Music in the Hills (Drumberley Book 2)

by D. E. Stevenson

  Mamie was completely happy at Mureth. She was devoted to Jock and had plenty to do; she was fond of housekeeping and gardening and she was very musical. Few days passed without Mamie having spent at least an hour at her piano practising and studying classical composers. She liked listening to music as well, and usually managed to arrange her day so that she had time to listen if there happened to be a good concert on the radio. What more could any woman want?

  Chapter Two

  As Mamie went down the hill she saw Lizzie coming up to meet her, in a print dress with the sun shining upon her sleek brown head. Something unusual had happened, that was obvious, for it was now nearly twelve o’clock and by rights Lizzie should be in the kitchen… and Lizzie was a creature of fixed habits nor did she have any love for walking in the hills. On any ordinary day Mamie would have jumped to the conclusion that something dreadful had occurred, but today was no ordinary day. It was the sort of day when pleasant things happen, when everything goes well and all the little details of everyday life take on a sort of brightness; and take on this brightness as a personal blessing, as if Heaven had sent them all – the sunshine, the lark’s song, the bursting buds – as a sort or birthday present to gladden one’s heart.

  ‘It’s her leddyship!’ shouted Lizzie, waving violently. ‘She’s wanting the master but she says you’ll do.’

  ‘I’m coming,’ cried Mamie, waving back.

  Here was a surprise, in fact quite an event, for, although there were several houses scattered up and down the valley, people were too busy nowadays to drop in for a friendly chat and Lady Shaw was one of the busiest people in the county. She took an active part in social life, she was president of half a dozen different committees, and every charitable institution had her name on its list as one of its most energetic patrons. Lady Shaw was small and thin with fluffy grey hair and bright brown eyes (rather like a cairn terrier, Mamie sometimes thought) and her bark was so fierce that few people waited to see what here bite was like; the whole county was terrified of her.

  Oddly enough, Mamie was the exception to the rule. She was not frightened of Lady Shaw, in fact she was rather sorry for her. Lady Shaw was always so busy over other people’s affairs that she had no time to look after her own. Mamie would have hated to sit on committees every day, to rush madly all over the country addressing Youth Clubs and opening Bazaars. Mamie would have hated to be out every night of the week and not have any proper home-life at all. She never could quite make out whether Lady Shaw liked her good works or whether she was motivated by a strong sense of duty. Perhaps it was both, thought Mamie, for of course Lady Shaw held the opinion that she was indispensable. If she were not there everything would fall to pieces. Bazaars would remain shut, Youth Clubs would wither and die, Blanket Funds would fail and Women’s Rural Institutes would be forced to close down for want of patronage.

  Mamie hastened down the path and found her visitor sitting in a small pony-cart which was drawn up at the front door.

  ‘No petrol,’ cried Lady Shaw, waving. ‘Besides, Toby wanted exercising; he gets skittish if he doesn’t have a run now and then.’

  ‘Goodness!’ exclaimed Mamie breathlessly. ‘Didn’t Lizzie ask you to go in?’

  ‘If I’d wanted to go in I’d have gone in. It’s very pleasant sitting here in the sun.’

  ‘She should have asked you.’

  ‘She never thought of it. Why should she? But all the same, you’re very lucky to have her.’

  ‘Of course I am,’ said Mamie hastily. ‘Lizzie is a dear. I don’t know what I should do without her.’

  ‘Do you ever think of the first time you saw her?’ asked Lady Shaw.

  They looked at one another, remembering that nightmare evening in the little school-house. The German bombers had raided Glasgow docks and the plans which had been made for just such an eventuality had suddenly been put into effect. A message was received saying that a bus-load of mothers and children was being evacuated from the devastated area and would arrive in Drumburly sometime in the afternoon. The school-house was made ready to receive them, bedding and food were collected, and a committee of ladies prepared to welcome them and distribute them to various houses in the neighbourhood. What a nightmare it was! What a heart-rending affair! How vividly it brought home the horrors of war to the quiet peaceful valley! One bus-load was expected but three bus-loads arrived – mothers and children, weary, miserable, frightened and incredibly dirty had staggered into the school-house and subsided on to the nearest seat – and the most miserable of the whole contingent was Lizzie Smith. Small, pallid, dirty, her face swollen and blotched with tears, one tiny child clinging to her hand and another imminent, she was scarcely a guest that anybody would choose to welcome.

  ‘You’ll take her, won’t you, Mrs. Johnstone?’ said Mrs. Duncan of Crossraggle in honeyed accents, and of course Mrs. Johnstone had taken her. She had bundled the little family into her car and driven home. The other ladies had smiled at one another in relief.

  ‘How long ago it seems,’ said Mamie thoughtfully. ‘Poor Lizzie! She was very ill when the baby was born. She was so frightened and queer, we could do nothing with her, and then gradually she seemed to get used to us. Of course she hated Mureth at first; she found it too quiet and dreadfully dull. She was always going, but she never actually went.’

  ‘She has her children of course,’ Lady Shaw pointed out.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Mamie, but she agreed in doubtful tones, for Lizzie’s children were not much comfort to her. They were queer children (quite different from Lizzie in appearance and character) and Lizzie seemed to have very little in common with them. She treated them in a detached sort of way, as if they did not really belong to her, and they in their turn tolerated Lizzie and no more.

  ‘She’s a widow, I suppose,’ said Lady Shaw.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Mamie. ‘Yes – a widow.’

  ‘You don’t seem very sure.’

  ‘No,’ said Mamie vaguely. ‘Lizzie doesn’t know, not really. He was a sailor in the Merchant Navy, you see. Jock tried to find out if he was dead or alive, but they couldn’t trace him. Smith is such a common name, isn’t it?’

  ‘But surely, I mean there are all sorts of ways.’

  ‘Lizzie wasn’t keen about it, so Jock gave it up.’

  ‘How extraordinary!’

  Mamie was silent. She had a feeling that if you did not care for your husband you might be happier without him, but the feeling was too nebulous to put into words.

  ‘Oh well,’ said Lady Shaw regretfully (for there was nothing she liked better than setting others people’s affairs in order). ‘Oh well, if Lizzie doesn’t want to find out… but I must say I think it’s very unsatisfactory.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it is.’

  Having finished with Lizzie’s affairs, her ladyship proceeded to her own. ‘I wanted to see Jock,’ she said. ‘Lizzie says he’s gone to Dumfries for the day.’

  ‘Lizzie said I would do,’ said Mamie.

  Lady Shaw gave a little snort of amusement. In spite of the fact that Mamie refused to take an active part in social affairs, she liked Mamie quite a lot. Mamie amused her. ‘You’ll do if you can give me a bag of meal for the hens,’ said her ladyship frankly.

  Mamie said she could. She was aware that Jock supplied an occasional sack of meal to Drumburly Tower; she was aware, also, that the transaction was illegal… but hens had to be fed. They tied the pony to a ring on the wall which had been put in for this purpose by Jock’s great-grandfather, and walked round to the steading together.

  ‘I like Mureth,’ declared Lady Shaw. ‘There’s something about Mureth.’

  ‘It does things to people,’ Mamie agreed.

  Lady Shaw considered this. It sounded silly, but was it really silly? People said that Mamie Johnstone was a fool, and it was true that sometimes she said things that sounded foolish… but the things she did were wise. Look at Lizzie, for instance. Lizzie had been scarcely human when she came to Mureth Farm and no
w she was a useful, civilised member of society. They had reached the door of the barn.

  ‘What does Mureth do to people?’ asked Lady Shaw.

  ‘It soothes them down, sort of,’ said Mamie vaguely, ‘I’ve seen it happen quite often. I’m too silly to explain, but I know there’s something magic about Mureth.’

  ‘It’s peaceful and quiet,’ began Lady Shaw.

  ‘Lots of people don’t like quietness. No, there’s something magic about it. But of course it doesn’t always work,’ admitted Mamie regretfully. ‘It didn’t work with Leda. You met her, didn’t you Lady Shaw? My niece, Leda Dering, who was staying with us.’

  ‘Yes, I met her,’ said her ladyship shortly.

  ‘She isn’t like her mother.’

  ‘No, indeed. She isn’t like any of you. She’s exactly like her father. I never could bear the sight of Arnold Dering. Of all the selfish, disagreeable creatures on the face of this earth!’ said her ladyship with spirit. ‘How Caroline ever managed to stand him! I was thankful, for Caroline’s sake, when I heard the man was dead, and even more thankful when I heard Caroline had married again. She deserves a little happiness. But tell me more about Leda. Why didn’t Mureth have the desired effect upon Leda?’

  Mamie had disappeared into the shadows of the barn; her voice came out of the shadows, a disembodied voice, low and clear as a bell. ‘She was too wrapped up,’ the voice said. ‘Jock and I did our best to amuse her and interest her in things, but she was very unhappy. She was engaged to a man and then he married somebody else. Do you want a big sack, Lady Shaw?’

  ‘Two if you can spare them.’

  ‘Leda was all wrapped up,’ continued Mamie, appearing in the doorway with a large sack of meal and standing it up against the wall. ‘She was like a person with too many clothes on, you know. She couldn’t feel the warmth of the sun.’

  The sun poured down into the yard. The clean grey cobbles and the old, red-stone buildings reflected the warmth and seemed to bask happily in the golden rays. Lady Shaw felt them upon her back, warming, comforting, health-giving, so she understood.

  ‘Mamie,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why you pretend to be stupid.’

  ‘I don’t pretend,’ replied Mamie. ‘I was always the stupid one of the family, no good at lessons or anything. Caroline and Jean were clever, and Harriet was the cleverest of all. If you have three clever sisters you know exactly where you are. I used to be rather unhappy about it, but not now. Jock likes me as I am.’

  Lady Shaw had seated herself upon the edge of an old red-stone drinking-trough; she seemed in no hurry to go, and Mamie was never in a hurry. Mamie always had leisure for her friends. In most houses nowadays (thought Lady Shaw) there was a feeling of unease. Time marched on and everybody ran madly to keep up with it; even pleasure was taken at a gallop. Yet what pleasure was there that could compare with this peace, this quiet sunlit moment? It is good for me to be here, thought Lady Shaw. The thought surprised her; it would have surprised her friends even more, for humility was not one of her attributes.

  Even Mamie was surprised to see Lady Shaw sitting peacefully upon the edge of the drinking-trough, for her ladyship was usually in a tearing hurry… but Mamie said nothing. It was nice here in the sun. Two pigeons, perched upon the roof of the barn, cooed gently. Jock’s riding horse moved in his loose-box. In the distance was the faint sound of sheep and lambs calling to one another upon the hill.

  Presently Lizzie appeared. ‘Will Lady Shaw be staying for lunch?’ inquired Lizzie.

  ‘No,’ said Lady Shaw, rising. ‘No, I really must go. I’ve got a meeting this afternoon.’

  ‘It’s pork,’ Lizzie informed her. ‘Spare ribs of pork and apple sauce.’

  ‘Don’t tempt me, Lizzie,’ said her ladyship regretfully.

  They walked round to get the pony-cart and to load on the sacks, and now that the spell was broken they began to chat again. Mamie inquired after Sir Andrew and the young Shaw’s, Ian and Eleanor, and learnt that Ian was now at Edinburgh University and Eleanor was doing lessons at home with a daily governess from Drumburly.

  ‘She’s fourteen now,’ said her mother. ‘Rather a troublesome age. So dreamy, always in the clouds. Andrew gets rather annoyed with her. Of course I haven’t much time. We’ve got Holly staying with us just now. You remember my niece, Holly Douglas? It’s a pity there aren’t more young people about the district or we might have a party.’

  ‘James is coming to stay with us,’ said Mamie. ‘Poor James had a dreadful time in Malaya, in the jungle, chasing bandits. Caroline was very worried about him. Now he’s home he wants to be a farmer so he’s coming to Mureth to learn.’

  ‘I like James,’ declared Lady Shaw. ‘I always liked James. He was a nice, fat little boy and Caroline spoilt him. How does he like his new stepfather?’

  ‘He likes him,’ replied Mamie, but she said no more, for as a matter of fact she had been wondering how James felt about his mother’s marriage. His letters were cheerful, but you couldn’t really tell from letters.

  By this time the two sacks of hen meal had been stowed into the pony-cart. Lady Shaw got in and gathered up the reins.

  ‘Goodbye, Mamie,’ she said. ‘You must bring James over to see us. It would amuse Holly.’

  Chapter Three

  It was Jock Johnstone’s habit on entering his house to stand in the hall and shout for Mamie. Whether he had been up on the hill looking at his sheep, or over the river at Boscath Farm (which he ran in conjunction with Mureth), or whether he had been away all day at Lockerbie or Dumfries, Jock’s first thought upon returning to his home was Mamie; his urgent need was to see her, to make sure she was there, to make certain that nothing untoward had happened to her in his absence and to tell her all his news. Today was no exception to the rule. He opened the front door and shouted for Mamie in a deep-chested bellow which resounded through the house, and Mamie came running down the stairs as if she were a girl of seventeen instead of an old, staid matron of nearly forty.

  ‘Hallo!’ said Jock. ‘I’ve had quite a good day. What sort of day have you had?’

  ‘A nice day,’ Mamie told him. ‘Lady Shaw came over for some hen meal, and the new shepherd has arrived, and I had a letter from Caroline.’

  ‘What are the Reid’s like?’ Jock wanted to know.

  ‘He’s nice,’ said Mamie. ‘Oh Jock, I do hope you’ll like him. He’s not an ordinary shepherd.’

  ‘Not an ordinary shepherd!’ echoed Jock in surprise. ‘I hope he’s a competent man. He had a very good reference; so good that I took him without seeing him, which is a thing I’ve never done before. He was head shepherd at a big farm in the Pentlands and they offered him more pay to stay on, but for some reason he wanted to come here.’

  ‘Because he was born here,’ explained Mamie. ‘He was actually born here, at Mureth…’ And she went on to tell Jock all about Daniel Reid.

  ‘Well, I suppose it’s all right,’ said Jock doubtfully.

  ‘Of course it’s all right,’ declared Mamie. ‘He knows Mureth. You were saying the other day that it was always difficult for a new shepherd because he didn’t know the hills. Daniel Reid played on the Mureth Hills when he was a boy so he knows every bit of them.’

  ‘You seem very taken with the man.’

  ‘I like him, Jock. He’s ugly, but ugly in a nice way. He’s the sort of person we want at Mureth.’

  ‘It seems to me that the man is not open,’ replied Jock. ‘He might have told me who he was. Of course I remember the three Reid boys perfectly well. One of them was a perfect devil – and it may be this one for all I know. And why didn’t the man tell me he had no wife?’

  ‘Did you ask him?’ asked Mamie, chuckling.

  ‘You expect shepherds to have wives,’ replied Jock with a smile.

  Mamie could not deny this of course, for she had expected the same thing herself.

  ‘But I do like him, Jock,’ she said. ‘He’s a real person. I think you’ll like him too.’
r />   ‘I’ll like him if he does his work well,’ said Jock.

  Having finished with the subject of Daniel Reid, Mamie took Jock upstairs to see the room which was being prepared for James. She had decided not to give James the spare room, for he was to be here for an indefinite period; Mureth was to be his home. She had chosen a room facing east because it had a lovely view over the river and away to the hills on the other side. It was a good-sized, square room with a stained, wooden floor and an open fireplace with a basket-grate. On the floor were a couple of brightly-coloured rugs; curtains to match hung at the window; the furniture was old-fashioned and slightly shabby but very comfortable; there was an armchair, a solid table and an oak bookcase. Mamie had tried to make it a sort of bed-sitting-room, for James might like to sit here sometimes when he got bored with his uncle and aunt.

  ‘You’ve taken a lot of trouble over it,’ Jock said. ‘He ought to be pleased, and I’m sure he will be pleased.’

  ‘Oh, well,’ said Mamie in a deprecating way. ‘I thought perhaps he might be feeling a little unhappy. I mean about Caroline’s marriage.’

  ‘I don’t see why? He’ll be getting married himself one of these days.’

  ‘There was something odd about Caroline’s marriage.’

  ‘What was odd?’

  ‘There’s something odd about the whole thing,’ said Mamie. ‘I thought from Caroline’s letters that Mr. Shepperton was going to marry Harriet – she was staying at Vittoria Cottage at the time – and then quite suddenly Harriet wrote and said Caroline and Robert Shepperton were engaged… and now Harriet is going off to America.’

  ‘Harriet has always wanted to go to America. It’s the spiritual home of successful actresses.’

  ‘I know, but,’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry,’ said Jock comfortably. ‘They know their own business best, you can’t do anything about it and Harriet will have the time of her life in America – she’ll marry a millionaire most likely.’