Return of the Gypsy

by Philippa Carr

  “Of course.”

  “I see.”

  We had both received large sums of money on our marriages. It was all part of some settlement. I think the sums had been equal. Mine was invested and Edward never suggested touching it. The interest came to me and remained mine.

  “All I have to do is sign the documents when they come along,” said Amaryllis.

  “What documents?”

  “I don’t know. Papers about money and all that. You see, I’m a shareholder. Peter manages all that.”

  “So your fortune is in his business?”

  “It’s a joint affair … only Peter does all the work.”

  “And you supply the money?”

  “My dear Jessica, Peter did not become rich only when he married me. He was far more wealthy than I before that. He is just allowing me to share in what he has. I do nothing. I don’t understand it. Really, Jessica, what should I know about importing rum and sugar and distributing it to people who want to buy it?”

  “Nothing at all, I should imagine.”

  She changed the subject, but it set me thinking. He was using her money for this big business in London. Was that why he had married her—so that he could use her money?

  I suppose I was really trying to find an excuse for his turning to her. But it did not make sense. I was equally well endowed. There was absolutely no reason why he should have switched his attentions to her except that he found her more attractive.

  It was natural. She was sweet and gentle and very pretty. I was abrasive, questioning everything, asserting myself, rather conceited. There was every reason why he should have preferred her.

  She was more amenable, of course. Had I been involved in this business with rum and sugar, I should have wanted to know more about it. I should have wanted to see the warehouses; I should have wanted to see the accounts. Not that I was particularly interested in money; I just liked to be aware of all that was happening.

  Why should I seek reasons? It did not matter. He had chosen her. I had not been in love with him … just flattered by his attentions and perhaps finding in him a certain sensuality which kindled something in myself. No, I had not been in love with Peter Lansdon, but sometimes I think I might have begun to be … a little.

  I would stop thinking about him, The real source of my envy was the baby. She had brought home to me that while I remained Edward’s wife I could not have a child.

  There was a sense of euphoria across the whole country now that the ogre who had haunted our lives for so long was in exile. We could go about our peaceful existences without fears of invasion.

  “The French should never allow such a man to arise again,” commented my father.

  “I think,” replied my mother, “that the French nation adored that man. They looked upon him as a sort of god.”

  “What I meant was that we must never allow the French to produce such a man again.”

  “Or any nation for that matter,” added my mother. “Why can’t people see how much happier we should all be living peacefully with our families … not hankering after great conquests.”

  “Unfortunately,” said David, “it is not the people who decide. It is the so-called great men.”

  “They may gain glory for themselves but they certainly bring misery to millions. I wonder what he is thinking of grinding his teeth on Elba.”

  “Thinking of escape no doubt,” said my father.

  “That must never happen,” added my mother.

  Napoleon was finished, everyone said. He was not the first man who had dreamed of conquering the world and doubtless would not be the last. But eventually he had been brought to defeat and we could sleep in peace.

  It was a lovely May afternoon when we had visitors. I was at Eversleigh sitting in the garden with my mother, Claudine and Amaryllis, when one of the maids came out to say that two gentlemen had called to see my mother. “Foreigners,” she added.

  “Did they give their names?” asked my mother.

  “No, Madam. They just said to see you.”

  “Bring them out,” said my mother.

  And they came.

  My mother stared; then she grew pale and I thought she was going to faint. Claudine had risen; she gave a little cry.

  Then my mother said faintly: “Is it really … ?” And with a little cry she flung herself into the arms of the elder of the men. The younger stood by, looking on in a bewilderment which was shared by Amaryllis and myself.

  “Charlot… Charlot…” cried my mother.

  Claudine stammered: “Oh Charlot, is it really you?”

  And she embraced him too.

  Charlot! My mother’s son—my half brother, who had left England before I was born.

  “My dear dear son,” my mother kept murmuring. “To think … after all these years …”

  “I came as soon as it was possible,” he said. “It seems so long … You recognized me.”

  “My dear boy, as if I should fail to do so.”

  “This is Pierre, my son.”

  My mother took the hands of the younger one and stared at him. Then she kissed him on both cheeks. “Just think, you are my grandson. And this is your Aunt Claudine … Charlot, Jessica is my daughter … your half sister … and Amaryllis, she is David and Claudine’s daughter.”

  “Much has happened since I left.”

  “All those years …” said my mother. “It has been a long time to wait. Now tell me … You will stay with us for a while. This is not to be a brief visit. There is so much to talk of. All those years to account for …”

  “I should have been here before only travelling was out of the question.”

  “Thank God it is over and the tyrant is in exile.”

  “We have a king on the throne of France now, Maman.”

  There were tears in her eyes as she said: “You were always such a royalist, dear Charlot.” She went on briskly: “Amaryllis, will you go and tell them to prepare rooms. See what’s going on in the kitchens. Tell them my son and grandson have come home!”

  My mother had eyes only for him. I realized how saddened she had been by his departure. It must have been more than twenty years since she had seen him. Wars! Revolutions! They did not only ruin states, they brought havoc into the lives of countless families. How we had suffered through them!

  Now there was rejoicing. The prodigal had come home.

  When my mother had recovered from her emotion a little, we sat in the garden and Charlot told us about his vineyard in Burgundy. Louis Charles would have liked to come with him but they had thought it would be unwise for the two of them to be away together.

  Pierre was his eldest son. He was sixteen years of age and was learning about the production of wine. There were two other sons, Jacques and Jean-Christophe; and two daughters, Monique and Andree.

  “What a family man you have become!”

  My father came to join us. He expressed amazement to see Charlot. He liked the look of young Pierre and was quite interested in the talk about the vineyards; and in any case, he was pleased to see my mother so happy.

  I had never seen her so completely content. All through the years she must have felt this nagging sense of loss, as I suppose one must if one lost a son. The thought that he was there just across the water must have been with her for a long time. Death is irrevocable and one can do no good by remembering, but when a loved one is alive, and separated by a devastating war there must always be the fear, the longing for reunion, the continual doubts, the question as to whether one will see that loved one again.

  I said goodbye and left them on the lawn. I went back and told Edward all about it.

  There would be great rejoicing at Eversleigh that night. I wished I could have been there to share in it.

  Charlot stayed at Eversleigh for two weeks and when he left it was with assurances that he would come back, bringing other members of his family with him; and Louis Charles would come with his two sons.

  “As for you, Maman,” he said
, “you must visit us in Burgundy. We have a fine old house which somehow managed to survive the vandals. Louis Charles and I have had a great deal of pleasure repairing it. Pierre helped, didn’t you, my son? And Louis Charles’ eldest is quite a carpenter. We have plenty of room. You ought to come for the vendange.”

  “I will. I will,” cried my mother. “And you too, Dickon. You’d be interested.”

  “You’d be welcome, sir,” said Charlot.

  And my father said he would be very interested to see everything. It added to my mother’s joy in the reunion that my father welcomed Charlot so warmly.

  Amaryllis told me that her mother had said that when Charlot lived at Eversleigh there had been a certain antagonism between the two.

  “In those days,” said Amaryllis, “your father had not long been married to your mother and he resented her having been married before and having two children. My mother said he tolerated her but could not bear Charlot. They were always sparring. Now he seems to have changed.”

  “It is living with people that is so difficult,” I observed. “Visitors are quite another matter.”

  So Charlot returned to France with promises of meetings in the near future.

  My mother said excitedly: “It will be wonderful to visit France again. It is wonderful that all the troubles are over.”

  My father commented that it was early days yet and while Napoleon lived, we must not hope for too much. But my mother refused to believe anything but good. She had recovered her son whom she had thought to be lost to her for ever. She was happy.

  I noticed my father was a little preoccupied and one day, soon after Charlot’s departure, when I was alone with him, I asked him if anything was wrong.

  “You’re a very observant girl, Jessica,” he said.

  “I think we are all aware when those who mean a great deal to us are anxious.”

  He put out a hand and gripped mine. He was not one to give way to demonstrations of affection so I guessed he had something really on his mind which was causing him concern.

  “You’d better tell me,” I said. “I know something is bothering you.”

  “Old age, daughter.”

  “Old age? You? You’ll never be old.”

  “What is the span? Three score years and ten? I’m approaching it, Jessica. With the best will in the world I can’t expect to be here much longer. Do you know how old I am?”

  “Years have little to do with it.”

  “It would be comforting if that were true. Alas, we wear out.”

  “Not you. You never did what other people did. You’ll go when you want to and that will be never.”

  “What a charming daughter I have.”

  “I am glad you realize it.”

  “My greatest regret in life is that I was prevented from marrying your mother when we were young. If we had not been stopped, we should have had ten children … sons and daughters like my own Jessica.”

  “No use regretting that now. You have a wonderful son in David.”

  “He’s a good son, yes. But what has he produced? One daughter. And now she has produced a daughter.”

  “Oh, I see, it is this masculine yearning for men in the house.”

  “I have the best daughter in the world and I wouldn’t change her, but it would have been a help if you had been born a boy!”

  “I’m sorry, dear father, I would do anything I could for you but I cannot change my sex.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t have my Jessica changed … not even for a son.”

  “I am flattered. But is this all that is wrong? No boys in the family?”

  “David and Claudine won’t have any more. David won’t live forever.”

  “I hate talk about death. It’s morbid.”

  “I’m just planning for the future. Seeing that boy, Charlot, with his Pierre growing up in the business, teaching him everything … and the other boys as well. It made me think. What about us? David … and then what? Jessica, I am sixty-nine years of age.”

  “And you are as well and vigorous as someone twenty years younger.”

  “Even I cannot defy nature forever, my dear. There is going to be a day when I go, and then David will follow me. And what of Eversleigh? Do you realize that for centuries this family have lived in this house?”

  “Yes, I did know. They were Eversleighs at one time and then the name changed.”

  “I want Frenshaws to be here for another four hundred years. You see, you have made this marriage. It was your choice. But I had hopes of you. If you had brought me even a girl I would have said Jessica’s girl would be as good as anyone else’s boy. Now what? Amaryllis has had this girl. If she had had a boy it would have been different. What I am getting at is that there is only one thing for me to do—Jonathan.”

  “I see. You are going to bring him to Eversleigh.”

  “That is what I am going to do, and without delay. But he’s wild. That worries me. He’s like his father. His father would never have been any good for the estate.”

  “You were lucky to have twin boys. Just like you. Not content with one you had to have two.”

  “That was indeed good luck. Jonathan was a fine fellow. Adventurous, brave … none braver … full of vitality and charm. But he would never have been any good on the estate. David stepped into the breach and I have to say he is a natural squire. I have been lucky. I had hoped David would have had sons, but all he gets is Amaryllis. That leaves Jonathan who I am afraid is going to turn out just like his father.”

  “He is young yet.”

  “But he already shows tendencies. I would never have attempted to put his father on the estate. Fortunately there were other interests, and he excelled in those. The estate would have gone to rack and ruin under him and that is what I want to avoid.”

  “So you are going to train Jonathan?”

  “That’s about it. But I must say I am uneasy. I know his sort. That affair with the farmer’s daughter. Fortunately there were no results, but there might have been and then he would have been saddled with keeping a child begotten in a few moments in a hayloft.”

  “Quite a number of people recover from a misspent youth.”

  “That’s what I want him to do. But one has to have a talent for managing an estate. I had it… in spite of being somewhat like Jonathan in my youth. I was in and out of trouble but it was always the estate which was of the utmost importance. Not only the estate … other business too. I have to make Jonathan realize this. That is why I am bringing him into the household.”

  “And that is what is putting furrows on your brow?”

  “Your mother is in such a state of excitement about Charlot’s return that I can’t get a sensible word out of her.”

  “So you turn to your offspring who was so inconsiderate as to be born of the wrong sex.”

  “She’s clever enough to know she couldn’t have meant so much to me if she had been a boy.”

  “But how much more convenient.”

  “And not half so charming.”

  “You are a flatterer, dear sixty-nine-year-old Papa.”

  “Jessica, my dear child, I don’t often mention this to you, but you and your mother are the most important things in my life.”

  “Dear Father, do you know, you rank rather high in ours.”

  There was a brief silence when I think both of us were too moved to speak.

  Then he said briskly: “So you think it is a good idea to send for Jonathan?”

  “I do. But what of the Pettigrews?”

  “What of them?”

  “They might not want to let their darling boy go.”

  “He’s a Frenshaw. His duty is to his father’s family. Of course, it will mean having Millicent here too. Anyway, we’ll see.”

  I kissed him on the forehead and left. I was touched that he had confided in me. But I was at the same time worried about him. It was disturbing to have brought home to me the fact that this man who had dominated my childhood, who was held in such awe thr
oughout the estate—and the country it seemed—who had always harboured such a deep love for me, should be an old man.

  There were several meetings between Eversleigh and Pettigrew Hall and at length it was agreed that Jonathan should come to Eversleigh. He was to work with David, establish a relationship with the tenants, learn about estate management—all with a view to eventual inheritance.

  David had thought it was an excellent idea. Amaryllis and I were the natural heirs after him, of course, but as we were both of the female gender, it was not easy to decide who should have come first between us two. Eversleigh would naturally pass to David on my father’s death; true I was my father’s daughter but

  Amaryllis was the direct descendant of the man who, on my father’s death, would own the place, so I supposed she would come before me.

  It was all too complicated and neither of us would know how to manage an estate. Jonathan came before either of us, and he had the additional qualification of being masculine.

  The solution clearly lay in him and my father’s real anxiety was that he should be worthy.

  “There is a great danger,” my father told me during one of our talks, “of getting a gambling squire. That’s the worst thing possible for an estate. A frolic in the hay … well… that’s to be deplored if it is someone on the estate …”

  “Outside is quite permissible?” I asked.

  “Oh quite,” he answered. “One must not be too puritanical or attach too much blame to a young man for indulging in a little frolic now and then. It’s all in the nature of the animal.”

  “And for young women?”

  “An entirely different matter.”

  “It is a great advantage in this day to be born a man,” I commented with a degree of bitterness.

  “I am not sure of that. Women have their advantages if they know how to use them.”

  “It is so unfair. These little frolics, which are so natural for a young man and so disastrous to a woman.”

  “Because, my dear, these little episodes can have results and it is the woman in the case who is saddled with them. It is very logical when you look at it. A young woman has to bear her husband’s children. It is, to say the least, awkward, when she bears someone else’s.”