Sophie loved the folk tales but none moved her quite as much as the story of Jeannie Macdonald told by Nanny in her singsong Scottish voice.
Finally Sophie found a book on Scottish clans. She learnt that the Mackenzies were one of the great families of north-west Scotland. Their lands had once stretched from the west coast near the Isle of Skye to the north of Ullapool and east to the Black Isle, near Inverness.
The Mackenzie tartan was a green, blue and black check with an overlay of red and white. Like all the clans, they had feuded with their neighbours and their history was a violent one of wars, battles, curses and tragedies. Yet there was no mention of Dungorm or Alexander and Eliza Mackenzie.
At last Nonnie came back and Sophie closed the book with a sigh. She wasn’t sure if her reading had really helped her understand more about Charlotte Mackenzie, but at least it was a start.
‘Come on, Sophie and Jess,’ called Nonnie. ‘You’ve been reading all morning. Let’s go and get some fresh air and put the roses back in your cheeks. You’re looking a little peaky, Sophie.’
Thoughts of Scotland, the Mackenzies and Castle Dungorm floated through Sophie’s head all day. Nonnie took them to see the spy movie in the afternoon, but not even this could distract her from thoughts of the Mackenzies.
‘Did you enjoy the movie, Sophie?’ asked Nonnie. ‘You’re very quiet. Is there anything bothering you?’
‘No,’ Sophie answered with a quick grin. ‘Just thinking.’
‘Don’t think too much or you’ll wear your brain out,’ teased Jess, flicking Sophie’s hair.
‘Ha, ha! You can talk! At least I have a brain to wear out!’ retorted Sophie.
She made an effort to be chatty as they played cards after dinner. But she couldn’t help glancing frequently at her watch, waiting for the slow-moving hands to make it around to bedtime, when she could clean her teeth, pull on her nightie, hide the locket around her neck and climb under the doona. How did Alexander and Eliza die? How did the girls become orphans? Sleep, sleep – oh when would it ever come?
This time, the light was different in Scotland when Sophie floated above the house of Dungorm. It was grey and flat and dreary. Squalls of rain beat against the windows and soaked Sophie’s nightdress.
As quickly as she could, Sophie faded through an upstairs attic window and into the house. She searched the house, looking for Charlotte and Nell.
Sophie floated down the back stairs, dodging a chambermaid carrying up a load of coal. On the ground floor she checked the sitting room and the conservatory; then she heard the sound of low voices coming from the drawing room.
Cautiously she glided through the door and into the room. A fire was blazing on the hearth, but it did little to disperse the chill, so everyone was wearing thick, warm clothes.
She seemed to have come in on a family discussion of some seriousness, judging by the sombre expressions on Eliza’s and Alexander’s faces. Sophie felt momentarily guilty to be eavesdropping on a private conversation.
It’s too late for that, she thought. I’ve been eavesdropping on private conversations for nights now. And maybe I’ll find out something useful.
Charlotte and Nell sat quietly on stools near the fire, with Flossie at their feet. Flossie noticed Sophie and sat up, her ears pricked, but for the first time she didn’t bark or growl. She thumped her tail in greeting then lay down once more.
‘But Alexander, what business could be so urgent that you need to travel by ship at this time of year?’ Eliza argued, jumping up from her armchair and dropping a small linen cloth she was embroidering. ‘Why not take a little longer and go by road?’
‘The roads are dreadful at this time of year too, and I need to get to Glasgow urgently to sign some papers,’ Alexander replied patiently, patting her on the arm. ‘If I take the ship, I need only be away for a matter of days, and then I can be back here with you and the girls all the sooner.’
He smiled over at Charlotte and Nell, who smiled tentatively back.
‘It will be fine, Eliza,’ continued Alexander. ‘You know we have done this trip dozens of times. Eliza Mackenzie is a sturdy, safe ship and is standing by in the harbour ready to go. My valet is packing, so I can leave as soon as the carriage is ready.’
Eliza sighed, admitting defeat, and dropped back into her chair, her embroidery forgotten.
‘I do not like it at all,’ she finished anxiously, twisting the Star of Serendib ring on her finger.
Alexander smiled and quoted his favourite poet, Robbie Burns, with a voice thrumming with mock drama, and with exaggerated hand gestures. It was a poem he knew by heart.
‘From thee, Eliza, I must go,
And from my native shore;
The cruel fates between us throw
A boundless ocean’s roar:
But boundless oceans, roaring wide,
Between my love and me,
They never, never can divide
My heart and soul from thee.
‘Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear,
The maid that I adore …’
Alexander trailed off laughing, as Eliza threw a green velvet cushion at his head.
‘Not very ladylike, my Lady Mackenzie,’ he chided with false severity.
‘But you are not leaving your native shore or crossing a boundless ocean, my Laird Mackenzie,’ Eliza retorted.
‘Exactly, so I will be fine, my love,’ Alexander reassured her. ‘Now, what pretty trifles can I fetch my three beautiful girls in Glasgow – silks, lace, ribbon?’
‘Presents!’ cried Nell in glee.
‘Books,’ added Charlotte. ‘We need some new books.’
‘I shall bring plenty,’ agreed Alexander dotingly. ‘I should be back by Wednesday week so tell Cook to plan a fitting dinner for the laird of the house.’
A discreet knock sounded at the door.
‘M’ laird, the carriage is ready,’ announced the butler.
‘Thank you, Wilson. I shall be there in a moment.’
Alexander swept each of the girls up off the floor and into his arms for a bear hug and a rain of kisses.
‘Be good for your mama while I’m away, you mischievous lassies, or there will be no presents for anyone,’ Alexander teased, dropping Nell down gently on the floor.
Then he picked up Eliza’s hand and kissed it gently.
‘Farewell, farewell Eliza dear, the maid that I adore,’ he whispered. ‘I will be home soon, my love, never fear.’
Eliza stood up to hug him wordlessly. Alexander kissed her hard then walked quickly through the door, keen to finish the scene of farewell. The girls ran to the door to watch Wilson hand Alexander his hat and coat and hold the front door open. Alexander blew them one more kiss, and then he was gone.
Eliza sank back into her chair, then smiled brightly at the girls.
‘Well, the journey should only take a few days,’ Eliza said. ‘And I wonder what presents Papa will choose for us. I hope he remembers to bring the velvet for your new dresses; you are both growing so much.’
‘I hope he finds me a pretty blue velvet,’ said Nell.
Eliza stooped to pick up the dropped linen and Sophie noticed she moved a bit awkwardly. When Eliza leant back into the armchair and wedged a cushion behind her back, Sophie realised that Eliza’s pregnancy was now very obvious.
Outside, the wind howled, lashing the rain against the windows. Charlotte and Nell sat on the floor playing spillikins, while Eliza stared into the fire, her sewing forgotten. Sophie curled up on the window seat. Marmalade, the fat ginger cat, stalked over and sniffed her suspiciously, then ignored her.
Sophie felt exhausted but fought sleep, frightened she would slip back to her own time if she slept. She watched patiently as Eliza and the girls went up to bed. A servant banked the fire for the night and extinguished the candles, leaving Sophie in pitch darkness.
When the house was quiet, Sophie found a candle on the mantelpiece and, concentrating with all her might, tried to lift it up. She fum
bled and knocked it and dropped it.
It seemed so strange that something as simple as picking up a candle was so difficult, yet she could fly and be invisible and dissolve through solid walls, all of which were totally impossible in her own life.
At last Sophie was able to pick up the candle, with trembling fingers. She held the wick against the red coals of the fire until it burst into flame. Now she had light.
Sophie wandered around the drawing room checking the portraits on the wall, the knick-knacks on the piano and the Indian curios on the mantelpiece by the candle’s flickering light.
A huge gilt mirror was hung over the fireplace in the drawing room. Sophie stared in the mirror at her reflection. She was not there, only the candle floating mysteriously by itself in midair, the drawing room reflected behind it. It gave her a fright: did she really exist any more?
Sophie took the candle and wandered through the ground floor, exploring. She could go into only the rooms where the doors were left ajar, as she could not fade through the doorways carrying the candle.
The clock chimed the quarter hour. The house was asleep. Only Marmalade the ginger cat remained to keep her company, strolling at her heels.
The storm outside gradually intensified until it was shaking the very foundations of the house. The wind buffeted the windows and rattled the doors and the shutters. The clock on the mantelpiece struck one o’clock.
A clatter sounded from the driveway. A horse galloped up the gravel, its hoof beats hardly audible over the storm. A crash sounded on the front door – a banging of fists –and then came an indecipherable shout. Sophie froze, her heart in her mouth.
With sudden clarity she knew what that terrible banging meant. She knew what dreadful news was on the other side of that door. In slow motion, she heard the stirrings in the house. Sophie blew out the candle flame and floated towards the front door.
Wilson the butler, wearing a jacket over his nightclothes, hurried down the back stairs and into the hall, carrying a hastily lit lantern. Nanny bustled after him, a thin wrapper over her nightclothes, her hair covered by a mob-cap. She was followed by two chambermaids, who were clutching each other nervously.
Wilson unbolted the big front door, which slowly swung open. A saturated fisherman fell into the hallway, shedding puddles from his sou-wester.
‘My God, man!’ Wilson exclaimed. ‘Whatever has happened?’
‘Storm,’ panted the fisherman, breathless from his breakneck ride. ‘Ship hit the rocks near Kyle of Lochalsh. Eliza Mackenzie sank without trace. We saved two mates. We fear the crew and the laird of Dungorm are lost.’
A faint sob came from the top of the marble staircase.
‘Alexander? No. No. Please God, not my Alexander.’
Eliza stood like a ghost in her long white nightgown, a crimson shawl thrown over her shoulders and her long hair tumbling down her back. One of the chambermaids shrieked.
‘My lady,’ cried Nanny, running up the stairs. But Nanny was too late. Eliza crumpled to the floor and slid down the stairs, her head banging on the hard marble.
‘Noooooo,’ screamed Sophie and found herself whooshing up the stairs, past the gaping servants, past Nanny and up to Eliza’s tumbling body. When Sophie reached her, a moment later, Eliza had fallen only a couple of steps.
Sophie was as frail as tissue paper. She could see right through her own hand to the rich Persian carpet below. Yet somehow her panic gave her strength. She skimmed up the stairs and met Eliza’s falling body with her own transparent ghostly one.
Sophie concentrated with all her mind. Save Eliza. Stop her falling.
Somehow, like a mother who manages to lift an impossibly heavy car off the body of her fallen child, Sophie managed to break Eliza’s fall and stop her on the third step. In a moment Nanny was there fussing over Eliza, cradling her head in her lap and murmuring soothing noises, while fat, salty tears fell from her eyes.
Downstairs the chambermaids sobbed in shock and fear. Wilson the butler shouted orders, sending for smelling salts, wet cloths, towels for the fisherman, hot tea.
All the servants were now gathered in the hall and leapt to his command, tending Eliza, fetching items, rubbing down and stabling the shivering horse, towelling the fisherman dry and leading him to the kitchen for hot tea and rum.
Sophie collapsed on the stairs, trembling violently with the effort of saving Eliza, overwhelmed with both relief and grief. Sally the chambermaid stepped right through Sophie’s ghostly body as she ran up the stairs.
Nanny carefully checked Eliza’s head, neck and back before supervising two footmen who carried her back to bed. The chambermaid hurried in with the smelling salts and wet cloths.
Nanny looked at Eliza’s wan face. It seemed cruel to wake her up, to make her face this nightmare. Nanny took a deep breath, then waved the pungent smelling salts under Eliza’s nose.
Eliza coughed and choked. She woke up, her eyelids fluttering open. She took in Nanny, the smelling salts, her vicious headache and the feeling that her insides had been ripped open by a knife. Consciousness flooded back.
‘Alexander, oh, Alexander,’ Eliza moaned. Sophie floated near the dressing table, tears spilling down her cheeks. She wondered where Charlotte and Nell were. Was it possible they had slept through all this commotion?
‘Where are my girls?’ begged Eliza. ‘Do they know? Are they awake?’
Nanny shook her head, trying to speak. ‘I sent one o’ the kitchen maids to check on them … the bonnie lassies were sleeping like bairns. I could no’ bear to wake them up, and I wanted to make sure ye were all right first.’
‘Thank you, Nanny,’ whispered Eliza. ‘You did well. I do not want to scare them unnecessarily. Hopefully by morning we will have found him.’ She paused, her voice cracking.
‘I am quite well now, thank you, Nanny,’ Eliza continued in a stronger voice. ‘I want all the servants dressed warmly and ready to ride to Kyle of Lochalsh. You of course must stay here to look after my bairns.
‘I will go with the servants to organise the search party for the survivors. We will hunt all night and all day if we have to. Can you please ask the servants to lay out my riding habit and saddle my horse?’
Eliza fell back, exhausted from the energy expended in this speech. Nanny cried openly now, sobs wracking her rounded frame.
‘Nanny, we have to be strong now,’ Eliza continued, touching Nanny gently on the arm. ‘We have to do everything we can. It is not time yet to grieve him.’
Nanny pulled herself together.
‘My lady, ye’ canna ride to Lochalsh in this storm,’ Nanny said firmly. ‘Ye will kill the wee bairn. Let the men gae and search. Ye should stay and rest. ’Tis an absolute miracle ye were no’ killed just now when ye fell down the stairs.’
Eliza touched her belly for reassurance and nodded.
‘All right,’ Eliza conceded. ‘Please send my wishes to the men. We will just have to wait and pray and hope.’ She turned her face away so Nanny wouldn’t see the tears welling just below the surface.
Nanny curtseyed and bustled off. Eliza climbed clumsily out of bed and stumbled to her daughters’ room.
Charlotte and Nell were sleeping peacefully, oblivious to the drama around them.
Eliza gazed down at each child in turn, and gently tucked in their covers. Charlotte stirred, then awoke. It took a moment for her to focus.
‘Mama?’
‘Oh, my darling,’ Eliza sobbed. ‘We are going to have to be very brave.’
Nell woke and, seeing her mother’s face so strange and swollen, began to cry in fear. Charlotte jumped out of bed and flung herself into her mother’s arms. ‘Mama, what is wrong?’
Eliza said only one word. ‘Papa.’
Eliza spent the day reading to the girls from Pride and Prejudice.
Sophie too had listened, drawing comfort from the words. It was strange. Sophie had never met Alexander and he had certainly never even seen her, yet her grief felt as though it was for a mem
ber of her own family, which she supposed he actually was.
Eliza checked the window every few pages, searching for a glimpse of the returning servants bringing with them either her salvation or life sentence. At last, many hours later, when it was almost dark again, she glimpsed the cavalcade from the nursery window. She called frantically for Nanny to watch the girls and keep them away.
The servants walked slowly into the stable yard, their horses hanging their heads in exhaustion. Behind them bumped a rickety old farm cart, with a blanket-shrouded shape lying on the back.
Eliza flew down the staircase and met the returning servants as they carried the scarlet-draped body into the hall. The men, grey with weariness, carried their hats in their hands, refusing to meet Eliza’s gaze.
‘My lady,’ blurted Wilson, ‘I am so sorry. We found my laird’s body this afternoon, washed up on the shore of Lochalsh. We brought it straight home; we thought you would want to know as soon as possible.’
‘Thank you, Wilson,’ murmured Eliza. As if of its own accord, her hand reached out and gently, softly stroked the draped body. ‘Could you please carry him in here? I want to look after him myself.’
Alexander’s body was laid out on a table in the sitting room and Eliza closed the door, locking everyone out. The servants scurried around, watching the door nervously.
At last Eliza emerged and wordlessly climbed the stairs to the nursery to comfort her daughters.
‘Darlings, your papa is dead. There is no doubt now.’ Eliza slumped, all the fight gone from her, and hugged Charlotte and Nell closely. ‘It is just us now.’
Charlotte buried her head in her mother’s skirt but somehow she had already known the worst. Nell just stared uncomprehendingly. How could their larger-than-life, laughing father be gone?
Sophie could not bear to watch Eliza, Charlotte and Nell’s grief. She turned away and swooped up through the window and up through the clouds, back to her own world.
The Locket of Dreams Page 6