Mamie gazed at her in silence.
‘It’s none of my business where he goes,’ continued Mrs. Dunne. ‘I’ve never been one for gossip. I may have my suspicions, but I’d rather keep them to myself.’ But you wouldn’t, thought Mamie, looking at her in distaste. The last thing you want is to keep your suspicions to yourself.
‘Maybe he goes to Drumburly,’ said Mrs. Dunne, beaming all over her plump, rosy face. ‘It would be dull for him alone in the cottage. Or maybe he finds company nearer home. There’s folks here in Mureth that isn’t all that particular about their friends and thinks little harm in breaking the ten commandments.’
Mamie could find nothing to say. There might be truth in the accusation or there might not. She was distressed at the thought that there might be truth in it, for she felt responsible for the morals of Mureth.
‘Daisy’s a nice-looking girl,’ added Mrs. Dunne kindly.
‘Yes, isn’t she,’ agreed Mamie, pretending to be dense. ‘She’s as pretty as a picture and she’s very good at her work. We’ve never had a better dairymaid.’
No more was said. Mrs. Dunne had dropped her poison and was quite content. Mrs. Johnstone might pretend to be dense, but she was not as dense as all that, and even if the poison did not work very quickly its effect would not be entirely lost. Someday something might happen and Mrs. Johnstone would remember what she had said.
Mrs. Dunne hated the Bells. Nothing would please her better than to see the Bells discredited, to watch them packing up and leaving Mureth. If she could accomplish that she would be happy, or so she thought. She hated all the Bell family, but Daisy was the worst, for Daisy was not only young and pretty, she was clever too. Daisy had discovered Mrs. Dunne’s vulnerable points and enjoyed pricking her where the pricks would hurt… and Mrs. Dunne, who liked hurting other people and making them squirm, disliked being hurt herself.
It is curious but true that those who make a habit of saying unkind things are often the most easily hurt and offended when their victims retaliate.
Chapter Fifteen
Jock, Mamie and James had supper early and walked over to the barn. It was a fine evening, cold for the time of year, and it was still quite light, of course. It seemed odd to go to a dance in broad daylight. But the daylight was dimmed in the barn, and the coloured lanterns were lighted and the place had a delightfully festive appearance.
Although it was only a quarter to eight the barn was full of people. The guests had been asked for eight o’clock, but Mamie was not in the least surprised to find that so many had arrived already. In this part of the world people always arrive at parties long before the stated time; and Mamie, having lived here all her life, was aware of this peculiarity. Perhaps it is because there are not many festivities and they are unwilling to lose a single moment of pleasure or perhaps they allow the extra time for fear of being delayed upon the road. Many of the guests had walked over the hills from other farms in the neighbourhood, some had come even farther in carts or upon bicycles. The party from Drumburly Tower had not arrived, nor had the Duncan’s from Crossraggle.
Jock did not enjoy parties but he hid his feelings well. He went round talking to everybody, asking after fathers and mothers and children – who were either too old or too young to be present – asking after the hay and agreeing that it had been a fine year for hay, though a bit too dry for the roots. He was popular, and deservedly so, for he was kind and friendly, talking as man to man without false heartiness or condescension.
‘Uncle Jock is in his element,’ said James to Mamie.
‘Not really,’ Mamie replied. ‘Jock is in his element amongst animals or in the hay-field. He doesn’t like parties.’
‘But they all love him,’ James said. ‘I wonder if I shall ever learn to talk to the people like that.’
‘You do,’ she told him. ‘I mean, you don’t talk to them like Jock, but you talk to them like yourself, which is the best way. It’s no use at all putting on special sort of talk, if you know what I mean. Special sort of talk may be all right for society people, but people who live and work on the land see through it at once and hate it. I’ve never learnt to talk,’ said Mamie sadly. ‘I’ve tried very hard but I’m shy. I always wonder whether they want me to talk to them and that’s fatal. You shouldn’t think of yourself at all, of course. It’s silly to be shy.’
‘If you’re made like that you can’t help it.’
‘Shyness makes you stiff and awkward, and then people think you’re stuck up. If they only knew!’
By this time it was eight o’clock and the other guests were drifting in; Holly Douglas, Ian Shaw and his friend from Edinburgh, Cathie and Henry Duncan. All exclaimed in surprise and admiration at the beauty of the barn and the magnificence of the decorations.
‘I wish we had a barn like this,’ said Cathie. ‘Our barns are tumbling down and Daddy can’t get wood to mend them. Our barns are all ratty and batty.’
The others laughed, but not very heartily, for most of them knew that Crossraggle was going downhill fast and that was no laughing matter.
The next arrivals were Dr. Forrester and his sister. Dr. Forrester had come as assistant to Dr. Black (who was getting too old for his widely scattered practice) and his sister had come to keep house for him. They had bought a tiny house in Drumburly High Street and had just got settled in. Mamie had not met them before and had wondered what they would be like; she decided that she liked them; they were young and rather shy and they knew nobody, so it behoved her to put them at their ease and to introduce them to the other members of the party. When there was a job like this to be done Mamie forgot her own shyness. She inquired about the house and whether they liked it.
‘We like it awfully,’ Nan Forrester said. ‘It’s so lovely to be together – neither of us has ever had a house of our very own before. It’s tiny, but that’s all the better because of course I shall have to do everything myself… and we like our neighbours too. I can’t tell you how kind they’ve been.’
The band was tuning up and an air of excitement pervaded the barn. Willy Dunne approached Mamie and bowed a trifle sheepishly.
‘It’s a waltz,’ said Willy. ‘I knew fine you liked waltzing so I told them to start with it.’
She smiled and put her hand on his arm, and off they went. At first they had the floor to themselves, for this was the usual custom, and then other couples joined in. Jock was dancing with Mrs. Dunne, James had chosen Mrs. Bell, the others paired off in a haphazard manner.
Mamie bred dancing and Willy Dunne was a competent if somewhat uninspired performer. There was no need to talk to Willy; he did not want conversation.
When he danced he danced and gave all his mind to it, gripping his partner tightly and steering her carefully round the room. Mamie began to enjoy herself and her anxieties as hostess vanished. She saw numerous friends amongst the whirling couples and a good many strangers and she was relieved to notice that they all looked happy – they were happy in a serious sort of way, but later they would warm up and the gravity would disappear.
Having taken the floor with Willy Dunne it was imperative to dance with the other men. Mamie knew this. She knew that if she did not there would be all sorts of unpleasantness in the Mureth cottages. She danced the Circassian Circle with Willy Bell, and then she danced with Joseph Couper and with Daniel Reid. Wilson, the second shepherd who lived in the cottage on the hill above Reid’s cottage was a shy young man with a nice little wife and two small children. He hovered about, looking at Mrs. Johnstone and then looking away, advancing and retreating, but quite unable to speak. It was rather funny, really, but Mamie was sorry for shy young people, so she was not amused. She went up to him and took his hand and led him on to the floor. It was ‘Strip the Willow’, a somewhat boisterous affair; they went through the whole performance without exchanging a syllable.
After this Mamie found herself standing beside Mrs. Wilson, who was not as shy as her husband but was equally difficult to talk to, except upon one
subject. Fortunately Mamie knew Mrs. Wilson subject, so she inquired for Charlie.
‘He’s fine,’ said Mrs. Wilson, smiling happily. ‘He’s growing so big you’d scarcely know him. It’s the extra milk that’s doing it. It’s awful good of you to give us the extra milk, Mrs. Johnstone.’
Mamie said she was glad.
‘And he’s getting so clever, too,’ declared his mother. ‘You’d never think he was only just five years old. He’s made great friends with Mr. Reid. Mr. Reid’s awful good to Charlie and they have jokes together. He’s got a way with bairns, Mr. Reid has. Last week Mr. Reid came up to the cottage and Charlie was going off to bed, so Mr. Reid said he’d tell him a story, and he told him an awful funny story about two farmers called Big Klaus and Little Klaus. It’s an old story, Mr. Reid was saying. Maybe you’ve heard of it?’
Mamie said she knew it well.
‘Is that so?’ exclaimed Mrs. Wilson. ‘Well, you’ll know all about it, then… how Big Klaus loaned Little Klaus his horses for the ploughing and Little Klaus was so proud of ploughing with five fine horses that he kept on shouting, “Gee-up, all my five horses!” Well, would you believe it, Mrs. Johnstone, Charlie’s been playing he was Little Klaus ever since. He’s been going round the place shouting, “Gee-up, all my five horses!” That’s what he’s been doing. And he watches for Mr. Reid coming down the hill and runs after him and shouts, “Good morning to you, Big Klaus!” just like the story. He’s awful smart for just five years old, Charlie is.’
Mamie was about to congratulate Mrs. Wilson upon the extraordinary intelligence of her son when James appeared and asked Mrs. Wilson to dance with him and snatched her away. It was nice of James, thought Mamie, smiling. James had believed her to be in need of help and had come to the rescue, but as a matter of fact Mamie did not mind listening to people, it was talking that bothered her, and she had been quite interested in Mrs. Wilson’s story. It showed Daniel Reid in a new and very pleasant light. Mamie was still drawn to Daniel Reid – she could not help liking him in spite of Mrs. Dunne’s accusations and in spite of Jock’s assertion that he was not straight. She still felt that Jock must have made a mistake about seeing Reid at the Show when he ought to have been doing his rounds upon the hill, and yet it was very unlike Jock to make mistakes.
When James had danced with all the people he should, he decided it was time he had some fun. He saw Holly standing beside Ian Shaw and asked her to dance with him.
‘You said you’d dance this with me, Holly,’ Ian reminded her.
‘I know, darling, but I’ve changed my mind,’ replied Holly, smiling at her cousin engagingly. ‘Poor James has been doing his duty nobly and if he wants to dance with me he can.’
‘Of course I want to,’ said James. ‘Haven’t I just told you I want to dance with you – and it’s a waltz.’
‘Thank goodness it’s a waltz!’ exclaimed Holly, who was of the opinion that Country Dances were a waste of time.
It was pleasant to dance with Holly; she was an accomplished dancer, polished, easy and intuitive; she melted in his arms and smelt delightful (perhaps James would not have noticed this so much if his last partner had not been Mrs. Dunne who was fat and tightly corseted and smelt of camphor balls). They talked a little as they danced, but not too much.
‘This is fun,’ said Holly. ‘The floor is wonderfully good and the music has a swing. Why don’t you have lots of dances in this gorgeous barn? You could have one at Christmas, couldn’t you?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because it’s a barn,’ smiled James. ‘A barn is for corn, not for dancing. It can be used for dancing when it’s empty, that’s all.’
‘What a pity!’ said Holly, with a sigh. ‘Christmas is even more special for me than for other people; it’s my birthday, you see.’
‘Holly!’
‘Yes, that’s why. Daddy wanted me to be called Noelle, but Mother knew a girl called Noelle and disliked her intensely, so they decided I was to be Holly. Nasty prickly stuff,’ added Holly, with a smile in her voice.
‘Not all hollies are prickly.’
They danced for a little while in silence.
‘This is fun,’ said Holly again. ‘It’s far more fun than an ordinary dance. There’s something very special about Mureth.’
‘You feel that?’
‘I love Mureth, James.’
‘Really and truly?’
‘Really and truly,’ declared Holly, with a sigh.
When the dance was over James suggested they should go outside. He had been out before, with Daisy, and it was not too cold. Daisy had taken him round to the side of the barn where there was a wooden fence to lean upon; she had expected James to kiss her in a friendly way, but James did not want to kiss Daisy. He decided to take Holly to the secluded corner by the wooden fence; it would be very pleasant indeed to kiss Holly. Holly was sweet, she amused him and intrigued him and he liked her a lot. He was aware that Holly would marry him if he asked her. James had made up his mind that he would like to marry Holly.
They went out together. It had been dark before, when he was here with Daisy, but now the moon had risen and all the valley was filled with its light. James and Holly leant upon the fence and looked across the valley at the hills.
‘What a gorgeous moon,’ said Holly softly. ‘It’s gold, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’ agreed James.
‘It’s like a bent sovereign, James.’
The moon was waning, of course. It was a queer shape, not a perfect sphere as it had been last week when James had watched it rise from behind Winterfell and balance on the hill-top.
‘Have a cigarette,’ said James, producing his case.
Holly accepted one gratefully, but all the same she was a little surprised, for it was not what she had expected. She had given James his cue (‘I love Mureth,’ she had said), and James had brought her to this secluded corner. She had known exactly what James would do; he would kiss her and say, ‘Come and live at Mureth – with me.’ But it hadn’t happened like that. Something had gone wrong at the last moment and James had offered her a cigarette. It didn’t matter, thought Holly. She could wait. When you are certain of something you don’t mind waiting.
They smoked companionably. They talked about various unimportant matters.
James was not at his best. He felt shaky and uncertain of himself. He had made up his mind to ask Holly to marry him, but he could not ask her now. He could not ask a girl to marry him when his mind was full of another girl, even if the other girl was as far out of his reach as a golden moon sailing in a dark-blue sky.
The dance went on until nearly two o’clock, which is late for country dwellers who are not used to late hours and have to be up and working early. Jock and Mamie discussed the evening’s entertainment as they prepared for bed.
‘It was a success,’ said Mamie. ‘I wondered if it would be a success, having the Shaw’s and the Duncan’s, but it was. Cathie looked sweet, didn’t she?’
‘She’s a pretty wee thing.’ agreed Jock.
‘It’s sad about Crossraggle. Why can’t Mr. Duncan make the farm pay?’
‘He leaves too much to chance. Maybe the man’s not well, he was looking pretty wretched the last time I saw him… he was looking sort of miserable,’ said Jock thoughtfully. ‘If I had not known Duncan I’d have said it was a drink, but Duncan is a teetotaller and quite crazy on the subject. There’s never a drop of strong drink to be seen at Crossraggle; he even grudges the men their beer.’
Mamie nodded. Mr. Duncan’s principles were common knowledge. One was bound to respect him for them, of course, but they were uncomfortable things to live with, and life was sufficiently complicated without having to battle with a complex on the subject of strong drink. Men liked a glass of beer and occasionally a glass of spirits, and Mamie could not see that it did them any harm. Indeed there was remarkably little drunkenness in the district except at the New Year when it was the time-honoured custom to d
rink not wisely but all too well. An unfortunate custom, no doubt, but so deeply rooted in tradition that nothing short of an atom bomb would be likely to uproot it, and all one could do was to turn a blind eye upon the celebrations and wait until they were over and sanity returned.
Mamie’s thoughts had wandered quite a long way from the dance, but Jock was still thinking about it.
‘I don’t like the Douglas girl,’ he said suddenly.
‘Why?’ asked Mamie in alarm. She herself did not like Holly, but she had been trying to tell herself that she was prejudiced and old fashioned.
‘Does it matter?’ asked Jock, smiling down at her as she sat at the mirror brushing her soft brown hair.
‘Yes, it does,’ said Mamie earnestly. ‘Please, Jock, why don’t you like Holly Douglas?’
‘I didn’t like the way she was dressed for one thing.’
‘But, Jock, it was a beautiful dress – and you never notice women’s clothes anyway. I don’t believe you know what I was wearing.’
‘I don’t believe I do,’ admitted Jock, laughing. ‘The fact is I don’t seem to notice clothes if they’re right, it’s when they’re wrong I notice them, and it may have been a beautiful dress, but it was not right for dancing in a barn.’
‘She was over-dressed,’ agreed Mamie thoughtfully; ‘but she looked very pretty. Cherry colour suits Holly.’
‘That’s cherry colour, is it?’
‘Jock, I wish you’d tell me, really’
He thought for a moment, and then he said, ‘She wears a disguise. It’s a pleasant disguise, I’ll admit, and there may be pleasant things below it, but I can’t be doing with people that are not exactly what they seem.’
Mamie was silent.
‘What’s worrying you?’ asked Jock. ‘The girl is nothing to us. She’ll be away back to London next week or the week after, for she’s a Londoner through and through. She’s happiest when she hears yon high heels of hers tapping on the pavement and can glue her pretty nose to the shop windows.’
Music in the Hills (Drumberley Book 2) Page 11
