them indoors at their schoolbooks.

  ‘Come on, Floss,’ Charlotte called to the dog. ‘Time to go home.’

  Floss panted in agreement, her tongue dripping.

  In silence they picked their way down the hill, scanning the ground for rabbit holes, enjoying the faint warmth of the sun on their faces and the fresh scents in the air.

  Both horses were skittish and edgy after long months in the stable. Rosie pranced and snorted at every imagined threat. As the bank steepened, she started, refusing to move forward. Charlotte held on sternly, calming the mare with her voice and hands.

  ‘Walk on, girl, enough of your nonsense,’ Charlotte chided. ‘You have been down this way a hundred times before.’

  The horse tossed her head sheepishly, sidestepped and cavorted some more, then finally skipped forward. By this time Nell was way in front, cheekily waving at Charlotte from the bottom of the hill.

  ‘See you at home, if you can catch me!’ Nell shouted as she urged Bess into a canter.

  Scenting home and a warm, dry stable, Nell’s horse, Bess, pricked her ears and leapt into a gallop. The flying hooves kicked up thick brown mud, which spattered the horses’ flanks and the long velvet skirts trailing behind.

  Charlotte’s eyes streamed with tears from the freezing wind. Wind whipped her hair, her face burnt and her heart raced with the excitement of the chase, a joyous cry welling from her throat.

  Charlotte gained on Nell as they raced around the shore of the loch. Nell glanced over her shoulder, cheering Bess on, but Rosie effortlessly caught up. Neck and neck they galloped, sailing over a dry-stone wall, manes and ringlets flying, leaving Flossie to lope behind.

  With an alarmed squawk, a pheasant flitted from its nest right under Bess’s hooves. The chestnut reared and bucked in fright, then bolted, flinging Nell to the ground.

  Charlotte screamed as Bess galloped away, stirrups and reins flapping wildly. She reined in her own horse, nearly flying over Rosie’s head as she slid to a stop.

  ‘Nell, Nell – are you all right?’ Below lay the motionless body of her sister crumpled in the grass. Charlotte sobbed as she slithered off her horse. Flossie whined pitifully, licking Nell on the face and pawing her gently.

  ‘Nell, can you hear me?’ she begged. ‘Nell, please answer me.’

  Charlotte’s voice rose in panic. The smell of crushed grass and wet mud filled her nostrils, making her stomach heave. She knelt and rolled her sister gently over. Crimson blood welled from the side of Nell’s mouth, a stark contrast to the pale white skin. Charlotte stifled a scream.

  Her heart in her mouth, Sophie flew closer. Was Nell dead? She hovered uncertainly, then wondered if she could somehow get help. Perhaps if she followed Bess, the horse would lead her back to the girls’ home and she could alert someone to come back with her.

  Sophie zoomed away, leaving Charlotte bent over the motionless body of her sister.

  Overtaking Bess, Sophie soared through a stone gateway that led to the stable courtyard.

  A young stableboy sat rubbing oil into a saddle girth. He jumped to his feet as the sound of galloping hooves echoed through the cobbled gateway. The chestnut pony skittered and shied, hooves slipping on the muddy cobbles.

  Sophie flew up to the boy.

  ‘There’s been an accident,’ Sophie cried. ‘Nell’s fallen.’

  The boy ignored her completely, as if she hadn’t spoken, interested only in Bess.

  ‘Duncan. Duncan. Coom quickly,’ he yelled. A weather-beaten gillie shuffled from a stall; his plaid and kilt were mud-stained and he had a stiff brush in his hand.

  ‘Och, Bess,’ Duncan scolded. The mare looked sheepishly at him and slithered to a stop, thrusting her snorting muzzle into his gentle, gnarled hands. He stroked her, keeping his voice low and soothing.

  ‘Quick, Angus lad. Luiks like the wee lassie has taken a tumble. Saddle up the grey mare for me and call Hamish in. Tell Hamish to fetch me laird and some o’ the house lads. And best tell Mary to make ready.’

  Young Angus ran to do the old gillie’s bidding. Sophie turned to Duncan, and clutched his arm.

  ‘I know where Nell is,’ she shouted. ‘I can show you.’

  Angus shivered as if her touch was cold, but did not answer, stooping to pick up the saddle Angus had abandoned. It was as though Sophie did not exist.

  The courtyard was quickly filled with the shouts of running men swiftly saddling horses. Alexander Mackenzie, Laird of Dungorm, strode from the house. Tall and imposing in his blue-and-green kilt, he had the assurance of one used to commanding.

  Angus the stable lad stood at the head of a large black gelding as Laird Mackenzie swung his leg into the saddle and signalled his retainers to join him.

  A gaggle of stableboys, gardeners and footmen followed, with four dogs excitedly sniffing at their heels. The old gillie, Duncan, set his grey mare to a trot and they headed out of the courtyard, through the chilly tunnel and out into the open countryside.

  ‘Duncan!’ Laird Mackenzie called. ‘Does anyone know where the lassies were riding today?’

  ‘Well, my laird,’ grunted Duncan, ‘I am no’ exactly sure as the wee lassies saddled the horses wi’out Angus.’

  Laird Mackenzie swore. ‘When I find those lassies they will feel the back of my strap,’ he roared. ‘How many times have I told them they must always ride with one of the grooms! Those girls are wild.’

  ‘Och, but wild lassies wi’ a guid seat, my laird,’ replied Duncan dryly.

  ‘Well, they won’t be able to sit on them for a while,’ retorted their father, repressing a proud smile. ‘Hamish, you take some of the men and head towards the village. Duncan, Angus and I will search to the north, while the others search south. Sound a horn or whistle if you find them. Cameron, you stay here and harness the carriage, ready for whe
n I send for you.’

  The horses galloped off in different directions, with the dogs and men running behind. Rain began to fall in white sheets, obliterating the view.

  Waving and gesturing, Sophie tried to steer the searchers towards Charlotte and Nell, but they still could not hear or see her so she abandoned them and flew back on her own.

  Down below, Sophie could see Charlotte huddled beside Nell, trying to shelter them both under her cloak. Rain was falling in pelting torrents. Sophie alighted beside Nell and took her hand.

  Nell shivered violently at the touch, then groaned and rolled over, her right hand clutching her left shoulder.

  ‘Nell, thank God you are alive. Are you hurt badly? Talk to me!’ Charlotte pleaded.

  Nell groaned again, rolling on the ground. She coughed and spluttered, spitting out blood.

  Charlotte knelt by her side, wiping the blood away with the skirt of her petticoat, nearly shaking Nell in her anxiety.

  ‘Please speak to me, Nell,’ she commanded. ‘Where do you hurt?’

  Nell shook her head groggily.

  ‘All … over,’ she finally whispered. ‘My … arm hurts … and my shoulder.’

  Charlotte sighed in relief, then leapt to her feet.

  ‘Come on. We’d better get you home so that Nanny can have a good look at you. Can you stand?’

  Nell shook her head.

  ‘No. I … feel … dreadful.’

  ‘You will be fine,’ Charlotte cried. ‘I will bring Rosie over to that stump, you climb on and I will lead you home.’

  Charlotte grabbed Nell under the armpits to haul her to her feet. Nell screamed as a white pain seared through her arm, her body shaking with tremors. Flossie whined anxiously, trotting around them in a protective circle.

  ‘Oh, I am so sorry. I did not mean to hurt you! What should I do?’ Charlotte said, panicking. ‘Nell, if I ride back for help, will you be all right until I get back? Flossie will guard you.’

  Nell looked up at her with eyes dilated with pain. Charlotte thought for a moment, discarding several plans.

  ‘Nell, I cannot lift you onto Rosie,’ Charlotte decided. ‘You will have to stay here while I go back for help. I will be as quick as I can, I promise.’

  Nell tried to lift her head but nearly swooned with the effort. She bit her lip and nodded slightly.

  Charlotte pulled up her skirt, loosened her petticoat and pulled it off. She folded it into a rough pillow and slipped it gently under her sister’s head.

  ‘I will fly like the wind,’ she promised, stroking Nell’s forehead.

  Charlotte leapt into the saddle and urged Rosie into the fastest gallop of her life. Through her mind ran images of Nell lying alone and injured, possibly dying.

  Sophie felt torn between staying with Nell, or following Charlotte. She stayed beside Nell and Flossie until she heard the distant call of a horn echoing plaintively over the hills and loch. Sophie zoomed towards the sound. She could see Charlotte galloping over the moor, and a horde of horsemen flying towards her.

  ‘Papa, Papa,’ Charlotte cried thankfully, nearly tumbling from Rosie’s back into her father’s arms as they reached each other. ‘Nell is badly hurt. Her head is bleeding and I think she may have broken something.’

  Laird Mackenzie hugged Charlotte to his chest.

  ‘I pray Nell will be all right, my lovely. Where is she?’

  ‘Near the wall, down by the loch,’ Charlotte replied.

  ‘Good. Angus, fetch the carriage. Find blankets and send for the surgeon. We will meet you on the road.’

  Nell was lying curled up, whimpering in pain. Her face was white and icy cold. Her dress and hair were saturated.

  Alexander Mackenzie leapt from his horse.

  ‘Och, my darling, what have you done?’ he whispered softly.

  He felt her forehead and ran his hands over her arms and legs, gently feeling for damage. He tenderly lifted her head and removed the petticoat pillow.

  ‘Duncan, do you have your knife?’

  ‘Aye, my laird.’

  He used the knife to cut the petticoat into a wide strip to make a sling to immobilise Nell’s arm.

  Nell winced and shuddered but barely opened her eyes. As her father removed his jacket and covered her, Duncan quickly followed with his rough wool coat.

  Charlotte shivered with wet and cold and anxiety. A trickle of water ran into her collar and down her spine.

  ‘Papa, will Nell be all right?’ she asked tremulously.

  ‘I think she will survive,’ he reassured her. ‘Let us get her back home and in front of the fire.’

  Laird Mackenzie carefully gathered Nell up into his arms, avoiding her injured side, and strode off towards the road, followed by the subdued and damp riders. They were soon met by Angus bringing the carriage.

  While Laird Mackenzie and Duncan struggled to make Nell comfortable, Charlotte went to stand by Angus, burying her cold, wet fingers in the carriage horse’s mane.

  ‘Is Bess all right, Angus?’ Charlotte asked in a small voice.

  ‘Aye, but ’tis a wonder she was no’ hurt as well,’ Angus muttered. ‘What were ye lassies thinking? And more than likely ’twill be me that gets a licking o’er your antics, no’ ye.’

  Charlotte looked at him imploringly, her eyes wide with shock.

  ‘I am sorry, Angus. I did not mean for you to be in trouble.’

  ‘Och, Miss Charlotte,’ he whispered. ‘I were only jesting. Do no’ fret, lassie, Miss Eleanor will be fine, ye’ll see.’

  Laird Mackenzie called to Charlotte impatiently from the carriage, cradling Nell’s head in his lap. Charlotte scrambled into the vehicle beside him.

  ‘I am very sorry, Papa,’ Charlotte cried impetuously, clutching her father’s sleeve with both hands. ‘I did not mean for Nell to be injured; and please, please do not punish Angus. He did not know we were going riding. We crept out while he was wheeling the stable waste out to the kitchen garden.’

  Laird Mackenzie gazed carefully at his eldest child. He loved her dearly but was sorely worried by her mischievous streak.

  ‘I should punish Angus with a good lashing,’ Laird Mackenzie declared. ‘One of Angus’s jobs is to look after you girls while you go out riding so that you are safe. A thrashing will teach him to remember his responsibilities; and his punishment will remind you to behave as befits your rank.’

  Charlotte sobbed, her face pale and streaked with tears.

  ‘Please, no, Papa,’ Charlotte begged. ‘I promise we will never ride out without Angus again.’

  ‘You are not a crofter’s urchin,’ Laird Mackenzie continued sternly. ‘You are a Mackenzie of Dungorm, and that role brings with it much responsibility. We must look after every person, every animal, every plant and every clod of earth upon this land.’

  Charlotte nodded slowly, her face grave.

  ‘I think it is time you learnt about this responsibility,’ Laird Mackenzie added. ‘Tomorrow you can ride with me around the estate to study what is required of the Mackenzies of Dungorm.’

  ‘Yes, Papa,’ murmured Charlotte, her eyes aglow with pleasure at the thought of riding with her beloved papa. ‘But what about Angus?’

  Laird Mackenzie pulled her to him and kissed her forehead gently. ‘Angus will suffer a severe tongue lashing from Duncan, but I trust he will not be harmed.’

  Soon after, the carriage trundled into the stable courtyard with Nell inside, wrapped in blankets and held in her father’s arms, with Charlotte huddled next to them. The grooms led Rosie and the laird’s tall hunter. A flurry of activity greeted their arrival.

  An older woman, her grey hair piled under a lace cap, darted from the front door wringing her hands. ‘Where’s my puir wee bairn?’

  ‘Here she is, Nanny,’ replied Laird Mackenzie soothingly, ‘suffering nothing worse than a broken arm, I trust.’

  Sophie floated above the scene, watching the bustling activity with interest. No-one seemed to be able to see her. She floated d
own to the carriage and watched Nell being lifted out and carried up to the house, Charlotte clambering after.

  Charlotte turned suddenly and looked up as if she felt the stare of a stranger above her, but she looked right through Sophie as if she were a wisp of mist. Sophie ducked instinctively, shooting behind the carriage and hiding.

  Charlotte hurried after her sister, her shoulders hunched with misery. Sophie did not follow but watched in fascination at the activity outside.

  Horses were tied to grooming bars, unsaddled, brushed and combed; their hooves were picked; then they were led into the cool darkness of the stables. Sophie could not resist stroking Rosie, her grey flanks wet with sweat. Rosie rolled her eyes in fear and sidled away from Sophie, snorting and shivering.

  ‘Whoa, bonnie girl,’ soothed Angus. ‘Are ye seeing wee ghaisties again?’

  Sophie’s attention wandered from the stable yard to the house itself. She decided to explore, her body following her mind’s suggestion by zooming through the air, around the corner of the house and round to the front.

  The house was grand and huge, a rectangle of warm, golden stone. Rounded turrets guarded each corner, topped with grey slate roofs. Wide, gracious windows overlooked the expanse of lawns, hedges and flowerbeds rolling down to the grey waters of the loch.

  From here, the view of the loch and island was spectacular, the partially ruined keep of the castle soaring against the leaden sky. Sophie flew towards the island, skimming above the water, droplets of salt water soaking her nightdress.

  She floated above the tumbledown rocks of the castle ruins, choked with weeds, and spiralled around the tower keep, climbing higher and faster so the golden stones blurred. Then she was speeding up through the grey clouds, the mist damp and clammy in her nostrils, through the black tunnel, back to the warm cocoon of her own bed.

  The next morning Sophie woke early, her dream vivid in her memory. She jumped out of bed eager to tell Jessica about it. The locket bumped against her chest. Quickly she took it off and slipped it back inside the wooden chest. Her hands felt sticky and sweaty.

  ‘Jess,’ called Sophie softly. ‘Are you awake?’