The Locket of Dreams

by Belinda Murrell

  ‘She has a baby,’ whispered Pot, pointing at the lower koala. Charlotte could see a smaller bundle cuddling into the arms of its mother.

  ‘They come down near the homestead sometimes,’ explained Will. ‘They come to visit Mala’s gum tree, but they have to cross the stable yard to get to it.

  ‘The male bear has a peculiar barking cry and he calls out to me when he wants me to tie up the dogs. The dogs go crazy when they see the wild native bears, although they are used to Mala now.

  ‘That was how I came to find Mala, when she was a baby. Tiger attacked her and had his face scratched to ribbons. I managed to separate them before either of them was too badly hurt.’

  They rode on for another couple of miles, until they came to a large clear pool. Further up the hillside, a spring welled up from the ground under some rocks and trickled down into the pool. The spring and pool were surrounded by soft tendrils of ferns and velvety white flannel flowers.

  The four children dismounted and hobbled the horses, leaving them to graze.

  Charlotte and Nell gathered twigs and fallen branches, built a fire and set a quart pot of water on to boil. They unpacked the saddlebags with their pannikins, tin mugs, tea, flour bag, sugar, butter, salt and a plaid rug to throw over the damp ground.

  ‘Do you see this young banksia cone?’ asked Pot, picking one from a nearby tree. ‘My people used to use these to light fires in the old days.’

  ‘I thought you used to make fire by rubbing softer wood into hard wood, until the friction sparked a flame,’ commented Will.

  ‘We did that too but it takes a long time,’ agreed Pot. ‘It’s easier to light some banksia cones from a burning campfire. The cones burn for hours, so the children would carry them to the new camp spot to start a fresh fire.’

  Pot bent over and pushed the banksia cone into the fire to show the girls how it slowly smouldered.

  ‘That’s clever,’ commented Nell, twisting the smoking cone in her fingers. ‘It is hard to believe it burns for hours.’

  Charlotte made a mug of tea for everyone when the quart pot boiled, adding a pinch of tea and sugar to the hot water.

  Will and Pot had fishing rods baited with worms and they hoped to catch a fish or two for lunch. Pot also had a long wooden spear, straight and strong, with a sharp barb of fencing wire on the tip.

  ‘It is so peaceful here,’ said Nell, picking some wildflowers growing on the bank. ‘I think it is amazing the way the water bubbles up from deep underground.’

  ‘This is a very sad place for my people, this spring,’ commented Pot. ‘It’s the bathing place of the spirits.’

  Charlotte and Nell squatted down beside the two boys with curiosity.

  ‘Why is that, Pot?’ Charlotte asked. ‘Did one of your relatives die here?’

  ‘Many years ago, there was a young girl of my people who used to come here to swim and play with her friend,’ Pot explained.

  ‘One day, the girl was betrothed against her will to marry an elder of the tribe, so she ran away with her young lover to the spring up the hill. The elder was a jealous old man who followed them and killed them both in revenge. They died entwined in each other’s arms.

  ‘On moonlit nights, if you listen closely you can still hear the sound of the two spirits splashing and laughing together.’

  Pot threw his line out into the water with a gentle plop.

  ‘That is so sad, Pot,’ Charlotte replied. ‘I wish I could hear the sound of the two spirits laughing.’

  ‘I would not care to at all,’ shuddered Nell. ‘I do not like ghosts.’

  ‘I think our ghost is more like a guardian angel,’ Charlotte replied quietly.

  Will looked at her quizzically. ‘Our ghost?’

  Charlotte laughed awkwardly, wishing she hadn’t mentioned anything. ‘Oh, nothing really,’ Charlotte explained, flushing with embarrassment. ‘Several times at Dungorm, Nell and I thought we saw a ghost. It seemed to be a pleasant ghost.’

  ‘A pleasant ghost?’ Nell laughed. ‘She was nice to us, but she seemed very fond of shaking the candelabras and curtains.’

  ‘Yes, but only when we were in some kind of trouble,’ Charlotte retorted, groping inside her collar for her locket. ‘She scared off that horrid governess, Miss Crowe, and helped get Mama’s jewellery back for us. I think she was watching over us somehow.’

  ‘She?’ asked Will curiously.

  ‘Yes,’ Charlotte answered. ‘She spoke to me once – a young girl with a white gown, golden hair and bare feet. She told me that Nell and I would come safely to Australia and that we would have good fortune here. She said it was very beautiful here, and she was right about that at least.’

  Will laughed. ‘Now, Charlotte. You can’t expect me to believe your ghost stories.’

  ‘Don’t laugh, Will,’ warned Pot. ‘Sometimes the spirit people help us and sometimes the spirits are angry. There is much magic in this world, sometimes good, sometimes frightening.’

  Pot suddenly leapt to his feet, snatched up his spear and threw it. The spear twanged through the air, and faster than Charlotte could gasp in shock, the spear had found its mark.

  Pot threw himself after the spear, and then stood up grinning, his clothes saturated. On the end of his spear was a large silver fish wriggling wildly, its mouth gasping open and closed in surprise.

  ‘This is good eating fish,’ Pot declared proudly. ‘It’s big enough to make a meal for all of us.’

  ‘That was incredible, Pot,’ Charlotte exclaimed. ‘I have never seen anyone catch a fish like that.’

  Will threw his fishing line down in disgust. ‘I didn’t even have one nibble again, and I certainly didn’t see that perch of Pot’s.’

  ‘You just need to practise more,’ Pot said with a grin, flashing his straight white teeth.

  Pot set to work with his knife, gutting the fish. He stuffed the inside with some green native herb that was growing near the spring and tossed the whole fish directly onto the glowing coals.

  Into a pannikin he poured some flour from the bag, added a splash of water and worked it into a dough, which he shaped into an oval loaf. He raked out some hot coals beside the fire, placed the damper on top, then piled some more hot coals over that.

  The clearing filled with the delicious aroma of baking damper and cooking fish. Pot sat back on his heels and poked the fire. At last it was ready. Pot scraped the black coals off the damper and fish, and wiped away the worst of the ash with his hands.

  The four children sat on the rug on the ground eating hunks of buttered hot damper with salty fish and tea.

  ‘Mmm,’ sighed Charlotte. ‘This is the best fish I’ve ever tasted in my life.’

  ‘Better than Scottish salmon?’ asked Will.

  ‘Definitely,’ insisted Charlotte. ‘It must be the fresh air, sunshine and exercise, or maybe it is the way it is cooked on the coals straight from the pool. Anyway, thank you, Pot.’

  After lunch, Pot and Will continued fishing, hoping to catch some more fish for the rest of the household.

  ‘Boys, Nell and I are going to wash the dishes downstream a little way,’ announced Charlotte.

  ‘Good idea,’ agreed Will. ‘Have fun. Don’t let the bunyips get you!’

  ‘Bunyips? What are bunyips?’ asked Nell.

  ‘Bunyips live in billabongs and eat little girls,’ replied Will, laughing.

  ‘No,’ said Pot. ‘I’ve never seen one, but sometimes you hear their strange cries in the night. They’re supposed to look something like a horse with flippers and horns.’

  ‘They sound a little like the water horses in Scotland,’ said Nell.

  ‘All right, we will be careful of bunyips,’ replied Charlotte with a laugh, as she gathered up a pile of dishes and cloths.

  ‘And snakes!’ added Nell.

  The girls wandered downstream to another pool out of sight of the boys. Here they looked around cautiously, then started stripping off their hats, gloves, boots, stockings, petticoats and r
iding habits and draping them neatly on a mossy log.

  Once they were down to their white chemises and drawers, they leapt into the water, shrieking with the sudden cold. Charlotte and Nell splashed and played and swam. A flock of pink-and-grey galahs were frightened by the noise and swooped away, shrieking loudly.

  ‘What a beautiful day for a bathe,’ Nell cried.

  ‘I like taking my bath in the creek, out in the open air,’ agreed Charlotte, splashing her face with a handful of water. ‘It is so much more enjoyable than sitting in the tiny hip bath in the house.’

  ‘We would never have dreamt of swimming in the burns or lochs at Dungorm,’ said Nell, rolling over.

  ‘For one thing, it was far too cold in Scotland,’ Charlotte added. ‘And for another, it simply would not do.’

  Nell laughed and sank her face under the water.

  At Rosedale, baths were often taken in the creek, as it was so much work to heat and lug so much water into the house. Annie alone preferred her baths hot and indoors.

  There was a deep billabong a few minutes walk from the house which was lovely for swimming, especially on warm days. The household had a special signal, which was a cloth draped over a branch to warn others that someone was bathing there and required privacy.

  The men and boys often finished a hard day’s work by swimming together down at the creek, and Annie had suggested that the girls might like to try it too. Since then Charlotte and Nell had enjoyed bathing together regularly.

  After their bathe, Charlotte and Nell rubbed themselves dry with the cloths, changed into fresh underclothes and dressed themselves once more, helping each other to tidy their unruly hair.

  Nell sang as they strolled back to meet the boys.

  ‘Sophie, please come and play with me,’ called Jess, splashing Sophie with water. ‘It’s lovely in the water.’

  Sophie was lying in the sun on her towel down by the pool in the apartment complex.

  ‘Don’t splash,’ retorted Sophie, closing her eyes and turning away.

  Jess retaliated by doing a bomb-dive into the pool, drenching Sophie and her towel.

  ‘Jess! Don’t be such a pest!’ growled Sophie.

  Nonnie lay on a banana lounge, reading a book, wearing a dark blue one-piece swimming costume, her face protected by large sunglasses and a huge straw hat. Her arms and legs were tanned a deep brown by the sun.

  ‘Come on, Jess,’ Nonnie called. ‘If you don’t get out now, you will be as wrinkly as a prune, and I think you might have had enough sun for one day. I don’t want you going home sunburnt. You need to be careful with your fair Scottish skin.’

  ‘I think my skin has already turned to prunes,’ complained Jess, inspecting her fingers and toes.

  Reluctantly Jess climbed out of the pool and sat in the shade next to Nonnie.

  ‘I’d like to have Scottish red hair and green eyes,’ said Sophie wistfully. ‘It would be much more interesting than boring blonde hair and brown eyes.’

  Nonnie laughed, pulling one of Sophie’s tresses.

  ‘I think you’re gorgeous the way you are, both of you – one dark, one fair.’

  Sophie flicked the despised hair over her shoulders and smiled.

  ‘I wished I lived in the olden days,’ mused Sophie. It would be so much fun, riding around on horseback or buggy, having amazing adventures instead of just going to school.’

  Jess nodded in agreement. ‘And wearing all those gorgeous clothes.’

  ‘It does sound romantic,’ agreed Nonnie. ‘But hard work too. The clothes looked pretty but they must have been quite uncomfortable to wear – all those petticoats and corsets. Imagine how hot they must have been in this heat.’

  Sophie and Jess glanced down at their swimming costumes and tried to imagine having to wear layers of clothes on even the hottest day.

  ‘There was no electricity, no dishwashers or washing machines,’ Nonnie continued. ‘Everything had to be done by hand, even milking the cow to have milk in your tea. People really knew what it was to work in those days – unless you were wealthy and could afford servants.

  ‘Imagine life if you were a girl from a poor family and had to earn your living as a serving maid. There weren’t many options for girls to earn a living even when I was growing up. All the opportunities were aimed at giving the boys the best education, as they would be the breadwinners.’

  Sophie wrinkled her nose, thinking of her own father, who could not earn a living at the moment. It was lucky her mum was working, or they would be much worse off. She felt the familiar ache of a headache coming on and rubbed her forehead gingerly.

  ‘That’s not very fair,’ complained Jessica.

  ‘I think you girls are very lucky growing up now,’ declared Nonnie. ‘You can do or be anything in life that you choose. The world is your oyster!’

  Nonnie kissed each girl on top of her head, then picked up her book and began to read.

  Sophie lay down on her towel, stretching her tense shoulders and concentrating on pushing her headache away. Her hand slipped inside her bag, where she had hidden Eliza’s locket.

  With the locket clutched loosely in her hand, Sophie gradually dozed, lulled by the monotonous sound of cicadas tik-tik-tikking in the trees and the lazy heat of the summer day.

  ‘Charlotte,’ called Annie. ‘Charlotte.’

  Charlotte came running in from the garden, carrying a posy of freshly cut roses for the table. ‘Charlotte, I have just received a letter from Mr Thompson, our lawyer,’ announced Annie, waving the note. ‘Edward wrote to him some weeks ago enquiring about the legal situation with your uncle and Dungorm estate. Mr Thompson says he will be in Dalesford tomorrow and is free to see us. Would you like me to organise a meeting?’

  Charlotte thought for a moment, conflicting emotions running through her mind: grief, homesickness, betrayal and confusion.

  ‘Yes, please, Annie.’

  Annie reached for a pen, dipped it in the ink pot and started to write the reply.

  ‘Unfortunately Edward will not be able to come with us,’ sighed Annie. ‘He is so busy with the shearing. We will just have to go by ourselves. I think you should bring any papers you have, or anything you think will help clarify the situation.’

  Charlotte thought of her box of treasures. She did not have any papers, just her journal and Papa’s book of poetry, but she would take them anyway.

  When Sophie returned to Rosedale the next afternoon, Pot had harnessed the pair of bay draught horses and hitched them to the buggy. Another pony was standing already saddled.

  As suggested by Annie, Charlotte and Nell wore their dark riding habits, but carried their best white dresses safely packed in a bag. Charlotte also carried her oak box carved with the figure of a stag outlined against the rising full moon. As always, Charlotte wore her mother’s locket tucked inside her collar.

  ‘Thank you, Pot,’ said Annie, climbing up onto the buggy seat and taking the reins. ‘Put the bag in the back, girls, and climb up.’

  The girls scrambled up, took a seat on either side of Annie and stowed their bag in the back. Charlotte sat carefully nursing her precious treasure box in her lap.

  ‘Giddy-up, boys,’ called Annie, cracking the whip and shaking the reins. Sophie quickly zoomed onto the back of the buggy and made herself comfortable next to the bag of dresses.

  It was a beautiful afternoon. The horses trotted down the valley, with Pot riding behind on one of the station ponies.

  The vehicle lurched and bumped over the wheel ruts, blowing up dust, past a couple of the shepherds herding their flocks of sheep.

  After about an hour, Annie steered the buggy off the track and pulled up near some trees.

  ‘Pot, could you please mind the horses?’ asked Annie. ‘Come on girls, bring the bags. We need to make ourselves look presentable.’

  Charlotte and Nell smiled at each other. They certainly were in no fit state to go to a meeting with a lawyer in town. Their hair was knotty and wind-blown under th
eir bonnets. Nell had a streak of dirt on her face and their riding habits and boots were dusty.

  Sophie mischievously tweaked one of Nell’s tangled curls. Nell smoothed it back with her fingers.

  Annie led the way down to the rivulet. She took the three dresses out of the bag, shook them carefully and draped them over a branch. Next she pulled out cloths, ribbons, a comb, a hairbrush and a small looking glass. Charlotte carried her oak box with her and carefully placed it on a rock.

  The three of them washed their faces, hands and necks in the rivulet, then Annie tidied all their hair with the comb and brush. Sophie fingered Annie’s fine silk dress draped over the branch, admiring its delicate lace and pretty ribbons.

  The girls changed from their dusty dresses into fresh white gowns tied with new blue ribbons. They smiled at each other, enjoying the transformation in that incongruous setting.

  Annie slipped on her own gown, fastening her best gold-and-ruby brooch at the throat. Charlotte helped her with the tiny buttons at the back of her gown.

  ‘We look like we are going visiting in Edinburgh, not gallivanting around the bush in a buggy,’ joked Charlotte, holding her skirts and executing a deep curtsey.

  ‘You both look gorgeous,’ commented Annie.

  The three immaculately dressed ladies climbed back into the buggy and sedately trotted the last two miles to Dalesford. The girls had not visited the local town before, so were intrigued to see the people bustling about their business, dogs running in the dusty street and barefoot children playing.

  Annie pulled up outside one of the few brick buildings. Pot dismounted and tethered first his horse, then the draught horses, to the hitching post in the street. Pot stayed outside, sitting in the shade and watching the horses and buggy, while Annie led the girls inside.

  They were shown into the lawyer’s large office. A tall man wearing a three-piece suit rose and bowed politely as they entered.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Thompson,’ said Annie.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs McLaughlin,’ Mr Thompson said. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Charlotte, Miss Eleanor. Please take a seat.’