The Locket of Dreams (2 page)

‘Giddy-up, Rosie,’ the older girl cried, kicking her heels into the side of her grey mare. ‘Race you to the top, Nell!’

Nell responded with a shriek and a flourish of her riding crop. The two girls rode side-saddle, dark-green velvet skirts flapping over their horses’ flanks.

The horses galloped down a steep green hill, leaving muddy hoof prints in the spongy turf, their riders whooping with delight. At their heels loped a shaggy black-and-white dog, its tongue lolling, one ear pricked and one flopping over its eye.

At the bottom of the hill, an icy burn tumbled and splashed its way over the grey rocks. The horses barely slowed as they clattered through the shallow water and galloped up the sheer bank on the other side, the dog close behind.

A great clod of mud flew up from Nell’s horse’s hooves
and struck her sister, Charlotte, on the cheek, splattering her bodice.

Charlotte smeared the clod away with the back of her gloved hand and whispered in Rosie’s ear. ‘Come on, girl. Let us show them what you can do.’

Nell’s horse slowed slightly on the steep slope, sides heaving and clouds of steamy breath snorting from her nostrils. Rosie’s ears pricked with excitement and her stride lengthened, gradually outpacing the horse in front of her.

‘Whoo hoo,’ shrieked Charlotte, crouching over Rosie’s neck, her hands tangled in the horse’s mane. She leant forward, reins flapping as the wind stung her cheeks and whipped her breath away.

Charlotte felt as if she were flying; the horse’s hooves barely seemed to skim the earth.

Over the crest of the hill they galloped, ducking under a low-lying branch, the leaves whipping Charlotte’s burning cheeks. At the top, the horses thundered to a stop, their sides heaving and steaming. The black-and-white dog flopped gratefully on the spongy heather.

Over the hill erupted a stunning vista. The girls didn’t speak; their eyes roamed the familiar landscape as joy pounded through Charlotte’s body. She could never tire of this view.

Rolling hills of emerald-green grass were crisscrossed with grey stone walls and studded with bright-yellow broom and tufts of snowy-white thrift. To the right stretched a steel-grey loch fringed with lichen-spotted rocks, its surface ruffled with the breeze.

A grand mansion of golden stone faced the loch, smoke curling from its many chimneys, its slate-roofed turrets jutting against the sky.

Even further to the right was a small island, quite close to the shore, its surface scattered with the crumbling remains of an ancient stone castle, Castle Dungorm. In the distance the loch opened up to embrace the endless swell of the sea.

‘We had better head home, Charlotte,’ called Nell, breaking Charlotte’s reverie. ‘Nanny will be wondering where we are.’

Charlotte nodded reluctantly. It had been a long winter and today was the first spring day the girls had been able to escape the army of people whose sole aim in life seemed to be to keep them indoors at their schoolbooks.

‘Come on, Floss,’ Charlotte called to the dog. ‘Time to go home.’

Floss panted in agreement, her tongue dripping.

In silence they picked their way down the hill, scanning the ground for rabbit holes, enjoying the faint warmth of the sun on their faces and the fresh scents in the air.

Both horses were skittish and edgy after long months in the stable. Rosie pranced and snorted at every imagined threat. As the bank steepened, she started, refusing to move forward. Charlotte held on sternly, calming the mare with her voice and hands.

‘Walk on, girl, enough of your nonsense,’ Charlotte chided. ‘You have been down this way a hundred times before.’

The horse tossed her head sheepishly, sidestepped and cavorted some more, then finally skipped forward. By this time Nell was way in front, cheekily waving at Charlotte from the bottom of the hill.

‘See you at home, if you can catch me!’ Nell shouted as she urged Bess into a canter.

Scenting home and a warm, dry stable, Nell’s horse, Bess, pricked her ears and leapt into a gallop. The flying hooves kicked up thick brown mud, which spattered the horses’ flanks and the long velvet skirts trailing behind.

Charlotte’s eyes streamed with tears from the freezing wind. Wind whipped her hair, her face burnt and her heart raced with the excitement of the chase, a joyous cry welling from her throat.

Charlotte gained on Nell as they raced around the shore of the loch. Nell glanced over her shoulder, cheering Bess on, but Rosie effortlessly caught up. Neck and neck they galloped, sailing over a dry-stone wall, manes and ringlets flying, leaving Flossie to lope behind.

With an alarmed squawk, a pheasant flitted from its nest right under Bess’s hooves. The chestnut reared and bucked in fright, then bolted, flinging Nell to the ground.

Charlotte screamed as Bess galloped away, stirrups and reins flapping wildly. She reined in her own horse, nearly flying over Rosie’s head as she slid to a stop.

‘Nell, Nell – are you all right?’ Below lay the motionless body of her sister crumpled in the grass. Charlotte sobbed as she slithered off her horse. Flossie whined pitifully, licking Nell on the face and pawing her gently.

‘Nell, can you hear me?’ she begged. ‘Nell, please answer me.’

Charlotte’s voice rose in panic. The smell of crushed grass and wet mud filled her nostrils, making her stomach heave. She knelt and rolled her sister gently over. Crimson blood welled from the side of Nell’s mouth, a stark contrast to the pale white skin. Charlotte stifled a scream.

Her heart in her mouth, Sophie flew closer. Was Nell
dead? She hovered uncertainly, then wondered if she could somehow get help. Perhaps if she followed Bess, the horse would lead her back to the girls’ home and she could alert someone to come back with her.

Sophie zoomed away, leaving Charlotte bent over the motionless body of her sister.

Overtaking Bess, Sophie soared through a stone gateway that led to the stable courtyard.

A young stableboy sat rubbing oil into a saddle girth. He jumped to his feet as the sound of galloping hooves echoed through the cobbled gateway. The chestnut pony skittered and shied, hooves slipping on the muddy cobbles.

Sophie flew up to the boy.

‘There’s been an accident,’ Sophie cried. ‘Nell’s fallen.’

The boy ignored her completely, as if she hadn’t spoken, interested only in Bess.

‘Duncan. Duncan. Coom quickly,’ he yelled. A weather-beaten gillie shuffled from a stall; his plaid and kilt were mud-stained and he had a stiff brush in his hand.

‘Och, Bess,’ Duncan scolded. The mare looked sheepishly at him and slithered to a stop, thrusting her snorting muzzle into his gentle, gnarled hands. He stroked her, keeping his voice low and soothing.

‘Quick, Angus lad. Luiks like the wee lassie has taken a tumble. Saddle up the grey mare for me and call Hamish in. Tell Hamish to fetch me laird and some o’ the house lads. And best tell Mary to make ready.’

Young Angus ran to do the old gillie’s bidding. Sophie turned to Duncan, and clutched his arm.

‘I know where Nell is,’ she shouted. ‘I can show you.’

Angus shivered as if her touch was cold, but did not answer, stooping to pick up the saddle Angus had abandoned. It was as though Sophie did not exist.

The courtyard was quickly filled with the shouts of running men swiftly saddling horses. Alexander Mackenzie, Laird of Dungorm, strode from the house. Tall and imposing in his blue-and-green kilt, he had the assurance of one used to commanding.

Angus the stable lad stood at the head of a large black gelding as Laird Mackenzie swung his leg into the saddle and signalled his retainers to join him.

A gaggle of stableboys, gardeners and footmen followed, with four dogs excitedly sniffing at their heels. The old gillie, Duncan, set his grey mare to a trot and they headed out of the courtyard, through the chilly tunnel and out into the open countryside.

‘Duncan!’ Laird Mackenzie called. ‘Does anyone know where the lassies were riding today?’

‘Well, my laird,’ grunted Duncan, ‘I am no’ exactly sure as the wee lassies saddled the horses wi’out Angus.’

Laird Mackenzie swore. ‘When I find those lassies they will feel the back of my strap,’ he roared. ‘How many times have I told them they must always ride with one of the grooms! Those girls are wild.’

‘Och, but wild lassies wi’ a guid seat, my laird,’ replied Duncan dryly.

‘Well, they won’t be able to sit on them for a while,’ retorted their father, repressing a proud smile. ‘Hamish, you take some of the men and head towards the village. Duncan, Angus and I will search to the north, while the
others search south. Sound a horn or whistle if you find them. Cameron, you stay here and harness the carriage, ready for when I send for you.’

The horses galloped off in different directions, with the dogs and men running behind. Rain began to fall in white sheets, obliterating the view.

Waving and gesturing, Sophie tried to steer the searchers towards Charlotte and Nell, but they still could not hear or see her so she abandoned them and flew back on her own.

Down below, Sophie could see Charlotte huddled beside Nell, trying to shelter them both under her cloak. Rain was falling in pelting torrents. Sophie alighted beside Nell and took her hand.

Nell shivered violently at the touch, then groaned and rolled over, her right hand clutching her left shoulder.

‘Nell, thank God you are alive. Are you hurt badly? Talk to me!’ Charlotte pleaded.

Nell groaned again, rolling on the ground. She coughed and spluttered, spitting out blood.

Charlotte knelt by her side, wiping the blood away with the skirt of her petticoat, nearly shaking Nell in her anxiety.

‘Please speak to me, Nell,’ she commanded. ‘Where do you hurt?’

Nell shook her head groggily.

‘All … over,’ she finally whispered. ‘My … arm hurts … and my shoulder.’

Charlotte sighed in relief, then leapt to her feet.

‘Come on. We’d better get you home so that Nanny can have a good look at you. Can you stand?’

Nell shook her head.

‘No. I … feel … dreadful.’

‘You will be fine,’ Charlotte cried. ‘I will bring Rosie over to that stump, you climb on and I will lead you home.’

Charlotte grabbed Nell under the armpits to haul her to her feet. Nell screamed as a white pain seared through her arm, her body shaking with tremors. Flossie whined anxiously, trotting around them in a protective circle.

‘Oh, I am so sorry. I did not mean to hurt you! What should I do?’ Charlotte said, panicking. ‘Nell, if I ride back for help, will you be all right until I get back? Flossie will guard you.’

Nell looked up at her with eyes dilated with pain. Charlotte thought for a moment, discarding several plans.

‘Nell, I cannot lift you onto Rosie,’ Charlotte decided. ‘You will have to stay here while I go back for help. I will be as quick as I can, I promise.’

Nell tried to lift her head but nearly swooned with the effort. She bit her lip and nodded slightly.

Charlotte pulled up her skirt, loosened her petticoat and pulled it off. She folded it into a rough pillow and slipped it gently under her sister’s head.

‘I will fly like the wind,’ she promised, stroking Nell’s forehead.

Charlotte leapt into the saddle and urged Rosie into the fastest gallop of her life. Through her mind ran images of Nell lying alone and injured, possibly dying.

Sophie felt torn between staying with Nell, or following Charlotte. She stayed beside Nell and Flossie until she
heard the distant call of a horn echoing plaintively over the hills and loch. Sophie zoomed towards the sound. She could see Charlotte galloping over the moor, and a horde of horsemen flying towards her.

‘Papa, Papa,’ Charlotte cried thankfully, nearly tumbling from Rosie’s back into her father’s arms as they reached each other. ‘Nell is badly hurt. Her head is bleeding and I think she may have broken something.’

Laird Mackenzie hugged Charlotte to his chest.

‘I pray Nell will be all right, my lovely. Where is she?’

‘Near the wall, down by the loch,’ Charlotte replied.

‘Good. Angus, fetch the carriage. Find blankets and send for the surgeon. We will meet you on the road.’