Above Rubies (7 page)

“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, miss,” 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 Cai
rn
. 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 ever 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 he
a
rt 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.

“Mr. Benjamin’s here, Miss Merry,” said Mrs. Cameron, as she brought in a cup of coffee. “Will I tell him you’re busy?”

“No, no, of course not. It’s good of him to come. Ask him to come through, Mrs. Cameron.”

“I’ll hand him in a cup of coffee, too,” beamed Mrs. Cameron
,
and a moment later Benjamin walked into the study.

“Busy?” he asked. “I only popped over to see how you were. I believe Mrs. Campbell’s singing your praises all over Kilbraggan.”

Merry blushed
.

“I wish she wouldn’t,” she said ruefully. “She was so delighted to have Cailleach back.”

She laid aside the manuscript with a sigh. “I’m not doing too well at the moment,” she told him despondently. “I was sure this would sell, but I see now that it’s away off the mark. I wrote it rather emotionally, and the characters are quite unbelievable. I’ll have to scrap it.” Benjamin leafed it over.

“I know how you feel,” he told her sympathetically. “I used to have some of my work rejected, and it knocked the stuffing out of me for an hour or two. What about the book?”

“I’ve made a start,” Merry told him. “I only wanted to keep
on
w
ith a
few articles and short stories in the meantime. Nigel’s coming over to help me with an article on cleaning jewellery, this afternoon.”

Benjamin pursed his lips, and nodded.

“Best let you get on with it, then,” he told her, easing himself off her desk.

“Och, but I’ve just made you some coffee, Mr. Benjamin,” said Mrs. Cameron, appearing with a tray, and Benjamin relaxed again
as he thanked her and began to drink his coffee.

“You
...
you seem to get on well with Nigel Kilpatrick,” he said casually, as he helped himself to a buttered scone.

Merry nodded.

“He’s been very nice to me.”

“You ...
er...
like him?”

She looked at him defensively.

“Of course I do. He’s charming. As a matter of fact, I’ve promised to help again at their next jewellery display in the Royal Hotel at Hillington. Will you be going?”

Benjamin put down his cup and stood up.

“I think I opt out this time,” he told her. “That sort of glamour isn’t really my line, and you already know what I think of you becoming involved with their jewellery. I know nothing went wrong last time, but that doesn’t mean that I think the possibility no longer exists. Anyway, if you must do this sort of thing, I can’t stop you ...only don’t get into more scrapes, will you? I might not always be available to bail you out
!”

“I told you I didn’t want a watch-dog,” she said with a touch of annoyance.

He nodded and turned to go.

“Cheerio, Merry.”

“Cheerio,” she returned, and watched him go, feeling a sudden attack of unaccustomed loneliness. Benjamin had said he might not always be available, and the thought depressed her, while she wondered exactly what he had meant. Surely he wasn’t leaving the Cot House
?
Or could it be that he would be devoting more time to Stephanie in the future? Merry found the thought oddly depressing, though she didn’t know just why this could be so.

With a sigh, she picked up her manuscript and tore it across, dropping it in her wastepaper basket. It was an emotional story, and that was the place for emotions which didn’t do any good.

Nigel arrived after lunch, and Merry greeted him brightly, if a little subdued.

“Hello, Nigel, it’s so nice to see you. Oh, you’ve brought me some notes, thank goodness. I need them. I got my last short story back today.”

“Too bad,” said Nigel, and Merry’s eyes flickered as she realised it didn’t really mean anything to him. “I hope you’ll make a better job of your article, then.”

He began sorting out the papers.