Nanny’s voice seemed calm but Charlotte, who had known Nanny her whole life, could sense the suppressed panic beneath the surface.
‘Of course, Nanny,’ Charlotte replied quickly, her voice cracking with fear.
‘There ye are, my bonnie lassie,’ Nanny replied. ‘Ring for Wilson, then gae straight back to bed.’
Nanny did not wait for Charlotte to reply but hurried back into Eliza’s chamber. Charlotte heard another low moan of pain from behind the closed door. Her mind was made up in a flash.
Charlotte ran down the marble staircase, her padding feet making no noise in her cotton slippers. She drew back the bolts on the back door, slipped out into the night and ran to the stables. Sophie swooped beside her. What was Charlotte going to do?
In the tack room Charlotte lit a lamp and found a bridle, a carrot and an old mackintosh, which she shrugged over her nightgown. Then she walked slowly down the corridor of the stables, talking softly to the horses.
She stopped, quietly and calmly, at the stall of her father’s favourite hunter, Tamburlaine, the fastest horse on the estate. He was a massive eighteen hands high, much taller than her own pony, Rosie.
Sophie stayed well back, not wanting to spook the horse with her proximity.
Tamburlaine accepted the withered carrot happily, with a whickering hurrumph and a tickling breath on Charlotte’s cheek.
Cautiously, Charlotte slipped the bridle over Tamburlaine’s head while he still had it down low, and buckled the strap. Her cold hands fumbled with the unfamiliar task, then she led him out of the stall, down the corridor and out into the stable yard.
There was still one more difficult task, which was to actually mount the huge horse. Charlotte led him past the mounting block and over to the water butt which caught the rainwater from the roof. She scrambled up onto the water butt, then onto Tamburlaine’s broad, bare back.
The time for slowness was over. Charlotte gathered the reins, wrapping her fingers in Tamburlaine’s mane, and kicked her slippered feet into Tamburlaine’s sides. The hunter caught her panic and leapt into a gallop.
Charlotte hunched right over his neck, clinging on for her very life. Her slippers did not even last until the stable-yard arch, dropping away into the mud. Charlotte prayed she could guide him. Her weight and strength were nothing compared to Alexander’s.
The intelligent horse seemed to sense her need and flew out of the stable yard and along the pale glimmer of the road leading to the village. They clattered through the small village and out the other side, heading to the ferryman’s cottage.
Sophie skimmed alongside, well away from the horse.
The island was separated from the mainland by a narrow loch, crossed by barge. Charlotte rode Tamburlaine right to the ferryman’s front door and rang the bell furiously.
‘Who is there at this time o’ the night?’ cried the ferryman, sticking his head out the window.
‘’Tis Charlotte Mackenzie. An emergency – my mother – the surgeon – please hurry.’
The ferryman flung open the door and rushed down to the loch, pulling on his jacket as he ran.
‘Do no’ fret, lassie,’ he called back, untying the rope securing his barge. ‘I will fetch the sawbones. ’Twill be quicker. Ye wait inside with my wife, and I will take ye back to Dungorm when I return.’
Charlotte nodded wearily and watched as the competent ferryman took the oars and was speedily swallowed by the darkness. But Charlotte did not go inside and wait with the ferryman’s wife. Instead she turned Tamburlaine’s head and cantered for home, Sophie flying beside her.
Once Tamburlaine was safely returned to his stall, rubbed down and fed a bucket of oats, Charlotte raced to the house, the sharp gravel bruising and cutting her feet.
Lights blazed in the back of the house and servants hurried back and forth, from the kitchen, to the laundry, to the back servants’ staircase, carrying pails of boiling water and piles of linen.
Charlotte dashed upstairs to her mother’s chamber. Once more she threw open the door without knocking and rushed into the room. Her mother lay limp – her long hair now brushed and plaited, her skin as pale as the white nightgown and sheets – but still gently breathing.
Sophie heaved a silent sigh of relief. They were not too late.
Nanny was in the corner folding some towels, her face creased with grief.
‘Och, Miss Charlotte,’ Nanny whispered. ‘Your mother’s sleeping. I think ’tis best if ye gae to bed.’
‘No, I am not sleeping, Nanny,’ replied Eliza from the bed, her voice weary. ‘I want to talk to Miss Charlotte for a few moments. Would you mind leaving us? I would appreciate it if you could ensure no-one disturbs us. Thank you, Nanny.’
Nanny looked inclined to argue, but years of working for great families had ingrained a sense of unquestioning obedience. She nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her. Sophie was torn: should she go too, or should she stay and listen? Curiosity won and Sophie stayed.
Eliza lay back exhausted after her short speech. She gathered her strength and her thoughts then patted the bed beside her. Charlotte sat down on the eiderdown, confused and anxious.
‘You had a little brother, Charlotte,’ Eliza whispered. ‘He did not last long in this world, but I did get to hold him for a few minutes. I called him Alexander James. He came too early – impatient like his father. The baby died a short while ago.’
Eliza stopped and closed her eyes. Charlotte stared at her with round frightened eyes, uncomprehending.
‘Charlotte, I want to give you something, just in case,’ Eliza continued. ‘Could you fetch me my jewel casket from my dressing table?’
Charlotte brought over the small gilt box with trembling hands and laid it on the bed. This was where her mother kept the jewellery she wore every day. The other jewels – the priceless diamonds, pearls and emeralds – were kept locked away in a safe in Alexander’s dressing room.
‘Charlotte, if anything were to happen to me …’
Charlotte froze, her mind refusing to accept her mother’s words. She felt as though she was in a terrible nightmare and she longed to wake up, so everything could be as it was before.
‘Of course, everything I own would be yours and Nell’s,’ Eliza continued.
‘No.’
‘Listen to me please, Charlotte; this is important. I want you to be strong.’
Charlotte listened carefully, although she could not see through the hot tears running down her face. Sophie sobbed too.
‘If something ever happened to me, I would like you to have my wedding ring, the Star of Serendib, which Papa brought me back from India. I want you to take it now and look after it until I am better.’
Eliza rubbed the sparkling sapphire with her thin fingers then tucked it inside Charlotte’s palm.
‘My gold bangle will be for Nell and I want you to have my gold locket so I can be close to you when you wear it. Put them somewhere safe until I need them again.’ Eliza paused once more, breathing raggedly for a few moments.
‘Darling, I do not know what the future holds for any of us, but one thing I do know is that I will always love you both so much. If I cannot be there, please look after Nell for me. Remember, I will always watch over you …’
Eliza closed her eyes and seemed to fall into a half sleep. Charlotte waited for a moment, then quietly returned the jewel casket to the dressing table and tiptoed back to the bed. She kissed her mother gently on the forehead, like a mother would kiss a sleeping child.
‘I love you,’ Charlotte whispered. Eliza smiled softly but did not open her eyes.
Down below, Charlotte heard the commotion of the surgeon arriving. She slipped away to her room and hid the jewellery in her carved oak treasure box.
Charlotte knelt beside her bed, her eyes shut tightly and her hands clasped together in prayer.
‘Please God, do not let Mama die. Please save her,’ she murmured her prayer over and over.
Sophie sat beside he
r, longing to comfort Charlotte with a hug and be comforted by her in turn.
Half an hour later, Nanny came in to fetch the girls. She did not speak but gently shook Nell awake and beckoned them to follow her down the hall to their mother’s room. Charlotte helped the sleepy Nell out of bed. Sophie followed the girls down the hallway, feeling as frightened as the girls looked.
The surgeon was just leaving their mother’s chamber, carrying a small bag.
‘Miss Charlotte, Miss Nell,’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry but there was nothing I could do. Lady Mackenzie lost too much blood. Your mother is … dead. I thought perhaps you might like to see her –’
Nell screamed and fell to the floor, her body crumpled like a rag doll. Charlotte sucked in her breath, too shocked to speak. The doctor glanced imploringly at Nanny then hurried away down the corridor.
Gently, Nanny coaxed Nell to her feet and half carried her into Eliza’s darkened bedroom, with Charlotte and Sophie stumbling behind.
Eliza lay on the bed as if she were sleeping peacefully, her dark hair spread on the white pillows. The girls rushed to her bedside and fell to their knees on the floor
‘Mama,’ sobbed Nell. ‘Mama, please come back.’
A flicker of white caught Sophie’s eye. In the corner of the room floated an apparition, a woman dressed in a long white gown. In her arms she held a small wrapped bundle.
With a start Sophie realised the apparition was Eliza Mackenzie, Lady of Dungorm, and in her arms was her newborn son. Eliza floated over to Charlotte and Nell and kissed each one on top of their heads. The girls seemed oblivious to her misty embrace. Eliza turned and smiled at Sophie.
‘Look after my girls.’ A muted whisper sounded in Sophie’s ear. ‘Help them if you can.’
The apparition wavered and faded and disappeared.
Sophie flew after her. ‘Stop. No, Eliza, wait,’ she cried.
Charlotte looked up suddenly and stared sharply at the corner where Sophie floated. Sophie melted away through the wall into the dressing room, leaving the girls to their grief.
So that was how it happened that Eliza and her baby son, Alexander, were buried in the Mackenzie crypt so soon after her husband, leaving two orphaned girls, all alone in the world.
When Sophie next visited Scotland, it was only a few days after Eliza’s death, but Sophie noticed many changes at Dungorm.
Roderick and Arabella Mackenzie had arrived to stay. This time they brought their son and heir, Roddy, a thin, pasty boy who had little interest in his white-clad cousins.
The three children spent a lot of time together eating their meals in the schoolroom and doing lessons there with Nanny. Aunt Arabella did not believe that losing both your parents in the space of a few weeks was a good enough excuse to miss lessons.
She also disapproved strongly of Eliza’s opinions on education for girls, believing that deportment, embroidery, music and dancing were far more important than science, mathematics and languages.
Roddy did not enjoy lessons and thought it was much more fun to pinch Nell’s arm, throw pencils at Charlotte, spill ink on the girls’ dictation or put earwigs in Nanny’s tea. Nanny was given a book of useless facts that the children were supposed to memorise, such as the length of the Nile River and the height of the tallest mountain in Scotland.
Aunt Arabella also believed in plain food for children: gruels, porridge, rice pudding, bread-and-butter pudding, boiled mutton and boiled potatoes. Anything more was difficult for delicate stomachs to digest, she said. So mealtimes were miserable affairs, where Nell and Charlotte ate little and Roddy amused himself by flicking raisins from the pudding at the girls.
Flossie was banned from the house, living out in the kennels with the farm dogs. The girls could sometimes hear her howling during their lessons, a sound Charlotte hated.
As soon as the dinner bell rang downstairs and she knew her aunt and uncle were occupied, Charlotte would slip down the servants’ stairs to the kennels and untie Flossie. Flossie would go crazy with excitement, jumping and licking and wagging her tail.
But as soon as they came to the back door, the dog knew she had to be quiet. Charlotte would sneak Flossie up the back stairs and hide her in the nursery for the night, then take her back down again at breakfast time. Most of the servants knew about Flossie’s illicit bedtime visits but none of them would ever dream of giving away the girls’ secret.
These were not the only changes implemented by Uncle Roderick and Aunt Arabella that affected the bewildered sisters. Sophie’s heart ached for them.
Usually the girls had plenty of time for reading, helping themselves to their favourite authors such as the Brontë sisters, Jane Austen and Sir Walter Scott. However, Aunt Arabella did not approve, instead choosing some illuminating moral tracts and religious essays that the girls should read.
Charlotte slipped down the back stairs to the library. She simply had to read a decent book or she felt she would go mad. She wanted to lose herself in another world, in someone else’s story, so she could forget her own misery for a short time. As usual, Sophie followed Charlotte closely.
While standing outside the library door, Charlotte heard her uncle speaking to Wilson inside.
In a split second she decided to hide. She simply did not want to meet her uncle or explain why she was going to the library. There was a door on her left, leading to her father’s study.
Charlotte turned the doorknob and ducked inside. She listened carefully, but to her horror, heard her uncle finish his instructions to Wilson right outside the study door. He was coming in.
In a panic, Charlotte glanced around. Her uncle would be furious to find her here in the study.
Charlotte saw the deep velvet couch, where her father used to read, in front of the bookshelf. She crawled in behind it and hoped her uncle would not discover her.
Invisible Sophie did not need to hide, but waited by the door, listening.
Uncle Roderick strode to the desk, covered in piles of paper, and sat down. He scanned the letters, contracts and circulars in the pile nearest him. Charlotte grew stiff and uncomfortable, cramped in a crouch.
Sophie peered over Roderick’s shoulder to see what he was reading. They all seemed to be boring business letters so Sophie floated over to look out the window.
Charlotte crawled to the end of the couch, where she could peek around the edge and watch what her uncle was doing.
When Uncle Roderick had finished sorting one pile, he started on another. Charlotte’s foot had gone to sleep and was tingling with pain, but she dared not move it.
Uncle Roderick sighed with impatience, crumpling another letter and tossing it in the waste-paper basket. Others he placed on one of three piles on the desk, sorting them carefully.
At last, Roderick found something that it seemed he had been looking for. He stood up quickly and looked around. He hurried to the door and carefully locked it, then, using the lamp on the desk, warily read the document in his hands.
Sophie moved closer to see what it was. Roderick seemed to sense her presence and moved away. Sophie only had a quick glimpse of the document, but it looked like something official, written on thick parchment in Alexander’s handwriting.
When Uncle Roderick had finished reading, he held the document in his hands for a moment as though weighing up its contents, then crumpled it and threw it on the fire.
Roderick used the poker to push the ball of paper deep into the heart of the flame. The flame licked the paper ball and flared high, greedily consuming the parchment until it was a pile of flaky ashes.
Roderick replaced the fire guard and left the room.
There was an ominous clunk and Charlotte realised she had been locked in. She stretched her aching muscles and rubbed her blood-deprived feet. When a few minutes had elapsed she carefully listened at the door. It was silent outside. Cautiously she tried the knob, but the door was indeed locked.
Sophie faded out through the door, hoping to unlock it for Charlotte, but the key
was gone. She shimmered back through the door into the study.
Charlotte was checking the fireplace, but there was nothing left of the mysterious document her uncle had burnt. She turned to the papers on the desk. One pile seemed to be correspondence from acquaintances; another was bills; while another held business letters.
Carefully Charlotte uncrumpled a paper from the waste bin. It was a letter from one of Papa’s clubs in Glasgow, informing him of an upcoming lecture. No clues here.
There was only one thing she found that interested Charlotte and that was her father’s battered old book of Robert Burns’ poems. She slipped it into the pocket of her pinafore. Now she had to get out of the study before her uncle returned. She checked the top drawer of Alexander’s desk where he used to keep his keys. They were gone.
Next she tried the window, which was locked from the inside with a simple catch. It only took a moment to unlatch it, lift the window and slither through the opening onto the outside sill. Sophie slipped through while the window was open, just before Charlotte banged it down.
Charlotte leapt from the ledge across the garden bed onto the lawn, to avoid leaving telltale footprints in the soil. A moment later she was heading for the back door, near the kitchens, to sneak up the servants’ stairs to the schoolroom. Her aunt and uncle were rarely seen in the back quarters of the house.
Charlotte slipped past Sally the chambermaid, who was carrying buckets of coal upstairs to fuel the schoolroom fire, and gave her a conspiratorial smile.
‘Cook said to tell you she is making gingerbread, if you and Miss Eleanor want to come down to the kitchen now,’ Sally whispered.
‘Thank you, Sally,’ Charlotte replied politely, even though she had little appetite. She did not want to hurt dear, kind Cook’s feelings. ‘I will find Nell.’
The kitchen was the usual warm bustle, with servants working and Cook directing the preparation of several dishes at once. On one wall was the large wood-fired stove with small ovens set on the side and several saucepans on top. Copper pots and bunches of herbs hung from the mantelpiece.
The Locket of Dreams Page 8