Music in the Hills (Drumberley Book 2)

by D. E. Stevenson

  ‘There’s no hurry,’ said Mamie hastily. ‘If you haven’t quite decided there’s no hurry.’

  ‘Yes,’ said James. ‘I do. I like it immensely. The only thing is, well, I’ve got to earn my living. The point is whether Uncle Jock thinks I would ever be any good, and if so, how long would it take me to learn enough to be any good.’

  ‘How about you taking over Boscath?’ suggested Jock.

  ‘Taking over Boscath?’ echoed James in bewildered tones.

  ‘Running it for me, with me behind you,’ explained Jock. ‘Mackenzie is leaving in the autumn.’

  ‘How could I?’ asked James. ‘It would be simply grand of course, but I don’t know anything. I might let you down.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what to do and you’ll do it. I dare say you’ll make mistakes, but it’ll be good for you to take some responsibility.’ He hesitated and looked at Mamie. She nodded. ‘You see, James,’ continued Jock in a slightly embarrassed manner. ‘It’s like this, you see. We’ve decided that if you really like farming you’re to have Mureth when I’m dead.’

  James was speechless. He gazed at Jock helplessly.

  ‘Would you like that?’ inquired Jock.

  ‘Like it,’ gasped James. ‘Uncle Jock, it’s – it’s marvellous. Goodness, I don’t know what to say! Mureth!’

  ‘I told Caroline about it.’

  ‘You told Mother?’

  ‘Years ago,’ nodded Jock. ‘Of course she didn’t say much. She couldn’t say much because we didn’t know whether you’d like the life. But Mamie and I made up our minds that if you showed a liking for farming you were to have Mureth.’

  ‘It’s simply – staggering,’ declared James in a dazed voice. ‘I never thought for a moment, it’s simply – staggering. Mureth! Goodness!’

  ‘Go on, Jock,’ said Mamie. ‘Tell him about the name.’

  ‘Och, Mamie, could we not leave that till another time?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Well, maybe you’re right,’ said Jock, with a sigh. He looked down at the board and began to fiddle about with the cards in an uncertain manner. ‘It’s like this, James,’ he said. ‘We wondered if you could see your way to taking the name. There have been Johnstone’s at Mureth for two hundred years and somehow it would seem queer if – if there wasn’t a Johnstone of Mureth. But it’s for you to decide. There’s nobody going to press you if you’d rather not. It was Mamie’s idea in the first instance. Mamie thought you might – might think of it.’

  ‘Uncle Jock!’ exclaimed James. ‘Yes, of course I would! I’d be proud to take the name. I mean it’s a tremendous honour for you to want me to take it. But I hope it’ll be a hundred years before… I mean, you’re as fit as a fiddle, aren’t you? Goodness, I don’t know what I’m saying!’

  ‘Johnstone Dering or Dering Johnstone,’ said Jock. ‘Mamie thinks Dering Johnstone sounds best.’

  ‘Uncle Jock,’ said James in desperation. ‘I can’t thank you properly. It’s so absolutely staggering. I feel as if I were dreaming or something. It isn’t only Mureth, it’s you. I mean, I know how you and Mamie love Mureth, so if you think I’m the right person to – to have it – well, it means you must like me a lot.’

  ‘I think you may take it we like you quite a lot, Jamie,’ said Jock, laughing.

  Mamie took up the cards and shuffled them, and they started another game as if nothing had happened. Just as if nothing had happened, thought James, looking at them in bewilderment. The conversation had taken place between two games of cribbage; it had lasted about ten minutes and had completely changed James’ life.

  James felt stifled, as if he couldn’t breathe. ‘I think I’ll go out,’ he said. ‘I might walk up the hill and see Daniel Reid.’

  ‘Good idea,’ agreed Jock. ‘Gosh, Mamie, that’s two for his heels – the second time this game!’

  It was still light when James opened the front door and looked out. The sky was cloudless; it was a pale primrose colour shading to amethyst; the hills stood up against it as if they had been cut out of black cardboard. James sat down upon the steps and looked at Mureth. He decided not to go and see Daniel. He did not want to see anybody, nor to speak to anybody, until he had got used to himself in his new circumstances. He was quite dazed. Half an hour ago he had been wondering what the future held in store for him. Now he knew. The future held Mureth.

  James heard the hoot of an owl and the faint, far-off tinkle of the burn.

  Of course it would be years and years before Mureth came to him, Uncle Jock was a strong as a lion, thank goodness, but all the same, he found himself looking at Mureth differently; the hills, the river, the animals, even the people in their little cottages seemed to take on a new significance. He envisaged them in a sort of rosy glow. For a while James sat there without thinking at all, just wool-gathering, and as he sat there the sky darkened and the light faded. It was almost dark except for a gleam in the sky behind the hills, a sort of unearthly radiance – moon-rise. At first the moon was a thin sliver of gold; and then, as it rose higher, it was for all the world like the golden dome of a temple set upon the hilltop. Gradually the dome became a sphere, enormous, glowing, poised upon the ridge of Winterfell. The ball rose slowly, majestically, it cast loose, as it were, and floated in the sky… and all the valley was filled with the brightness of it, with bright moonlight and dark shadows, and away in the distance there was the crowing of a cock.

  James still sat there on the steps, but now his thoughts began to move. He thought of the immediate future and of what he would do. He must learn all he could, understudy Jock, read every book about farming that he could lay his hands on; he must talk to other farmers and observe their methods, so he would prepare himself for the day when he would be master here. It was good to see his way ahead, to feel settled with his future assured. It was good to feel Uncle Jock at the back of him, solid as a rock. James had been feeling like a rudderless ship, buffeted by the waves, but now the ship had come to anchor in a secure harbour. Jock and Mamie wanted him, they wanted him as an adopted son – that was what it came to – and James loved them dearly.

  His thoughts turned to Rhoda (the moon was as golden as Rhoda’s hair); he had something to offer Rhoda now. He could write to her and tell what had happened and ask her… but could he? James put his arms round his knees and thought about it. No, he couldn’t do that, for, although this new and quite unexpected development made all the difference in the world to him, it would make no difference to Rhoda. If Rhoda loved him enough to marry him she would marry him supposing he had not a penny to his name — that was Rhoda. She had not refused him because his future was uncertain, she would not accept his because his future was assured. It would be an insult to write to her on those lines, to write and say, ‘You refused to marry me before, but now I’m going to have Mureth someday.’

  No, thought James, it’s no good. Rhoda is as far away as ever. Better to put Rhoda right out of my head and get down to some hard work.

  When James had gone out Jock smiled at Mamie. ‘You were right,’ he said.

  ‘I was sure he would,’ nodded Mamie. ‘You’re pleased, aren’t you? What made you suddenly decide to ask him to-night, Jock?’

  ‘I wanted to be sure before I asked him. It’s not everybody that’s cut out to be a farmer. I was not absolutely sure about James until this morning.’

  Mamie waited.

  ‘He had been over to Boscath on Saturday,’ said Jock. ‘Mackenzie had gone off in his car and left some hay lying out in the field. James said to me, “I felt I wanted to go and father in that with my own hands”’

  Mamie nodded understandingly. She had been a farmer’s wife for nearly twenty years.

  ‘Mackenzie had told me a long garbled tale,’ continued Jock. ‘He said James had been interfering with the men, putting the men against him and undermining his authority. But then I heard James’s version of the affair.’

  ‘There was nothing in it, of course,’ said Mamie.

>   ‘There was something in it,’ replied Jock, smiling. ‘ There was enough in it to send me back to Boscath in a towering rage and give Mackenzie the sack.’ And he proceeded to tell Mamie the whole story.

  ‘That’s what’s been worrying you,’ said Mamie when the tale was told. ‘You never really liked Mr. Mackenzie, did you? So now you don’t need to worry anymore.’

  ‘Not about that,’ agreed Jock. He took up the cards and shuffled them in an absent-minded way. ‘I’m worrying about my lambs. Some more of them have disappeared. You know, Mamie, I wish I’d taken the other man.’

  ‘I like Daniel Reid,’ said Mamie with conviction.

  ‘I know that, and I trust your judgment, but the man’s not straight.’

  ‘I’m sure he’s straight!’

  ‘I was sure of it, too. I’m disappointed in Reid. The fact is, I saw him at the Show on Wednesday; he was talking to a couple of nasty-looking individuals – goodness knows where they’d come from! Flashy sort of fellows in blue suits.’

  ‘But Jock!’

  ‘I know,’ nodded Jock. ‘His friends are his own affair, but you see, we’d arranged that Reid was to go over to Silverbeck that afternoon and have a look at the ewes, and instead of that he went to the Show, so he was neglecting his duty. But the worst thing of all, to my mind, was the next morning – he talked as if he had been over to Silverbeck.’

  ‘He said he had been there?’ asked Mamie incredulously.

  ‘Not straight out,’ replied Jock, frowning. ‘He just talked as if he had been there.’

  ‘Are you sure you saw him at the Show?’

  ‘Of course I saw him.’

  ‘Why didn’t you speak to him about it?’

  ‘Och, well,’ said Jock uncertainly. ‘I just felt… I mean, I didn’t mind the man going to the Show. If he’d asked me I’d have said he could go and welcome. What I mind is deceit. I don’t feel I can trust the man, that’s the truth of it.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  The dance at Mureth was an annual affair; it was really for the farm people as Mamie had said, but this year Mamie had asked a few of the young people in the neighbourhood so that it would be more fun for James. She had asked the young Shaw’s, of course, and, having asked them, Mamie decided she must ask the young Duncan’s from Crossraggle and the new doctor and his sister from Drumburly. She warned her prospective guests that it was ‘not a real dance,’ but in spite of her warning all the young people were coming – all except Eleanor Shaw. Mamie was not surprised when Lady Shaw rang up and refused the invitation on Eleanor’s behalf.

  ‘ She’s much too young,’ said Lady Shaw. ‘Andrew won’t hear of it. But Ian will be here and will bring a friend if he may and, of course, Holly will be delighted. She told you that herself.’

  ‘I’m sorry about Eleanor. I was afraid,’ began Mamie, but she was interrupted by James.

  ‘Let me speak to Lady Shaw,’ said James. ‘Please, Mamie. It’s really rather important.’

  ‘What did you say, Mamie?’ inquired Lady Shaw’s voice in Mamie’s ear.

  ‘I said I was sorry,’ replied Mamie. ‘Don’t, James. No, you can’t. Lady Shaw says she’s too young.’

  ‘Tell her it isn’t a proper grown-up dance,’ urged James. ‘Tell her we’ll look after Eleanor and send her home early.’

  ‘I can’t hear what you’re saying, Mamie,’ declared Lady Shaw. ‘There’s something the matter with the telephone. A man’s voice keeps breaking into the conversation.’

  ‘It’s James,’ explained Mamie. ‘James, I wish you wouldn’t.’

  ‘Tell her,’ urged James. ‘Tell her what I said.’

  Mamie told her, but Lady Shaw was adamant. Eleanor was too young.

  The barn, in which the dance was to be held, had been built in the good old days when men took pride in the work of their hands. The walls were of stone from the quarry on the hill; the timber was from Mureth trees, sawn and shaped upon the estate. Great beams crossed the building, holding up the roof; they were dove-tailed into one another and built firmly into the walls. Jock kept the winter food for his stock in this barn, so by now it was almost empty and it was easy to clean out and polish the wooden floor. Then men set to with a will; they decorated it with branches of green leaves and hung strings of bunting and paper lanterns across the building from hook to hook. When Mamie went down at teatime she was surprised and pleased beyond measure.

  ‘It’s really splendid,’ she said to Willy Dunne who was in charge of the work. ‘It’s even better than usual.’

  ‘Umphm, it’s not bad,’ agreed Willy Dunne complacently. ‘We were wanting to make a good appearance this year when there was gentry coming.’

  Mamie could not help smiling. Willy Dunne was by way of being a Socialist, but surely these were not the sentiments one expected from a man with a red tie.

  ‘Well, you’ve certainly put your best foot foremost.’ Mamie told him. ‘The old barn looks lovely. You won’t forget the band, Willy.’

  It had been arranged that two fiddlers and a man with a piano-accordion were to be fetched from Drumburly for the occasion.

  ‘I’ll fetch them, never fear,’ replied Willy Dunne. ‘And Daniel Reid will give them a hand, too. He’s a real good fiddler, is Daniel.’

  Mamie nodded. She wondered how many guests there would be, for the Mureth people were allowed to ask their friends from neighbouring farms. Not too many, she hoped. The barn was apt to become extremely hot and stifling if it was overfilled.

  ‘There’ll be about fifty,’ said Willy, as if he had guessed her thought. ‘That’s not counting the party from the big house.’

  ‘We shall be ten,’ Mamie told him.

  ‘There’s one thing,’ said Willy, looking a trifle embarrassed. ‘I was just wondering if you’d give me a turn, Mistress Johnstone. You’ll be leading off with Mr. Mackenzie from Boscath. That’s right and proper. But I’m the auldest inhabitant. Not the auldest in years, ye ken, but what I mean is nobody’s been in Mureth as long as me, barring auld Mr. Couper and he’ll be in his bed.’

  ‘I’d like to Willy,’ replied Mamie with becoming gravity. ‘And as a matter of fact, Mr. MacKenzie isn’t coming, so how would it do if we led off together?’

  ‘It would be fine!’ exclaimed Willy Dunne, beaming all over his face. ‘Och, that would be fine!’ He hesitated and then said thoughtfully, ‘I wonder now. You’ll not have any idea why Mr. Mackenzie’s not coming to the dance?’

  Mamie had a very good idea as to the reason for Mr. Mackenzie’s refusal of the invitation, but she was not particularly anxious to disclose it, because it was Jock’s prerogative to inform his men of changes in policy and Mamie never interfered in Jock’s affairs.

  ‘Maybe he’s leaving,’ suggested Willy Dunne, gazing up at the paper lanterns in a ruminative manner. ‘Maybe Mr. Johnstone’s not over pleased with the way Boscath’s managed. It wouldn’t surprise me – nor any other body in the place – if Mr. James was to have Boscath Farm.’

  ‘I expect Mr. Johnstone will be telling you himself.’

  ‘Just that,’ agreed Willy. ‘We’ll all be pleased, too. Mr. James is the right sort. He’s not afraid to take off his coat and he’s got a pleasant word for everybody.’

  It was curious, Mamie thought as she walked back across the steading. It really was very curious indeed how things got about. You chatted quietly, in the privacy of your own drawing-room, and in half no time the matter you had discussed was common knowledge. Mamie knew enough about these people to be certain that every cottage in the place was seething with rumours and conjectures – rumours about Mr. Mackenzie’s departure and conjectures about James. As she looked back upon her conversation with Willy Dunne she realised that he had led her on. He had shaped the conversation to obtain the information he wanted and she had walked blindly into the trap. Not that it mattered, of course, thought Mamie smiling a little at her own stupidity. They would have to know sooner or later.

  ‘Mistress Johnstone, coul
d I speak to you for a moment?’

  Mamie stopped and looked round and her smile vanished, for this was a sinister request and all the more so when it fell from the lips of Mrs. Dunne. Mamie knew well that the request to speak to her for a moment meant trouble: nobody ever wanted to speak to her for a moment about pleasant things – and Mrs. Dunne was the snake in the Eden of Mureth Farm. She looked so nice, thought Mamie, looking at her. She was small and plump with a rosy, smiling face but for all that she was at the bottom of any trouble in the cottages.

  ‘Yes, Mrs. Dunne,’ said Mamie, with a cheerfulness she did not feel. ‘I’ve just been looking at the barn: they have it decorated beautifully and it’s going to be a lovely fine night, so everybody will enjoy the dance.’

  ‘I sure I hope so,’ said Mrs. Dunne, smiling in a very amiable manner. ‘There’s been enough work put out on it, and those that work hardest get the least thanks. I was saying so to Mr. Dunne this very morning. You needn’t expect thanks for all your work, I said.’

  Mamie had just thanked Willy Dunne; she was trying to find words to explain this to his wife without offending her, but Mrs. Dunne did not wait for her to find them.

  ‘But that’s not what I wanted to speak to you about,’ continued Mrs. Dunne, still smiling but lowering her voice a little. ‘It’s about yon new shepherd. Maybe you and Mr. Johnstone like the man, but he’s not all he might be, and that’s the truth. Mr. Dunne and me saw him, reeling drunk, in Drumburly High Street the other night.’

  ‘Oh, Mrs. Dunne! But,’

  ‘We all have our faults, and the man’s pleasant spoken, I’ll admit… perhaps just a wee bit too pleasant spoken. It’s an awful waste of a nice wee house, too,’ said Mrs. Dunne thoughtfully.

  ‘You mean because he isn’t married? Mr. Johnstone and I think that’s Reid’s own affair.’

  ‘Married! I’d be sorry for his wife!’

  ‘Perhaps it’s just as well he hasn’t got one, then. He does his work well and the house is beautifully clean.’

  ‘He’s never in it,’ said Mrs. Dunne, smiling delightfully. ‘The house is empty most nights. I’ve made it my business to go up and have a look and he’s more often out than in.’