“But the present-day Luddites are not mad. They are just frightened men.”
“You could say that they are short-sighted. They can’t see that if we are to continue to be prosperous, we have to advance with the times, and if we don’t there will be no work anyway.”
Mrs. Barrington came over. “Is Edward boring you with talk about those people who are threatening to break the machines?”
Amaryllis wanted to know about them and it was explained.
“Poor men,” she said. “It is so terrible to be afraid of poverty.”
Edward said: “We have to move with the times.”
“What will happen?” she asked.
“We shall have to wait and see. We must have the machines, that’s certain. If the workmen become a menace we shall have to call in the troops or something like that.”
Mrs. Barrington changed the subject. She was the sort of woman who hated the thought of trouble and seemed to believe that if one did not think of it, it ceased to exist. But I was rather disturbed thinking of the men who feared the machines would rob them of their livelihood.
“Clare said there were gypsies in the neighbourhood,” Mrs. Barrington was saying.
“Yes. I saw them coming in this morning,” said Clare. “The caravans were lumbering along the road.”
“They plan to stay only a little while,” added Amaryllis. “We saw them as we came along and spoke to one of them.”
“It was Leah,” I said. “Do you remember Leah?”
They were all puzzled for a moment.
“Six years ago,” I reminded them. “When we all met. She must have been about fourteen then, I’d say. I recognized her at once. We were in Nottingham to do what we could for the gypsy. Leah was the girl in the case.”
“I remember well,” said Edward.
“They are asking my father’s permission to camp in the woods.”
“He’ll give it,” said Amaryllis, “with the usual injunctions about fire risks, of course.”
The Barringtons did not seem to find the subject of the gypsies very interesting and Mrs. Barrington began to talk about the previous year’s party at which rain had made use of the garden impossible.
At length we left.
As we came close to Enderby, I said: “Let’s call in. There’s time.”
Amaryllis was agreeable.
As we approached the house we saw Tamarisk on her pony—a new acquisition for last Christmas. One of the grooms had her on a leading rein and she was trying to break away from him.
I could never see Tamarisk without thinking of Romany Jake. She was a very beautiful child, though not conventionally so. She had enormous expressive dark eyes with thick black hair and lashes. Her features were perfect. Her hair was straight and so thick that nothing could be done with it. Jeanne despaired of it. She would have liked soft curls. Jeanne herself cut it, as she said, in the only possible way. It was short with a fringe on the forehead, so that Tamarisk looked like a handsome boy. She was tall for her years—long limbed and graceful. She had a wild rebellious nature. My mother and Claudine said it was due to the fact that Aunt Sophie had spoiled her, for Aunt Sophie doted on her. My mother declared she had never known Sophie so contented with life. And it was all due to this naughty child.
She was bright and intelligent and had already taught herself to read, but there was nothing docile about Tamarisk. She would fly into rages if she was crossed. If anyone annoyed her she would fix those enormous eyes upon them and murmur in a deep voice: “You’ll be sorry.”
Jeanne both delighted in and despaired of her.
“I do not know what she will be like when she grows up,” she said. “She is so rebellious now.”
The governess said she was a handful though she had only been in the house a month. The previous one had stayed six weeks. Some of the servants blamed her parentage, saying: “She’s the gypsy’s child. What blood has she got in her veins? She could be a witch.”
It was unfortunate that Tamarisk overheard these comments for instead of being disturbed by being thought of as a witch, she was delighted.
“I’m a witch,” she was constantly reminding everyone. “Witches put spells on people.”
She had revolutionized Enderby. It was no longer merely the home of a recluse and her maid. It was typical of Tamarisk that she should dominate the household.
“I don’t want to be held,” she was saying. “I want to ride properly.”
I said: “Hello, Tamarisk.”
The luminous dark eyes turned to us. “You have a proper horse,” she said. “Why can’t I?”
“You will when you are a little older,” Amaryllis told her gently.
“I don’t need to be older. I want it now.”
“When you are seven perhaps.”
“I want it now …”
“That is unfortunate,” I said, feeling sorry for the poor groom.
Tamarisk glared at me.
“We are going to see Aunt Sophie,” I continued. “Is she well?”
“I don’t want a little horse like a baby. I don’t want to be a child.”
“Babies don’t ride at all,” pointed out Amaryllis.
“Some babies could. I could.”
“Come on, Amaryllis,” I said, turning away. “That child is getting impossible,” I added.
“Poor little thing. It hasn’t been easy for her.”
“Not easy! With Aunt Sophie doting and Jeanne supplying all her needs!”
“Still…”
“You’d make excuses for the devil.” I spurred on my horse and made for the stables.
Aunt Sophie was in her sitting room. In the old days before the coming of Tamarisk, she had scarcely stirred from her room. She looked almost normal or would have done but for the unusual hood she wore, which covered the scarred part of her face. This morning it was pale blue which matched her gown. Jeanne was with her.
“We have fixed the day for the party,” I said, “and we’ve been over to Grasslands to issue the invitations.”
We did not ask Aunt Sophie. We knew she would not want to be present, and if by some miracle she did decide to come, she would not need an invitation.
She asked after my mother and Claudine which was a formality really, because they had called on her only the previous day.
I said: “Edward Barrington is concerned about trouble in his factory. The people are threatening to break up the machines.”
Jeanne flashed a warning look at me. We did not talk of such things in front of Aunt Sophie. It reminded her of what she had endured from the revolutionaries in her own country.
Amaryllis said quickly: “We saw Tamarisk on the way in.”
It was a subject calculated to turn Aunt Sophie’s thoughts away from all that was unpleasant.
“She sits a horse well,” I said.
“Amazing child,” murmured Aunt Sophie lovingly.
“Too fond of her own way,” added Jeanne.
“She has spirit,” insisted Aunt Sophie. “I’m glad of that. I shouldn’t want her to be meek.”
“She was complaining bitterly about being on a leading rein,” I said.
“That one wants to run before she can walk,” commented Jeanne.
“She is full of life,” said Aunt Sophie.
We chatted a little about the weather and the party and after a while there was a commotion outside the door.
“I will go in. I want to see Amaryllis and Jessica. They are with Aunt Sophie. I will. I will. Let me go. I hate you. I’ll put a spell on you. I’m a witch.”
These words were followed by a crash on the door.
“Let her come in, Miss Allen,” called Aunt Sophie. “It’s quite all right.”
The door burst open and Tamarisk stood there—beautiful in her riding habit, her eyes ablaze, her hair like an ebony cap on her perfectly shaped head.
“Hello, mon petit chou,” said Aunt Sophie.
Tamarisk turned to us. “Petit chou means little cabbage, and
in French that means darling and you are very precious. You thought I was going to be scolded, didn’t you?”
“I thought nothing of the sort,” I said.
“Yes, you did.”
“How did you know what I thought?”
“I know because I’m a witch.”
“Tamarisk,” murmured Jeanne reprovingly, but Aunt Sophie was smiling, clearly applauding her darling’s precocity.
“And what have you been doing?” she asked, giving her entire attention to Tamarisk.
“I’ve been riding. I can ride now. I won’t have Jennings holding my horse. I want to ride on my own.”
“When you’re a big girl…”
“I want it now.”
“Little one, it is only because we are afraid you will fall.”
“I won’t fall.”
“No, chou, but you wouldn’t want poor Aunt Sophie to sit here worrying that you might, would you?”
“I wouldn’t mind,” said Tamarisk frankly.
Aunt Sophie laughed. I looked at Jeanne who raised her shoulders.
Aunt Sophie seemed to have forgotten our presence, so I said we should be going and Jeanne escorted us to the door. Tamarisk was still telling Aunt Sophie how well she rode and that she wanted to ride by herself.
I said to Jeanne: “That child is becoming unmanageable.”
“She is not becoming, she always was,” commented Jeanne.
“Aunt Sophie spoils her.”
“She loves her so. She has made all the difference to her.”
“It is not good for the child.”
“I daresay Aunt Sophie is very sorry for her,” said Amaryllis. “Poor Tamarisk… it is awful not to have a father or a mother.”
“No child could be better looked after,” I reminded her.
“Yes … but to have no real father or mother… I understand how Aunt Sophie feels.”
“It is good that we came here,” mused Jeanne. “We had to leave our home … everything. But here there was first this house and that did a lot for her … and now the child. I think she will become better than I ever hoped … and it is due to the child.”
“The child is storing up a lot of trouble for herself, and for Aunt Sophie, I should imagine,” I said.
“Dear Jessica,” put in Amaryllis, “you were a bit of a rebel yourself when you were young. I can remember you … lying on the floor and kicking out at everything because you couldn’t have what you wanted. And look at you now!”
“So I have improved, have I?”
“A little.”
“We do our best,” said Jeanne, “Miss Allen and I. It is not easy. She is a difficult child. Sometimes I wish she were not so bright. She listens; she misses nothing. Miss Allen says she is quite clever. I wish she could be a little more serene.”
“I’m afraid she won’t be while Aunt Sophie spoils her.”
We rode back to the house.
“Well, are the Barringtons coming?” asked my mother.
“The entire family … with the exception of Irene who could not possibly have accepted,” I told her.
“I thought they would,” she answered, smiling at me.
Riding near the woods I came face to face with Penfold Smith. I recognized him immediately as I had his daughter. I called: “Good day.” He hesitated for a moment and then he swept off his hat and bowed.
“You’re Miss Frenshaw,” he said.
“Yes, that’s right. We last met in Nottingham.”
“Six years ago.”
He looked older, I thought. There were streaks of white in the black hair, and his face was lined, more weather-beaten.
“We shall never forget what you did,” he said.
“It was my father.”
“Yes, but you, too. I think you moved him to do what he did.”
“You know a great deal about us.”
“Gypsies learn about life. It’s wandering … seeing so many people.”
“I should have thought you weren’t long enough in any place to find out much about people. I saw your daughter a few days ago.”
“Yes—a good girl.”
“She has married, I suppose?”
He shook his head. “No, she has not married. She will take no man.”
“She is very beautiful… strikingly so.”
“I think so. I fear for her sometimes because she is so beautiful. But she knows how to take care of herself… now.” His eyes glinted.
“You have never heard anything of… ?”
“You mean Jake?” He shook his head. “It would not be possible. He is well though.”
“How do you know?”
“Leah knows. She has powers … the second sight. She knew that disaster was threatening us. Poor child, she did not know from what direction it was to come. She has grown in her powers. She was born with them. She is my seventh child. Her mother was a seventh child. In gypsy lore the seventh child of a seventh child is born with the power to see into the future.”
“I thought a number of gypsies had that. Fortune telling is one of their gifts, I believe.”
“Leah has special gifts. She has said she would like to look at your palm one day.”
“She told you that?”
“Yes, after she had seen you. She said there were powerful forces round you.”
I looked over my shoulder and he smiled.
“They are not for ordinary eyes to see. She said you interested her very much. The other young lady, too, but especially you.”
“I am sure Amaryllis would love to have her fortune told. So should I. Tell her to come to the house tomorrow afternoon. If it is fine we will be in the garden. If the servants hear she is telling fortunes they would not give her a moment’s peace.”
“I will tell her.”
“And you say she foretold … that terrible tragedy?”
“In a manner … yes. She knew that Jake was in danger, but she did not know that it would come through herself. Now she knows that Jake is well. He will come back, she says.”
“She is waiting for him,” I said. “Is that why she will not marry?”
“Perhaps. She keeps her secrets. But… she is waiting and she knows that one day he will come.”
“I hope he understood that I had no part in betraying him.”
“I am sure he understood. He knew that you were there, that you cared enough to try to save him. He knew what your father did and that he owed his life to that.”
“But to be sent away … to that place … not knowing what would happen to him when he arrived …”
“Remember, he had been expecting the hangman’s noose. Anything would seem good after that. Life is sweet and he had not lost his. He would always survive, and he will always be grateful.”
“How cruel life was to him … just because he happened to be there …”
“He saved Leah. I think I should have been the one to kill that rogue if Jake hadn’t.”
“If he ever comes back he will find you,” I said. “When he does will you please tell him that I had no hand whatsoever in his capture. I rode over to tell him that they were looking for him. My plan was to help him. I had no idea that they were there … right behind me.”
“I’ll tell him but he knows already.”
“I think of it often and I hope and pray that life is not unbearable wherever he is.”
“He will come through whatever happens to him.”
“You are sure of that?”
“My daughter is and she is the one who sees beyond what ordinary people see.”
“And you are all right in your camp?”
“Very comfortable, thank you. Your father has been good to us.”
“He remembers too and wishes he could have done more at the trial.”
“He has given us permission to stay for a few weeks, but we shall be moving on shortly.”
“To the West Country, I believe. Your daughter told me. Will you remind her that we shall expect her tomorrow afternoon?”
I rode on.
When I told Amaryllis that Leah was coming over to read our palms, she was intrigued. Who does not like having one’s fortune told? Even the men do, I think, though they would probably deny it.
However, there was no doubt of Amaryllis’ interest.
The next day Jeanne came to the house with some embroidery she had done for my mother. To my surprise Tamarisk came with her. She wanted to see the puppies which had been born to one of the Labradors; and as Amaryllis and I were meeting Leah one of the maids was asked to take her to the kennels.
Amaryllis and I were in the garden when Leah arrived. She wore a red skirt with a simple white blouse; her hair was piled high to make a crown about her head and there were gold coloured rings in her ears. About her waist was a thick leather belt. She looked quite regal. “The queen of the gypsies,” I said to Amaryllis as we saw her approaching.
I said: “We are going to find a sheltered spot in the garden because if the servants discover that you are telling fortunes they won’t give you any peace.”
“I like only to tell when I have something to tell,” she replied.
We walked across the grass to the summer house.
“Let’s go in here,” said Amaryllis.
“You may well have nothing to tell us,” I said.
“I am sure there will be something.”
“And for me?” asked Amaryllis.
“We shall see. There is serenity all about you. It is the best. It makes for happiness … but happiness often means that there is not much to tell.”
We seated ourselves on the chairs in the summer house. There was a small white topped table there. As Leah sat down I noticed that her belt had a sheath attached to it. She was carrying a knife. I remembered what her father had said about her taking care to protect herself. The knife was such a startling contrast to her gentle demeanour. It was very understandable, I thought. If what had happened to her had happened to me, I should want to carry a knife in my belt.
First she turned to Amaryllis and took her palm. They made a charming picture—their heads close—one so fair, one so dark. Two of the most beautiful women I had ever seen—and so different. Amaryllis so open, so innocent in a way; Leah dark, brooding, her eyes full of secret knowledge—and wearing a belt with a knife in it!
Return of the Gypsy Page 11
