With Rhoda, James would be safe. They would live at Boscath, across the river; she and Jock could keep an eye on them and see that everything went smoothly. They could meet and help one another – four people in harmony!
Later there might be more than four people! There might be a baby with golden hair and blue eyes – a little son – so that Mureth and all it stood for, would be safe for another generation.
But if James married Holly it would be very different. Lady Shaw had said Holly never stuck to anything for long and Mamie was aware that, unless you happened to enjoy a quiet life for its own sake, sticking power was an essential ingredient in the wife of a farmer. Holly would soon tire of the country, she would become discontented and miserable. And Mamie knew that Holly disliked her – and despised her – so it would be difficult to help Holly. She could never drop in at Boscath if Holly were mistress there… and last, but by no means least, Jock did not like Holly.
Oh, dear, thought Mamie, turning over restlessly. If only one could arrange people’s lives! If only I could persuade Rhoda to stay! If only she and James could meet unexpectedly and suddenly, without thinking about it beforehand!
She knew it was hopeless, of course. Rhoda was determined to go and Rhoda was a girl with a mind of her own. Nothing Mamie could do or say would alter Rhoda’s decision.
Chapter Thirty Two
On Monday morning Mamie suggested that Rhoda might like to go round the cottages and be properly introduced to the inhabitants of Mureth, but Rhoda refused politely. She explained that as she did not want James to be told of her visit to Mureth it was better that she should not be seen. She did not believe Mamie’s assertion that everybody in the place knew all about her already – she simply did not believe it. Mrs. Couper had seen her, and Lizzie of course, but neither of them was interested in her; and nobody else had looked at her nor shown the slightest sign of being aware of her existence.
Mamie left it at that. Perhaps it was just as well. She, herself, had promised faithfully not to tell James of Rhoda’s visit, but she could not prevent other people from mentioning it to him, could she? If James heard that Rhoda had been at Mureth in his absence… yes, thought Mamie. Yes, I wonder what he will do.
Monday afternoon was beautifully sunny and warm and, as this was to be Rhoda’s last day at Mureth, Mamie packed a picnic tea and went down with her to the Stanes. She was anxious not to miss a moment of Rhoda’s company and it would be interesting and instructive to see Rhoda at work upon the picture. She would not bother Rhoda. She would take a book with her and read while Rhoda painted.
Rhoda painted and Mamie sat and read with her back against a warm, mossy stone. There were cows in the meadow but they remained near the river. Some of them were standing in the water, swishing their tails to keep off the flies. It was very peaceful and pleasant.
Every now and then Mamie raised her eyes and looked at Rhoda, who had erected her portable easel and stood before it with her palette and her brush, painting easily and surely. There was no hesitancy in her movements and she looked completely happy and absorbed. If Mamie had ever doubted Rhoda’s assertion that she was a good painter, and was on the way to being very good indeed, she would have doubted it no longer. You had only to look at her, thought Mamie.
And what a pleasure it was to look at her! How perfectly beautiful she was! She had donned a butcher-blue overall for her work and the colour suited her admirably, showing off her lovely fair skin and the glory of her hair. The overall was smeared with paint of various hues, but oddly enough this seemed to add rather than to detract from the good effect.
Mamie rarely spent a thoroughly lazy afternoon, for there was always something to do, something that needed doing, so today was a very special sort of day – a holiday. I shall never forget this, thought Mamie. Even if she goes away and I never see her again.
They had tea early – Rhoda did not waste much time over tea – but before she resumed work she invited Mamie to have a look at the picture.
‘You’ve been very quiet,’ said Rhoda, in tones of praise. ‘I’d almost forgotten you were there. You may think that’s a bit rude, but it isn’t really. Come and look at it, Mamie.’
Mamie came and looked.
‘You see the idea now, don’t you?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Mamie without much enthusiasm.
‘You’re too near. Stand back a little. Isn’t that yellow lichen on the stone a perfectly gorgeous colour – and I’ve got it exactly right.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Mamie. ‘Yes, it’s very nice, Rhoda. I think it’s very clever of you.’
‘You’ll like it when it’s finished. It’s going to be good,’ said its creator joyfully. ‘You wait, Mamie. It’s going to be very good indeed.’ There was no false pride about Rhoda.
When she had admired the picture sufficiently Mamie walked home, for, although this was a holiday, there were one or two things that she wanted to see to before tomorrow, when Jock and James would be arriving. She took the picnic-basket with her, but she forgot her book and did not remember it until she was on the doorstep of Mureth House.
What a bother, thought Mamie, hesitating. She had left the book lying on the ground. Should she go back and get it or would Rhoda see it and bring it with her? It was a very special book, a really lovely book about Mozart which had been given to her by Jock for her birthday. Mamie decided that it would come to no harm. If Rhoda did not bring it she could send Duggie to fetch it… yes, that was the best plan.
She went into the house and through the hall to the pantry and began to wash up the picnic cups and saucers. As she washed and dried them and put them away all clean and shining in the cupboard she thought how lovely this afternoon had been, like peaceful music, thought Mamie. If you let the music play in your heart it made you happy. That was Mureth’s secret. It was not really magic at all. You opened your heart and the peaceful music played.
Mamie was thinking of this. she had almost finished her task, when suddenly she heard a familiar sound. It was Jock’s voice raised in his usual cheerful bellow.
Jock’s voice! But it couldn’t be Jock! They were not coming home until to-morrow!
‘Mamie! MAMIE!’ It certainly was Jock.
‘Jock!’ cried Mamie, dashing into the hall.
‘Here we are!’ shouted Jock, whisking her off her feet in a bear-like embrace. ‘Here we are, my girl! Surprised, aren’t you? Gosh, it’s good to be home! We thought we’d come today instead of tomorrow. Couldn’t stand it a day longer! How are you? Are you all right?’
‘Quite all right,’ gasped Mamie.
‘Sure?’ he inquired anxiously.
‘Perfectly all right.’
‘I was a bit worried about you.’
‘Nonsense, Jock.’
‘Yes, really,’ declared Jock. ‘It sounded as if you were feeling a bit down in the mouth.’
‘Och, away!’ exclaimed Mamie, laughing. ‘That wasn’t why you came home a day sooner than you intended.’
Jock laughed too. ‘Partly,’ he said. ‘And partly because I was just about fed up with town.’
‘We both were,’ declared James, appearing in the doorway with a suitcase in each hand.
‘We both were,’ nodded Jock. ‘Town is noisier and dirtier than ever. D’you know this? I put on a clean collar when I got up and by lunch-time it was grubby looking. Well, to cut the story short, James said, “Why not phone Mr. MacGregor and tell him to send the papers to sign?” To send them here, d’you see – and that was what we did.’
‘It’s lovely, Jock!’ cried Mamie. ‘I’ll run and tell Lizzie. You’ll be wanting tea, of course.’
‘ We haven’t had a decent cup of tea since Friday,’ declared Jock.
‘Oh, Jock, what nonsense!’
‘You ask James, he’ll tell you.’
All was bustle and confusion. The taxi which had brought them from Drumburly was paid and dispatched; tea was prepared; suitcases were carried upstairs to the bedrooms. Mamie was so
busy and so excited at the unexpected pleasure of their arrival that she forgot all about her guest who, presumably, was still painting in the meadow. It was not until they were actually sitting down to tea that Mamie suddenly remembered Rhoda. And then she remembered her only because, of course, Mamie had already had tea.
‘Oh!’ exclaimed Mamie in consternation.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Jock.
‘Oh!’ said Mamie, her brain working furiously. ‘Oh, dear, I’ll have to go down to the Stanes.’
‘You’ll have to go down to the Stanes!’
‘Yes,’ said Mamie, rising. ‘I was down there this afternoon and – and I left my book.’ It was an inspiration to have thought of such a marvellous excuse to tell Rhoda what had happened and find out what she wanted to do, and of course it was perfectly true. Mamie had left her book at the Stanes.
‘You left your book?’ asked James.
‘I was reading,’ explained Mamie. ‘It was such a lovely afternoon, so warm and sunny. I sat and read for quite a long time and then, when I came away, I forgot about the book and left it lying there. The meadow is full of cows so I think I had better go down,’
‘I’ll get it!’ said James. ‘I’ll go, Mamie.’
Mamie was about to say she would rather go herself, but suddenly she saw that this was exactly what she had prayed for. It was a direct answer to her prayer.
‘Oh, James,’ said Mamie. ‘But you’re tired, aren’t you?’
‘Not a bit tired.’
‘You want your tea.’
‘Of course he wants his tea!’ exclaimed Jock in amazement. ‘There’s no need for James to go now, surely? He can have his tea comfortably and walk down afterwards for the book. What book was it, anyhow?’
‘My Mozart book,’ said Mamie plaintively.
‘It won’t take me ten minutes,’ said James, smiling at her and rising and making for the door.
‘Take your tea first, lad!’ cried Jock, who was astonished beyond measure at Mamie’s thoughtlessness.
But already James was off. He was running down the path, pleased and happy at the opportunity of doing something for Mamie. Even this small service was something, thought James. Better than nothing, anyhow. For James had just been made heir to two large, well-stocked farms and to a small fortune besides, in fact, to everything belonging to the Johnstone’s with the exception of a few small bequests. Jock had known exactly what he and Mamie wanted and had instructed his solicitor accordingly, and James had sat there and listened, getting hotter and more embarrassed every moment. Mureth was not to be divided, said Jock Johnstone firmly. It was not to be pared down in any way. It was all to go together, every stick and stone of it, and the capital to run it as it should be run. And it was all to go to James. If James had been their only son the arrangements made for him by the Johnstone’s would have been generous. Mr. MacGregor said so and James fervently agreed.
So it was only natural that when Mamie expressed some anxiety over a valued book, left out in a meadow full of cows, James was off to get it at once, or sooner. Tea! He didn’t want tea. Goodness, no! The only thing he did regret was the fact that he had not thought of changing his shoes. Town shoes are not designed for running over stony paths and through long grass, and it might have been quicker in the end if he had taken time to change them.
James approached the Stanes not by the winding river but across the fields. He knew the way well, of course, for it was here that he and Couper had laid their drains. He noticed as he passed that already the drains were doing their stuff and the meadow was drying nicely.
Marginal land! Soon this waste piece of ground would be fit for grazing. It would grow food instead of reeds, another fertile meadow to add to Mureth property. Worthwhile, thought James. A man’s job, this farming!
He skirted a little wood and so came to the green meadow by the river where the sun-worshippers had placed their stones. There was a barbed-wire fence between him and his objective. James had forgotten about the fence; indeed he would not have thought twice about the obstacle if he had not been wearing his best suit. But he was wearing his best suit, the only decent suit he possessed.
He hesitated and looked at the rusty barbs. Better find a gate, thought James.
He looked up and down the fence and, as he did so, his eye rested upon the Stanes; he caught a glimpse of blue amongst them. A girl moved out from behind the biggest stone and stood there with her back towards him. She, was wearing a blue overall. Her hair was gold. James felt a queer movement inside him, as if his heart had missed a beat. Gold hair! Only Rhoda had hair like that. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. Now he was sure. It was Rhoda. She was here – here at Mureth!
‘Rhoda!’ he shouted, leaping over the fence and running across the meadow as fast as his legs would take him. ‘Rhoda! Rhoda!’
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Music in the Hills (Drumberley Book 2) Page 24
