The Locket of Dreams

by Belinda Murrell

  Another plate held tiny meat pastries and sausage rolls still warm from the oven, while a glass side dish held a crisp spring salad of cherry tomatoes and cucumbers.

  Angus unpacked the silver cutlery and bone china plates, handling them extremely carefully. Eliza served out various dishes for each person. Angus retired to a distant rock, just within earshot, to eat his own rough package of food.

  The Laird of Dungorm said a blessing over the meal and they all began to eat.

  ‘What a feast for the birthday girl,’ said Alexander, helping himself to a second serving.

  After everyone had eaten their fill, Eliza pulled out the mysterious package, peeling off the checked cloth that had disguised it.

  ‘I think it might be time for a little surprise, Charlotte, what do you think?’ Eliza handed the rectangular package over with a smile.

  ‘Oh, thank you, Mama.’ Charlotte jiggled with excitement as her fingers eagerly picked at the knotted ribbon. The package was wrapped in pale-blue paper tied with silver ribbon.

  The paper fell away, tearing slightly with her impatient fingers. Sophie gasped involuntarily. She recognised the object revealed on Charlotte’s lap.

  It was a timber box, highly polished and ornately carved with a border of wildflowers. On the lid was carved a beautiful stag, powerful and mysterious, gazing straight out of the wood. Its antlers were held proudly aloft against a round moon.

  Charlotte ran her finger along the ridged words carved along the border of the lid.

  ‘Luceo non Uro – I shine not burn,’ she read softly. ‘The Mackenzie clan motto.’

  ‘Once a Mackenzie, always a Mackenzie,’ reminded her father.

  Charlotte carefully turned the tiny golden key and opened the box, to find it lined with delicate violet silk.

  ‘It is to keep all your treasures safe,’ Eliza said. ‘And to remind you how much we love you.’

  ‘We asked Dughald the shepherd to carve it for you,’ Laird Mackenzie added. ‘He worked on it all last winter. He used the ancient oak tree that blew down in the village during the autumn storms.’

  His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘The box has a secret too. I will show it to you later.’

  ‘Oh, Papa,’ Charlotte said, frowning impatiently. ‘Show me now!’

  ‘Later.’ Her father winked. ‘When we are alone and there are no prying eyes. The Mackenzies are good at keeping secrets.’ He gestured to Eliza, Nell, Flossie and Angus as if they were a horde of foreign spies.

  ‘Show me too, Papa?’ begged Nell. ‘Pleeease?’

  ‘No, my love,’ answered Laird Mackenzie. ‘This particular secret is just for Charlotte, on her birthday. You must wait for your own birthday for your surprise.’

  Charlotte, Nell and Eliza laughed happily.

  ‘Thank you, Mama,’ cried Charlotte. ‘Thank you, Papa. I will treasure my box always.’

  Eliza cut the cake, decorated with strawberries and whipped cream, and handed it out on pretty china plates. Angus tidied up the mess, carefully packing everything back into the wicker hamper. The girls ran off to explore the island once more.

  ‘Alexander, can you believe our baby Charlotte is now twelve years old?’ asked Eliza, watching the girls play. ‘Even little Nell is ten. Where have the years flown?’

  ‘I do not know, but they have been very happy years,’ replied Laird Mackenzie, taking his wife’s hand and kissing it. ‘Let us hope all goes well with this baby too. Perhaps we will be blessed with a boy this time?’

  Eliza stroked her belly, with a smile of deep contentment.

  ‘Yes, that would be wonderful.’

  Laird Mackenzie stretched out in the sun to rest his eyes.

  Eliza picked up her charcoals and sketchbook and began to draw once more. Under her pencil grew the towering ruin of the Castle of Dungorm, guarding the loch, weeds growing in its ramparts and its barbican shattered on the ground.

  Sophie woke up slowly, a crack of soft, grey light gleaming under the blind. In the other bed, on the other side of the room, she could see a hump under the covers which was her sister Jess, still fast asleep.

  Sophie was in her bed at Nonnie’s apartment, on the North Shore of Sydney, in her own life in the twenty-first century. A feeling of great excitement welled up inside her.

  She looked around at the bedroom, with its cream carpet, yellow-and-white striped wallpaper, white dressing table and framed paintings of pale pink camellias.

  Was it all a dream? Or had she really gone back in time and place to the home of Charlotte Mackenzie, in nineteenth-century Scotland? It was too incredible to comprehend.

  Sophie remembered the amazing feeling of flying and the secretive feeling of observing the goings-on while no-one except Flossie the dog seemed to be able to see her. It was the greatest adventure she had ever experienced.

  If it was all just a dream, it was a dream she really didn’t want to wake up from. She felt a strong yearning to be back in Scotland, back in the past, where everything seemed more interesting, more colourful and more alive than her own life here in Sydney with its irritations and worries and sister squabbles.

  Perhaps she wouldn’t get up today. Perhaps if she stayed in bed for a while, she would go back to sleep and straight back to Scotland. Sophie gently held the gold locket in her hand and curled into a tight ball under the covers. The locket was warm from her skin and gleamed softly in the half-light.

  Sophie thought of Scotland and the loch and the ruins of Dungorm. She thought of Charlotte and Nell and Flossie the dog. She thought of Alexander and Eliza Mackenzie and the beautiful gracious house, and she longed to be with them all. What a fascinating life they must have led, a life full of luxury and parties and exquisite treasures.

  The servants had been preparing for days. The invitations went out six weeks before on thick white card with Eliza’s loopy handwriting. The fine Persian rugs had been rolled back and the parquet floors polished for hours with golden beeswax.

  Charlotte and Nell buzzed with excitement. The whole household had been pressed into service cleaning silverware, dusting paintings and ornaments, and moving furniture.

  Sophie peered through the windows from the garden, watching all the activity and searching for Charlotte and Nell. She spied them through the kitchen window, and ducked through the back door when a scullery maid went in, carrying flowers from the garden.

  The kitchen was a steaming hive of activity with Cook shouting orders, stirring sauces and tasting dishes, her red face streaming with perspiration. Even Nanny had no time for the girls, bustling back and forwards with messages and chores.

  Charlotte and Nell watched all the activity in delight. At first Cook had tried to shoo them away in the same way she chased away Marmalade, the fat ginger cat scrounging under the table.

  But at their disappointed faces she relented and let them sit in the far corner, licking the china mixing bowls and spoons, and eating crumbly shortbread. Cook had made hundreds of biscuits in pretty shapes: stars, flowers and hearts. Marmalade took refuge at the girls’ feet, imperiously licking her paws.

  Sally, one of the chambermaids, smiled at the girls, wiping her floury hands on her apron.

  ‘’Twill be a merry evening tonight eh, lassies?’

  Nanny came scurrying down to find them.

  ‘Come on, lassies, ’tis time for ye both to be coming upstairs to eat your supper and get ready for bed,’ Nanny said.

  ‘But Nanny,’ pleaded Nell, kicking her black boots against the bench leg, ‘it is too early yet.’

  ‘No buts, Miss Nell,’ replied Nanny crossly. ‘Ye ken your mother, Lady Mackenzie, would like to say guidnight to ye before the guests arrive, and we all have far too much to do to have ye two under our feet.’

  Reluctantly the two girls were ushered upstairs to the schoolroom to eat their rice pudding and wash before being escorted to their mother’s chamber. Nanny knocked on the door.

  ‘Come in,’ sang a soft voice from inside.

  Nanny
pushed open the door with a curtsey, and Charlotte and Nell ran in towards their mother. Charlotte stopped and stared in awe at the vision of her mother seated at the dressing table. Sophie thought she had never seen anyone look quite so beautiful.

  Eliza wore a stunning evening gown of white silk, with a low neck and short puffed sleeves, caught up behind the waist with ruffles and pale blue ribbons. Her dark hair was coaxed up into an elaborate chignon, with a fresh white rose above her left ear.

  From her ears dangled heavy chandelier earrings of dazzling diamonds, while a matching necklace glittered and sparkled at her throat.

  Sophie crept close. She simply had to stroke that gorgeous dress and see if she could feel the texture of the silk. The material rustled slightly under her fingertips. Sophie jumped backwards before anyone noticed.

  ‘Hello, my darlings,’ called Eliza cheerfully to the girls. ‘I am nearly ready. What do you think?’

  ‘You look absolutely beautiful,’ breathed Nell.

  ‘Stunning,’ added Charlotte, smiling. ‘I love your new dress.’

  ‘Thank you, my darlings,’ Eliza said and smiled in return. She opened her jewellery casket and pulled out a heavy gold ring. It featured a huge cornflower-blue sapphire, which was surrounded by more than a dozen precious diamonds.

  Carefully she slipped it onto her left ring finger, over her long white gloves. The cluster of jewels caught the light, flashing blue and white and gold. Sophie caught her breath in awe.

  ‘The Star of Serendib,’ sighed Charlotte, staring entranced at the beautiful ring.

  Eliza held it up so that the girls could admire it. ‘The Star of Serendib,’ she agreed. ‘Is it not stunning?’

  ‘Tell us the story, Mama,’ begged Nell. ‘I love this story.’

  Eliza glanced at the small clock on her mantelpiece and smiled.

  ‘Very well then, but you must go straight to bed when I have finished.’

  The girls nodded vigorously and climbed up on the vast four-poster bed. Sophie floated down beside them, eager to hear the story as well.

  ‘Many years ago, before we were married, your papa went to India with the East India Company to make his fortune,’ Eliza began, taking on the singsong tone she used when she was telling a story.

  ‘The Mackenzie family had lost all their money from years of poor investments and carelessness. Your papa inherited this land with its ruin of an ancient castle, with nothing else but some tumbledown cottages and a few starving crofters,’ Eliza continued, waving her hand towards the window and the lands of Dungorm outside in the shadowy night.

  ‘Alexander gathered what little money he had and sailed to India to work with the merchants who brought the riches of the Far East back to Scotland and England – spices, jewels, gold, cashmere, tea and coffee. At first he struggled, but one day his luck turned.

  ‘He was out riding when he came upon a young native lad and his servant being set upon by ruffians armed with knives and scimitars.’ Eliza paused to heighten the suspense.

  ‘Two dead servants lay nearby, covered in blood. The remaining servant had little hope against such a large, well-armed gang, and was losing ground. Your papa did not think twice but galloped into the fray, bellowing with rage and firing his pistol.’

  Charlotte and Nell unconsciously shrank together, visualising their beloved father riding into the fight, on his own against a pack of armed, lawless bandits.

  ‘The sight of the big white man firing his pistol and shouting was enough to frighten the bandits into fleeing. It turned out that the young lad was the son of a fabulously wealthy maharajah, an Indian prince, and the bandits were kidnapping him for ransom,’ Eliza continued.

  ‘The maharajah was so grateful to him for saving his son that he gave your papa the Star of Serendib, this ring, as a thanksgiving. He helped Alexander with many business opportunities in India so that in a few years he had made his fortune.

  ‘Your papa returned home to Scotland and built this house, furnishing it with treasures from the East. He rebuilt the cottages for the crofters and helped them with their farms so they could make a decent living. Alexander always said that the Star of Serendib was his good-luck talisman. Your father gave the ring to me on our wedding day.’

  Nell and Charlotte nodded. They knew all about their parents meeting when they were young and poor; the long, anxious wait while Alexander travelled to the other side of the world and the joyous marriage within weeks of his return – but that was another story.

  ‘The gem is called the Star of Serendib because it has a tiny six-pointed star deep in its heart,’ Eliza said, showing the girls the mark in the stone. ‘Star sapphires are extremely rare and according to legend are powerful talismans, giving protection to their owners.’

  Eliza turned back to the mirror and absent-mindedly squirted a spray of fragrant perfume on her neck and throat.

  ‘I think it is the favourite of all my jewels.’ Eliza looked deep into the heart of the gem and smiled. ‘Perhaps because it has such a romantic story or because the colour reminds me of the summer sky and cornflowers.

  ‘Anyway, my darlings, time for you to go to bed, and for me to go down to greet our guests.’

  The girls sighed, the magic spell broken. Nell yawned and they both reluctantly stood up and came to kiss their mother.

  ‘Goodnight, Mama,’ they chorused, breathing in the heady scent of their mother’s perfume.

  ‘Goodnight, darlings, sweet dreams,’ replied Eliza, giving them both a hug and a kiss. ‘I hope our guests do not keep you awake tonight.’

  The girls headed to their bedchamber, certain that they could never sleep that night with so much excitement downstairs. Sophie went exploring, skimming along the corridors and peeking over the banisters into the hall below.

  The guests started arriving at eight o’clock in carriages pulled by teams of horses, their coats gleaming in the lamplight. Overhead, the full moon was rising, spreading a silvery glow over the countryside.

  Men were dressed in formal kilts with ornate sporrans, black jackets, bow ties and white shirts. Women wore billowing, beribboned skirts of delicate silk and white lace, with long white gloves. Most of the ladies wore fashionable crinoline skirts with their stiff cages underneath and had to edge sideways from the carriages to ensure their wide skirts could fit through the doorway.

  As the guests arrived and swept up the stone staircase to the front door, they were announced by the butler, who boomed their names into the wide entrance hall.

  Alexander and Eliza Mackenzie, Laird and Lady of Dungorm, stood in the entrance hall greeting their guests as they arrived.

  The hallway was lit with dozens of candles blazing in the candelabras. A broad marble staircase swept up to the gallery above. The grand reception rooms on the ground floor had fires crackling in the grates and dozens of guests hovering and chattering like fluttering butterflies against the green silk of the walls.

  The long drawing room was set up for the dancing, with a band of musicians playing in one corner behind a screen of potted palms. The sitting room and conservatory were set aside for refreshment, conversation and a quieter retreat from the dancing.

  Upstairs on the landing crouched three small figures dressed in white nightgowns. Charlotte and Nell had their hair crimped in scraps of white rags to encourage ringlets, while behind them floated the almost transparent figure of Sophie, watching the gaiety below as eagerly as the two sisters.

  Gradually the noise below increased as the champagne flowed; the chattering and laughter threatened to drown out the musicians. At a signal from the butler, the musicians struck up the opening chords to a lively dance tune.

  The gossiping butterflies gradually parted. Some of the older guests headed eagerly to the tables set up in the library to play cards.

  Others headed to the refreshments tables to marvel at the wondrous display of food – cold ham, turkey and chicken, dainty sandwiches, cakes, puddings and biscuits.

  As was customary, the ho
st and hostess started the dancing, each choosing a partner for the quadrille. The dancing was elegant and graceful, with swirling skirts and dainty steps.

  Nell, Charlotte and Sophie watched entranced as the couples dipped, swayed and promenaded around the room. Everyone laughed and clapped as the tune finished and another began.

  ‘The Honourable Mr and Mrs Roderick Mackenzie,’ announced the butler from the hall. The girls strained to catch sight of their uncle and aunt below. The children could not remember meeting their father’s younger brother before.

  He had lived in London for many years and had recently returned to Scotland, where he had bought a small estate about an hour’s ride away and a townhouse in Edinburgh.

  Roderick stood in the doorway, looking tall and proud in his black evening jacket and Mackenzie kilt. His wife, Arabella, stood next to him, in her wide crinoline skirt, her face haughty and cold, a tall feather plume nodding on her elaborate black coiffure. They swept into the entrance hallway, causing many to turn and stare.

  Alexander stepped forward eagerly, heartily shaking his brother’s hand and bowing to Arabella. Eliza smiled and curtseyed in welcome, murmuring the usual pleasantries.

  ‘Good to see my brother back in the bonnie Scottish highlands,’ Alexander said, beaming. ‘Are you still a Scot, or have they changed you into a Londoner? And the beautiful Arabella – welcome home.’

  ‘My dear Eliza,’ gushed Arabella, kissing the air beside Eliza’s cheek. ‘How lovely you look … and how perfect the Dungorm jewels are with your dress – the diamonds are exquisite. And of course you are wearing the Dungorm sapphire, the Star of Serendib – how utterly divine.’

  ‘Thank you,’ replied Eliza graciously. ‘You look lovely too.’

  ‘Not the Dungorm jewels,’ corrected Alexander, kissing his wife’s hand gallantly. ‘Simply Eliza’s jewels, although my wife’s beauty does not really need any adornment at all. She is perfect the way she is.’