The Golden Chain

by Margaret James

  ‘You met Dad at a ball, then?’

  ‘No, we knew each other when we were children. Alex’s guardian Henry Denham was my father’s friend.’

  ‘Why did Dad have a guardian? I’ve always meant to ask you. What happened to his parents?’

  ‘I thought you were asking me if I liked dancing?’

  ‘Yes, I was – so, did you dance with Dad?’

  ‘I don’t think I ever danced with Alex, now I come to think about it, but I danced with everybody else!’

  Rose stood up. ‘What about some supper? Maybe we’ve had too many eggs this week? I don’t want everybody getting egg-bound. But it’s scrambled eggs or tinned sardines with tinned tomatoes, not very inspiring, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Sardines on toast,’ said Daisy, who was sick of eggs and would have killed for chicken biryani, the sort their cook in India used to make.

  On Monday afternoon, she took her usual path home, along the gated road.

  As she’d sort of hoped she might, she found the boy with copper hair still sitting on the gate, reading a small, brown book.

  ‘Have you been here all weekend?’ she asked.

  ‘Most of it,’ he said, and then he smiled, and she saw he had perfect teeth.

  ‘Why aren’t you at school or work?’

  ‘I’m on my holidays just now.’

  ‘You mentioned Lady Easton when I saw you last. So you must be staying at Easton Hall?’

  ‘Yes, that’s correct, Miss Holmes,’ said Ewan, and slipped the little book into his pocket.

  ‘Miss Denham.’

  She realised she was smiling now. She knew she must be blushing, too. She wished she wasn’t, for she was so fair-skinned she looked like a tomato when she blushed.

  ‘Where do you usually live?’ she asked.

  ‘In Scotland, but my mother wanted to spend the summer here in Dorset, with my father’s cousins.’ Ewan’s smile died. ‘I’m hating every minute of it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘All Sir Michael thinks about are field sports – fishing, guns and shooting. He lost a hand when he was in the war, and although he has an artificial one, he’s very clumsy. So he likes going out with me, telling me what to do and how to do it. But I’m not interested in killing things for fun. As for Lady Easton – she’s a condescending bitch.’

  ‘Yes, they don’t like her in the village. They all say she’s stuck up.’

  ‘You were too busy for a walk on Friday.’ Ewan looked at Daisy hopefully, and she was reminded of a friendly Labrador who was longing to be thrown a stick. ‘Let me carry your bag for you a while. It looks quite heavy.’

  ‘Yes, actually it is,’ said Daisy and, after a moment’s hesitation, she handed it to him. ‘So you don’t like Sir Michael, then?’

  ‘He’s pleasant enough to me, but he’s a crashing bore.’ Ewan kicked a stone along the road. ‘At this very moment, he’s anxious to become a magistrate. He talks about it all the time. He can’t wait to hand down fines and floggings.’

  ‘Mmm, he sounds really nice.’

  ‘My mother reckons it’s his great ambition to be Lord Lieutenant of the county,’ went on Ewan. ‘But he’ll need to work at it to make the people who matter forget he married a divorcee, and she must work hard at being a lady.’

  ‘Ewan, are you a snob?’

  ‘No,’ said Ewan. ‘I’m a socialist. I believe in equal rights for all, and justice for the common man. But until the revolution comes, so-called ladies should at least be generous and kindly and polite, and grateful for their undeserved good fortune. Lady Easton’s mean and rude and selfish.’

  ‘I see,’ said Daisy. ‘I don’t know much about them, actually. Do they have any children?’

  ‘No, they don’t,’ said Ewan. ‘But looking at Lady Easton, I can’t say I’m surprised. She’s not an appealing woman.’

  ‘But if Sir Michael married her, surely he – ’

  ‘Oh, he was after some heiress. But she wouldn’t have him, because she was in love with someone else. Chloe was about to be divorced, and she was looking out for a new husband. Sir Michael didn’t like it when the heiress married this other man, and he married Chloe on the rebound. Or that’s my mother’s theory, anyway.’

  Soon they turned off the road and took the path that led to Melbury House, skirting the cliffs and headland.

  ‘Look, the spawn of Satan.’ Daisy pointed to the twins who were skimming pebbles on the shingle beach below.

  ‘Your little brothers, eh?’ Ewan grinned. ‘Lady Easton mentioned them at breakfast. Apparently they’ve been going in the coverts, and springing traps with sticks. If Sir Michael’s keeper catches them, he’s going to tan their hides.’

  ‘They don’t like seeing animals get hurt, but that’s the only decent thing about them. When we lived in India, they had a whole menagerie of creatures they had rescued. Rats and bats and mongooses – you never knew what was in their pockets, waiting to leap out and bite your hand. They’ve probably got a new collection now. I shudder to think what’s in it.’

  ‘I had a pet white rat myself at their age. His name was Archie, and he was very clever.’

  ‘What is it about boys and rats?’ Daisy glanced at her wristwatch. ‘I have to go home now,’ she added. ‘May I have my bag back?’

  ‘I see I shouldn’t have mentioned Archie. Why are girls afraid of things with whiskers and long tails?’

  ‘I’m not afraid of them, but Mum is going to wonder where I’ve gone.’ Daisy took her satchel back and slung it across her shoulder.

  ‘See you tomorrow?’ Ewan called, as she strode off down the winding path to Melbury House.

  ‘Maybe,’ she called, not looking back.

  Ewan watched her go.

  There was something very intriguing about Daisy Denham, which he told himself had nothing much to do with her sweet, heart-shaped face, her long, straight legs and golden hair, although of course he liked those fine.

  He wondered what the mystery surrounding her could be, why his mother and Chloe were always muttering about the Denham family, why he’d come into the morning room and find them whispering together, hissing like crones around a bubbling cauldron, brewing up a spell.

  Why he’d heard Chloe laughing as she told his mother that at last the Denhams had got what they deserved, and serve them right.

  What could they have done?

  As the spring warmed into summer, Ewan grew on Daisy.

  She wasn’t overwhelmed with other friends. The girls at school were nice enough, but compared with friends she’d had in India they were boring. She missed Celia Norton dreadfully.

  Celia and she had had adventures. They’d been camping and tobogganing in the foothills of the Himalayas. They’d gone into the jungle riding on the backs of elephants. They’d followed shooting parties in pursuit of tigers.

  They’d explored bazaars with just their fathers’ bearers to keep an eye on them, sniffing all the spices and buying penny bangles. Those girls in Dorchester, they wouldn’t know an adventure if it came up and poked them in the eye.

  Ewan was good-looking, wasn’t stupid, and he was a socialist and an atheist, which was jolly daring. In the total absence of anyone more exciting, Ewan would have to do.

  School had finished for the summer. As Ewan and Daisy lay on the headland one hot afternoon in late July, gazing towards Lyme Bay, Ewan said he was going to be actor.

  ‘They’re always out of work,’ said Daisy.

  ‘Thank you for your kind encouragement.’ Ewan propped himself up on his elbows. ‘You sound just like my mother. I thought I might expect a wee bit more enthusiasm from a seasoned trouper, who has not only trodden the boards herself, but has won great plaudits in the village.’

  ‘I only mess about,’ said Daisy, blushing. ‘
I’m just an amateur, and any professional would laugh at me.’

  ‘You’re very good, according to Miss Sefton. She’s getting up a concert party soon, and she told Lady Easton you would definitely be in it.’

  ‘She hasn’t asked me.’ Daisy was annoyed, but also flattered. ‘Those village people,’ she went on. ‘I don’t know what to make of them. They’re chatting to you as nice as pie one minute, then gossiping behind your back the next. Making arrangements without even asking – ’

  ‘You should be familiar with their ways. After all, you’re one of them.’

  ‘No, I’m not – not really.’ Daisy shrugged. ‘We went to India when I was a toddler, so although I was born in England, I don’t remember anything about it. When we came to Dorset, it was like coming to a foreign country.’

  ‘Why did you come home?’

  ‘Dad was in the army. One day there was a riot, things got nasty, and my dad got shot.’ Daisy turned to Ewan. ‘Indians are always having riots. You see, they want their independence, but we won’t let them have it. Anyway, he was badly hurt, and when he got better, he wasn’t fit enough to be a soldier any more.’

  ‘So you came back to the old ancestral home.’

  ‘Well, to that dump Dad’s guardian left him, not that I’d have chosen it. I don’t see why we can’t live in a decent modern house, with proper running water and electricity, not with a well and oil lamps. It’s money, I suppose. We haven’t very much of it. Dad’s only got his army pension. He lost most of his savings in the Crash.’

  Daisy rolled over, lay on her back and stared up at the sky. ‘Money, money, money, it’s all Mum ever talks about.’

  ‘It’s all my mother talks about, as well. She’s always going on about my school fees, about how much it’s costing her to educate her stupid, lazy son.’

  ‘Let’s hope you’re worth it, then.’ Daisy glanced at Ewan, who wore no tie today, and whose white shirt was open at the collar. She thought she saw a glint of gold beneath the thin material. ‘What’s that around your neck?’

  ‘This, you mean?’ Ewan fished out a golden chain, on which there was a ring. ‘It is an honour ’longing to our house, bequeathed down from many ancestors, which were the greatest obloquy i’ the world in me to lose.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘This was my father’s ring. He died when I was twelve, the worms have long since eaten him, but he left me his ring. Of course, we’re not allowed to wear any jewellery at school, and so I got myself a chain for it, and keep it hidden.’

  ‘What was all that stuff you said just now?’

  ‘It’s from All’s Well That Ends Well – but don’t you know your Shakespeare?’

  ‘Yes, I know a little, but not as much as you do, obviously.’ Daisy frowned at him. ‘I’m not an actress, Ewan. I only sing and dance a bit, whatever you may have heard down in the village, and not everyone can go to Eton.’

  ‘I don’t go to Eton. My mother couldn’t raise the fees for Eton. I go to Blair Gowan Academy, one of Scotland’s finest grammar schools. But I dare say you ignorant Sassenachs won’t have heard of it.’

  ‘If you want to act in Shakespeare’s plays, you’ll have to master English first,’ retorted Daisy, sticking up for the England she had hated, not so long ago.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Well, with your accent, the only part you could play would be Macbeth.’ Daisy grinned at him. ‘Say worms again.’

  ‘Worms.’

  ‘No, not wurrums, worms!’ Daisy laughed. ‘You’ll have to go to see Miss Sefton, ask her to give you elocution lessons.’

  ‘Away, you saucy besom.’ Ewan pushed her shoulder, and the touch of his hand through the light cotton of her dress made Daisy blush again, and made her feel hot and strange inside. ‘I must go home,’ she said, and scrambled up.

  ‘Why, what have I said?’

  ‘Oh, nothing – but Mum has lots of things for me to do.’

  ‘Daisy, wait a minute.’ Ewan grabbed her hand and pulled her down again, so she was sitting facing him. ‘All right, go home and help your mother. But I’ll see you tomorrow, yes?’

  Then he leaned towards her, and she felt his mouth touch hers before she had a chance to jerk away.

  ‘Tomorrow, yes?’ he said again, his green eyes meeting Daisy’s blue ones.

  Chapter Three

  Damn, thought Ewan, as he watched Daisy run off down the path, her hair a stream of radiance in the sunshine. I shouldn’t have done that.

  Now she’ll tell her father, and this evening old man Denham will be up at Easton Hall, brandishing a shotgun and demanding satisfaction. What will it be – pistols at dawn, a public execution?

  He could just imagine Daisy’s father, who would be a big, fair Dorset man, the sort you saw in Dorchester on market days, purple-faced, tow-haired, in tweeds and leather gaiters.

  He’d stump into the drawing room, rant and rave for half an hour, and carry on about his daughter’s honour.

  Agnes would turn the taps on. The ghastly poisonous Chloe would sit there smug and smirking. Sir Michael would stand before the empty fireplace, say nothing, but look disgusted. He had a talent for looking disgusted.

  But Ewan couldn’t regret what he had done, because today kind fate had smiled on him. He knew he’d found the girl he’d marry.

  If only I’d had some warning, Daisy thought.

  As she ran home, her heart was banging hard against her ribs, her face was burning, but she was laughing, too.

  When Ewan kissed her, she had wanted to throw her arms around his smooth, brown neck and kiss him back, then lay her head on his broad shoulder.

  So why hadn’t she?

  She didn’t know.

  But maybe it was just as well she hadn’t. What if the twins had seen them kiss? They’d have laughed their stupid, horrible heads off. Then she’d have had to kill the little blighters, and she would have ended up in prison, because she wasn’t old enough to hang.

  Or she’d have had to get her lawyer to make out she was mad. Then they’d have put her in the local bin, with lunatics who wet themselves, who wore grey flannel uniforms and ugly, hobnail boots. She’d watched them clumping into church, where they sat and gibbered at the back, while their keepers shushed them.

  She finally calmed down a little, and her heart stopped thumping. She decided she would go the long way home, taking the path that snaked through Easton Woods – which of course were private property, but she didn’t care – then skirting the perimeter walls which enclosed the grounds of Charton Minster.

  This was an old mansion which, the village gossips said, was a kind of prison where bad boys were locked up, regularly birched, and fed on bread and water. She often wished the brats were locked up with them.

  She got home at six o’clock that evening. She went in round the back way, through the outbuildings, and there she found the twins.

  ‘You’ve missed your supper,’ Robert said.

  ‘We ate all your scrambled eggs,’ said Stephen.

  ‘There’s only sago pudding left for you.’

  ‘It will be cold by now.’

  ‘Yuck, cold frog spawn.’ Robert grinned. ‘Slime and slop and tadpoles.’

  ‘I wish you were a tadpole, then you might get eaten by a pike,’ said Daisy, coldly.

  The twins had commandeered the stables, a group of Georgian buildings next to the big house which had stayed miraculously intact while almost everything else was falling down.

  Now they were mucking out a rabbit run they’d made from bits of planking and old chicken wire, and playing with their pets.

  ‘What are you going to do with that lot, make them into pies?’ asked Daisy, eyeing a fat, brown doe with several kittens.

  ‘They’re pets, t
hey’re not for food!’ Robert scooped up a black-eared heavyweight, and rubbed his nose against its furry neck.

  ‘We got a buck and doe in the village. They were only sixpence each, and now we’ve got fifteen,’ said Stephen, as he stroked a small, grey rabbit kitten. ‘We’re selling some of them to boys at school for half a crown apiece.’

  ‘After we’ve checked they’ve got proper hutches,’ added Robert, ‘and they’d be safe from foxes, naturally.’

  ‘Naturally,’ said Daisy. ‘Where are Mum and Dad?’

  ‘They’re in the house,’ said Stephen. ‘They’re talking about money, and they both look pretty gloomy.’

  ‘Now Dad’s left the army and he only has his pension, we’re jolly short of cash,’ said Robert, putting down the rabbit. ‘So, we’re trying to do our bit. We told them about the rabbit farm, and how we’re selling pets, and Dad said, well done.’

  ‘But when we suggested going to the village school instead of Ryedale Manor, Mum got very weepy and said we ought to sell the house.’

  ‘Then Dad said nobody would buy it.’

  ‘Then Mum said it was hopeless, that Dad’s broker should be shot, and she was going up to have a bath, so that’s where she is now.’ Stephen looked at his sister anxiously. ‘Daze, we’re up the creek, or that’s what Dad said, anyway.’

  Daisy looked at them, saw two black-haired, grubby kids whose anxious, snub-nosed faces showed how much they wished to help, but didn’t know how. They were just children, she reflected. They knew nothing about the world. Suddenly, she felt weary, sad – grown up.

  ‘What’s this one called?’ she asked them, picking up a large white pink-eyed rabbit.

  ‘Freddie, he’s a buck, he’s very strong, he’ll kick you if he can,’ said Stephen, taking the squirming animal and putting it back among its many wives.

  ‘That brown one’s Emily, she’s nice, she’ll let you stroke her nose,’ said Robert, pointing to a pretty little doe.

  Daisy picked Emily up and stroked her gently, thinking hard.

  ‘Stokeley says he saw you on the headland earlier today,’ said Agnes Fraser. Ewan had been summoned to her bedroom before dinner, and now he sat watching from the window seat as she rouged her face, pencilled in her eyebrows, and dabbed powder on her nose. ‘You were with some girl.’