Return of the Gypsy

by Philippa Carr

  He reached us. He was obviously shaken but I do not think Tamarisk realized the danger she had faced.

  Jonathan did not set her down until we were on the edge of the crowd.

  “What I need,” he said, “is a drink. A draught of good ale or cider, possibly wine. Something. I’m as dry as a bone.”

  “I’m thirsty, too,” said Tamarisk.

  “As for you,” said Jonathan, “you deserve a spanking. You were told to stay where you were. That should be your refreshment and I would like to be the one to administer it.”

  “Don’t treat me like a child,” she said, her black eyes flashing.

  “When you behave like one, Gypsy, that is how I shall treat you.”

  I said: “We told you not to leave us, Tamarisk.”

  “I wasn’t far off.”

  “Thank God for that,” said Peter.

  “You’re all against me,” cried Tamarisk. “I hate you all.”

  “Extraordinary gratitude towards one who has just saved your life,” I said.

  “Here’s the Westminster Tavern,” said Peter. “It’s a reasonably good inn.”

  “Let’s go in,” said Jonathan.

  There were several people there, all presumably with the same idea of escaping the crowds.

  We seated ourselves round a table and ordered cider.

  “Did you really save my life?” asked Tamarisk.

  “It’s difficult to say,” mused Jonathan. “You might merely have been scarred for life or suffered a few broken limbs. It might not have been death.”

  She stared at him in horror. “Like Aunt Sophie,” she said. “I didn’t think…”

  -”That is the trouble,” I said, governess-fashion, “you don’t think as much as you should … of other people.”

  “I was thinking of other people. I was thinking of the Duke.”

  Jonathan wagged a finger at her. “You were told not to stray and you promptly did so.”

  “And if Jonathan hadn’t rescued you …” I began.

  “Oh.” She looked at him with wondering eyes.

  “That’s better,” he said smiling at her.

  “Thank you, Jonathan, for saving my life.”

  “It was an honour,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it.

  I thought what a beautiful child she was when she was soft and affectionate. She was now looking at Jonathan with far more admiration than she had bestowed on the Duke himself.

  We sat in silence drinking our cider. I was thinking of the great Duke being drawn in his carriage by the people who wanted to show him how they honoured him; and I wondered about the meeting between him and his Duchess when the carriage arrived at Hamilton Place. There he was at the height of his triumph, honours heaped upon him, the people wanting to show their gratitude. He must be a happy man. Was he?

  There was Amaryllis sitting close to Peter. She was happy. There were Jonathan and Tamarisk; she was looking at him with something like adoration. I hoped she was not going to care too much for him, for something told me that when Tamarisk loved, it would be most passionately. And Jonathan … he was lightly bantering, mocking her, calling her Gypsy. I felt that nothing would ever touch him deeply. Yet a few moments before he had rushed in to save her. And there was I, bound to a man who, loving as he was, could never give me that which I was beginning to feel would become an ever-increasing need in my life.

  Refreshed we went home. My parents were not yet in. They came later. They had had an excellent view of the carriage being drawn by the people. Did not the Duke look magnificent? asked my mother. And hadn’t it been a day to remember?

  I retired early. It had become a habit with me. We entertained scarcely at all at Grasslands and Edward should not be up late, said James.

  I could not sleep though. I kept thinking of that fearful moment in the crowd when I had thought Tamarisk was going to be trampled underfoot and how Jonathan had snatched her up just in time and brought her back to us.

  I went to the window and looked out. I could see the firework displays over the Park and the light of bonfires. And as I stood there, two figures emerged from the house—Peter and Jonathan. I watched them walk down the street together.

  It was ten o’clock. I wondered where they were going. But I was tired and soon forgot them. Their nightly outings were no concern of mine.

  I went to bed and was soon fast asleep.

  I thought Jonathan looked a little disturbed the next morning. This was so unlike his usual nonchalant self that I noticed it immediately.

  I asked if he had had a pleasant evening, remembering that I had seen him leave the house in Peter’s company.

  He said: “Yes, thanks, Jessica.” But without a great deal of conviction.

  I wondered vaguely where he and Peter had been.

  I was to discover a few days later.

  We were still in Albemarle Street for, although immediately after his ride from Westminster to Hamilton Place the Duke had gone to join the Prince Regent at Portsmouth, he would shortly return to London to take his place in the House of Lords and the celebrations were still going on.

  My mother always found a great deal to do in London and she was ready to stay a little longer than we had planned. I was the same, though Amaryllis found it very hard to tear herself away from her baby, but she was happy to be with Peter, whose business detained him here.

  I was in the house when a man called asking to see Mr. Jonathan Frenshaw. I saw him arrive. He was a rather seedy looking individual with a somewhat truculent manner, and I wondered what his business could be with Jonathan. They were closetted together for about half an hour before he left, and as he was taking his leave I heard him say: “It must be settled by the fourth of July, Mr. Frenshaw. Not a day later.”

  Then I knew that Jonathan was in trouble.

  Although I was only two years his senior, I was a married woman and I felt that gave me some authority. I was very fond of Jonathan—it was difficult not to be—but I had always realized that he was the type of young man who could easily slip into trouble. There had already been the affair of the farmer’s daughter. He had skipped out of that by good luck. The girl had merely lost her reputation and he had enhanced his as a rake. That was the only outcome.

  It looked to me as though he might be in financial difficulty. Since I had married and had come into a certain inheritance I was by no means poor and might possibly help him.

  I called him into the room and said: “Jonathan, are you in difficulties?”

  He looked at me in surprise.

  “I saw your caller,” I admitted. “I heard what he said about the fourth of July.”

  “Oh that,” he said. “A little debt.”

  “Are you in difficulties?”

  “Not really. It is just a matter of laying my hands on the ready cash.”

  “Can I help?”

  “You’re a dear girl, Jessica,” he said, “and I love you. But it won’t be necessary. I can raise it in time.”

  “How much?”

  “Five hundred pounds.”

  “Five hundred!”

  “Yes … rather a lot. That’s why I can’t get it at once. I can’t understand why there is this rush. Usually people know one has to have time.”

  “Was it… ?” I began.

  He looked at me shamefacedly. “Gambling,” he said. “I don’t know what my grandfather would say.”

  “He’d be horrified.”

  “Cut me right out, I reckon. Send me packing … right back to Pettigrew Hall.”

  “Sometimes I don’t think you would care.”

  “It’s odd. I’ve got fond of the old place. I know you think I’m a waster and all the rest of it… but I believe I should be a tolerably good squire.”

  “I think you would, too.”

  “But I won’t be if Grandpapa hears of this.”

  “How could you lose so much money?”

  “How indeed? The stakes get higher. One is carried away. A sense of bravado… and
one believes one’s luck will turn.”

  “You’re a gambler.”

  “Do you know, I haven’t touched it before. Just the odd bet or two. Nothing really.”

  “I guess you were tempted because your grandfather is so set against it.”

  “Is that it, do you think?”

  “I know how your mind works.”

  “Then you are cleverer than I.”

  “Oh Jonathan,” I said, “he mustn’t hear of this. You’ve got to find that money and that has to be the end of it.”

  “It will be. I have suddenly realized how I should feel if I had to leave Eversleigh. And the chances are that I shall be sent packing if the news of my misconduct reached the old man’s ears.”

  “He can be very firm,” I said.

  “Don’t I know it.”

  “Did you go … with Peter?”

  “Yes. Peter knows London. He took me to this place. He left me there.”

  “Didn’t he gamble?”

  “I don’t think he’s the gambling sort.”

  “Yet he took you there!”

  “Oh, he knows about the London haunts. He’s a club man. We got talking about it and he said if I wanted to look in at any time he’d show me. He’s too wise to gamble himself, I suppose. Of course I thought I was going to make a pile. Peter … he’s the businessman. Finger in all pies and when he draws it out, profits are clinging to that probing finger. I bet if he sat down at the tables Lady Luck would come to him.”

  “We’ve got to think what you’re going to do,” I said. “Five hundred is rather a lot. It was a pity you didn’t stop before you lost so much.”

  “How often have those wise words been used?”

  “Well, we have to find that money, pay the debt and prevent this reaching my father’s ears.”

  “First find the money.”

  “If only it wasn’t quite so much.”

  The door burst open and Tamarisk stood there, her cheeks scarlet, her eyes blazing.

  “I’ll sell Enderby,” she said. “I can. It’s mine.”

  “What are you talking about?” I demanded.

  “The money,” she said.

  “You’ve been listening at the door.”

  “Of course.”

  “Tamarisk, that’s a very unpleasant habit.”

  “It’s the way to get to know.”

  “You should never do it.”

  “I always do it.” She ran to Jonathan and seized the lapels of his coat. “Don’t worry. You shall have the money. Enderby’s worth more than five hundred pounds and there is all the furniture in it. That’s worth a lot.”

  He lifted her up in his arms. “You’re an angel, Gypsy, and I love you.”

  She smiled. Then she said angrily, “You’re a stupid man. Don’t you know it’s silly to gamble?”

  “You are right, Little Gypsy. I am and I do. I have learned my lesson. It shall never happen again.”

  “This is our secret,” she said. “Nobody must know.”

  “How are you going to sell Enderby without anyone’s knowing?” I asked.

  That puzzled her and Jonathan put an arm round her and held her against him.

  “Don’t worry, Gypsy. I can get the money easily.”

  “Don’t ever do it again,” she begged.

  “I won’t. But I’m glad I did this once because it has shown me what good friends I have.”

  “I only offered to sell Enderby because you saved my life.”

  “Of course. Quid pro quo. One good turn deserves another.”

  “Five hundred pounds is a lot of money,” she said severely.

  “A life is worth a little more,” he told her. “So you still owe me.

  She was very solemn.

  I said: “It’s all right, Tamarisk. Don’t say anything about selling Enderby. Don’t say anything at all.”

  “Of course I won’t. It’s a secret.”

  “We shall pay the money and that will be an end of it. No one shall know except us three.”

  She smiled slowly. Secrecy appealed to her devious nature.

  The incident revealed to me her feelings for Jonathan, and that gave me a few twinges of uneasiness.

  That should have been an end of the matter. Jonathan could raise the money. The Pettigrews were a very rich family and the debt itself, though large, would not have given Jonathan major anxiety if it had not been for the time limit for payment and my father’s somewhat fanatical views about gambling.

  The matter would have passed off smoothly—and I believe it had provided a good lesson for Jonathan—but for one thing. Someone was determined to make mischief.

  When my father was breakfasting a day or so later, a letter was brought to him. I was with him at the time. He liked someone to breakfast with him and as I was an early riser and believed that he would rather have it with me than anyone else—except my mother—I usually contrived to be with him.

  He did not pick up the letter immediately but after talking to me about the celebrations and when we should return to Eversleigh he opened it. His face turned puce with fury.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “The young scoundrel!” he cried.

  I took the letter from him. It was headed Frinton’s Club, St. James’s.

  Dear Mr. Frenshaw,

  I think it is my duty to bring to your notice the fact that your grandson, Mr. Jonathan Frenshaw, visited this club on the night of the 24th June and lost the sum of £500 in play. Knowing your feelings regarding this pastime—which I share—I thought it only right to let you know so that you may—if possible—turn the young man from this foolhardy practice.

  A Friend

  I cried: “What a beastly hypocritical letter. I think the person who wrote it is loathsome.”

  “It’s true, I suppose.”

  I was silent.

  “My God,”-he said, “and this is the young idiot we are harbouring at Eversleigh! Tell them to send him to me… at once … this minute.”

  “He probably isn’t up yet.”

  “No. Late night, I daresay. At the tables till the early hours of the morning!”

  “Aren’t you accusing him before you know?” I said, with sinking heart.

  “Second thoughts … I’ll go to see him.”

  He strode out of the room clutching the letter. I followed him up the stairs. He threw open the door of Jonathan’s room. Jonathan was in bed fast asleep.

  “Wake up,” roared my father.

  Jonathan slowly opened his eyes and stared at us in astonishment.

  “What are you doing in bed at this hour? Why aren’t you up and about? Late last night, were you? At the gaming tables were you? I’ll tell you this, young man, you’re out. You’ll not be coming back to Eversleigh. You can go straight back to your mother. I shall speak to your grandfather about you, you lazy good-for-nothing.”

  Jonathan was the sort of young man who would always be at his best in a crisis.

  “Am I dreaming?” he asked. “Are you figures in a dream? You look real enough to me. Is that you, Jessica?”

  “Yes,” I said, and thinking it best to put him in the picture as soon as possible added: “Someone has sent a letter about your gambling debt.”

  That startled him. “How tiresome,” he said.

  My father went to him and taking him by the shoulders shook him. Jonathan’s head went back and forth, his hair flopping over his face. He looked so comical that I would have laughed if the situation had not been so serious and I was feeling so upset because I liked having him around at Eversleigh.

  “You had better not try to hide anything from me,” said my father.

  “I had no intention of doing so,” said Jonathan. “I incurred the debt in a rash moment and oddly enough without having any desire to.”

  “Stop talking like an idiot.”

  “It’s true, sir. I went to the club and was persuaded to sit down and before I knew what was happening I had lost five hundred pounds.”
/>   “Do you think I say what I don’t mean?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Haven’t I told you that I won’t have gamblers on my estate?”

  “Many times.”

  “And you deliberately defy me?”

  “Defiance was not really in my mind.”

  My father would have struck him but with a graceful gesture Jonathan evaded the blow.

  “I can only admit that this accusation is true,” said Jonathan, “and add that it shall never happen again.”

  The door was flung open and Tamarisk came in.

  “What do you want?” I cried.

  “Get that child out of here,” said my father.

  “You mustn’t blame Jonathan,” said Tamarisk. She ran to my father and hung on his arm. “It was my fault. I gambled. I lost the money. I was the one. It was five hundred pounds and I am going to sell Enderby to pay for it.”

  It was so nonsensical that it stemmed my father’s anger.

  “The girl’s gone mad,” he said.

  “Yes, it was madness,” went on Tamarisk. “It was the gambler’s fever. You get it… and you are mad. You go in … the stakes get higher and you go on, saying I’ll go higher … I’ll go five hundred pounds.”

  She was so beautiful in her charming innocence and determination to save Jonathan that I almost loved her in that moment. Her wonderful dark eyes were blazing and the colour in her cheeks made a charming contrast to her dark hair. No one could have watched her unmoved—not even my father, angry as he was, could be anything but susceptible to a beautiful woman. She was scarcely a woman but her innocence and passionate devotion gave her a certain maturity.

  Jonathan was looking at her with great tenderness. I understood his feeling. This selfish rebellious girl was capable of love and when she loved it would be a fierce emotion which matched her temperament.

  My father said gruffly: “You’re talking nonsense, child.”

  “No … no. It’s true. I was there.”

  “When?”

  “When I lost the money.”

  My father took her by the shoulders and looked into her face. “Don’t lie to me,” he said.