The Locket of Dreams Page 12

  It was Angus the stableboy, riding one of the ponies. He lifted his hat, with a cheeky grin.

  ‘And where might ye be gaeing in the middle o’ a full moon night, me bonnie lassies?’

  ‘Oh Angus, you frightened me,’ Charlotte replied. ‘We just had to get out. Our aunt and uncle will not let us ride and they keep us cooped up in the schoolroom all the time, so we thought we might have a canter on the moors … one last time.’

  Angus smiled to himself. He had heard many tales from the servant hall about what had been happening to the young ladies of the grand house.

  ‘Well, ye are no’ planning on dancing with the elves are ye, now?’ he asked.

  The idea occurred to Charlotte that perhaps it would be better to be captured by fairies than sent to Australia.

  ‘No, of course not,’ Charlotte replied. ‘Do not be ridiculous. We just want to ride.’

  Up on the high moors, the three horses cantered, the riders carefully watching for rabbit holes in the half-light. They slowed to a safer walk, Sophie flying behind.

  Flossie snuffled the ground with her nose, sniffing around in a rough circle, following a couple of scent trails through the heather. She stopped at an interesting odour in a patch of ferns and barked sharply.

  Charlotte ignored her. Flossie again barked insistently, then ran to Rosie and rounded her up as if she were a recalcitrant sheep, and herded her towards the scent.

  ‘All right, Flossie, all right. I am coming,’ laughed Charlotte, dismounting from Rosie.

  Flossie ran ahead happily and thrust her nose deep into the undergrowth. Charlotte knelt and parted the ferns where Flossie pointed. Something glinted in the moonlight.

  Charlotte picked it up. On her palm lay a tiny piece of sparkling silver fashioned into the shape of an arrowhead. A short, broken shaft of timber jutted from the base. She held the miniature arrowhead up to the growing light and examined it carefully.

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ whispered Charlotte. ‘Oh Flossie, you clever girl. Look, Nell. Flossie found an elf bolt.’

  Charlotte stroked Flossie’s shaggy head and her floppy left ear.

  Nell, Sophie and Angus crowded around, exclaiming over Flossie’s find.

  ‘Finding an elf bolt is very guid luck,’ exclaimed Angus, fingering the silver arrowhead.

  ‘Nell and I could do with some good luck,’ replied Charlotte. ‘Maybe Uncle Roderick will change his mind and let us stay after all.’

  ‘Nae, tha’ man has a heart o’ iron,’ pronounced Angus, shaking his head.

  It was lucky that the girls had ridden out that night, for the next morning a man arrived to take away many of Dungorm’s horses, including Rosie and Bess. This was nearly more than the girls could bear. Nell would not even go to the stables to say goodbye to Bess, but lay in her bed, her face turned to the wall.

  Charlotte hurried down to the stables to spend her last moments with her beloved pony. Charlotte clung to Rosie’s mane in the darkness of her stall, weeping hopelessly onto her warm neck.

  Rosie snorted comfortingly and shook her mane, tickling Charlotte’s nose. Charlotte breathed in the familiar scent of horse. All too soon Angus arrived to gently lead Rosie away.

  ‘I truly am sorry, Miss Charlotte,’ he whispered gruffly. ‘I must take her now. I wish I could do something for ye.’

  Charlotte nodded and smiled a watery smile at Angus. ‘Thank you, Angus. I appreciate your kindness.’

  Charlotte patted Rosie one last time and kissed her on her velvety nose. ‘Look after yourself, my darling girl. I will miss you sorely.’

  Rosie hurrumphed her farewell into Charlotte’s hair as though communicating her love and sorrow, then reluctantly followed Angus out into the light.

  Charlotte dropped down into the muddy straw of the stall, all the strength gone from her legs. She could not watch the horses being led away. Sophie lay beside her, her heart like lead.

  Flossie found Charlotte there, and pushed her nose into Charlotte’s hand, licking her fingers. They huddled together for hours, giving each other some comfort, until Angus came to tell Charlotte she was wanted in the house.

  In the afternoon, a box arrived from Glasgow with items for the girls’ journey, including new boots, stockings, shawls, cloaks, handkerchiefs, chemises, nightgowns, caps, bonnets and yards of white cotton, flannel and woollen material to make up into dresses.

  Nanny and the chambermaids Sally and Molly spent hours measuring and making new dresses, petticoats and underclothes with plenty of extra material in the seams to allow for growth. The trunks gradually filled with the neatly folded and ironed garments.

  Charlotte and Nell had to sort through their books and toys and decide which they would take. The trunks filled all too quickly and there was not enough room to take everything they wished.

  The girls had cried until they could cry no more. Now they both walked around mechanically, in a fug of misery, doing as they were told, eating little, speaking little, watching the last few days of their life at Dungorm fly before their eyes.

  In a daze, they learnt the details of their journey. Uncle Roderick would accompany them for the first part of their trip. They would be taken by carriage to catch the ferry over to the mainland. A coach would take them to the nearest railway station, where they would catch a train via Glasgow down to Liverpool, in northern England.

  In Liverpool, Uncle Roderick would leave them and return to Dungorm, and Charlotte and Nell would be placed under the protection of the ship’s captain and the stewardesses.

  The ship would sail on the high tide and travel ever southwards, through the Irish Sea, down the coast of Europe, past the exotic lands of Africa and the East, over the equator, around the very bottom of the Cape of Good Hope; then it would be blown by the fierce trade winds around the bottom of Australia to Port Phillip Bay, in the colony of Victoria.

  There they would change ships to a coastal steamer, which would take them up to the town of Sydney. Another steamer would take them to a small country town called Easthaven, where the McLaughlins would send someone to meet them. The whole journey would take more than three months.

  Charlotte’s head reeled with the enormity of the journey. They had never travelled further than Edinburgh or Glasgow for occasional shopping and theatre expeditions.

  Their parents had sometimes travelled to London, but they had always left the girls at Dungorm in the excellent care of Nanny and the servants. Charlotte could not imagine a journey of so many thousands of miles.

  Nell had retreated into a silent shell. She hardly spoke or ate, but wandered in a grief-stricken daze, much like the first days after her parents’ deaths.

  On the last day before their planned departure, Aunt Arabella organised a farewell dinner.

  The girls could barely eat and barely speak, but Aunt Arabella chattered about the many interesting things the girls would see on their journey. Roddy munched his way through several courses and was so kind as to refrain from pinching or kicking the girls during their final meal at Dungorm.

  Uncle Roderick seemed nervous and jumpy, and finally excused himself, saying he had some urgent business to attend to in his study. Charlotte suspected it was probably a pipe that needed to be smoked.

  Charlotte took the opportunity to excuse herself and Nell, saying they were tired and needed an early night before their departure tomorrow. Charlotte escorted Nell quickly up to their room.

  Upstairs she found Nanny grumbling as she carefully repacked all the trunks and carpetbags.

  ‘Why are you repacking the trunks, Nanny?’ Charlotte asked. ‘I thought you had finished.’

  Nanny rolled her eyes to heaven, as she folded one of Nell’s white dresses.

  ‘Your aunt came in and rummaged through all your things,’ explained Nanny, shaking her head. ‘She said she wanted to make sure you had no’ forgotten anything, but I suspect she was looking for something in particular. She even looked right through that bonnie box of yours. Whate’er it was, she dinna
find it.’

  Nanny smiled at Charlotte conspiratorially. Charlotte thought she had a very good idea of exactly what her aunt had been searching for: the Star of Serendib. A plan came to Charlotte’s mind.

  ‘You have a little rest, Nell,’ Charlotte suggested to her sister. ‘There is something I need to do before we leave.’

  Charlotte, with Sophie following, slipped into her parents’ old bedchamber, which was now used by Aunt Arabella and Uncle Roderick. The room looked strange littered with their belongings.

  It smelt peculiar too, of Aunt Arabella’s heavy floral scent, instead of Eliza’s more delicate perfume. It made Charlotte’s heart lurch with sadness.

  Charlotte touched the silver-backed brushes and cosmetic pots on her mother’s dressing table, but there was little of her mother left here.

  On the dressing table was a small golden jewellery box. Charlotte had hoped to find her mother’s locket and bangle and retrieve them quietly. She felt too frightened to directly ask her aunt and uncle to return them, as she was sure they would refuse her. But when she tried the casket it was securely locked.

  Charlotte felt sick with nerves, but fear of leaving Dungorm without her mother’s jewellery spurred her on. She rummaged through the drawers of the dresser looking for the key. It was nowhere to be found.

  A slight noise outside warned her that someone was coming. Charlotte quickly closed the dressing table drawers, returned the casket to its place and ran through the door into the adjoining dressing room.

  The room was lined with hanging dresses: silks and velvets in blues, greens, whites, violets and black. Below were neat rows of shoes, buttoned boots and dancing slippers.

  Charlotte and Sophie could hear the sound of someone moving around in the room next door, then coming closer. Charlotte pressed back into the row of dresses, terrified that Arabella would discover her hiding there.

  Sophie slipped through the door into the bedroom, looking for a diversion to help Charlotte. Arabella was walking towards the dressing room, hand outstretched to open the door.

  Sophie swooped to the dressing table. Concentrating with all her energy, she picked up a heavy crystal perfume bottle and threw it across the room. The bottle smashed against the wall; the room filled with an overpowering reek and perfume dripped down the silk wall-hangings.

  Aunt Arabella turned with a cry, her hand to her mouth in shock.

  Charlotte heard the smash and ran to the door at the other end of the dressing room that led to the tiny maid’s room. Hopefully Suzette would be downstairs. Suzette had been Eliza’s maid and was now lady’s maid for Arabella.

  Charlotte opened the door quietly. The room appeared to be empty. Charlotte tiptoed carefully across the floor towards the door that opened into the corridor.

  ‘Bon soir, ma petite,’ came a soft French voice in greeting.

  Charlotte turned in sudden fright, her heart beating wildly.

  Suzette was seated by the window, carefully repairing one of Aunt Arabella’s gowns by the warm light of the window.

  ‘Bon soir, Suzette,’ replied Charlotte nervously, glancing over her shoulder towards Aunt Arabella’s room. ‘Suzette, please do not tell my aunt you saw me here.’

  Suzette smiled comfortingly, shaking her head. ‘Mais non, ma petite.’

  ‘Merci beaucoup, Suzette,’ Charlotte replied gratefully. ‘Au revoir.’

  ‘Au revoir et bonne chance.’

  ‘Suzette, come here now,’ screeched Arabella from her room.

  ‘Oui, madame,’ called Suzette, winking at Charlotte and rising to her feet.

  Charlotte did not return to her room, but slipped away into the garden to walk and think and say goodbye to her homeland, with her faithful black-and-white dog, Flossie, at her heels.

  Flossie sensed Charlotte’s sadness, pushing her nose into Charlotte’s hand whenever she paused in her rambling. Charlotte scratched her on the head and whispered comfortingly to Flossie. Sophie wandered with them, keeping them company.

  It was a beautiful midsummer evening, the night of the summer solstice, on June 21. The sun would not set until nearly 11 pm.

  The two gardeners were busy watering flowerbeds and weeding edges. They doffed their caps at Charlotte but did not disturb her reverie. The air was filled with the delicious scents of roses and honeysuckle.

  She wandered over the arched stone bridge across the icy burn that tumbled and burbled down towards the loch. Colourful wildflowers grew between the cracks in the stone: crimson valerian, pink hollyhocks and white daisies. Yellow buttercups and blue forget-me-nots grew in a tangled profusion along the burn’s bank, together with feathery green bracken.

  A hedge grew to her right, marking the boundary of the field. Pale-pink dog roses bobbed in the evening breeze, caressing her cheek with their soft petals.

  It was far too early yet for Charlotte’s favourite flower, the purple bells of heather, which clothed all the hills in a deep-purple mantle. The hills were still deep emerald green dotted with the fluffy white bodies of the black-faced sheep and their lambs. The shepherds had not yet brought them into their hurdles for the night.

  In the field next to her, shaggy russet-red calves tussled and chased each other, skipping around their placid mothers who grazed peacefully.

  At last Charlotte reached the grey shaly beach of the loch. Small waves rolled at her feet, filling the air with their soothing lap, lap, lap. The ruined tower of Castle Dungorm was bathed in a golden glow and there were flocks of seabirds wheeling and screeching around the island.

  Far out in the loch she could see the sleek brown bodies of two seals playing in the waves. It reminded her sharply of her birthday picnic on Eilean Dungorm, when the seal had smiled at her with its whiskery face and she had dreamt of selkies playing on the island’s shores.

  It was one of the most beautiful summer evenings Charlotte could remember. She wished her parents were here to share its golden beauty. Knowing it was her last evening at Dungorm, she tried to memorise every detail, every scent, every sound.

  She wandered along the shore of the loch. In the distance she could see the great blue swell of the ocean, the ocean that was going to carry her to the other side of the world. She stooped down and picked up a round rusty-red pebble worn smooth by the tumbling of the loch water. She clutched it tightly in her hand and wandered on.

  Sophie looked down at the pebbles. She suddenly remembered where she had seen one just like them.

  Flossie picked up the scent of a rabbit or deer and scampered on ahead, her tail wagging enthusiastically. Then she remembered her sad mistress and came lolloping back, her tongue hanging out, one ear pricked and one ear floppy.

  Charlotte gave a cry of surprise. Just ahead she spied a small splash of deep purple. Stooping down she discovered a tiny patch of blossoming heather, the very first blooms sheltered in a warm south-facing crevice.

  Carefully Charlotte picked two sprays of delicate purple heather bells. It seemed like a blessing, a lucky omen. She tucked them away in her pocket, together with the pebble she had collected on the beach.

  Sophie had never seen blooming heather before and was delighted with the discovery. She stooped and fingered the tiny purple bells sheltered in the cranny. Sophie felt thrilled, realising for the first time the significance of the red pebble and the sprigs of heather in Charlotte’s treasure box.

  At last Charlotte turned back towards the golden walls of Dungorm, glowing pink in the evening rays of the sun.

  Sophie’s excitement made her feel stronger and less ethereal. She felt an overwhelming desire to talk to Charlotte, to touch her, to be seen by Charlotte. Sophie concentrated as hard as she could. She felt her gauzy limbs thicken and quicken and strengthen.

  Sophie floated down onto the path in front of Charlotte. She was not sure what she expected to happen. Would Charlotte walk right through her? Would Charlotte be able to see her? Could they communicate?

  Flossie saw her first. The dog did not bark or growl, but si
mply ran up to Sophie and tried to lick her transparent hand. Charlotte was watching Flossie distractedly, then caught a glimpse of something unusual, a shimmer of light, a thrill of energy.

  Sophie concentrated harder. Her form wavered and flickered. Charlotte gasped. She saw a figure, the figure of a girl dressed in a long white gown, with bare feet and shimmering gold hair shining in the evening sun.

  ‘What are you?’ begged Charlotte, stepping backwards. ‘A ghost? An angel? Or an elf?’

  Sophie considered these options carefully. Could she even reply?

  ‘Not a ghost,’ Sophie assured Charlotte, trying her hardest to be heard. ‘Not an elf either, just a friend. My name is Sophie.’

  ‘A friend?’ Charlotte smiled bravely. ‘A spirit friend. Why are you here? What do you want?’

  Sophie paused, wondering exactly what she did want to say to Charlotte, on the eve of Charlotte leaving behind everything she had ever known.

  ‘I wanted to tell you that everything will be all right, Charlotte,’ Sophie began hesitantly, remembering Nonnie’s stories of Charlotte’s later life. ‘You and Nell will get to Australia safely. It’s a very beautiful place. I think you will be happy there.’

  Charlotte frowned. ‘I hope so,’ she replied at last.

  Sophie felt dizzy with the effort of speaking and being visible. Her form began to waver and disappear.

  ‘Wait,’ commanded Charlotte, reaching out to Sophie. ‘Tell me more. Will I ever come home to Dungorm? Will we ever …?’ But Sophie had disappeared, exhausted by her few moments of visibility.

  Charlotte shook her head and gently pinched her skin, to check she was awake and not dreaming this strange apparition. Charlotte felt the pinch clearly and hurried home to Nell, her head in a whirl.

  Up in their room, Charlotte found Nell lying in her bed, crying. Charlotte sat down next to Nell on the bed and Flossie flopped down on the floor, her nose snuffling Nell’s face.

  ‘Nell, I brought you a present,’ Charlotte said gently, taking the sprig of blooming heather from her pocket. Nell sat up slowly, her face red, swollen and tear stained.