Music in the Hills (Drumberley Book 2)

by D. E. Stevenson

  ‘Friends in the Black Market, I suppose,’ suggested James.

  ‘Oh, no!’ exclaimed Miss Heddle. ‘Not really Black Market; just people who know how to get things they want, that’s all.’

  James nodded. He had made up his mind that Miss Heddle was not a suitable acquaintance for his aunt.

  The guests were now drifting back to the dining-room, but not to eat. The long table had been cleared and was covered with a green-baize cloth, in the centre of which stood a roulette board. Each guest was provided with a handful of chips ‘to play about with’ said their host, and several of the members of the house-party began to explain to their less sophisticated fellow-guests how the game was played.

  There had been more drinks by this time and everybody was slightly flushed and exhilarated, but James had drunk nothing and was coldly sober. He inquired in a loud voice what the chips were worth.

  ‘What you like,’ replied his host suavely. There was a curious glitter in his eyes as he surveyed his uncomfortable guest. James had a feeling that Mr. Heddle had suddenly recognised him.

  ‘I’d just like to know, that’s all,’ said James politely. ‘I expect we’d all like to know before we start playing.’

  ‘Pennies, or pounds?’ suggested Mr. Heddle, sitting down at the head of the table and putting his hand upon the rake.

  There was a very uncomfortable silence. Nobody liked to suggest pennies and nobody wanted to suggest pounds. James looked round at his neighbours and wondered what they had thought. Dr. Forrester and his pretty sister in her home-made frock, had they thought their host was providing this entertainment for fun, that they would win or lose their handful of coloured chips and then go cheerfully home neither richer nor poorer for their little flutter on the wheel? And there was Henry Duncan, with his flushed, boyish face and tousled hair; Henry could not afford to lose pennies far less pounds… nor could Ian Shaw (who was on a tight allowance if James knew anything about Sir Andrew). Holly was hard up – or said she was – but Holly could look after herself; he need not worry about Holly. He worried more about the two young Allen’s who were struggling to make ends meet upon a poor farm, and about the Kerr’s who had four young children. None of these people could afford to lose much… and yet how difficult it was! All the more difficult because they were proud, because they did not want to plead poverty before their rich English host and his friends, and because of that preposterous legend that Scots were mean and looked at both sides of a penny before they gave it to a blind beggar. Scots were not mean, or at least James had never met a mean one, but they were thrifty of course, and these people, who earned their living like Adam by the sweat of their brow, knew the value of money.

  ‘Oh, I say, Nestor!’ exclaimed a young man with black shiny hair which looked as if it had been painted on to his skull. ‘Oh, I say, pennies! Not much fun in that! If pounds is too high we could split the difference – what?’

  Cathie spoke next. She said, ‘I don’t think I’ll play. I’d rather look on if you don’t mind. I’ve never played roulette before and, honestly, I couldn’t afford to lose a lot of money. Daddy isn’t very well off.’ She put her chips upon the table and they made a little rattling noise which seemed quite loud in the silence. Her face had gone very white and her lips were trembling.

  Nan Forrester laughed. ‘That goes for me too,’ she said, putting down her chips as she spoke.

  It was bravely done, thought James. In these sort of matters women were braver than men, or perhaps less bound by convention, less concerned with what others might think. Now that these two had opened the way quite a number followed their example, they put down their chips and stood back. James put his down with the others for he was no gambler and did not want to lose his money nor to win Mr. Heddle’s. Those that were left moved forward to the table and took their places.

  Holly intended to play. She looked at James defiantly, as she drew in her chair, and he realised that she was a born gambler. She was certain that she was going to make a pile. James hoped she would. He felt flat now. He felt miserable. He had spoilt the party and antagonised his host. I shouldn’t have come, he thought.

  ‘You understand, don’t you,’ began Mr. Heddle, who was acting as tourneur. ‘Those who don’t understand had better wait and watch how it’s done. We play more or less the same way as they play at Monte Carlo, but of course we don’t bother about chefs de partie, and the players make their stakes themselves.’

  There was a murmur of assent.

  ‘Cut the cackle, Nestor,’ said the young man with the painted hair, whole pale face had assumed an expression of eager anticipation.

  It was at this moment that James felt a touch on his arm and, looking round, saw Dr. Forrester.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ said Dr. Forrester in a low voice. ‘They’ve phoned for me from Drumburly. Nan’s coming too, she’s had enough of it and she suggested you might like a lift home.’

  ‘Nothing I’d like better!’ declared James.

  ‘We’ll slip away quietly, shall we? No good trying to say goodbye to our host.’

  ‘No good,’ agreed James. ‘I’ll just tell the Duncan’s.’

  ‘We’ll wait for you in the hall,’ nodded Dr. Forrester.

  Henry Duncan was sitting beside Holly; he had decided to try his luck, so James told Cathie he was going home with the Forrester’s.

  ‘I wish we could,’ said Cathie. ‘I suggested it to Henry but he’s going to play. Do you think he’ll lose a lot of money?’

  ‘He may win,’ James told her. ‘Somebody has got to win. Cheer up, Cathie.’

  But Cathie did not feel like cheering up.

  ‘What about you coming with us?’ suggested James. ‘Leave the car for Henry.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’ll wait for him,’ she said. ‘I may be able to stop him from losing too much.’ She paused and then added with a little catch in her voice, ‘It isn’t like Henry to be silly. I mean, he isn’t a bit like himself. He was quite rude and horrid when I tried to persuade him not to play… and he said I had disgraced the family for saying what I did.’

  ‘That’s nonsense,’ James said. ‘It isn’t a disgrace to tell the truth. I thought it was very brave of you and so did lots of other people.’

  ‘I wish we hadn’t come,’ declared Cathie miserably.

  James hesitated. He wondered if he ought to stay and look after Cathie, but what good could he do?

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ said Cathie, sensing his thought. ‘I’ll be all right. It’s much better for you to go home with the Forrester’s.’

  The Forrester’s were waiting for James in the hall.

  ‘Sorry to hurry you, but we’d better get a move on,’ said Dr. Forrester. ‘It sounded a bit like appendicitis – either that or green apples, but you can’t take a chance.’ He opened the big front door as he spoke and they stepped out of the stuffy, garish house into the sweet summer sunshine.

  It had been broad daylight when they arrived at Tassieknowe and it was broad daylight when they left. The air was clean and cool, birds were singing, the sky looked far off; it was softly blue and cloudless.

  ‘Why do we do it?’ exclaimed James.

  ‘I know,’ agreed Nan Forrester. ‘It seems absurd.’

  ‘We don’t do it often, do we?’ said Dr. Forrester, chuckling. ‘In fact, I’ve never done anything the least like it before. It’s been a completely new experience.’ He paused and then added gravely, ‘That’s my only excuse for being such a fool.’

  ‘You weren’t the only fool, Adam,’ said Nan hastily.

  ‘Others will be making the same excuse. Others will be wanting to thank Mr. Dering and not knowing how to do it.’

  ‘You should thank your sister and Cathie Duncan,’ said James.

  James had not spoken to Dr. Forrester before, or at least he had spoken only a few conventional words to him, but now he had time to look at the young doctor and size him up. He had a thin face and grey, steady eyes; his dark hair was somew
hat ruffled by the night’s excitements. There was a delicate air about him, as if he got too little sleep and too little nourishing food. Nan was like him, but younger and less delicate. They were an attractive pair.

  The car was old and shabby but well kept, and James noticed with approval that the engine sprang to life at one touch of the self-starter.

  ‘It’s not often I'm glad of a night call,’ said Dr. Forrester, smiling as he spoke.

  ‘You’re busy, I expect.’

  ‘Far too busy. I don’t know how we’ll get through the winter. Dr. Black is a rock of strength, but he’s getting old. He can’t do as much as a younger man. We need another assistant. The trouble is the practice is so scattered and there are so many older people who need a good deal of attention. The practice is not large enough numerically, but far too large geographically. I’m hanging on, hoping the Government will do something about country doctors before they die of overwork or starvation… but never mind that,’ said Dr. Forrester as he pressed the accelerator and sped down the drive. ‘Let’s talk about the party.’

  Nan, who had insisted upon sitting in the back seat, leaned forward and said, ‘Was it really queer or did it only seem queer to country bumpkins?’

  ‘I think it was very queer,’ said James thoughtfully. ‘I suppose in London, amongst a certain set of people, parties like that might be quite usual, but this isn’t London.’

  ‘What does the old house think of it all?’

  James told them what the painted lady had said.

  ‘Pushing them out!’ echoed Dr. Forrester. ‘How interesting! I don’t know a great deal about psychosis, but that particular delusion is one of the recognised’

  ‘Delusion!’ cried Nan. ‘Why should it be a delusion? You and your psychosis! Tassieknowe doesn’t like them, and neither do I.’

  The two men laughed.

  ‘I wonder what he put in the cocktail,’ said James. ‘There was something pretty queer about that. Didn’t you think so?’

  ‘You mean some sort of drug,’ said Dr. Forrester thoughtfully. ‘I must say I never thought of it at the time, but now that you mention it I wouldn’t be surprised if there was some sort of drug in it.’

  ‘Cocaine, perhaps,’ suggested James.

  ‘More likely to be hashish. A very small dose of hashish would produce exactly the effect we saw – and felt,’ said Dr. Forrester, with a rueful smile. ‘Exhilaration and merriment.’

  ‘But that’s crazy!’ exclaimed Nan. ‘What on earth would be the idea of giving people dope?’

  ‘It does sound crazy,’ admitted her brother. ‘But you know I think I can guess his idea. People here have been a bit stand-offish. Some of them are annoyed with Mr. Heddle for having been able to carry out all those repairs and alterations. People here are not ready to bow and scrape before the great Mr. Heddle and the great Mr. Heddle doesn’t like it.’

  Nan laughed. ‘So the great Mr. Heddle said, “I’ll teach them!”’

  ‘Could be that,’ said Dr. Forrester quite seriously. ‘You can’t judge a man like that by western standards. The mainspring of the Assyrian is arrogance.’

  ‘Assyrian!’ exclaimed James.

  ‘He looks like an Assyrian,’ Dr. Forrester replied. ‘When I was in Babylon during the war I saw people just like Mr. Nestor Heddle. I don’t say he’s a full-blooded Assyrian, but I’m willing to bet some of his ancestors were.’

  James said he was prepared to take Dr. Forrester’s word for it and added that he knew nothing about Assyrians except that once, long ago, they had come down like a wolf on the fold, their cohorts all shining with purple and gold.

  ‘Their cohorts were gleaming,’ declared Nan, with an appreciative chuckle. ‘I must say it seems to prove the point. I can imagine Mr. Heddle in the role without the slightest difficulty.’

  By this time they had reached Mureth Farm. James got out and thanked the Forrester’s and was invited to come and see them any day he happened to be in Drumburly. He stood and watched them drive off and reflected how curiously different people’s lives were. He, himself, would soon be in bed, thank goodness; Adam Forrester would be in a sick room, doing what he could to alleviate pain and to comfort fears and misery; Daniel Reid would be getting up and soon would be on the hill… and the party at Tassieknowe would still be in full swing, gathered round the green-baize table under the glare of electric light, watching a little ball rolling round a roulette wheel.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  James did not see his uncle and aunt till lunch-time, for they had left him ‘to have his sleep out,’ and he had slept like the seven sleepers; but at lunch-time he appeared looking none the worse of his adventures and proceeded to tell them the whole story and to apologise for his failure as an ambassador.

  ‘I shouldn’t have gone,’ said James ruefully. ‘I’ve made things much worse. The man hates me now, and I must admit I don’t feel very kindly disposed towards him.’

  ‘It’s amazing!’ declared Jock. ‘The whole affair, the whole set-up, it beats me.’

  ‘I needn’t call or anything?’ asked Mamie anxiously.

  ‘Better not,’ observed Jock with dry humour. ‘You might get offered tea with opium in it. Mightn’t she, James?’

  James did not laugh.

  ‘Don’t worry, lad,’ said Jock. ‘You did what you thought right without fear or favour. If you’ve made an enemy you’ve made some good friends as well. The Heddles will soon get tired of the place, especially if the supply of Mureth lamb runs dry, and they’ll be off back to London or Babylon or Timbuctoo.’

  ‘Anywhere except here,’ declared Mamie, giving Mr. Heddle and his sister the freedom of the world.

  ‘Anywhere except here,’ echoed James fervently.

  Having settled the matter, more or less, they dismissed it from their minds. There was always plenty to do at Mureth, and plenty to think of, and gradually as the days passed – and James dug drains with Couper or helped Daniel to tend the sheep – the memory of the party at Tassieknowe faded from his mind as a dream fades at waking.

  He had been so busy and so taken up with all the excitements that he had had little time to think of his own affairs, but now things settled down and he had time for thought. He began to think about Holly. Perhaps he ought to ring her up and ask how she had got on at the party and whether she had made a pile of money at roulette… or perhaps it would be better to go over and see her. He had not seen Holly properly since the afternoon they had spent together by the river, for the party did not count. He had seen her at the party, of course, and had admired her – she had looked perfectly lovely in that white dress with the silver flowers in her hair – but there had been no opportunity to talk to her about anything that mattered.

  The afternoon by the river seemed quite a long time ago. It had been a curious sort of afternoon, a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment. James had enjoyed teaching Holly to fish, and they had had a good deal of fun over her efforts to throw a cast, but when they sat down to share the picnic tea he had suddenly become aware that Holly expected him to ask her to marry him. She had praised the beauty of the river almost too extravagantly; she had declared her pleasure in the delights of the country in general and of Mureth in particular, but in spite of all this ecstasy – or perhaps because of it – James had not uttered the fateful words. Somehow he was not quite sure, after all, that he wanted Holly as his wife. Somehow he could not imagine her as the wife of a farmer.

  James thought about it as he went about his work. He wanted a wife. Jock and Mamie were a good advertisement for matrimony and seeing them so happy together made James feel lonely. He wanted a wife and here was Holly ready and willing to become his wife – why couldn’t he be sensible and ask her? Because, thought James, because… Oh, I don’t know! Perhaps when I get to know her a bit better I shall feel more certain about it.

  But he was not getting to know Holly better and he would never get to know her better unless he saw her more frequently. He decided to go over to
Drumburly Tower and call. Holly had often asked him, ‘Come over any time,’ she had said. I’ll go, thought James. We can talk about the party. It will be rather amusing to hear what Holly has to say about it. He borrowed Daniel’s motorbike and went over quite comfortably in fifteen minutes.

  The maid who answered the door said that Lady Shaw was out; her ladyship had gone to Dumfries and Miss Douglas with her. There was no saying when they would be back.

  This was a blow. Somehow James had never thought that Holly might be out. He was disappointed, for he had been looking forward to a chat with Holly.

  ‘Would you come in and wait?’ asked the maid. She asked somewhat reluctantly, for if the gentleman came in it would be necessary to give him tea, which would be a nuisance.

  ‘What about Miss Eleanor?’ James inquired.

  ‘Miss Eleanor’s having tea in the nursery as usual.’

  ‘I’ll go up,’ said James.

  It was rather amusing to watch the maid’s reactions to this announcement. At first she was astonished, and then astonishment gave way to satisfaction, for it would save a good deal of trouble if the gentleman shared Miss Eleanor’s tea.

  James ran up the stairs, two steps at a time. He had omitted to ask where the nursery was, but he felt sure it was at the top of the house and when he saw a wooden gate on the top landing he knew he was right. He opened two doors and looked in – the rooms were shrouded in dust sheets – but when he opened the third door he realised that he had arrived at his destination. It was a large, bright room with battered furniture and a carpet from which every vestige of colour had faded; he saw a rocking-horse and an ancient and dilapidated dolls* house. There was a large sofa by the window and in this Eleanor was curled up, reading and having her tea.

  ‘James!’ exclaimed Eleanor in amazement.

  He noticed she did not rise and rush to him as she had done before and he understood the reason, but she was very pleased to see him all the same, and even more pleased when he inquired whether he might stay and have tea with her.