The Locket of Dreams

by Belinda Murrell

  Annie sat down on the middle chair, while Nell and Charlotte sat on either side of her, Charlotte clutching her oak box on her lap. Sophie floated over near the window.

  ‘I have read the letter that Mr McLaughlin wrote to me, and also a letter which your uncle, Roderick Mackenzie, sent to Mr McLaughlin outlining his plans for your future,’ began Mr Thompson, resuming his own seat behind the large desk.

  Mr Thompson picked up the pages in front of him and flicked through them. Sophie peeked over his shoulder, reading the pages.

  ‘I will outline the situation to you as simply as I can,’ promised Mr Thompson.

  ‘According to Scottish inheritance laws, the estate of Dungorm automatically passes to the closest male relative, which in this case is your uncle, Roderick Mackenzie, and in time it will pass to his son. If your brother Alexander had survived, the estate would have passed to him.’

  Charlotte gasped, as though she had been struck. She had been so sure that the lawyer would say that Dungorm should belong to her and Nell. Her mind reeled in confusion.

  ‘But my father’s will – I saw Uncle Roderick burn it,’ blurted Charlotte, clutching the box tighter.

  ‘Are you sure it was a will? Did you read it?’ asked Mr Thompson.

  ‘Nooo,’ admitted Charlotte. ‘But it looked official and important.’

  ‘It may have been a contract, a business letter or anything at all. However, whether it was a will or not makes very little difference,’ continued Mr Thompson.

  ‘A heritable estate such as Dungorm, which has been in the Mackenzie family for generations, must be inherited by the closest male relative, usually the eldest son.

  ‘If a man, such as your father, dies without a son, the law says the estate will go to his younger brother. It is called the law of primogeniture. If your father had bought the estate himself, he could have left it to whomever he chose.’

  Mr Thompson paused to let this information sink in. Nell sighed and slumped forward. Charlotte felt numb with shock and disappointment. Annie took first Nell’s then Charlotte’s hand and squeezed them gently.

  ‘Well, now we know the true situation, girls,’ comforted Annie.

  ‘However, it is not all bad news, Miss Charlotte. This law relates to the actual heritable estate, but there is also your father’s moveable property: all the furniture, books, jewellery and household effects.

  ‘I will not go into all the legal terminology, but what it means is that by law, the bairns – that is you and Nell – each receive one quarter of your parents’ goods and investments; the remaining half goes to your uncle.’

  Nell looked at Charlotte, confused.

  Mr Thompson picked up one of the letters, which was written in Uncle Roderick’s flourishing handwriting. Sophie had trouble reading the swirly letters.

  ‘Your uncle has indicated in this letter that he has sold your share of the jewellery, goods and furniture. A portion has been set aside to pay for your education and living expenses here in Australia until you grow up; the remaining money has been invested in trust until you come of age.

  ‘This means that when you are twenty-one, you will both be wealthy young women.’

  Annie nodded to Charlotte, confirming the news. Sophie started in surprise.

  ‘But what if we did not want our goods sold?’ cried Charlotte, her hands clenched around her box. ‘What if we wanted to keep them? What do we want with money when we have nothing left of our parents? What of my mother’s jewellery? I suppose he sold it to Aunt Arabella for a pittance. How can he do this to us?’

  Nell looked upset and hung her head, twisting her hands. Mr Thompson looked grave and played with his pen.

  ‘Roderick Mackenzie is your guardian and executor of your father’s estate. He can manage your inheritance however he sees fit. I am afraid neither you nor Miss Eleanor has any say in the matter.’

  Charlotte slumped, all the fight gone from her. It was final. Dungorm was gone. It was all gone.

  Mr Thompson picked up the letter, weighing it in his hands, making a decision.

  ‘There is one more thing,’ added Mr Thompson. ‘Your uncle mentioned the possibility that one day you, Charlotte, might return to Dungorm.’

  Charlotte’s pulse quickened and she sat up straight, her fingers playing with the gold locket around her neck. Perhaps there was still hope after all?

  ‘Me? But not Nell?’

  ‘Your uncle mentioned the possibility that when you are older you might marry your cousin, Roddy Mackenzie, and return to Dungorm as his wife.’

  Charlotte thought with disgust of her horrible, bullying cousin, with his sly pinches and cruel taunts.

  ‘Never,’ insisted Charlotte, shivering violently.

  ‘What a dreadful idea, Charlotte,’ cried Nell. ‘As if you ever could.’

  The shock and disappointment of the lawyer’s news suddenly washed over Charlotte and two huge tears rolled down her face. Annie took a linen handkerchief from her sleeve and handed it to Charlotte, patting her hand.

  ‘There, there, Charlotte,’ soothed Annie. ‘Please do not cry. Everything will be fine.’

  Mr Thompson picked up the letters from the desk and handed them to Annie, who folded them and put them away in her reticule, with a nod.

  ‘I am sorry, Miss Charlotte,’ apologised the lawyer, rising to his feet. ‘I know you were hoping for different news. Perhaps we should give you a moment to compose yourself?’

  Mr Thompson showed Annie to the door, Nell following. Sophie stayed behind.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Thompson, for your advice,’ replied Annie, as they walked across the office. ‘We will wait for you in the front room, Charlotte. Come out when you are ready.’

  Charlotte sat still, tears rolling down her face. She could hear Annie and Mr Thompson chatting outside. She sat for a moment feeling totally miserable, holding her box. Sophie sat down on the chair vacated by Annie and stroked Charlotte’s arm, making her shiver.

  Using the gold key, Charlotte unlocked the box and emptied her ‘treasures’ out onto the desk: the red pebble, the swatch of tartan, the sprig of heather and the poems of Robbie Burns.

  Charlotte’s mother’s gold locket swung free and glinted in the light. Sophie held the identical locket around her own neck.

  Charlotte picked at a corner of the violet silk lining and carefully peeled it away from the base. Then she used the reverse end of the gold key – a flat, rounded loop – to slide down between the timber base and the side of the box.

  The key levered up the base to reveal a hidden cavity in the bottom of the box. Sophie froze.

  Two objects were hidden there: Charlotte’s black leather-bound journal and a tightly wrapped wad of cloth. Charlotte unwrapped the cloth to reveal a flash of blue fire and a dazzle of white.

  The Star of Serendib, Eliza’s wedding ring.

  Sophie gasped in surprise and delight. Eliza’s ring had not been thrown in the loch or found by Aunt Arabella. It had been hidden in a secret compartment in the oak box all this time.

  Charlotte held the cornflower-blue sapphire up then slipped it onto her middle finger. The ring was too loose for her finger and slipped around with its weight.

  ‘The Star of Serendib,’ Charlotte murmured to herself. ‘I wonder if it is indeed a lucky talisman? It does not seem to have brought us much fortune yet.’

  ‘I think it will, Charlotte,’ whispered Sophie in answer.

  Charlotte smiled as though she had heard, slipped the ring off, wrapped it and put everything away, locking the box once more. She scrubbed her face with Annie’s handkerchief and stood up, her back and shoulders straight, and walked out to join the others.

  ‘Be careful on the way home,’ warned Mr Thompson. ‘There is a band of bushrangers, Captain Lightning and his gang, that have been making raids on travellers in the district around Dalesford. Last week they killed a native constable while robbing the mail coach.’

  ‘Indeed?’ replied Annie, glancing at the girls with con
cern. ‘Surely they will not still be in the district. The police must be looking high and low for them.’

  ‘I believe so,’ agreed Mr Thompson. ‘Ah, here is Miss Charlotte.’

  Mr Thompson showed them into the street, where Pot was waiting with the horses and buggy.

  No-one talked on the ten-mile journey home, Pot jogging behind on his shaggy piebald pony. Everyone felt jaded and exhausted after the meeting with the lawyer.

  The shadows were long on the ground and the air was chilly. They were still three miles from Rosedale on a lonely stretch of track. A branch cracked. Sophie felt a shiver of apprehension ripple up her spine. She swooped off the buggy to look around.

  A horse sprang out from behind a boulder to the left of the track, in the path of the moving buggy, its rider levelling a pistol directly at Charlotte. He had seven pistols and a coiled stockwhip stuck in his belt, a red kerchief knotted around his neck and a felt hat jammed low over his eyes.

  ‘Pull up, in the name of Captain Lightning,’ bellowed the rider, his horse prancing.

  Annie had no choice but to pull up the horses, her heart pounding.

  Another three men emerged from the scrub on either side of the track. One pointed his pistol at Pot and grabbed Pot’s pony by the bridle. The other two pointed pistols at Annie.

  Nell screamed. Annie glanced around in horror. Charlotte gripped her box protectively, her knuckles white.

  Sophie swooped towards the bushranger, hoping to disarm him.

  Captain Lightning’s horse went crazy as Sophie flew around him; it bucked and reared, its eyes rolling. Captain Lightning struggled to stay on, fighting the reins, his pistol pointing in the air.

  ‘What is the meaning of this outrage?’ demanded Annie. ‘How dare you point guns at my family?’

  ‘Hand over your valuables now, or we shoot,’ ordered Captain Lightning, bringing his mount under control.

  Annie remembered Mr Thompson’s warning about the murder of the Aboriginal tracker. She held up her hand in supplication.

  ‘There is no need to shoot anyone,’ Annie replied calmly. ‘We have very little of value, as you can see.’

  ‘Well, hand it over quickly,’ insisted Captain Lightning. ‘Jack, tie up the boy and if there’s any nonsense, shoot him.’

  Pot was dragged off his horse, struggling futilely, and tied to a tree.

  Sophie flew to help him. Her transparent fingers struggled with the knots that bound him.

  ‘Do not hurt Pot,’ cried Charlotte anxiously.

  Annie fumbled inside her reticule; she had only a few small coins there. She was wearing her best jewellery: a heavy gold chain bracelet, a ruby brooch at her throat and a diamond-and-gold ring on her wedding finger.

  Annie handed over her coins. Her fingers fumbled as she undid the clasps of her brooch and bracelet. The wedding ring was tight on her finger and she struggled to pull it off.

  Charlotte thought of her mother’s locket tucked safely inside the collar of her white dress. She longed to touch it for reassurance. More frightening still, she worried about the Star of Serendib, hidden away in her oak box.

  ‘Open that box,’ demanded Captain Lightning, pointing with his pistol.

  Charlotte obeyed with trembling fingers, unlocking the box and opening the lid. The bushranger picked through the items – the pebble, the heather, the book of poetry. He pocketed the silver elf bolt. Charlotte felt sick with terror. Will he find the Star of Serendib?

  ‘Not the elf bolt,’ Nell cried, then bit her lip.

  Captain Lightning slammed the lid shut. Charlotte took back the box, keeping her eyes downcast, trying not to let her fear show.

  ‘Now, young ladies, take off your gloves, pull up your sleeves and show me your throats,’ ordered Captain Lightning.

  Nell and Charlotte obeyed silently, Charlotte moving her collar slightly, trying to conceal the locket.

  ‘Aha,’ cried the bushranger, spying a glimpse of gold. ‘Hand over that necklace at once, young lady.’

  Charlotte grasped the locket protectively, her face pale but determined.

  ‘Please, do not steal my locket,’ begged Charlotte. ‘My mother gave it to me just before she died. She asked me to wear it always.’

  ‘That’s a shame, missy,’ replied Captain Lightning, holding out his hand. ‘But I can’t afford to let you keep it. Take it off.’

  Charlotte reluctantly took her locket off, fighting back the tears. She did not want these rough bushrangers to see her cry.

  Sophie had to do something. If the locket was stolen, would that mean she wouldn’t have it in the modern world? Would that mean she couldn’t come back to Charlotte’s time any more? Perhaps she may not be able to return to her own time, to Nonnie’s apartment?

  Her fear made her stronger. She zoomed into Captain Lightning, pushing him away. Captain Lightning felt the sensation of a freezing shove on his body and shivered violently. His horse reared.

  ‘Have you no shame?’ cried Annie, her face flaming. ‘These girls have lost everything: their mother, their father, their home, their land. That locket is the only thing Charlotte has that was her mother’s. Take all my jewels but show the poor lassie some pity. Let her keep her mother’s locket.’

  The bushranger paused, guilt chasing greed across his face. ‘Take it then,’ he snarled.

  Charlotte took the locket gratefully, hiding it in her bodice once more.

  ‘Now lads, blindfold that boy and tie him on his pony,’ ordered Captain Lightning. ‘He’s coming with us as a servant.’

  ‘No,’ Annie begged. ‘Don’t take Pot. He’s just a boy and has been living with us since he was born. His parents will be distraught.’

  ‘Good,’ answered Captain Lightning. ‘He’ll be well trained. Don’t try to follow us if you value his safety.’

  Two of the bushrangers untied Pot, blindfolded him and hauled him towards the pony. The other held the horses.

  Sophie saw her chance, and moved. She swirled around the horses, slapping the buggy horses on the rump and swishing up under Captain Lightning’s horse.

  All the horses bucked and reared, causing chaos. Captain Lightning was thrown to the ground, cursing.

  The buggy horses bolted, racing for home. Charlotte and Nell clung to the buggy for their very lives. Annie stared back at Pot, then at the two girls beside her. Decision made, she cracked her whip and urged the horses to gallop faster, heading north to Rosedale.

  Captain Lightning’s horse kicked down on Sophie, knocking her to the ground, striking her with its hooves. She rolled away, curled up in pain, hitting her head. Consciousness faded in a jumble of rearing horses, dust, swearing and the loud crack of a pistol shot.

  Sophie’s head thundered with pain. She crawled out of bed and limped across the floor, leaving smudges of dust on the cream carpet. In the bathroom, she stripped off her torn nightdress, filthy with brown dust, and threw it in the washing basket.

  She turned on the shower as hot as she could bear it. In the mirror she saw dark black bruises on her body in the shape of hooves. Her left shoulder was torn and bleeding.

  How could the horse’s hooves have hurt me? I was supposed to be an insubstantial ghost in the past. The horse’s hooves should have flailed straight through me. Could it be possible I am becoming more substantial in the past than in my own world?

  The thought made Sophie feel sick.

  Sophie washed her hair and towelled it dry. She found Nonnie’s first-aid kit and dabbed some antiseptic and a bandage on the cut shoulder, and some arnica on the bruises. She dressed and went out to the living room.

  ‘Sophie, what have you done to your arm?’ asked Jess.

  ‘Oh, I fell,’ mumbled Sophie, avoiding Jess’s and Nonnie’s concerned glances.

  Nonnie looked at Sophie sternly.

  ‘Sophie, did you go out anywhere last night?’ asked Nonnie suspiciously. ‘You weren’t sneaking out to meet someone?’

  Sophie was shocked, her heart pounding. What shoul
d she say? She couldn’t possibly tell Nonnie the truth.

  ‘No, Nonnie, of course not,’ replied Sophie. ‘Why would you think that?’

  ‘There were dirty footprints on the carpet this morning, and you have that bruise on your arm,’ said Nonnie, frowning. ‘Plus you’ve been acting very strangely this week – not eating, not talking. You look pale and exhausted, yet you sleep so much … I’m really worried about you, Sophie. Do you think you could be anorexic? Is there something else you’re doing –’

  ‘No, no,’ interrupted Sophie, tears welling up. ‘I’m not anorexic. I’m not doing anything wrong. Please, Nonnie, believe me,’ she begged. ‘I think I might have been sleepwalking and fallen. I dreamt a horse was kicking me, but I promise you I did not go out or meet anyone.

  ‘I just can’t sleep properly any more. I’ve been dreaming about Charlotte Mackenzie losing her home and coming to Australia.’

  Nonnie was puzzled. The strangest thing was that the dirty footprints led from Sophie’s room straight to the bathroom, not from the front door. The apartment was three storeys high, so it would be impossible for Sophie to climb out the window. So how did her feet get dirty?

  Jess came up to Sophie and hugged her.

  ‘You’re worrying about us losing our home, aren’t you?’ asked Jess. Sophie hugged Jess back and nodded.

  Nonnie searched Sophie’s face. She did not know what to think.

  ‘I don’t know what the future holds for your family, Sophie,’ Nonnie said. ‘But I do know that fretting like this will not help you, or your parents.’

  Sophie remembered Nanny saying to Nell, ‘Wha’ canna be changed must be endured.’

  ‘I know, Nonnie,’ Sophie answered, smiling shakily. ‘I’ll try not to worry so much.’

  It was dark when the horses cantered up the last stretch of track towards Rosedale homestead.

  Mr McLaughlin rode to meet them, his face creased with worry.

  ‘Are you all right, Annie?’ called Mr McLaughlin. ‘I was worried.’

  Annie spilled out the news of the attack and Pot’s kidnapping. The bell was rung at the homestead to call in all the men. Mr McLaughlin organised the men into teams to search for Pot and the bushrangers. The horses were caught, saddled and bridled, the rifles loaded.