The Golden Chain

by Margaret James

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘If you follow a curving line from there down to the burn, then look towards the mountains on your right, what you can see belongs to us.’

  ‘You’re very lucky. The mountains and the river and the moors – they’re beautiful.’ Daisy turned to him. ‘Ewan, you love it, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Why don’t you want to live here all the time, then?’

  ‘How do you know I don’t want to live here all the time?’

  ‘You said you were going to be an actor.’

  ‘I am indeed,’ said Ewan.

  ‘So you’re going to entertain the sheep?’

  ‘I’m going to entertain the world. But I shall have the summer seasons off, and spend them in Glen Grant.’

  ‘You’ll be a very successful actor, then?’

  ‘Of course I shall,’ said Ewan, willing Daisy not to laugh as Agnes would have done. ‘But in the summer, I’ll be a laird as well.’

  They reached the foothills of Ben Grimond, which loured over them like some great crouching monster, its summit hidden by clouds.

  ‘What do you think?’ asked Ewan. ‘Shall we go up and find some snow?’

  ‘Yes, all right,’ said Daisy.

  ‘It’s going to rain.’

  ‘I’ve got a coat.’

  ‘Come on, then – take my hand.’

  ‘Blow winds,’ cried Ewan, as he dragged her up the mountain track. ‘You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout!’

  ‘Ewan, please don’t go so fast,’ gasped Daisy, as she felt the first fat drops of freezing rain go trickling down her neck, and was glad of Mrs Morrison’s heavy mackintosh.

  Ewan hauled her like a bag of washing up a bank of scree, then let her have a rest. She watched with awe and dread as lightning forked on a bare ridge a mile or two away.

  ‘My God, you are unfit,’ said Ewan, who was breathing normally himself.

  ‘You don’t believe in God,’ said Daisy, shuddering. But, God – this was ridiculous, she thought, climbing a Scottish mountain with a boy she’d known five minutes, hardly able to get her breath, and terrified the storm would hit them, blow them off the crag.

  ‘It’s all right, it’s going the other way,’ said Ewan, and he smiled reassuringly.

  ‘I don’t much like lightning,’ she confessed.

  ‘You mustn’t worry, I’ll look after you. Do you want to go back down now?’

  ‘What about the snow? I want to find some snow.’

  ‘All right,’ said Ewan. ‘Then we must get on. We can’t be on the mountain after dark.’

  They reached the top of the mountain, but they didn’t find much snow – only a little tucked deep in a corrie, left there by the blizzards that had scoured and carved the landscape.

  ‘Here,’ said Ewan, scooping up a crystal handful and offering it to Daisy.

  ‘It smells of the North Pole,’ she said. She licked it, and he watched as the white flakes dissolved on her pink tongue. ‘It tastes of winter.’

  ‘You’re so lovely, Daisy.’ Ewan couldn’t believe that anyone or anything could be so beautiful. ‘Chaste as the icicle that’s curdied by the frost from purest snow, and hangs on Dian’s temple.’

  Daisy blushed. ‘More Shakespeare?’ she said lightly, and Ewan felt the electricity flickering between them. ‘More King Lear?’

  ‘Coriolanus. He’s one of my heroes. I mean to play him one day.’

  ‘Then I’m sure you will.’

  ‘I’ll play Romeo, Orlando and Benedick, as well.’ Ewan tipped up Daisy’s chin and made her look at him. ‘You could be my Juliet, my Rosalind, my Beatrice.’

  ‘I – tis an honour that I dream not of,’ said Daisy, laughing.

  ‘You’ll be my Juliet,’ said Ewan.

  Then he kissed her, and it didn’t matter when their noses bumped, because she kissed him back, their passion rising as the stinging rain came down.

  ‘We should go home,’ he said, five minutes – or it could have been five hours – later. ‘Daisy, hold my hand.’

  He shouldn’t have brought her up the mountain, he realised that now. As they slipped and slithered down he held on to her tightly, terrified they’d be benighted by the worsening storm.

  ‘At least we found some snow,’ she gasped. She clearly didn’t understand the danger she was in, as they forded torrents that hadn’t been there when they climbed the mountain earlier that morning, and as they slid down gullies, grazing their bare hands.

  ‘Come here, and hold on to me down this bit,’ Ewan said, as Daisy slid and scrabbled down a rocky apology for a path. ‘It’s this way now.’

  ‘Do you know where we are, then?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ he said, and grabbed her hand just as she started sliding towards a sheer drop and certain death.

  To Ewan’s huge relief, although he’d never have admitted it to Daisy, Mr Morrison came to look for them. Daisy was all in, and they had to carry her home between them.

  ‘You two need your heads examined,’ Mrs Morrison scolded, wrapping Daisy in a thick grey blanket, and making her sit down beside the fire. ‘Just you stay there, miss, and sip your broth. Well, Ewan, how far did you go?’

  ‘To the top, of course.’

  ‘You’ll be the death of Mrs Fraser, and of this young lady’s mother.’

  ‘You’ll be doing jigsaws and playing cribbage for the next few days,’ added Mr Morrison. ‘The weather’s turned. Some of the railway line’s been washed away. I don’t know when you’re expected back in Dorset. But you’ve no chance of getting away this week.’

  They had to go for walks. There was no other way they could be alone, and kiss, and talk, and kiss again.

  In Wellington boots and hats and mackintoshes, they went for rainy hikes all round Glen Grant, sheltering under rocky outcrops, darting into empty bothies, hiding under the warped and rotting eaves of ruined sheep folds – anywhere they could kiss.

  Mrs Morrison gave them severe, old-fashioned looks, but didn’t say anything.

  Daisy was in love. She knew it. There could be no other explanation for this delicious warmth that made her glow, for the smile she couldn’t keep from curling round her mouth. All she wanted was to be with Ewan.

  ‘I love you,’ he whispered as they sheltered from another downpour in a shepherd’s hut.

  ‘I love you, too,’ she told him.

  Ewan took the chain on which he wore his father’s ring from round his neck. ‘Daisy, will you wear this chain?’ he asked.

  ‘What about the ring?’

  ‘I’ll have the ring, you have the chain.’ Ewan fastened it round Daisy’s neck, and then he kissed her lightly on the lips. ‘Promise me you’ll never take it off?’

  ‘I promise,’ Daisy said. ‘I’ll always wear it, and I’ll always keep you in my heart.’

  They waited for the storm to die away and for the railway line to be repaired, and then went back to Dorset on the early morning train. The journey took forever, but it wasn’t long enough for Daisy, who was hoping it would never end.

  The little local train pulled into Charton, and she saw the sight she’d dreaded. Alex was standing waiting for them on the station platform, looking beyond grim.

  ‘I’m for it now,’ she said.

  ‘He can’t kill you, it’s against the law.’

  ‘I doubt if that would bother him,’ said Daisy, who felt sick.

  ‘Good luck,’ said Ewan.

  ‘Thanks, I’ll need it. Daisy stepped down from the train. ‘Dad, I’m really sorry,’ she began.

  ‘Where is this man?’ demanded Alex.

  ‘Good evening, sir,’ said Ewan, holding out his hand to Daisy’s father, who wasn’t a red-faced, leather-gaitered, tow-haired D
orset man. He was tall and dark, and didn’t look anything like Daisy.

  Ewan remembered he had been a soldier. He still looked like one – everything about him said authority. He didn’t rant and rave or carry on. Instead, he looked at Ewan as if he was something nasty on the bottom of his shoe.

  ‘Ewan Fraser, is it?’ He didn’t take Ewan’s proffered hand. ‘I suppose you realise Mrs Denham and your mother have been frantic?’

  Every word was like a blow, and Ewan flinched, but he refused to drop his gaze. ‘I’m sorry to hear it, sir.’ He knew his face was scarlet, but he tried to stand up straight and tall. ‘Mrs Denham will be happy to have Daisy home,’ he added, lamely.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure she will.’ Mr Denham turned and strode towards the car, and Daisy scuttled after him, much to the interest of the ticket man, who didn’t dare ask Daisy for her ticket.

  Ewan didn’t blame him.

  Alex didn’t say a word as he drove back to Melbury House. But the very moment Daisy got out of the car, the twins came hurtling out of the front door, and launched themselves at her like small torpedoes.

  ‘Daze, you’ve been so wicked!’ Stephen cried. ‘Dad’s been so angry! We haven’t dared to cheek him for a week!’

  ‘A boy in the village said you were a hoyden,’ Robert added, grinning. ‘We had to look it up, it means a rude and ill-bred girl, and so we thumped him. He’s got two black eyes.’

  ‘Daze, we’ve got some cows.’ Stephen started pulling her towards the ruinous cowshed. ‘Come and see them, they’re – ’

  ‘Daisy, go and see your mother,’ Alex said, and Daisy followed him into the house. ‘She’s waiting for you in the drawing room.’

  Daisy was expecting tears, reproaches and some kind of punishment. But Rose looked calm and placid. ‘Sit down,’ she said, and patted the place beside her on the ancient, sagging sofa.

  ‘Mum, I’m sorry,’ Daisy said, and meant it.

  ‘At least you left a note, and rang us up to tell us where you’d gone.’ Rose took Daisy’s hand. ‘Daisy, love, this man you went with, he and you – ’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, Mum,’ said Daisy, reddening. ‘Ewan and I are friends, that’s all.’

  ‘Why did you go away?’

  ‘When you told me what happened about my real mother, I thought everyone in Charton must be whispering and laughing at me behind my back. I had to get away.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Rose. ‘But please don’t run away again. Your father and I were so upset and worried. When we realised you had gone with the boy from Easton Hall, Alex had to go and see Sir Michael and his wife. I believe it was an awkward meeting. He’s never liked Sir Michael.’

  ‘Ewan says Lady Easton is a bitch,’ said Daisy, nodding. ‘As for Sir Michael, he’s – ’

  ‘I think we should forget it,’ interrupted Rose. ‘Darling, will you promise me something? Don’t upset your father, and remember Alex loves you.’

  ‘I’ll remember,’ Daisy promised, getting up.

  It wasn’t until she went up to her bedroom that Daisy realised Rose herself hadn’t said anything about loving Daisy.

  So didn’t she think of herself as Daisy’s mother, after all?

  The following morning, Alex went to Easton Hall again, and came home looking blacker than the last time.

  ‘What exactly did you say to Michael?’ Rose asked gently later on that evening, when she was sure the children were in bed, the doors were shut and nobody could hear them.

  ‘I told him to see that Fraser fellow doesn’t come near our daughter,’ muttered Alex. ‘Chloe then reminded me that Daisy’s not our daughter.’

  ‘I hope you didn’t rise to that?’

  ‘Rose, it’s fine for you to sit here being calm and reasonable! It was different for me to have to walk into their den, to see them sitting there so rich and smug.’

  ‘Darling, I made my choice,’ said Rose.

  ‘A bad one, wasn’t it?’ Alex shook his head and looked away. ‘Easton said he’d heard we’d bought some cattle, and that dairy farming was a waste of effort on land as poor as ours.’

  ‘But you didn’t comment?’

  ‘I didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing I was riled, or that I thought he might be right.’

  ‘What about the Fraser boy, did Michael say he’d speak to him?’

  ‘He said that Ewan, or whatever he’s called, is seventeen, that he’s not a child, and he has no authority over him. The mother sat there snivelling and dabbing at her eyes. I didn’t see the boy. I suppose he was avoiding me.’

  ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘We must appeal to Daisy’s common sense – that’s if she has any common sense.’

  ‘Alex, we need to tell her the whole story.’

  ‘So we do, and open a can of worms to stink out Dorset?’ Alex turned to look at Rose. ‘We don’t know if Phoebe told the truth, and we could never prove it if she did. So why spoil everything for Daisy, and maybe even lose her?’

  ‘It wouldn’t come to that, she knows she’s ours.’

  ‘Why did she run away, then?’ Alex grimaced. ‘Easton said his keeper’s seen the twins going in the coverts. He suspects they’re springing traps. So he’s told Stokeley he may thrash them if the keeper catches them.’

  ‘What did you say to that?’

  ‘I told Easton that if any of his servants touch my children, I will personally thrash him.’ Alex’s grin was humourless. ‘You should have seen his face – and Chloe’s.’

  ‘Alex, it wasn’t wise to make such threats.’

  ‘Well, that’s too bad, I’ve made them now.’

  ‘Do you think we ought to tell the children about you and Chloe? Or at least tell Daisy?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘All right, we’ll leave things as they are for now.’

  ‘I’m sure that will be for the best.’ Alex got up and stretched. ‘I asked Mr Hobson to get the cows into the cowshed, so they’ll be ready for the vet when he comes first thing tomorrow morning. I’m just going to check he’s shut them in. We don’t want them wandering round the yard.’

  Alex left, but a few minutes later he came running in again, followed by the scent of wood smoke on the summer night. ‘Ring the fire brigade!’ he cried, as he burst into the drawing room, his clothes begrimed with smoke. ‘The cowshed is on fire!’

  Rose was on her feet at once. ‘What about the Jerseys,’ she began, pulling on her shoes.

  ‘I’ve let the cows out. They’re running round the paddock. I hope the gate’s shut and they don’t get on the road. Rose, forget the cows. Go and wake the children. The wind is blowing the fire towards the house!’

  Chapter Six

  Luckily the well was deep and full, but though they threw buckets of water at the blaze, though they dragged out bales of smouldering straw and tried to contain the fire inside the cowshed, the wind was blowing off the sea that night, and drove the smoke and flames towards the house.

  The sparks from burning timbers danced and flew like wicked fairies. The beams in the roof of Melbury House, exposed to all the elements and tinder dry from three or four weeks of glorious summer sunshine, soon caught fire.

  ‘We’ll go up on the roof, Dad,’ offered Stephen. ‘We’ll beat out the flames.’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing!’ cried Rose, and she grabbed each twin by his pyjama jacket collar to stop her children running into the blazing house. ‘Oh, Alex, where’s the fire brigade?’

  ‘It’s on its way,’ said Daisy. ‘I can hear the bells.’

  ‘Come on, you chaps,’ said Alex, wiping his arm across his soot-streaked brow. ‘Now we’ve got the straw outside, a few more bucketsful should get the fire in the cowshed out.’

  But although the cowshed was gradually damped
down until it became a steaming, blackened ruin, the Denhams could do nothing to stop the house from burning down.

  Daisy, Robert and Stephen, still in their bedraggled pyjamas, stood with their parents as the firemen – who had finally arrived, but admitted they were far too late – failed to do anything but contain the blaze, and stop it spreading to the stables, too.

  Mr and Mrs Hobson and other people from the village had smelled smoke, had seen the flames, and they came running across the fields to help put out the fire. But although they made up bucket chains, the old house burned like matchwood, defying all attempts to stop it turning into its own funeral pyre.

  The water from the firemen’s hoses completed the destruction of the lower floors. By morning, Melbury House and most of the range of outbuildings behind it were reduced to one great, smoking ruin.

  ‘It’s just as well we haven’t yet let the Stokeleys’ cottage,’ Rose observed, as Alex stared shell-shocked at the soot-stained walls and charred oak timbers of his childhood home. ‘We can move in there for the time being.’

  ‘We’ve still got the cows, Dad,’ added Robert.

  ‘The rabbits are all right as well,’ said Stephen, who had been to check.

  ‘It’s just a house,’ said Daisy.

  ‘Yes, it’s just a house, but it was mine.’ Alex turned to Rose. ‘This is down to Easton,’ he growled, through gritted teeth. ‘He’ll never let me forget I took you from him. Although he got his filthy hands on everything that’s yours, he still can’t allow us to be happy.’

  ‘Dad, what do you mean?’ asked Daisy. ‘Did Sir Michael want to marry Mum?’

  Alex put his arm round Daisy. ‘Yes, he did,’ he muttered. ‘A long time ago.’

  ‘A very long time ago, love,’ Rose said quickly. ‘I never wanted to marry anyone but your father, and Mike Easton doesn’t like being thwarted. But Alex, I can’t imagine he’d do anything like this.’

  ‘Oh, Mrs Denham!’ Mrs Hobson loomed out of the early morning mist. ‘What will you do now?’

  ‘We’ll manage, Mrs Hobson.’ Rose’s tired, pale face looked bleached and ghost-like in the misty morning light. ‘We’ll move into the bailiff’s cottage.’