Music in the Hills (Drumberley Book 2)

by D. E. Stevenson

  ‘No,’ said James, smiling at the picture Jock’s words had evoked. ‘No. I see what you mean, but you take revolving doors and staircases in a humble spirit. You wouldn’t try to throw your weight about in London, and that’s what he was doing – throwing his weight about.’ Jock saw that this was true, but he still blamed Reid. He decided that Reid would have to go, not at once, of course, but later on. Meantime it would be as well if James did not see too much of Reid. James must be given other work to occupy him.

  It had been in Jock’s mind for some time to drain a meadow not far from the Stone Circle. The meadow was low-lying and swampy, reeds and king-cups grew upon it in profusion, but Jock knew that if it could be properly drained it would grow good grass for his cows. It would be interesting for James to learn how to do it and it would keep him busy. He could not do it himself, of course, but Couper could be spared to help.

  The three of them went down to the meadow together and Jock showed them what he wanted done; they measured the ground carefully and put in pegs, and then Jock went away and left them to it.

  The work was hard but James was interested in the job: it was constructive and worthwhile. He and Joseph Couper measured and dug the trenches and laid the red-clay pipes which would carry off the surplus water. Couper was very slow to work with and it was no use trying to hurry him. The work went forward steadily, peacefully, thoroughly – it was the Mureth tempo.

  James discovered that Couper knew quite a lot about the Stone Circle. He referred to it as ‘The Stanes’, and informed James that he had come out at sunrise on the fifth day of May and had seen the sun rise in the correct position: in a direct line with the biggest stone in the circle.

  James was interested in this, not only because the sun still continued to behave in the time-honoured manner in spite of the fact that no band of worshippers assembled to hail its rising, but also because he had always thought Couper a bit ‘dim’. Very nice, thoroughly trustworthy but a trifle dim, would have been James’s verdict upon Couper if anybody had happened to ask him for it. So naturally, he was surprised to find Couper historically minded and imaginative as well. By dint of questioning, while they rested from their labours, James found out a good deal from Couper. He had known before that ‘The Stanes’ was in reality a gigantic sundial, telling the days of the year instead of the hours of the day; but he had not known, until Couper told him, that the fifth of May was the Great Day of the year to sun worshippers, marking the beginning of summer when the long dark winter lay behind and the time of warmth and light and fertility lay ahead.

  At first James had some difficulty in understanding what Couper said and apparently Couper had almost as much trouble in understanding James – not quite, of course, for Couper occasionally listened to radio programmes in which James’s manner of speech was the fashion – but working and talking together they gradually learnt one another’s language and after that it was all plain sailing.

  ‘What did you feel at the Stanes?’ asked James. ‘I mean, when you saw the sun rise behind the hill.’

  ‘I felt kind o’ queer,’ replied Couper thoughtfully.

  ‘You felt as if time had gone back and you were one of those long-ago Stone Circle men?’

  ‘Eh?’

  James repeated his suggestion in different words.

  ‘Just kind o’ queer,’ said Couper vaguely.

  Obviously he had felt something, but equally obviously he could not put his feeling into words. James gave up the struggle.

  One evening a very curious incident disturbed the peace of Mureth. James found it necessary to go to Couper’s cottage to alter the arrangements for work upon the following day. He had promised to help Couper with the draining operations as usual, but Uncle Jock wanted him for something else. James walked down to the cottage and found it deserted; it was lightless, bolted and barred. He was surprised because the Couper’s were a stay-at-home family. Old Mr. Couper scarcely ever went out at all, certainly never at night, and the Couper children were too young to go to the pictures. James was further surprised to discover the Bells’ cottage empty – the Bell baby was not yet six months old! The Dunne’s were out too. Not a creature was left in the place.

  Of course there was no reason why the Mureth cottagers should not go out at night when the day’s work was over; some of them made a habit of it. Daisy frequently hied off to a dance at Drumburly; Mrs. Bell was a faithful member of the Women’s Rural Institute, and would not have missed a meeting for a good deal, and the others sometimes went out to parties at the houses of friends in the neighbourhood, but it was unprecedented for the whole community to disappear – and that was what had happened.

  James mounted a knoll and looked up the hill to the two shepherds’ cottages, Daniel Reid’s and the Wilsons’; it was difficult to make sure at this distance, but he felt pretty certain that they were empty too. He returned to Mureth House with the news.

  ‘How funny!’ said Mamie. ‘Lizzie has gone out, too. She asked if she could go to-day instead of to-morrow and she’s taken the children with her.’

  ‘They’ll have gone to a dance at Drumburly,’ said Jock, comfortably. ‘There’s no reason why they shouldn’t, if they want to.’

  ‘To a dance!’ exclaimed Mamie. ‘Old Mr. Couper and the Bell’s baby?’

  ‘And the three little Couper children!’ added James.

  Mamie and Jock and James looked at one another doubtfully.

  ‘Reid hasn’t gone,’ said Mamie after a little silence. ‘He came in a few minutes ago and said he had shut up the henhouses. The Couper’s usually do it, of course; I thought he’d just done it to oblige them. Reid says there’s a fox on the hill – several foxes, he thinks – and he asked if you would lend him your gun. The Wilsons have lost two ducks so something had better be done about it.’

  ‘They’ll be in that old den on the scree near the rowan,’ nodded Jock. ‘But I’m not lending my gun to Reid. James and I’ll go up one of these days and see what we can do.’

  No more was said about the mystery of the empty cottages, but James could not take it so easily. He disliked mysteries, and this one was a trifle sinister, or so it seemed to him. The Bell’s and the Dunne’s were barely on speaking terms, and Lizzie was usually at loggerheads with both families, so what could have induced them to go out together on an evening expedition? It would be too extraordinary a coincidence if they had all gone out separately to different places. They must have gone together, thought James.

  James did not go to sleep for quite a while and he wakened early with the mystery still on his mind. He was wide awake, still brooding upon it, when Lizzie appeared with his morning tea.

  ‘Lizzie,’ said James. ‘What happened last night? Where did you all go? There wasn’t a soul in the place.’

  ‘There was Mr. Reid,’ she replied. ‘Mr. Reid said somebody better stay and he’d stay. He’s not such a bad wee man when you get to know him.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘We hired a bus. We shared it, ye see. It was not that dear when it was all shared out, but they made me pay full price for Duggie and Greta and the wee ones got taken for half. It’s yon Mrs. Couper,’ declared Lizzie in aggrieved accents. ‘She wanted half fares for hers, and Mrs. Wilson wanted half-fare for Charlie and Mrs. Bell said wee Mary could go free — she would.’

  James knew Lizzie’s little ways. Any information required of Lizzie had to be extracted by main force. ‘Where did you go?’ he inquired.

  ‘It was Willy Bell’s brother told us. He works on the railway, so he knew all about it, ye see.’

  ‘I wish I did!’ cried James. ‘Can’t you tell me about it? Where did you go?’

  ‘In the bus,’ replied Lizzie. ‘Willy Bell got the bus in Drumburly from the man at the garage, ye see. It all had to be fixed in a hurry.’

  ‘You chartered a bus in a hurry and you all went off to pick dandelions,’ nodded James.

  Lizzie smiled. She did not smile often, but, when she did, it was ra
ther a pleasant sight. ‘Och, away!’ exclaimed Lizzie. ‘You know quite well it was the King we went to see.’

  James gazed at her in astonishment. It seemed incredible, but as Lizzie was incapable of such a flight of fancy he believed her information to be true. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘Listen to me. If you don’t tell me all about it here and now I’ll go and ask Mrs. Bell. She’ll be glad to tell me.’

  Thus goaded Lizzie pulled herself together and unfolded her tale.

  Mureth’s expedition to see the King had been planned in haste, for it was only yesterday morning that a message had been received from Willy Bell’s brother, via the milk lorry, to say that the Royal Train was on its way north and that it was to be shunted on to a local line for the night. This manoeuvre was to take place at a small country station less than twenty miles away. Willy Dunne communicated with his friend at the garage in Drumburly and managed to charter a bus. Everything was arranged.

  It was suggested that old Mr. Couper was too old to go, but Mr. Couper refused to be left behind. He wanted to see the King. Nobody had as much right as he, for had he not seen Queen Victoria? Nobody but he had seen Queen Victoria, nobody in Mureth. It was thought by some than wee Mary Bell was too young to go, but Mrs. Bell was determined that her daughter should see the King. Mary would not remember the occasion, one could hardly expect it at five months, but when she was older she could be told about it, and perhaps, long years hence, she would talk about it like old Mr. Couper talked about seeing Queen Victoria. Only her mother thought this a good reason for taking Mary, and Mrs. Dunne remarked with a charming smile that if wee Mary became a nuisance like old Mr. Couper she was likely to remain single all her life. This was one of Mrs. Dunne’s most successful sallies, for it insulted the Bell’s and the Couper’s at one blow, but by this time the excitement was so intense that neither family retaliated.

  Everybody put on Sunday garments; each family packed sufficient food for its own members; the bus appeared at the appointed hour and Mureth set forth.

  Quite a number of people had heard, in one way or another, of the plans for the Royal Train; so the country road, which was usually deserted, was thronged with cars and carts and bicycles and other conveyances and with people of all ages and both sexes wearing expectant smiles. Some of these people took up their position in the tiny station, others on the bridge. Willy Bell’s brother conducted the Mureth contingent to an excellent place in a shallow cutting and left them there to sit upon the bank and eat their supper and await the arrival of the train.

  They had not long to wait. In fact, they had scarcely finished their picnic meal when loud cheering from down the line told of the train’s approach. Willy Dunne was so excited at the prospect of seeing his sovereign lord that he lost his footing upon the bank and would have fallen if Daisy had not had the presence of mind to fling her arms round his waist and so restore his balance; but Mrs. Dunne, far from being grateful, bent a gaze of hatred upon Daisy for saving her husband’s life. ‘She would rather have had him crushed to pulp beneath the wheels,’ said Lizzie with relish.

  The train passed slowly, so slowly that everybody had an excellent view of His Majesty, standing at the window in the corridor and smiling at the cheering throng. Everybody waved. Little Mary was shaken out of a blissful sleep and held up to get a good view; fortunately, she was still too dazed to resent this unprecedented treatment. ‘I seen your great-grandmother, sir!’ yelled old Mr. Couper in quavering tones. Alice Couper, a sensitive child, burst into floods of tears. The others cheered loudly.

  The Queen, standing at another window, waved and smiled. Somebody called out, ‘God bless your bonny face!’ (Lizzie had a feeling it was Willy Bell, but she could not be sure of this.) The train moved on. The great moment was over. Mureth had seen its King and Queen.

  Coming home in the bus everybody talked at once and nobody listened. Every man was convinced that the King had looked at him, personally, and had smiled at him alone; every woman was perfectly certain that the Queen had waved to her children and to nobody else’s.

  Mr. Couper kept on saying, ‘I seen the King. I seen his great-grandmother, too. Nobody but me has seen them both, nobody in Mureth.’ Only Mrs. Dunne was silent, though perhaps silent is not the right word – she had gone to sleep with her hat over one eye, and was snoring peacefully.

  Of course it took some time to get the whole story out of Lizzie, but James managed it by dint of persuasions and searching questions and threats to go straight to Mrs. Bell. He thought it over while he dressed, chuckling delightedly, and it gave him enormous pleasure to retail it to his uncle and aunt over the breakfast table.

  Mamie laughed quite a lot, but Jock looked rather cross. ‘Isn’t is just like them, the silly fools!’ said Jock in disgust. ‘If they’d told us about it we could have taken the car and gone ourselves.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  James had promised to take Daniel Reid a book about sheep; a new book for which he had written to Edinburgh. Daniel could have written a book about sheep himself – so James thought – but he was never tired of reading about them, and he had told James that however much you knew about sheep there was always more to learn; a statement which James found slightly depressing. The evening was misty, but that did not matter, for James had been up to Well Cottage so often he could have trodden the path blindfold. As he approached he saw Daniel come out and lock the door behind him. Obviously Daniel was going out.

  ‘Hi!’ shouted James, running forward. ‘Hi, Daniel, I’ve brought the book!’

  Daniel waited for him and welcomed him, and asked him to come in.

  ‘But you’re going out,’ objected James.

  Daniel did not answer that, and they stood for a moment in silence.

  It was difficult for James. He did not want to appear inquisitive; he was not sure whether Daniel wanted him or not. Daniel might be going to Drumburly on his bike or to one of the other cottages… and then he looked more closely at Daniel and noted that Daniel was not dressed for ‘company’; he was in his usual working clothes, and he had a haversack upon his back with a waterproof strapped on to the top of it.

  ‘Daniel!’ exclaimed James. ‘You’re going after the sheep stealers! You were going without me!’

  ‘Well,’ said Daniel uncomfortably. ‘Well, Mr. James, I thought I’d go and have a look. I’ve been out a good many times and seen nothing, and I couldn't ask you to go on a wild-goose chase, could I? If I knew I'd be seeing them it would be different and it’s misty to-night. It’ll be mistier before long. You’re not familiar with the hills like me,’

  ‘Och, away!’ cried James, laughing.

  Daniel laughed too. ‘You’re learning the language,’ he said.

  They debated the question of whether or not James should partake in the expedition. Daniel was against it and brought out every argument he could think of to persuade James to go home to his comfortable bed, but James was determined to accompany Daniel. He promised to obey orders, to stick closely to Daniel so that he should not get lost and finally to ‘keep a still tongue in his head’ about the whole affair.

  ‘Och, well, if you must you must,’ said Daniel, with a sigh.

  A few minutes later they were going up the hill, Daniel leading and James following closely.

  Daniel’s gait upon the hill was peculiar and distinctive. He stooped forward with his hand grasping his shepherd’s crook and his legs bent at the knee, but in spite of his ungainly appearance his legs went over the uneven ground at a steady pace and it was all James could do to keep up with him. Uphill or downhill seemed the same to Daniel, his pace neither quickened nor slackened; it seemed to James that Daniel could go on all day and half the night without turning a hair or pausing for a breather.

  They went in silence. James was reminded of his campaigning experiences in Malaya, and yet how different it was! Instead of the hot steamy jungle he was on a bare hillside with a cool, wet mist all about him and a stony path underfoot. He had a thick stick, provided
by Daniel, instead of a more lethal weapon in his hand. Last but not least James reminded himself that although he was out after bandits he must not deal with them quite so ruthlessly as he had dealt with the bandits of Malaya. If there was to be a fight it must be a kid-glove affair. You couldn’t lay out a sheep stealer upon a Scottish hillside and get away with it – or could you? wondered James.

  Daniel stopped and looked round. ‘Mr. James,’ he said. ‘You’ll remember you’re not in Malaya?’

  James chuckled.

  ‘All right,’ nodded Daniel. ‘Just as long as you keep it in mind. Yon stick is loaded.’

  ‘It’s a nicely-balanced weapon.’

  ‘Aye, it’s a good stick. I’ve had it a long while.’

  ‘How many notches on it, Daniel?’

  ‘Never you mind. We’re not wanting any notches on it tonight.’

  They went on. They had been climbing steadily, but now they began to descend. Obviously Daniel knew exactly where he was going. He led James down a path beside a little tinkling burn and halted in front of a ruined cottage.

  ‘We’ll wait here,’ said Daniel. ‘It’s a shelter, and it’s close by the road and about twenty yards from the track that leads up to the quarry. I’ve been spending a good few nights here lately. Mind your feet, Mr. James, there’s stones and nettles by the door.’

  The cottage was in a ruinous condition, but part of the roof still remained and beneath this exiguous shelter Daniel had made his camp. The nettles were cleared, a few stones had been built up to make a fireplace and there was a couch of dry grass. Daniel unpacked his haversack and produced a packet of sandwiches, a thermos flask and an electric torch. He spread his waterproof upon the couch and invited his guest to be seated.