James waited. The rabbit hesitated, but, seeing nothing to cause alarm, it lolloped down the bank to a patch of green grass and began to eat. James shot it successfully; he had his three rabbits now, and Daniel took out a knife and cleaned them for him.
Chapter Six
Drumburly was the nearest town to Mureth. It was five miles by road, though a good deal less as the crow flies, for the road followed the windings of the river. Mamie went to Drumburly twice a week to do her shopping and, as she happened to be going on the Thursday after James’s arrival, she asked James to go with her. It was a lovely drive, the road was hilly and winding, it twisted this way and that; then, climbing gradually to the shoulder of a hill it suddenly revealed the little town below, a huddle of grey stone houses with blue-grey slate roofs. The spire of Drumburly Kirk could be seen in the midst of the houses, tall and slender.
There was one main street in Drumburly with some remarkably good shops. There was also the Kirk and the Town Hall, an ancient building with a statue of Robert the Bruce over the wide doorway. At the lower end of the street was the Shaw Arms Hotel presided over by the same Mrs. Simpson who had befriended Mamie and Jock. Mrs. Simpson was old now but still active, and the Shaw Arms was clean and comfortable. Leading from the main street were narrow wynds where the people lived; they lived very close to one another, but the little houses were comfortable and cosy enough. The river flowed past the lower end of the town confined by stone walls and spanned by a narrow eighteenth-century bridge which was a favourite meeting-place for the Drumburly folk. On fine evenings, when their work was done, the men congregated upon the bridge, smoking, talking, leaning over the parapet and watching the clear water as it swirled through the arches; or perhaps, resting their backs upon the parapet, they lifted their eyes to the hills and to Drumburly Tower which brooded over the little town as a hen broods over her chickens.
Drumburly Tower belonged to the Shaw’s; it was a Border Keep with thick square walls of solid stone, such as can be seen all over the Border Country in varying conditions of repair. The tower reared its proud head above a cluster of forest trees and from the top of it there was a fine view up the river towards Mureth and down the river to the low-lying plains and the distant Cumberland Hills. In the old days Drumburly Tower was a place of refuge not only for the Shaw’s themselves but for all their friends and dependants. In Border Raids it was possible to see the approach of the enemy many miles away; then the cry went up, ‘The English! The English!’ and Drumburly was warned. Men seized their weapons, women caught up their children and made with all speed for the safe refuge of the Tower.
But a square peel-tower with walls five feet thick is not a comfortable residence, so when the Borders became peaceful and law-abiding the Shaw’s forsook their stronghold and built a house nearby, a good-sized family mansion. Succeeding Shaw’s altered and improved the place, threw out bow-windows and put in bathrooms and electric lights. They built stables, planted trees and walled in a piece of meadow land to make a garden. The Tower was kept in repair of course, for it was an interesting historical monument, a family relic and a landmark which could be seen for miles.
James remembered the Tower and was interested to see it again, standing upon its eminence above the town.
‘It looks as if it owned the whole countryside,’ he declared.
‘So it does, really,’ said Mamie. ‘It has stood there for so long that it has every right to be proud. There’s a rhyme about it, you know:
“While Drumburly Tower stands
The Shaw’s will keep their fruitful lands.”’
‘I don’t think much of the rhyme – as a rhyme,’ said James, laughing. ‘But the sense of it is perfectly clear. No wonder the Shaw’s keep the old Tower in good repair.’
They parked the car in the town and Mamie took a basket and went off to do her shopping. James had some things to do, too. He bought some shaving cream and chatted to the chemist and then he crossed the street and went into the stationer’s for some writing paper. Lady Shaw was there. She was leaning upon the counter arranging for cards to be printed for a whist drive which she was inaugurating for the Women’s Rural Institute.
‘I must have them by Friday,’ she was saying. ‘And when I say Friday I don’t mean the middle of next week.’ James knew her at once. She looked a bit older than the last time he had seen her, but she still looked like a cairn terrier – Mamie’s description of her ladyship – and she had not lost her drive. Even if James had not recognised her he would have guessed who she was by the manner in which she was laying down the law and by the meek way Mr. Wilson was accepting her instructions. Old customs die very slowly in the country districts of Southern Scotland and the Shaw’s had always been respected in Drumburly (respected and loved and feared), for they were a power in the land. Newcomers, however high their rank, would have to wait their turn if they wanted cards printed, but nobody expected Lady Shaw to wait.
‘Yes, your ladyship,’ said Mr. Wilson. ‘I’ll put them in hand immediately. I’m sorry about last time. It was a mistake. I was away with a cold and my assistant didn’t understand. It won’t happen again.’
‘You have too many colds, Wilson,’ said Lady Shaw. ‘You should take cod-liver oil; a small capsule three times a day all through the winter. Sir Andrew used to have dreadful colds, so I put him on cod-liver oil and now he scarcely ever has one at all. Now don’t forget. Tell Mrs. Wilson, she’ll see you take it regularly.’
‘Yes, your ladyship.’
‘If you don’t tell her I will,’ said Lady Shaw firmly. She turned as she spoke and her eyes fell upon James who was waiting to be served. ‘James!’ she exclaimed. ‘It is James, isn’t it? Mamie told me you were coming. Goodness, how you’ve grown!’
‘Yes,’ said James uncomfortably. It really was the limit the way everybody he met commented upon his growth – as if he were twelve years old instead of nearly twenty-five.
‘And you’ve got a moustache,’ said Lady Shaw. ‘Goodness! I remember you when you were a little, fat boy. You used to come to our Christmas parties.’
‘Yes,’ agreed James. ‘They were very good parties.’
‘Where’s Holly?’ said Lady Shaw, looking round the shop. ‘She was here a minute ago – my niece, Holly Douglas – you must meet her.’
Miss Douglas, hearing her name, appeared from behind a large bookcase with two Penguins in her hand. She was a tall girl, slim and elegant, with dark hair and sparkling brown eyes.
‘Oh, there you are!’ exclaimed her aunt. ‘I couldn’t think where you’d gone. This is James Dering.’
Holly smiled at James. ‘I’ve heard about you,’ she said. ‘You were in Malaya, weren’t you? My brother is out there now. I suppose it’s rather horrible, isn’t it?’
‘It is, rather,’ said James vaguely. ‘Of course it depends where you are exactly. I mean,’ he paused.
‘You mean you couldn’t possibly tell me about it here and now,’ nodded Holly. ‘Of course you couldn’t, but I would like to know because John says absolutely nothing in his letters.’
‘James must come over and tell you all about it,’ said Lady Shaw firmly. ‘Come to lunch tomorrow at one o’clock.’
It was a royal command rather than an invitation. James did not want to go, but how could he refuse? He murmured something about petrol.
‘Petrol!’ exclaimed her ladyship. ‘Of course you can’t use petrol. You can walk or borrow a bicycle, I suppose.’
James supposed he could.
Mamie was waiting for James at the car park and as they drove home together he told her what had happened. He was surprised to find that she was enthusiastic about his invitation to lunch at Drumburly Tower.
‘You’ll enjoy it,’ she declared. ‘It will be good for you to have a little change. Jock and I were afraid you might find it dull at Mureth, but if you get to know people round about it will be much more cheerful and amusing for you.’
‘I don’t think it will be very amusing. I
’d much rather have a day’s fishing.’
But Mamie was not listening. ‘Holly Douglas,’ she was saying thoughtfully. ‘I haven’t seen her for years. She’s Lady Shaw’s brother’s daughter – Lady Shaw was a Douglas, of course. Holly was a very pretty little girl; she used to stay at the Tower quite a lot. Did she seem nice?’
‘She seemed quite decent,’ said James tepidly.
‘You won’t see Ian,’ continued Mamie. ‘He only comes down from Edinburgh for occasional weekends, but you’ll see Eleanor. She’s about fourteen. She has lessons at home.’
‘Is that all the family?’ James inquired.
‘There’s Sir Andrew,’ said Mamie.
They had arrived at Mureth by this time so James asked no more. He was not particularly interested in the Shaw family.
Chapter Seven
The following day James rode over to Drumburly Tower upon a bicycle borrowed from Willy Dunne. The bicycle was too small for him and the brakes were faulty, so not only did he have to walk up all the hills, but down them as well. The weather was perfect for fishing, warm and cloudy with a nice westerly breeze. James felt extremely cross.
As he approached his destination he began to envisage himself arriving and wished he had made further inquiries about the Shaw family. He ought to know about them, of course, but he had forgotten. There was Sir Andrew and Lady Shaw. He knew Lady Shaw, but he could not remember having seen Sir Andrew. Ian Shaw was in Edinburgh and came down for weekends. Surely he ought to remember Ian, but no, he had no recollection of young Shaw. And Eleanor was a schoolgirl! She was probably fat and spotty with spectacles, thought James, making the worst of a bad job. Then there was Holly Douglas who wanted to know ‘all about Malaya.’ If she bothers me too much I shall damn well tell her, thought James.
Having arrived at this desperate decision, James found he had also arrived at the Tower. He dismounted and surveyed it thoughtfully. The Tower was about fifty yards from the house. It was massive and dignified; its square walls of brown and grey stone, pierced by narrow windows, rose from the ground as if they had grown from the soil. James had to tilt his head to see the top of the Tower, cutting a square section in the blue sky. The Tower looked permanent as a mountain crag; it had stood there for hundreds of years and looked good for hundreds more. The old Tower would still be standing, four-square to the winter storms, when the modern house had fallen into ruins.
James was still looking at it when Holly appeared from amongst the trees. She was wearing a green frock and a light straw hat with a green scarf twisted round it.
‘Hallo!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’m glad you’re early. I hoped you would be.’
‘I wasn’t sure how long it would take,’ explained James.
‘You were looking at the Tower. It’s a fine old place, isn’t it? Have you ever been to the top? There’s a marvellous view on a clear day – as the saying is.’
She laughed and James laughed with her.
‘I’d like to see it and this is a clear day,’ he told her. ‘But perhaps I’d better put the bike somewhere first.’ They put the bicycle into the garage and went across to the Tower. The key of the door was hanging on a nail. Holly took it and opened the door and they went in. The ground floor was on a level with the ground; it was cold and dark, for there were no windows. Holly explained that long ago, when the Tower was in use, the animals were kept here.
‘Horses, I suppose,’ said James, looking round.
His supposition was confirmed by the discovery of large iron rings let into the walls and of a stone drinking-trough in one corner. There was a low archway at one side of the chamber and from here a spiral stair of stone led upwards. The stairs were like those in a lighthouse, but the steps were very worn and uneven. Every here and there a narrow aperture gave a glimpse of the outside world. James and Holly went up the stairs slowly, groping their way and talking in low voices; there was something a trifle eerie about the old place.
‘I wonder if an enemy ever got inside,’ said James. ‘You could defend this stair pretty easily, very easily indeed if your enemy had nothing but a sword. The spiral is built so that the defender’s sword-hand would have the advantage over his opponent’s. The old chap who built this place knew what he was doing.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Holly. She was a little breathless and she was having trouble with the uneven steps. Her high heels were not intended for climbing.
On each floor there was one large chamber with rough stone walls pierced by arched windows, reinforced by iron bars. The windows gave very little light because the walls were at least five feet thick. The floors were of wood and had been mended recently. In some of the rooms packing-cases were stacked and broken furniture and other rubbish.
‘I’d clear this out if the place belonged to me,’ said James.
Holly agreed. ‘It does seem rather a shame. The poor old Tower must hate being made into a sort of rubbish heap, but of course if you have a place like this it’s almost bound to get cluttered up with things. Even cupboards get cluttered unless you’re ruthless.’
‘Are you ruthless?’ James asked.
‘I have to be,’ she replied. ‘I haven’t got a Tower to keep things in.’
‘It’s no use keeping lumber. Look at that horse-collar for instance; who could ever have thought it could be used again? It’s done. It’s dead.’
Holly looked at it. ‘You might start a bonfire with it,’ she suggested.
‘Yes,’ agreed James quite seriously. ‘And that’s the very best thing to do with lumber – not only old horse-collars but rubbish that clutters up one’s mind.’
‘Old worn-out love affairs,’ said Holly in a low voice.
James glanced at her.
‘It’s true,’ she continued. ‘It’s better to be ruthless.’
There were five storeys, five large stone chambers with wooden floors. The top one was slightly more comfortable – or less austere – than the others, for it boasted a fireplace. Perhaps this room had been used by the Shaw family when the remainder of the Tower had been full of refugees from Drumburly Town.
‘But I hope they didn’t have to live here long’ said James, looking round in disgust.
Holly laughed. ‘They lived here until the house was built. It was their home. I suppose it could be made more comfortable. You could put up curtains to keep out the draughts and have a rug on the floor. I don’t know how they cooked, and of course they couldn’t have a bath.’
‘I’d rather live in a tent any day,’ declared James.
At the very top of the Tower there was a stone gallery with a parapet, a marvellous look-out post. Holly and James leant upon the parapet and looked down. They looked down upon the tree-tops, upon the walled garden with its rows of vegetables. They looked down upon the little town and – miles away – to the plain and the winding river and the far off English hills.
James had said that the old chap who built the Tower had known what he was doing. He had known how to build. Now James saw that the old chap had known how to choose his site. The view in every direction was uninterrupted. One could see down the river and up the river, one could see across the river and far up the narrow valley on the other side. No other site could have equalled the site chosen by the old chap for his look-out Tower. If you took the trees away (and of course the trees were not there when the stronghold was in use), you had a very satisfactory field of fire, thought James. Modern weapons would soon put paid to the fortress, but the fortress had not been designed to resist modern weapons.
‘Worth it?’ asked Holly after a little silence.
‘Well worth it,’ replied James, smiling at her. ‘The whole adventure is worthwhile.’
‘You know, I remember you,’ Holly told him. ‘You and your sisters came over to a Christmas party; it was ages ago, at the beginning of the war. You were staying at Mureth of course. You don’t remember me, do you?’
‘Did we – did we hide?’ began James doubtfully.
Holly laughed. ‘You d
o remember! We were playing hide-and-seek. We hid in a big cupboard together. It was a gorgeous place, nobody found us, and then you made my flesh creep by pretending you couldn’t open the door for us to get out.’
‘What a brute I was!’
‘Yes, weren’t you? But I enjoyed it, really. It was so deliciously terrifying.’
James remembered now. He remembered the pretty girl with the dark curls. It had been fun teasing her.
‘Wait,’ said James. ‘Wait a minute. You were wearing a red frock and you had a red ribbon in your hair.’
‘Oh, James, how nice of you to remember. I can call you James, can’t I? Because we’re old friends.’
‘Definitely,’ agreed James. ‘I couldn’t possibly call you Miss Douglas after hiding in a cupboard with you.’
James was enjoying himself a good deal more than he had expected. It had been interesting to see the old Tower and to reconstruct its history… and Holly was fun. She was friendly and amusing, and very pretty. Fortunately her hair was dark so James could look at her quite comfortably.
‘We had better go down now,’ Holly said. ‘It must be nearly lunch-time and it’s a frightful crime to be late for meals.’
They talked as they went down. James told her something of his plans and his anxieties.
‘But you haven’t definitely decided to be a farmer, have you?’ Holly asked.
‘I have, really,’ said James. ‘I mean I want to be a farmer more than anything, but I’m beginning to see the snags. I never thought it would take so long to learn. I can’t stay on at Mureth indefinitely.’
‘What will you do when you leave Mureth?’
‘Goodness knows! I suppose I was a fool not to think it all out before.’
‘My plans are frightfully vague too,’ said Holly, with a sigh. ‘I’m not properly trained for anything. I can type, but that doesn’t take you far. I shall have to get some sort of a job – in London of course.’
Music in the Hills (Drumberley Book 2) Page 5