The Locket of Dreams

by Belinda Murrell

  ‘Mmmm?’ answered Jessica sleepily.

  ‘I had an amazing dream last night,’ Sophie continued. ‘I dreamt about Scotland and Charlotte Mackenzie and the castle of Dungorm.’

  Jessica rolled over, her eyes slowly focusing on her sister.

  ‘And Charlotte’s sister Nell fell off her pony and broke her arm.’

  ‘Sophie?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What’s that all over your nightdress?’ asked Jessica, pointing at Sophie.

  Sophie looked down where Jessica had pointed. There was a large splash of what looked like dried mud. Sophie picked at it in shock, the mud crumbling off beneath her nail.

  ‘It’s mud,’ Sophie answered in surprise.

  ‘How did you get mud all over your nightie?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Sophie turned her right hand over to examine the dried flakes of dirt.

  Then she noticed something else. Her hand was covered in short white hairs. She sniffed her hand. The smell was unmistakeable: salt, sweat and horse. Her hand was sprinkled with fine white horsehairs. Sophie sat down suddenly on the edge of Jessica’s bed.

  ‘I dreamt I could fly,’ she finished in wonder.

  ‘That’s nice,’ Jessica muttered, rolling over and pulling the pillow over her dark head. ‘But why did you have to wake me up to tell me that?’

  All day Sophie kept having flashbacks to her ‘dream’ of the night before. Had it been a dream? It had seemed so real. Yet she could fly and no-one could see her, as if she were a ghost.

  The mud on her nightdress was definitely real, as were the horsehairs on her hand. But they couldn’t be; it wasn’t possible to travel back in time. How had it happened? Could it somehow have been the old locket? Was it magic? Could it happen again?

  Nonnie had taken the girls out shopping, then for afternoon tea to her favourite café. Jessica was chattering nonstop, telling Nonnie about her friends at school and a trick they had played on the music teacher.

  ‘Sophie?’ asked Nonnie, interrupting Sophie’s reverie. ‘Are you all right? You’ve hardly said anything all afternoon, and you haven’t eaten a morsel. Are you worrying about your father’s job?’

  Jessica stopped eating her banana cake, dropping her fork with a clatter.

  ‘No. I mean, yes,’ replied Sophie, her mind reluctantly switching back to the present.

  Sophie thought of the last few months, when their world had been turned upside down. She didn’t really want to think about it. She smiled brightly at Nonnie and Jessica. ‘Did Jess tell you she scored an A for her science project, building a boat out of recycled material?’

  ‘I made the hulls out of plastic bottles, lashed with twine, and the sails out of plastic shopping bags,’ added Jess, bouncing up and down. ‘We had to race the boats across the ocean pool at Manly and mine won by metres. It ran over Lucy’s boat and sank it.’

  That evening Sophie hurried through her dinner, brushed her teeth, changed into her freshly washed nightdress and kissed Nonnie goodnight.

  ‘Ready for bed already?’ laughed Nonnie, hugging her tight. ‘That’s not like you, Sophie darling. You must be exhausted. What about your usual litany of excuses?’

  ‘I do feel tired tonight,’ Sophie fibbed, her heart pounding with excitement.

  Nonnie frowned, feeling Sophie’s forehead with her hand.

  ‘Do you feel all right, darling? You look a little flushed. I hope you’re not coming down with a fever or something.’

  ‘No, I’m not sick. Just a little tired; it’s been a busy day,’ Sophie assured her grandmother, not wanting her to worry.

  Sophie hugged Nonnie again and raced to her room. She opened the chest, took out Charlotte Mackenzie’s locket with trembling fingers and slipped it around her neck and inside her nightdress.

  She climbed into bed. Jess came racing in after her and bounced up and down on her bed.

  ‘What should we do tomorrow?’ begged Jessica. ‘Nonnie says we could go and see a movie, and we haven’t been to the movies for months. We could see that new spy film, or the 3D one, although I think Nonnie would rather see that boring one. What do you think? Or we could go to Chatswood, or the library, or if it’s a beautiful day we should really go to the beach.’

  Sophie hid her head under the pillow in frustration.

  ‘I’d like to go to sleep, if you would just stop talking,’ groaned Sophie impatiently.

  ‘Sophie,’ complained Jess. ‘This is important.’

  ‘Why do you have to be so annoying all the time?’ asked Sophie, glaring at Jess.

  ‘I’m not annoying, I just asked you a simple question about going to the movies,’ huffed Jess. ‘You’re the one who’s being annoying.’

  ‘Could you just be quiet?’ barked Sophie, turning her head to the wall. Jessica threw her pillow at Sophie, hitting her on the back. Sophie threw it back again forcefully, hitting Jess square in the face.

  ‘Yow,’ yelled Jess, rubbing her screwed-up face. ‘That really hurt.’

  ‘Well, you threw it first,’ retorted Sophie, a trifle guiltily. ‘If you’d just left me alone, it wouldn’t have happened.’

  ‘Sorry,’ grumbled Jess, turning her back and pulling off her jeans. ‘Princess Sophie needs her beauty sleep.’

  ‘Hmmph,’ snorted Sophie, rolling over and hitching up the doona.

  Sophie tossed and turned, trying to forget her irritating spat with Jessica and make her mind slip into sleep. She thought about Charlotte and Nell, and the contents of the box. Where did the box come from? Was Nell all right after her fall?

  Of course, sleep took a long time to come. Finally she felt the familiar sensation of her mind slipping and sliding away from consciousness down towards the comforting darkness of slumber.

  The light was pale and soft, the sun sailing slowly through a cloud-scudded sky. Down below, Sophie could see a small dinghy being rowed by Angus, the stableboy she recognised from last night, or was it yesterday?

  In the boat were a number of passengers, who Sophie recognised as Charlotte, Nell with her arm in a sling, the Laird of Dungorm, Flossie the dog and a striking woman holding a green parasol to shade her pale face. Between them were a huge wicker basket and a pile of tartan rugs.

  Sophie swooped down on a gentle breeze and followed the boat, scrutinising each of the passengers in excited curiosity.

  Flossie the dog saw Sophie’s fluttering white nightdress and barked loudly, leaping to her paws to stand in the stern of the boat, one ear pricked and one ear flopping over her left eye.

  ‘Shh, Flossie,’ soothed Charlotte, patting her thick ruff of fur. ‘What can you see, a seagull?’

  Flossie wagged her tail but continued to stand watch in the boat, her hackles raised. Sophie dropped back a little, not wanting to antagonise the black-and-white dog.

  The two girls in the boat wore bonnets trimmed with coloured ribbon, white dresses that reached their mid-calves and had long full sleeves, black stockings and buttoned-up boots. Nell had her arm cradled in a sling but seemed quite recovered from her ordeal.

  ‘Mama, look, a seal,’ called Charlotte, pointing into the loch.

  A small brown face with twitching whiskers peered at the boat, its brown eyes curious and alert. The seal glided towards the boat, on its side, one flipper raised in the air like a sail. It splashed the water hard with its flipper, sending droplets of water flying towards the boat, then dived under the hull and disappeared.

  ‘I wonder if that’s a selkie,’ cried Charlotte. ‘You know, a sea person hidden in a sealskin. Nanny tells us stories about selkies all the time.’

  Alexander Mackenzie snorted in disapproval. ‘Nanny fills your head with too many fairytales,’ he retorted, but his smile was indulgent.

  ‘Alexander,’ reproved the girls’ mother gently, ‘Nanny is a wonderful woman and a great help.’

  ‘Eliza, the girls are old enough to have a proper governess now,’ Alexander replied, obviously repeating a well-worn argument. ‘A governess wh
o will not fill their heads with nonsense.’

  Eliza sighed, stretching her back.

  ‘We have discussed this before, Alexander,’ she said evenly. ‘The last governess knew hardly more than the girls do. She taught them nothing but needlework, dance steps and pianoforte.’

  Charlotte and Nell rolled their eyes at each other, pulling faces at their shared memory of the governess.

  ‘At least I can teach them most things they need to learn,’ Eliza continued. ‘It is important in this day and age for girls to be well educated. When they are older, they will go away to school, a good school. But until then I will direct their education myself.’

  The Laird of Dungorm smiled at his wife lovingly, admitting defeat.

  ‘Let us not argue about this on such a beautiful and special day,’ Eliza said, smiling at Charlotte and squeezing her hand.

  ‘Yes, it is my birthday,’ crowed Charlotte, tossing her copper ringlets.

  ‘As if we could have forgotten,’ replied Nell, pulling a face. ‘You must have mentioned it at least fifty times today.’

  ‘So, for my darling girl’s twelfth birthday we will have a delicious picnic on Eilean Dungorm with all your favourite treats, a sail on the loch and a special supper, and have I forgotten something?’ asked her father with a mock frown.

  ‘Presents!’ squealed Charlotte, pointing to a mysterious bundle partially hidden by the rugs in the bottom of the boat.

  ‘Charlotte, not so wild,’ reproved Eliza mildly. ‘Remember, you are a lady and should behave like one now you are a very grown-up twelve-year-old.’

  ‘Yes, Mama,’ agreed Charlotte dutifully, ‘but when can I open my presents?’

  Eliza laughed, shrugging her shoulders gracefully. ‘After our picnic luncheon, you enfant terrible,’ she replied, kissing Charlotte on the cheek. ‘If you can wait that long.’

  Angus the stableboy pulled strongly, riding a small wave up onto the shingle beach of the island, Eilean Dungorm. He held the boat steady while the laird climbed out and solicitously helped out Eliza. Eliza climbed out awkwardly, gathering up her heavy silk skirts.

  Sophie flew ahead – her bare feet skimming the top of the waves, the water splashing her toes – then alighted on the beach.

  Charlotte and Nell scrambled out, not heeding their father’s outstretched arm, and ran up the beach towards the ruins of the castle. Flossie the dog jumped out eagerly, woofing happily, and chased them up the shingle.

  Angus pulled out a small anchor and secured the boat, then gathered up the heavy basket, parcel and rugs and slowly followed his master and mistress towards the ruins.

  Angus spread one rug over a low stone wall that formed a perfect bench, then flung another over a flat slab that formed a natural low table.

  ‘Thank you, Angus,’ Laird Mackenzie said kindly. ‘We will not eat for a while. Could you keep a watch on Miss Charlotte and Miss Eleanor, please?’

  ‘Yes, m’ laird,’ Angus mumbled, bobbing his head, and scampered after the girls. Sophie floated along behind, looking around the island in awe.

  Charlotte, Nell and Flossie were exploring the ruins of the castle, climbing over the piles of fallen rocks, brushing past tall pink hollyhocks and crushing yellow buttercups under their boots. Sophie hung back, cautious of Flossie, who turned to stare at her constantly, barking loudly.

  ‘Look, Angus,’ Charlotte called, pointing to a bird soaring above the tower. ‘A sea eagle.’

  Creeping up the side of one wall could be seen the ruin of an old stone staircase. Another staircase wound up inside the stone keep, crumbling and dangerous. The girls ran on towards the shore on the other side of the island, facing towards the west and the loch’s narrow opening to the sea.

  Angus and Flossie, then Sophie, followed close behind. Angus picked up several flat pebbles and expertly skimmed them across the water, where they jumped six or seven times before sinking into the depths.

  ‘Can you show me how to do that, Angus?’ begged Charlotte, as her stones sank without a skip. ‘Please?’

  Patiently Angus showed the two girls how to skim stones across the water.

  ‘Ye must practise,’ he encouraged quietly. ‘’Tis easy once ye know how.’

  Sophie watched the children curiously. She wondered if she could skim a stone too. She bent down and touched a pebble. It felt cool and smooth under her ghostly fingers. Sophie tried to pick it up. Nothing happened. It was as if the tiny pebble weighed a tonne. It was immovable. Sophie gave up in annoyance.

  Charlotte squealed and jumped with excitement when one of her pebbles skipped once before sinking.

  ‘Did you see the seal, Angus?’ asked Charlotte. ‘Do you think it could be a selkie?’

  ‘I do no’ know,’ Angus answered seriously. ‘My mam saw selkies when she was a lass.’

  Angus sat down on the shale and stared over the loch as though seeing magical creatures no-one else could see.

  ‘Truly?’ asked Nell, plopping down beside him. ‘What did they look like? Was she frightened?’

  Flossie stretched out with a sigh, while Sophie floated a little closer to listen.

  ‘It was here on Eilean Dungorm, one midsummer eve. She was gathering oysters and cockles for supper when she heard a strange sound o’ fighting and wailing.’

  The girls leant forward in anticipation. Angus always told a good story. Charlotte wound her hand in the thick fur of Flossie’s ruff. Sophie sat down beside them on the shingle.

  ‘Mam crept behind the rocks as quiet as a mouseling,’ Angus continued. ‘And there on the beach she saw a family o’ seals squabbling and fighting. They were so busy crying and wailing that they did no’ spy my mam. She crept closer and then she saw the seals using their flippers to peel off their fur coats as easily as you would peel off your own jacket.

  ‘The seals tossed their dark fur coats in a pile and stretched and lolled in the sun. Under their sealskins they looked just like humans, the maids with long black hair and the menfolk strong and lithe, but with no human clothes.’

  The girls squirmed in embarrassment at the talk of naked bodies, but Angus continued.

  ‘My mam crept to the pile o’ pelts and stretched out to touch one. She said they looked as soft and fine as French velvet. She had heard that if you take the pelt o’ a selkie they can ne’er go back to the sea.

  ‘In the old days the fisherfolk used to marry a selkie lass or laddie quite often by stealing their pelts and hiding them so they could no’ go back to the sea. I fancy my mam thought she could catch a handsome selkie man and wed him.

  ‘But it all came to naught. One of the selkie women saw my mam and rushed at her, screaming in rage, wielding a branch of driftwood. My mam turned and ran, dropping the pelt.

  ‘The selkie woman hurled the driftwood after her and it struck her on the arm, wounding her sorely. My mam ran on, dripping with blood and dropping her basket o’ shellfish.

  ‘She was in sore trouble when she went home, but she could no’ resist taking one last look at the beach. All the selkies were gone, with their fine fur pelts too. The only thing left to show was the scar on my mam’s arm. She still has it to this day.’

  Angus lapsed into silence, signalling the end of his tale. Sophie sighed. Charlotte and Nell were enraptured, gazing out to sea searching for the lost selkies.

  ‘Perhaps it was this very beach,’ breathed Nell.

  ‘Did your mam ever see the selkies again?’ asked Charlotte.

  ‘No, although there are other folk in the village who have stories o’ meeting the selkies,’ Angus replied. ‘Make no mistake, the selkies and wee folk do no’ like to be seen, but they are here all around us.’

  Angus was not much older than Charlotte, but he had been earning his own living for several years, which gave him a bearing far more mature than his true age.

  ‘I wonder if we could find some selkies,’ Nell exclaimed. ‘Come on, Charlotte, let us creep up on the next beach and take a look.’

  The girls jumped
up and raced to the boulders protecting the next stretch of shale. They tiptoed closer, peering over the boulders hopefully.

  The beach was empty. A few seagulls rose screaming from the rocks, frightened by the intrusion. Angus wandered up behind them. Sophie flew, chasing the seagulls and flying with them, high in the sky.

  A faint call sounded from the ruins.

  ‘’Tis Mama,’ Nell cried. ‘It is time for luncheon.’

  Reluctantly Sophie followed them, torn between the thrill of chasing seagulls and a desire to see what the Mackenzies were doing.

  Back at the picnic camp, Eliza was sitting with her charcoals and sketchbook on her lap, shading a sketch of the tower of Dungorm. Laird Mackenzie was reading from a leather-bound book of verse by Robbie Burns.

  O My Luve’s like a red, red rose,

  That’s newly sprung in June;

  O My Luve’s like the melodie

  That’s sweetly played in tune.

  As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

  So deep in luve am I;

  And I will luve thee still, my dear,

  Till a’ the seas gang dry.

  Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,

  And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;

  O I will luve thee still, my dear,

  While the sands o’ life shall run.

  And fare thee weel, my only luve

  And fare thee weel awhile!

  And I will come again, my luve,

  Though it were ten thousand mile.

  He bowed with a little flourish and snapped the book shut.

  ‘And I will luve thee still, my dear, while the sands o’ life shall run,’ he repeated softly.

  Charlotte glanced at Nell and rolled her eyes affectionately. They were used to their father lapsing into quotes from his favourite poet. Nell laughed.

  ‘Is it time for luncheon?’ Charlotte interrupted.

  ‘Indeed it is, my love,’ agreed Eliza with a smile. ‘We cannot have the birthday girl fainting from starvation.’

  Eliza began to unpack the cane basket, spreading out dishes and platters on the tartan rug. There was a dish of roast chicken portions, flavoured with rosemary and honey. Tiny wedges of sandwiches with various fillings – cucumber, chopped egg and pale pink wafers of ham – were arranged on a silver platter.