by Mary Cummins
By midnight it was all over, and Merry stood waiting tiredly for Nigel and his father to lock everything away in huge safes, expertly fitted with burglar alarms.
“Has it been a success?” she asked, rather tiredly.
“Too soon to tell,” said Nigel tersely. “Some people have made up their minds about things tonight, and one or two cocktail rings have been bought with a few gold animal brooches. Pearls, too!” He turned to carry more boxes to the safe. “The bigger pieces aren’t bought so quickly. People like time to consider these things. Isn’t that so, Father?”
Mr. Kilpatrick nodded.
“That’s how it should be,” he said. “Impulsive buying means a dissatisfied customer when the enthusiasm wanes. That’s why I prefer ordinary business methods, but I’m willing to give Nigel his head this once. At least our stock checks, and we’ve no unpleasantness over that.”
“Did no one buy the topaz ring?” asked Merry, and again felt herself shiver a little. Goose walking over her grave, she thought, a trifle uncomfortably.
“That will take a great deal of consideration,” smiled Mr. Kilpatrick. “But someone will buy it, never fear. Thank you for your help, my dear. You filled the breach admirably.”
“I enjoyed it,” said Merry, then wondered if she was really being very truthful. It had been new and exciting, but now she wanted to be back home to Beau Ness, and Mrs. Cameron waiting for her with some hot milk. This wasn’t really her world.
“Merry’s tired,” said Nigel, taking her arm possessively. “It’s time I took you home, my love.”
CHAPTER 4
MERRY enjoyed working at her desk in the lovely little study, off the sitting-room, while Mrs. Cameron hovered around like an anxious hen. At first she had been very conscious of the other woman’s efforts to keep quiet, and told Mrs. Cameron to carry on normally, and she’d soon get used to her being there. Now she was into a good working routine, and filled with the intense urge which sometimes came to her when she was doing her best work.
In addition to reading through Aunt Ellen’s notebooks, and making notes for her book, she wrote a short story, the words coming feverishly from an idea which had come to her during one of her solitary rambles through the woods. She was also preparing an article on the care of jewellery, and how to clean precious stones, and Nigel had promised to walk over with detailed information when he was free.
Now she put, her short story into an envelope with a wonderful feeling of satisfaction, and decided to walk down to the village to post it “Do you want anything from Maggie Scott’s?” she asked Mrs. Cameron, knowing that she patronised the general stores.
“I’ll see,” Mrs. Cameron told her, bustling away to check her store cupboard. A few minutes later she was back with an old-fashioned shopping basket and a list of groceries.
“If you get these, Miss Merry,” she said, “it’ll save my legs tomorrow, and I can turn out the bedrooms instead.”
“Couldn’t I help you?” asked Merry, rather anxiously, thinking the older woman looked tired.
“Bless you, no,” laughed Mrs. Cameron. “It’ll be a funny day when I can’t give the bedrooms a good redd. Och no, it’s just that I was over at my sister’s yesterday ... her that lives in the village ... you know, Isa and John Campbell.” Merry nodded. She’d often accompanied Mrs. Cameron to the Campbells’ cottage when she stayed with Aunt Ellen during holidays.
“Her wee dog’s gone missing. I was never a great one for a wee dog myself, though I don’t mind a good big animal I’ll not be stepping on by accident. I’ve missed Major, Miss Ellen’s golden retriever, since he died.”
“Maybe another dog would be good company for us both,” Merry put in.
“Aye, well, maybe I could make enquiries,” offered Mrs. Cameron, “though having to traipse for miles looking for Cailleach last night isn’t the best way to get us thinking about a dog again. She’s just a wee thing, though ... a Cairn ... and she’s a right nice wee dog as they go.”
“I remember her,” said Merry, “only she was just a pup when I saw her last.”
“Isa’s fair upset, so if you could just keep a look-out for her, Miss Merry, I’d be obliged. Ten to one Jake Grieve’s been putting down snares again, and she’ll have been caught, poor beast.”
“Oh no, I hope not,” cried Merry. “He shouldn’t be allowed!”
“Maybe no,” agreed Mrs. Cameron.
Merry posted her letters quickly, and allowed Maggie Scott to pack her basket neatly for her, and cover it with a layer of tissue and one of brown paper.
“You get wee bits fa’in off the trees at this time o’ year,” she explained.
“Is your leg better now?” asked Merry politely, referring to a burn Maggie had received while removing a kettle of boiling water off an old-fashioned open grate in one of the cottages.
“Good as new,” Maggie told her. “Oh, by the way, Miss Merry, if you’ve time you could look in on old Mrs. Weir? She needs a form filling in about her old age pension, and she won’t have me helping her. It was always Miss Blayne who did that, so I expect she’d prefer you to me.”
Merry smiled. She’d learned that part of her dudes as new owner of Beau Ness was to witness signatures and help fill in forms for some of the older people.
“I’ll do it now,” she promised.
It was after three o’clock when she began to make her way back home again, taking a detour through the woods in the hopes of spotting Cailleach. According to Maggie Scott, she still hadn’t been found, and poor Isa Campbell “had the face grat off herself”.
As Merry swished through the leaves, following the well-trodden path, she felt a little like Red Riding Hood, and smiled at her fancies, though a few moments later she was uneasily aware of being followed. She slowed slightly, hearing the crackle of leaves behind her, and the snap of a twig.
“Who is it?” she called. “Who’s there?” Around her was a great stillness, then a small figure in a well-mended grey jersey and faded jeans slid from behind a tree, and Merry sighed with relief.
“Billy Connell!” she cried. “Are you not at school today?”
“I’ve had chickenpox,” he told her proudly. “It’s Matt’s turn now, and Mum says Sadie is sickening, too. It goes through the whole lot of us when we pick anything up.”
“I see,” said Merry, her eyes twinkling as she looked down at the sturdy wee boy with the crew-cut. Joe Connell cut the boys’ hair himself and only knew one style.
“What about some chocolate?” she asked, feeling in her basket.
“I could go that,” Billy told her appreciatively. “We got some rare soup at dinner time, though, and me dad got some apples up at Rossie House. He’s doing odd jobs now for Mr. Kilpatrick.”
“That’s good,” said Merry, not forgetting to look around for the dog.
“What are you casting about for?” asked Billy curiously.
“I’m listening in case we hear Mrs. Campbell’s little dog, Cailleach,” explained Merry. “She’s lost, and I believe the Campbells are upset.”
Billy scuffed the leaves.
“No use looking here,” he said at length. “The tinkers got her.”
Merry came to an abrupt halt.
“The tinkers?” she echoed.
“Aye, they’re camping again ower by the loch. I saw the big one carrying a wriggly kind of sack yesterday morning, and I slipped after him. It was the wee dog.”
“But what would they want with it?” demanded Merry incredulously.
“Och, they’ll bet a couple o’ pound for it in Hillington. That wee dog’s puir bred.”
Merry’s eyes widened and her cheeks were beginning to warm with anger. To think of Mrs. Cameron having traipsed for miles, as she’d put it, helping to look for her sister’s pet, when the tinkers had it. And the Campbells both heartbroken looking for it.
“And didn’t you tell anybody?” she demanded.
Billy shook his head.
“Best lea’ tinkers alane, mi
ss,” he advised. “They’re no like the gypsies. They’re just trash and they don’t care whether they belt ye on the lug or not. They’d steal the teeth out yer mouth, so they would.”
“But we’ll have to get the dog back,” said Merry. “They can’t get away with that!”
“Naebody would go for it,” she was informed. “Even the Campbells would be feart. I’ll be awa’ noo, anyway.”
“Show me where they’ve camped,” she said. “I’m going for it.”
“You never are, miss!” squealed Billy, and turned to streak for home, until he felt a small firm hand grip his jersey.
“If you’re afraid, I’m not,” said Merry firmly. “Tinkers or not, they can’t go thieving dogs. Show me where the camp is, then you can go home.”
“I ... I can’t,” said Billy. “Honest, I can’t. My dad would skin me alive.”
“Would some more chocolate stiffen your nerves?” asked Merry. “Believe me, they won’t dare harm you while I’m here. Now, show me the camp, Billy, then you can run home.”
“O.K., miss,” he said resignedly. “Only don’t say I didna warn you.”
They crossed the main road and took a path that skirted the loch until it branched off into a wooded section.
“There’s a clearing in there, miss,” whispered Billy, his eyes large with apprehension. “They’ve got tents drawn up an’ they’ll hae a fire lit. I can smell the smoke.”
Merry, too, could smell the faint acrid odour of wood smoke.
“Are there many of them, Billy?” she asked. “No sae mony as the gypsies,” he informed her. “The auld man and wumman, an’ a hefty young man an’ some weans, so likely there’s a young wumman tae. The weans are dirty, no like us. That’s why my mam gets mad when somebody says we Connells are aboot as bad as the tinkers. We’re no like them, are we, miss?” Merry rumpled his hair above the fresh skinned young face.
“Never,” she whispered. “No one at all is like you, Billy, and don’t you forget it.”
“Can I go now, miss?” he asked anxiously. “I’ll wait for you by the loch side in case you get lost.”
Merry nodded, and for a moment faltered in her determination. Something about the atmosphere of the place chilled her, and she felt a pang of unaccustomed fear. Then a faint barking came to her ears, answered by the high-pitched yelping sound of a smaller dog, and she plunged through the trees, her cheeks warming with anger when she remembered the fatigue and concern in Mrs. Cameron’s eyes.
She came upon their small settlement suddenly, and stopped to watch the shadowy figures sitting round a crackling fire, their tattered tents forming a background. Three small children sat together, eating silently, while an old witch-like figure picked up a pot from the fire and shook it. Merry could smell the faint aroma of cooking, mingling with the wood smoke. She saw that the children were regarding her with wide-eyed amazement, and a second later the old crone was on her feet.
“Whit’st waant?” she was asked.
Merry slowly walked forward into the clearing, and a dirty-looking old man appeared from behind the tents, a greenish grey muffler tied round his throat. A small barking mongrel appeared with him, baring its teeth, while from behind Merry could hear the faint high yelps of the other dog.
Wetting her lips, she stared the old woman in the eye.
“I’ve come for the dog,” she said clearly.
“Whit dug?”
“Mrs. Campbell’s Cairn. I know you’ve got it.”
“Ye ken naethin’. Be off wi’ ye!”
The old man advanced on her threateningly, and the children came to stand round her. From one of the tents a young woman appeared, and Merry saw that she was heavy with child. She looked across the smoky twilight atmosphere at the girl who was only a few years older than herself, but who looked as though a century stood between them. She pushed back her long dull hair and pulled her jacket closer round her neck.
“I’ve come for Mrs. Campbell’s dog,” repeated Merry firmly, looking at the girl with a strangely sick feeling inside. What if she’d been born to this life? she wondered. These people were poor because they refused to accept the responsibilities of society. They were dirty because their living conditions were unhygienic. Yet the gypsies were clean, and kept themselves clean in circumstances little different from the tinkers’.
Merry’s stomach turned over a little with distaste, but the dog’s frenzied yelps spurred her on, and she took a step forward.
“If you don’t give me the dog, I shall go for the police,” she told the man.
“Then maybe we should see t’it ye’ll not clype tae the polis again.”
She whirled at the deep rough voice behind her, and cried aloud as a youngish man caught her arm.
“Let me go!” she said furiously. “How dare you lay a finger on me!”
“Ye’re trespassin’,” he informed her softly. “If I put a foot ower yer doorstep, ye’d be yellin’, but ye come here thinkin’ tae put a foot ower mine. Wi’ lies, tae, my fine lady.”
His fingers tightened on her arm and she dropped her basket, twisting in his grasp, her heart thudding with fear.
“They aren’t lies,” she panted. “I want the dog. You were seen taking it, so I know you’ve got it. I can even hear it barking!”
“Gie it ’er!” shouted the girl.
“Shut yer mooth,” she was told, and Merry’s face contorted with pain as the steely fingers gripped her arm.
“Let me go!” she cried again.
“Yes, let her go!”
The fingers dropped from her arm, and she almost stumbled as Benjamin’s tall figure emerged from behind her and put his arm round her. She could smell the rough sweetness of his jacket, and leaned against him for a moment.
“What do you think you’re doing, you little fool?” his harsh voice demanded of her, and she stepped back as though his tongue had lashed her.
Merry felt her throat tighten with tears, but her chin firmed resolutely.
“They have Isa Campbell’s Cairn,” she said, firmly. “Mrs. Cameron looked for hours for it yesterday, and Billy Connell saw the old man here stealing it. If they don’t hand Cailleach over, I shan’t stop till I’ve brought the police.”
Benjamin looked at her small straight figure, a strange look on his face.
“Get it,” he told the tinker tersely.
“But, Mr. Benjamin...”
“Get it!” repeated Benjamin, and the man shrugged, and made off behind the tents. Merry fixed her eyes on the glowing fire and bubbling pot whose contents were beginning to revolt her. She didn’t look at Benjamin because he was giving her a strange desire to burst into tears.
A moment later the tinker returned and threw the whimpering dog at Merry’s feet. She bent to pick it up, but Benjamin’s warning cry stopped her, and she saw that the little dog s teeth were bared in fright, its eyes wide with terror.
Gently she coaxed it, easing her hand forward, until Cailleach allowed her to stroke her ears, then lift her up into her arms, where the little dog whimpered, then licked her hand. Merry buried her face in the rough coat, and for the first time felt it was all worth while. She was aware of Benjamin guiding her through the trees to the loch-side path, and of young Billy running to meet them.
“So you found her, sir!” he cried. “I’m real glad!”
“And you’d no business to leave her there,” said Benjamin, though the hard steely note had left his voice. “Home with you, young Billy. I might be along to skelp you in the morning.”
“Yes, sir,” said the boy.
“As for you, Merry Saunders, I shan’t start to you tonight, but I’m astonished you showed so little sense. Have you never been told to leave the tinkers alone? I never thought a young woman could be such a fool! No wonder Ellen thought you needed an eye kept on you.”
“I suppose Stephanie would have had more sense,” said Merry angrily.
“Whatever we may think of Stephanie,” Benjamin told her quietly, “no one could ev
er doubt her ability to look after herself. She never causes anxiety on that account. Here’s Beau Ness. I’ll see Mrs. Cameron gets you up to bed.”
“But Cailleach ought to go home,” protested Merry tearfully. “The Campbells will want her. Besides, it isn’t late.”
“Don’t worry, young Bill will have spread the gospel. Isa will be here before you can say knife. She’ll take no hurt with a good meal inside her, and a rest in front of the fire.”
As they walked through the door, and Mrs. Cameron listened incredulously to Benjamin’s explanations, Merry felt she could have dropped with fatigue. Then she remembered the basket. “It’s still there ... at the tinkers’,” she cried.
“Mercy, my good basket!” cried Mrs. Cameron. “Oh, Miss Merry!”
“I’ll get it back tomorrow,” said Merry, and again Benjamin looked her with the odd gleam in his eye.
“I wouldna want it,” declared Mrs. Cameron, firmly, “wi’ that crowd pawing their dirt all over it. I wouldna touch it wi’ a barge pole, Miss Merry, and your Aunt Ellen’s best basket she bought years ago. Ye can’t get the likes these days.”
“Then they’ll have been paid well for the dog!” put in Benjamin, preparing to go,
“Maybe those ... those little children will get something decent to eat out of it, p poor th things,” said Merry, and burst into tears.
“Poor little kid,” said Benjamin, his voice suddenly inexpressibly tender. “Put her to bed, Mrs. Cameron, do. She’s had a frightening experience.”
Sobbing, and ashamed that Benjamin should see her tears, Merry allowed Mrs. Cameron to lead her off to bed.
The post was late, and Merry was already at her desk when Mrs. Cameron brought in a few letters and a bulky envelope. Merry took one look at it and felt her heart sink.
“Oh, no!” she sighed, disappointed. “It’s my short story back. It’s bounced like a rubber ball.”
She eyed the rejection slip which gave no clue as to the reason for its return, and ran her fingers through her hair, then began to re-read the manuscript carefully. If she still thought it good enough, then it would be offered to another market straight away.
