The Locket of Dreams

by Belinda Murrell

  Scullery maids chopped vegetables and kneaded dough at the scrubbed table in the centre of the room. Marmalade occupied his usual place under the table, licking his paws and washing his face.

  Cook smiled a hearty welcome when Charlotte and Nell entered, Sophie behind them.

  ‘Just in time!’ Cook cried. ‘The gingerbread is ready to come out o’ the oven, and I made lemon tarts, meringues and chocolate cake. ’Tis such a chilly day, I thought ye might like hot chocolate as well.’

  Neither Charlotte nor Nell had eaten anything much since their mother’s death, as Cook very well knew, so she had gone to a lot of trouble to make some of their favourite treats.

  Cook had set a little table in the corner of the kitchen, next to the bench where the girls usually sat. It was covered in a white linen tablecloth, silver cutlery and china plates, with a blue-and-white jug in the centre filled with an arrangement of autumn berries.

  Best of all was the food: a large cake covered in chocolate icing, a platter of delicate white meringues, a crystal bowl of whipped cream and a plate of crumbly lemon tarts.

  Charlotte felt a prickle of tears against her eyelids but blinked them away.

  ‘Thank you, Cook,’ she said warmly, as the girls took their seats. To their surprise, both Charlotte and Nell found they did have an appetite after all, especially when Cook opened the oven door and the kitchen filled with the spicy aroma of hot gingerbread. The smell made Sophie’s mouth water, as she squeezed onto the end of the bench.

  The girls tried a little of everything and then a little bit more.

  Cook carried over two tall mugs of foaming hot chocolate. Charlotte and Nell sipped appreciatively, not talking, just listening to the comforting babble of voices washing over them. They had not felt this warm and safe since their parents died. They felt almost happy.

  The servants lapsed back into the strong Scots dialect that they spoke amongst themselves, a mixture of Gaelic words and heavily accented English. It would be impossible for most English speakers to understand them, but the girls had been hearing it all their lives. Sophie found she could also understand most of the conversation.

  The servants talked about village gossip – who was getting married in the spring, who was expecting a bairn – the weather and the crops. It was feared the potato crop might fail again.

  ‘Ailsa says the wee folk have bewitched her cow – the butter will no’ churn and the milk is sour,’ one maid said. ‘She tried rubbing the beast with a blue bonnet to break the spell, but the magic was too strong.’

  ‘Och, Ailsa must scour the milking buckets and the butter churn and scald them with boiling water,’ snorted Cook. ‘Tha’ should fix the wee folk’s magic.’

  The others nodded in agreement.

  Sally burst in the door, her face flushed, carrying a tray covered in dishes and a teapot.

  ‘Tha’ woman is impossible!’ she cried. ‘My ladyship said the cake was too dry and the tea too strong and Cook would need a new job if her cooking did no’ improve.’

  Cook flushed and bit her lip. She felt the cake in the cake tin; it was fresh and moist.

  ‘She probably left it sitting too long,’ Cook grumbled. ‘I think she is trying to remind us who is the lady o’ the house now.’

  The servants rolled their eyes and nodded. All of them had some different experience of the new regime to complain or gossip about.

  ‘Hamish said the new master wants to sell most o’ the horses and let the stable lads go,’ cried one.

  Charlotte and Nell had stopped eating and were listening avidly, not daring to move in case the servants remembered they were there. Charlotte worried about their friend Angus the stableboy. He would be destitute if he lost his job.

  ‘She told Mr Wilson tha’ she wanted to economise on candles and coal in the schoolroom and servants’ quarters,’ added another. ‘’Twill be a long, cold winter for us in the attics if we are no’ to have enough fuel and light.’

  ‘The steward said the master was checking through the books and moaning about the crofters’ rents. He said too much o’ the estate was cropped with oats, potatoes and barley, and no’ enough with sheep. Do ye think he is meaning to send the crofters off the land like so many lairds are doing in the highlands?’

  ‘Can he do tha’? I ken he is the lassies’ guardian, but surely the estate belongs to them now and should be run the way ’tis until they are old enough to decide?’

  ‘Aye, but my laird’s will has no’ been found. Thomas heard the master telling the minister when he called around t’other day. There is only a very auld will, made before the lassies were e’en born. But the minister said my laird made a new will which should be in the study. So ’tis all a bit vague.’

  ‘Still, my laird and lady are barely cold in their graves and the puir lassies have had no time to grieve … ’tis just no’ right.’

  Suddenly Cook remembered the lassies were sitting right here in her kitchen and coughed loudly with embarrassment. She hoped the lassies hadn’t understood the conversation.

  ‘Now, Miss Charlotte and Miss Eleanor, was tha’ nice? Perhaps ye’d best be getting back to the schoolroom before your aunt notices ye are no’ there.’

  The servants all looked guilty and busily returned to the various chores that they were supposed to be doing.

  ‘Thank you for the afternoon tea, Cook,’ Charlotte said with a small smile. ‘It was the best food I have eaten in ages.’

  ‘’Tis a pleasure, my lassie,’ Cook answered. ‘Any time either o’ ye are hungry, just come down to my kitchen. There will always be food for ye here. I know ye do no’ much like rice pudding.’

  Nell nodded but didn’t speak. She had not had much to say the last few weeks.

  As the girls climbed the stairs, Charlotte turned over the gossip they had heard in the kitchen.

  Selling the horses, clearing the crofts, letting staff go. Such big changes. Charlotte thought back to the papers Uncle Roderick had burnt that morning and wondered if it could be the missing will – the document that set out who her father wanted to leave his property to after his death.

  That evening Charlotte was just about to sneak downstairs to fetch Flossie from the kennel when she bumped into Aunt Arabella, dressed for dinner in a low-cut black dress with a wide crinoline skirt. To Charlotte’s horror, Arabella was wearing the diamond necklace and chandelier earrings that her mother had worn on special occasions.

  ‘Oh, Charlotte, where are you going?’ Arabella asked impatiently. ‘Should you not be in the schoolroom eating your supper?’

  ‘I … I am going … to the –’ stuttered Charlotte guiltily.

  ‘Oh, never mind,’ Arabella cut her off. ‘I have been meaning to ask you. I have searched and searched through the Dungorm jewels but I cannot find the Star of Serendib. It is a very valuable ring and should be locked in the safe. Do you have any idea where it might be?’

  Charlotte’s heart skipped in fright. She was sure if Arabella ever found the Star of Serendib, she would take it for herself.

  ‘It … I … My mother always wore that ring. It was her favourite.’

  ‘Yes, I know that, but where is it now?’ Arabella raised her voice with irritation. ‘There were other things missing also. I suppose one of the servants must have taken them. I must call the constable.’

  Arabella is a loathsome woman, thought Sophie in disgust. How could she be so cruel?

  ‘No!’ Charlotte cried. ‘The servants would never steal from my mother. They loved her. My mother gave me some of her things just before she died – her locket and a bracelet for Nell. My mother said all her jewellery was to be ours.’

  ‘Well,’ sniffed Arabella, protectively clutching the priceless diamonds she wore around her neck, ‘I do not know that it was your mother’s to give away so easily; they are the Dungorm jewels. Hmmm, well, I mean, perhaps when you are older … Anyway, run along, child. I will be late for supper.’

  Charlotte was absolutely certain that her a
unt would stop at nothing to get her hands on the Star of Serendib.

  It was something in her glittering eyes when she spoke of it. It was revealed by the way she clutched her mother’s diamonds as if they were the most precious thing in the world to her, more precious than husband, son or nieces. It was pure avarice.

  I will never, ever let that woman take the Star of Serendib, thought Charlotte with determination. My mother gave me her talisman and I will cherish it my whole life.

  The next morning dawned fair and crisp, a golden autumn morning and possibly one of the last fair mornings for many months. Nanny had left the girls while she ran some errands, and Roddy was in bed with a chill.

  The outdoors called to Charlotte, whispering of sunshine, rolling moors, emerald hillsides, fresh air and a breeze in her hair. It was hard to be miserable all of the time. Would the whole of the rest of her life be this long dull ache of despair?

  Charlotte whispered to Nell and led her down the back stairs to the stables. They let Flossie free and saddled and bridled their ponies. In a few minutes they were riding out the archway of the stable yard and heading for the moors, with Flossie lolloping happily at their heels, her tongue lolling.

  Angus the stableboy saw them and quickly saddled another pony and set off after them. He soon caught up with them. Charlotte was glad of the company. Nell hardly said a word these days.

  It was wonderful to be on horseback again. The horses were fresh, just as tired of their containment in the stables as the girls were of their enforced inactivity in the schoolroom.

  Charlotte let Rosie have her head and she stretched out in a wild gallop, Nell and Angus following close behind. Black-faced sheep scattered from their flight, startled from their endless grazing. Sophie flew along, keeping pace with the others, relieved to be outside in the sunshine as much as the girls.

  When Rosie tired, they slowed to a walk. The air was fresh and cold and clear. It felt like a draught of new life itself.

  On the moor, Rosie cantered, following the stock trails through the heather, swinging through its rhythmic bends and turns. In summer this was a vast sea of purple heather bells as far as the horizon. In winter it was a vast white sea of snow. A sudden fallen log was cleared in a flying leap and still they cantered on, horse and girl as one.

  Charlotte headed towards her favourite hill, where she could see the whole Dungorm estate laid out at her feet like a map: the house, the loch, the castle ruins on the island, the fields and moors, the village and kirk, the roads, and in the distance, the great ocean.

  At the top they all halted, letting the ponies crop the grass. Angus said nothing, allowing the girls the peace of their own thoughts. The faraway sun felt warm on their backs and bathed the world in a golden glow.

  Flossie lay down panting, happy to be with her favourite people once more. Sophie sat on the grass beside the dog and twined her cold fingers in Flossie’s thick fur.

  Charlotte drank in the view. This was her home, her land, her people. She loved it with a passion.

  They walked slowly down the hill and back to the shore of the loch. Rusty-red weed lay along the round grey stones of the shore. The water, as usual, was grey and cold, with white-capped waves skimming across the top with the breeze. They trotted past the island and the castle, and then at last headed for home.

  The beauty of the morning was quickly destroyed when they returned, for Aunt Arabella had discovered them missing. They were summoned to meet her and Uncle Roderick in the sitting room. With trepidation, Sophie went too.

  ‘What is the meaning of this?’ bellowed Uncle Roderick. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘It was a beautiful morning – probably the last one for the year – so we went riding,’ answered Charlotte. ‘It was lovely.’

  ‘You went riding? Alone? On the moors?’ Uncle Roderick blustered.

  ‘We were not alone,’ Charlotte maintained. ‘Angus accompanied us, and we had Flossie too.’

  ‘A dog and a stableboy are not fit companions for the ladies of Dungorm. This is simply not seemly behaviour.’

  ‘Well, who else should we have ridden with? Papa always said we should ride with Angus so we were safe.’

  ‘This is what comes of not having a proper governess,’ Roderick pronounced. ‘Your nanny is obviously not able to control you.’

  Arabella nodded vigorously. Nell hung her head. Sophie fumed.

  ‘Fortunately I have already taken steps to remedy this situation,’ Roderick continued. ‘I have engaged a governess and she will be arriving very shortly. You have been allowed to be wilful and spoilt, indulged by your parents. But no more. A strict governess will tame this wild behaviour and mould you into the young ladies we expect.’

  Charlotte trembled with fury and irritation, thoughts tumbling through her mind. Not allowed to ride? A strange governess? What would happen to Nanny? What right had Uncle Roderick to come in and change everything? It was not fair. Nothing was fair.

  Weeks of misery and frustration and anger at the world bubbled up in Charlotte and she flew into a wild rage, shouting and storming and crying.

  ‘How dare you? What right do you have? You cannot just come here and ruin everything. You cannot just take everything that was ours! It is just not fair! I hate you. I hate you. We all hate you.’

  Roderick rang the bell furiously so Wilson and the footman came running.

  ‘Why did you burn my father’s papers?’ accused Charlotte. ‘I saw you! Was it his will? How can you ruin our lives?’

  ‘Take Miss Charlotte upstairs and lock her in her room,’ Roderick ordered. ‘She is hysterical and raving nonsense. Tell Cook that Miss Charlotte will not require any food today.’

  ‘Yes, my laird,’ replied Wilson stiffly. He gently took Charlotte by the arm and led her away to the nursery. Nell followed silently, her head bowed.

  A few moments later, Uncle Roderick came to the door.

  ‘Eleanor, you are to go next door to the schoolroom and return to your lessons,’ Roderick ordered. ‘Do not contact your sister or bring her any food, or you will share her punishment, is that understood?’

  Nell nodded once, her head still facing the floor, and shuffled out the door.

  ‘You will apologise in the morning, or your confinement will continue until you do. I will not tolerate this behaviour. Think carefully about your actions.’

  Roderick left. Charlotte did think. She worried about her sister Nell. The life and spirit seemed to have been crushed out of her. She was a different child to her old, sweet self. Charlotte worried about the staff, especially Nanny and Angus. Uncle Roderick might punish them, or they could even lose their jobs. She yearned to fight her uncle and aunt with every bone in her body. But what would happen to her sister and friends if she did?

  Sophie flitted between Charlotte and Nell, checking on them in their punishment. By mid-afternoon Charlotte was hungry, but no-one came near. In the evening the door was unlocked and Nell came in, looking pale and sick. The door was locked immediately behind her.

  ‘I am sorry,’ Nell murmured, her face miserable. ‘I could not bring you any food. Aunt Arabella watched me to make sure I did not hide any away. I could not eat anything anyway. How could I eat when you were hungry?’

  Charlotte gave her sister a hug. ‘It is all right. We will be all right. At least we have each other and Flossie and the ponies.’

  Charlotte’s stomach was rumbling. She prowled around the room, looking out the window into the darkness and in the cupboards. She tried the door once more, rattling the knob.

  As Charlotte passed the window again, a thought came to her. Outside the window were the broad branches of an oak tree, barely visible in the gloom. Sophie could see Charlotte’s pale face reflected in the window panes.

  A blast of cold air froze her face and hands as Charlotte opened the window.

  Charlotte estimated the distance from the windowsill to the nearest branch, and the distance to the ground if she fell. Could it take her weight? Could s
he jump that far? Hunger won out over nerves.

  ‘Nell, I am going to climb down the tree, to find some food in the kitchen. You stay here and I will be back shortly.’

  ‘No, Charlotte!’ cried Nell, clutching Charlotte’s arm. ‘It is too dangerous. You might fall.’

  Charlotte squeezed Nell’s hand.

  ‘I will be fine. It is not that far.’

  ‘If you are going down the tree, I am coming too,’ insisted Nell. ‘We can look out for each other.’

  ‘No, Nell. If we get caught …’

  ‘If you go, I am coming too. Besides, I had no supper either.’

  ‘Come on then,’ invited Charlotte with a smile.

  Charlotte went first, swinging herself onto the windowsill and lowering herself down onto the branch. Nell tentatively followed. Bough by bough, branch by branch, they clambered down the tree to the ground, listening for the sound of anyone who might discover them.

  Sophie floated down quickly and scouted around the dark garden. There was no-one there.

  The lighted window of the servants’ parlour showed the servants chatting after their supper. Charlotte and Nell crept to the kitchen door and cautiously turned the doorknob. It was still unlocked.

  The door creaked open. There was no-one there. Charlotte, Nell and Sophie prowled around the kitchen, which was still warm from the day’s cooking. The only sign of life was Marmalade curled up on a cushion on the bench, miaowing in welcome.

  Nell glanced around nervously, jumping as a log settled in the grate. Sophie blew on the coals to make the flames leap higher.

  ‘Do not worry,’ Charlotte reassured Nell, reading her thoughts. ‘Uncle Roderick and Aunt Arabella would never condescend to come into the kitchen, so we are safe. And if any of the servants come in they would never give us away to them.’

  In the pantry Charlotte discovered a welcome sight: the remains of a chicken-and-ham pie, a fruitcake, a bowl of freshly picked berries from the garden and an old lamb bone.

  Charlotte and Nell set two places at the long kitchen table and laid out the food they had found. Charlotte slipped out the back door and raced over to the kennels to untie Flossie and bring her inside.