Return of the Gypsy

by Philippa Carr

  I ran to him and knelt beside him. He was unconscious. I thought he was dead, and sorrow and remorse swept over me. He had been reluctant to bring me; it was I who had wanted to come. It was my fault. I had brought him here.

  I just knelt beside him looking at him in anguish.

  I was suddenly aware of Fellows standing there.

  I cried: “You’ve killed him.”

  “Oh no … no.”

  “Get help,” I cried. “Get help at once. Get a doctor. Bring him here without delay.”

  Fellows ran away. I did not know whether he would do my bidding or not.

  There was silence now… terrible silence. These men had done their work …

  They had come to break the machines and they had killed Edward.

  I do not know how long I stayed in that room among the crippled machines with Edward lying there among them … white and still. Some parts of a machine had fallen across his legs. I tried to move them but I could not do so. It was eerie. I dared not leave him and yet I knew I must get help. I kept thinking of Fellows. When I had first met him he had seemed gentle, respectful. But how different he had been in that room when he had lifted the iron bar and struck. The light of fanaticism was in his eyes. The mob, I thought. The mob does not reason. It is caught up in the desire to destroy everything and everybody in its way. Their fury had far outgrown fear of poverty and starvation, it had changed them from law-abiding citizens to destroyers. “Progress,” Edward had said.

  “Oh Edward,” I whispered, “you must not die. I will love you. I will love you. I will make myself into a good wife. I will never let you know that it was because Peter Lansdon preferred Amaryllis to me that I wanted to show them I did not care. I will be loving and tender always. You must live so that I can show you that I am not entirely selfish, Edward …”

  He opened his eyes. “Jessica,” he said.

  “I’m here. I’m staying with you … always …”

  He smiled and closed his eyes again.

  How silent it was! How long had I been there? Somebody must come soon.

  It was like an evil dream. It seemed so unreal. And yet it was true, startlingly true. I thought of the first time I had heard Edward speak of the trouble over the installation of the machinery. I had listened with mild interest and it had led to this, and I was involved … deeply involved.

  After what seemed like hours and when I was asking myself if I should leave Edward and go in search of help, to my great joy I heard the sound of voices.

  Someone was coming. I called out: “Here. In here.”

  It was Fellows. He had a man with him.

  “I’m Dr. Lee,” said the man; and I almost cried in relief.

  The debris which was imprisoning Edward’s legs was removed.

  I said: “He’s not… dead, is he?”

  The doctor shook his head.

  “We’ll have to move him,” he said. “We’ll have to get him back to the house.”

  I said: “The carriage is downstairs. Unless they have broken that up, too.”

  “I think not,” said the doctor. “Fellows, can you help me. We’ll make a stretcher of something. That’s the only way to carry him. I’ll give him something to ease the pain first.”

  I watched them in a daze.

  “We’ll get him home,” said the doctor to me. “You’re Mr. Barrington’s fiancée, I believe.”

  I told him I was.

  “He’ll need looking after for some time, I think,” he said.

  And so we brought Edward home.

  There were visits of several doctors. Edward lived but he was very seriously hurt. His spine had been injured and he had lost the use of his legs.

  “Will this be cured?” I asked.

  The doctor lifted his shoulders. He implied that it was not very likely.

  My parents and Edward’s come to Nottingham. My father was incensed by the damage which had been caused, not only to Edward but to the machinery as well. Thousands of pounds’ worth of equipment had been destroyed.

  Mr. Barrington took over the management of the factory and said it was the only way to show these people that they would not be intimidated by mob rule. They would in due course install new machines.

  Our main concern was Edward.

  He bore his affliction with extreme fortitude; and that was another admirable side to his nature which I discovered. How would an able-bodied person react, suddenly during the course of one day, finding himself reduced to being an invalid in a bath chair, dependent on others?

  He was very quiet. He did not rail against fate—at least not openly. He was so grateful to me because I insisted on staying with him. Mr. Barrington engaged James Moore, a male nurse, to attend to all his needs and he appeared to be a very efficient and interesting man. I was with Edward for the greater part of the day and his gratitude moved me deeply.

  “You must get out,” he was constantly telling me. “You must not spend so much of your time in my room.”

  “But this is where I want to be. Don’t you understand that?”

  He was too moved to speak and I sat there with the tears flowing down my cheeks.

  There was a great deal of talk about the arrests which had been made. The leader of the mob was caught and was standing on trial with Fellows.

  Fellows was the man who had struck the blow and Fellows was an employee of the Barringtons.

  It was time an example was made of these wreckers, said the judge. And when people were injured during a fracas that was a very serious matter. Hitherto the Luddites had been treated too leniently. They thought they were given licence to destroy and attempt to kill those who stood in their way.

  Both the leader of the mob and Fellows were sentenced to hanging.

  We did not tell Edward this at the time. His father said it would upset him because he had thought highly of Fellows. Fellows had always been a good man and his wife and son were in the business. What had come over Fellows he could not imagine. But it was only justice which was meted out and the Luddites had to be pulled up sharply. We could not have the mob ruling the country and deciding what was and what was not to be done.

  It was a black day when Fellows was hanged. Many people crowded to the place of execution to witness the grisly spectacle. I sat alone in my room brooding on what must be happening in the Fellows’ home. I thought of the woman to whom I had spoken. She had lost her husband. I thought of the boy named Tom Fellows. He would be fatherless. Yes, a black day for the Fellows and a black day for Nottingham. And for us, too, with Edward lying there in his bed, his active life over…. perhaps for ever.

  Edward said to me as I sat beside his bed: “Jessica, I don’t know what is going to happen to me. I’ll probably stay here. You must go back to Eversleigh.”

  “You will go to Grasslands. It will be better for you there … away from all this.”

  “I was thinking about you. You are so good. You have been wonderful to me. You mustn’t feel bound in any way.”

  “What do you mean? Bound?”

  “Engaged to me. That is over. I accept that.”

  “Do you want it to be over?”

  “I rather think that is a matter for you to decide. Jessica, you are wonderful. You are bold and brave, I know. Don’t make too hasty a decision. Don’t think you have to do the noble thing.”

  “I have thought this matter out very fully. What I propose to do is to go back to Grasslands and manage you… the house … everything.”

  “It wouldn’t work.”

  “Why not? Have you turned against me?”

  “Please don’t joke. I love you. I’ve always loved you and always will. But that is no reason why you should sacrifice yourself for me.”

  “Who’s talking of sacrifice?”

  “I am.”

  “Well, I am not. I’ve made it a habit of my life to do what I want, and what I want is to marry you. I intend to be mistress of Grasslands. Mrs. Jessica Barrington. No, Mrs. Edward Barrington. Doesn’t that sound
fine? I shall bully you, rather as Lady Pettigrew does his lordship. Have you noticed? It’s better you don’t. You might jilt me, if you did.”

  “You’re joking about a very serious matter.”

  “It’s very serious to me, and I am going to marry you, Edward … just as we arranged before this happened.”

  “Jessica … no. Think.”

  “I have thought and I know what I want. You will be jilting me if you refuse to marry me and I shall be wretched.”

  “How can it be a real marriage? You are so young… you don’t understand.”

  “Edward Barrington, since I was ten years old, I hated to be told how young I was. When I am forty I might like it, but I have not yet reached that stage. And until I do, no more talk about youth, please. I know what I want and I am going to have it.”

  “I beg of you not to rush into this.”

  “I’m not rushing. I have given the matter serious thought, and this is the unshakable decision I have come to.”

  He took my hand and kissed it. “I trust you will never regret it. I shall do my best to make sure you never do. And if at any time you find the situation intolerable …”

  I put my hand over his mouth. I was deeply moved. I loved him far more as a broken man than I ever had when he was strong and well.

  When the Barringtons knew that I was determined on marriage with Edward, Mrs. Barrington embraced me and wept. She told me how she admired me, how happy I had made her, and how much she thanked God that Edward had won the love of a good woman. I was embarrassed to hear myself described thus, but Mr. Barrington also embraced me and called me his brave and beloved little daughter.

  My own parents were less enthusiastic. They both came to my room to talk seriously to me.

  “You’re being rash,” said my father.

  “Darling Jessica,” said my mother, “do you realize what this entails? You’ll be married to an invalid. Edward’s injuries are such…”

  “I know. I know,” I replied. “You mean no normal… what you call family life. No children.”

  “Yes, my dear, that’s what I mean.”

  “I shall be happy looking after Edward.”

  “At first perhaps …”

  “You’ve got some idea about nobility and that sort of thing,” said my father. “Believe me, life is not like that.”

  “It may not be for some,” I insisted, “but I intend it shall be for me.”

  “You are young and inexperienced of the world …” began my mother.

  “If anyone else calls me young again I shall…”

  My father grinned at me. “What will you do, eh?”

  “I really do know what I want to do.”

  He took me by the shoulders. “Yes. You know what you are doing today … tomorrow and perhaps for a little while. But there will come a day. Someone will come along …”

  I said angrily: “We are not all like you.”

  “Human nature does not vary so very much, dear child,” he said. “Some of us go more in one direction than others … but we are all frail at heart.”

  “I can see she has made up her mind,” said my mother.

  “And she is like you, my dear wife. Once she has, she is inclined to be obstinate.”

  “I think we shall have to accept this,” went on my mother. “Dearest Jessica, if at any time you are in doubt… or trouble of any sort, you know your father and I will understand and help.”

  I looked at them both—the two people I loved most in the world. I embraced them both.

  “I know,” I said. “But I have to do this. I would never be happy again if I did not marry Edward now.”

  They accepted that, but they were very uneasy, I knew. There was a great deal of discussion as to what arrangements should be made. Mr. Barrington said he would go back to Nottingham and take over the management of the factory. Edward should return to Grasslands.

  Clare Carson, who had been deeply shocked by what had happened to Edward, was to stay with the family in Nottingham.

  Edward and I should be married almost immediately. There would be no grand double wedding now. Amaryllis would have the great day all to herself.

  And so we went back to Eversleigh and at the beginning of May, in spite of further attempts by my parents to dissuade me, I became Mrs. Edward Barrington.

  In those first weeks following our wedding I was very happy. I lived in a rarefied atmosphere of self sacrifice. I felt ennobled. I had honoured my obligations and I reminded myself that if I had not married Edward I should have despised myself. I had used him in the first place out of pique; well now I was ready to keep my part of the bargain.

  And how easy it was! James Moore, the male nurse who looked after Edward, had turned out to be exceptionally efficient and was fast becoming a good friend of myself as well as Edward. He was there when he was needed and could be remarkably self effacing when the moment required he should be. We had been fortunate in finding him.

  Moreover, Edward was not the sort of man to nurse his grievances. I was beginning to understand what a fine character he had. He had great courage and belittled that courage. He even said on one occasion that he could not help feeling relieved to have escaped the burdens which had been created by the Luddites and was only sorry his father had to shoulder them.

  “Here I live … in luxury, with an angelic wife to take great care of me, with James who is the soul of patience … and all I have to do is let them fuss over me.”

  I kissed him. But sometimes I saw the pain in his eyes, the frustration, the contemplation of the years ahead during which he could not hope to live normally.

  I used to read to him a great deal. He enjoyed that. We played piquet and he taught me chess. The days slipped by and I lived in a state of euphoria, feeling that I had done something very noble. I often thought that that was how nuns must feel when they take their vows. In a way I had made similar vows.

  I rejoiced in the moment. I lived in a world of adoration. It was quite clear that Edward looked on me as something of a saint.

  The Barrington parents came from Nottingham to visit Grasslands, and Mrs. Barrington told me how she would never forget what I was doing for her beloved son, and she thanked God nightly for having brought me to them. It was very gratifying to find myself suddenly playing such a noble part.

  Then came Amaryllis’ wedding day—that day which was to have been mine too.

  She was married in the chapel at Eversleigh and she and Peter were going to London for the honeymoon. The continent was out of bounds because of the Napoleonic wars. Since the retreat from Moscow, Napoleon’s good fortune had dimmed a little but he was still formidable. Wellington had invaded France and now and then we heard of his successes.

  Amaryllis was a beautiful bride; white suited her and in her silk and lace gown she looked like an angel. She was radiant and David and Claudine were so proud of her.

  My mother said that we did not really know a great deal about Peter Lansdon, but I think she was a little jealous on my behalf and when she saw Amaryllis with her handsome bridegroom she could not help thinking of her own beloved daughter who had rashly committed herself to a marriage which was not fully one.

  There were festivities at Eversleigh and Edward was brought in a wheelchair to join them. There were the usual speeches and toasts and after the bride and groom had left, Edward and I stayed on with the other guests.

  The wedding had its effect on me.

  After James had got Edward to bed I went in to say goodnight and sit with him for a chat before retiring to my own room.

  I hoped I did not show the slight depression which had come to me. Edward had become very sensitive. It was almost as though he had developed an extra sense.

  He said rather wistfully: “It was a beautiful wedding.”

  “Yes. Amaryllis is a very beautiful girl.”

  “She looked so happy.”

  “She is,” I said.

  He was silent for a while, then he said: “This was to have
been our wedding day. How different it might have been.”

  “It is very good now,” I said.

  “Are you happy?”

  “Completely,” I lied.

  “Jessica, you can’t be.”

  “What do you mean by doubting my word?” I cried with a touch of annoyance.

  “It should have been so different.”

  “It is as it is … and I am happy.”

  “Jessica?”

  “Yes.”

  “It can’t always be so. You will miss so much. Seeing Amaryllis so happy … so contented …”

  “I, too, am contented.”

  “You are wonderful, Jessica.”

  I smiled complacently. I had to admit I did enjoy playing the role of saintly woman who had given up so much for the man she had promised to marry when he was in the prime of life. I had always seen myself in dramatic situations in which I had shone. Now I was living in one of these youthful fantasies. But today, at Amaryllis’ wedding, I had realized how easy it had been to escape from my wild dreams when they no longer appealed. This was real life; it could not be shooed away when it began to pall.

  But I could feel a certain happiness when Edward looked at me with that adoring devotion.

  I kissed him.

  “No more of this talk,” I said. “Shall we play a game of piquet before I say goodnight? Or are you too tired?”

  “I should so much enjoy it, my dearest.”

  So we played, but when I went to my room the vague depression was still with me.

  I had passed out of a phase. Seeing those two going off together on their honeymoon had awakened me to my situation.

  Suppose I had been going off on my honeymoon with my bridegroom, how should I be feeling? Wildly excited, expectant, gloriously in love?

  I pictured it—and the bridegroom was not Edward. It was not Peter either. It was some vague shadowy figure … someone I had known years ago when I had been a young girl… a child no more … Dark, glowing, full of life, dancing round a bonfire.

  How foolish to indulge in fantasies. I was the noble wife who had made the ultimate sacrifice for the sake of honour. That was the role I was playing. I wanted to play it. It made me feel good so that I could forget all the little peccadilloes of the past… all the selfishness, the waywardness which had dogged me before I had married Edward.