Return of the Gypsy

by Philippa Carr

  And then suddenly it ceased to be like any other Midsummer’s Eve.

  The robed figure moved apart from the crowd; he approached the bonfire, and clutching his robe about him, he leaped high in the air … right over the bonfire. There was a deep silence as the flames appeared to lick his robe. Then he was clear on the other side.

  A shout went up: “Bravo! Bravo!”

  “’Ee be free of the witches for a year,” cried someone.

  “The fire didn’t touch ’un.”

  “He did jump right clear.”

  I saw one of the barmaids from the Fisherman’s Rest run up to the fire. She threw up her arms and attempted to leap over it.

  I heard her scream as she fell into the flames.

  Jack Gort was close by; he immediately dragged her out; her dress was on fire. I watched in shocked silence while they beat out the flames.

  “How … crazy!” said Jacco.

  “Papa forbade them to do it,” I said.

  People crowded round the barmaid, who was lying on the grass.

  “I wonder if she’s badly hurt,” I whispered.

  “They’ll blame the witches,” said Jacco.

  “But she did it herself.”

  “That man started it. It wasn’t so risky for him. If that thing he is wearing had caught fire he could easily have thrown it off.”

  The barmaid was now standing up and I was relieved to see that she was not badly hurt. I felt I wanted to go. I could not understand why Rolf—who knew my father had forbidden it—should have leaped over the fire. I did not want him to see us here.

  “Better take her back to the Rest,” someone said. “Here … you, Jim. You take her. You and she is said to be sweethearts.”

  “I think we ought to go,” I said quietly to Jacco. “There won’t be much dancing and singing.”

  “Wait a bit.”

  I saw the man they had called Jim put the barmaid on his horse. They moved away. Jack Gort had rescued her in time and she was more shocked than anything.

  Someone started to sing but the others did not take it up. The mood had changed and I thought that would be the end of the revelries on that Midsummer’s Eve.

  Then I saw a crowd gathering round a boy who held something in his hands. It was wriggling and mewing piteously. A cat! I thought, and instinct told me to whom that cat belonged. It was Mother Ginny’s. I knew the boy slightly. I had seen him on the quay looking for a chance to earn a few pence doing odd jobs for the fishermen.

  He shouted: “Here’s a way to fight against them witches. They ain’t going to get the better of the likes of we.”

  He held up the cat by the scruff of its neck.

  “Mother Ginny’s Devil’s mate. Satan’s gift to the wicked old witch.”

  The cat moved and must have scratched him for with a yell of pain he threw the animal straight into the flames.

  I felt sick. I knew that Jacco was equally affected. We loved our animals, both of us; our dogs were our friends and the kitchen cat, which Mrs. Penlock declared was the best mouser in Cornwall, was a special favourite.

  Jacco had his hand on my rein, for I had started forward.

  “No,” he hissed. “You can’t.”

  Then I heard the scream of an animal in pain and there was silence.

  The boy was crying out, excusing himself: “Look what ’un done to me.” He held up his bleeding hand. “’Tis the only way to save ourselves. It ’as to be done … a living thing they allus say. Well, that’s it … the witch’s cat. That’ll be one of ’em out of the way.”

  The moment of horror had passed. Everyone seemed to be talking at once. They were forming a group round one figure. I saw the grey robe in the midst of them. He was talking to them but I could not hear what he was saying.

  Suddenly they all started to move. Some of them had carts, others horses. Jacco said to me: “Come on. We’re going. We’re going now … this minute.”

  As I followed him I kept hearing the cry of the cat and I just wanted to go back to the safety of my room. I could not stop thinking about Rolf there with them, Rolf … our friend … the one of whom I had made a hero … and he was there in the midst of them—a sort of leader.

  Jacco was not making for home.

  “Jacco,” I said. “What …? Where …?”

  “We’re going to the woods. That’s where they’re going.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s what we’ve got to find out. At least I’ve got to. You can go home.”

  “I’m coming too.”

  As we came into the woods I could hear voices in the distance. I wanted to go back, to creep into bed. I had a horrible fear that tonight was going to be like no other night I had ever known. I kept saying to myself: If my father were here this would never happen.

  But it was happening. And I had to see it.

  “Be careful,” said Jacco. “They mustn’t know we’re here. They’d send us home if they did.”

  We knew the woods well and we went a roundabout way, for both Jacco and I knew their destination. They were already at the clearing in the woods and their torches gave an unearthly light to the scene.

  The first thing I noticed was the grey robe. He was there. He was leading them … inciting them. I could not believe that this was the Rolf I had always known. He had always been so kind, so understanding about everything. He could not be so cruel. I knew that he loved the old customs. He liked to experiment. I could imagine that he would wonder how easily people would revert to less civilized days.

  I saw the cottage through a gleam of light. They were close now, waving their torches. They were all shouting and I could not hear what was said except that it was something about the witch.

  Then someone called: “Come out, witch. Show yourself. Don’t ’ee be afraid. We won’t ’urt ’ee … leastways no more than ’ee have hurt us.”

  I gasped. She had come out of the cottage. She must have been in bed for she was in a nightgown, her grey hair streaming about her shoulders. Their torches lit up her face and I saw the fear there.

  I felt physically sick and would have turned away but Jacco was close to me and I could not move. His horrified eyes were fixed on the scene.

  “What do you want with me?” she screamed.

  “You’m going to see, missus. What’ll us do with her?”

  Someone spoke. They were all listening. Could it be Rolf telling them what to do? I wondered.

  “That’ll do …” shouted someone. “What they’ve allus done. Duck her in the water. If she drowns she’s innocent. If she floats it’s with the help of the Devil and proves she’s one of his.”

  “Where did the Devil kiss ’ee, Mother Ginny?”

  There was a burst of coarse laughter.

  “Oh no,” I murmured. “She’s only an old woman.”

  Jacco nodded, his eyes staring at that terrifying scene.

  They had attached a rope about her waist. She was screaming and fighting them. One of the men gave her a blow which knocked her to the ground.

  “Jacco,” I cried, “they’ll kill her. We’ve got to stop them. Papa would.”

  Jacco rode forward. “Stop it,” he cried. “Stop it.”

  No one took any notice of him. They were all intent on getting Mother Ginny to the river. She called curses on them as they dragged her along the ground.

  I was sobbing. “We must do something. What would our father do?”

  But we lacked his strength and authority. We were only children and whatever we did would be of no avail. There was murder in the air. I had seen something in those people that night which I never would have believed could be there. For the first time I had witnessed the fury of a mob. These people who went about their ordinary daily rounds had undergone a remarkable change. There was a side to their nature which I had never known existed. They were cruel. They delighted in inflicting pain. They wanted revenge, an eye for an eye. Tregorran’s mare; the Cherry baby; the rain; the heat; the Poldeans’ boat. They wanted r
evenge and they were going to have it. And Rolf was there … leading them on … making them aware of how witches were treated long ago. Rolf … whom I had so much admired; who had been a hero to me, whom I had loved. That was the most startling and disturbing revelation of all. They were uneducated people … ready to be led … but he … I felt I knew what was in his mind. He was obsessed by the old ways, old customs. He wanted to see if people would react today as they had long ago. But this was a human life … I felt I could never trust anyone again.

  I wanted to go to him, to tell him I was here, to beg him to stop this. But he was their leader. I could never forget that. Jacco and I were, after all, only two children. We could not stop them even though Jacco was my father’s son.

  I wanted to shut it all out of my mind, forget what I had seen, go right away. I did not want to know what was happening by the river. I feared something even more terrible was going to happen. But even if I did run home, I should never forget.

  I could hear the shouts by the river.

  “She won’t sink,” said Jacco.

  “No, the river’s not deep enough.”

  “Not by the banks. If they throw her into the middle … They say witches don’t sink. The Devil saves them.”

  “But either way …”

  “She’ll be saved,” insisted Jacco.

  Then the boy came out of the cottage. He sped across the clearing. He was very close to us. I held my breath. I thought: What will they do to him?

  I was aware of him; he was crouching among the trees quite near us.

  The shouts sounded farther away; then they were near again. They were coming back. They were dragging Mother Ginny along. Her clothes were sodden and mud-stained; her hair hung grey and slimy about her face, which was deathly pale. I thought she was already dead.

  I heard myself praying to God to do something … to send these people away … to let Mother Ginny go back to her truckle bed.

  The people were shouting like a drunken mob. They were drunk in a way—not with strong drink but with mob frenzy.

  She lay on the grass and they were all round her. I could not see her now.

  Then someone cried: “The Devil saves his own.”

  “Not for long,” said someone else.

  Then suddenly, with a shout, someone threw a torch at the thatched roof. It ignited immediately. The thatch was alight. Someone threw another torch and the cottage was a blazing mass.

  The mob stood back to admire its handiwork. I could see Mother Ginny now. She had risen to her feet and stood staring at the cottage. There was silence as she tottered towards it. She went along the path to the door and walked into the flames.

  There was a silence which seemed to go on for a long time. I think they were all waiting for her to come out. But she did not.

  Someone shouted: “That’s her and her cat gone. What of the boy … the Witch’s Varmint?”

  There was silence again. My heart was beating rapidly. I heard a sound very close to us. Jacco moved his horse slightly. I heard him whisper: “Jump up behind me.”

  Then I saw Digory and I felt a wave of relief sweep over me.

  “Come on,” said Jacco. “Quick.”

  We moved silently through the woods.

  “Where?” I asked.

  “I’m thinking,” said Jacco.

  I glanced at Digory, who was clinging to Jacco; his face was white and all the bravado had gone out of him. I felt very tender towards him at that moment.

  We were free of the woods and Jacco began to canter.

  “Do you think they will follow us?” I called.

  “Might do. If they knew where we were.”

  I could see the grey towers of Cador. We went up the incline and Jacco stopped suddenly.

  “I know,” he said. “The Dogs’ Home.”

  “Oh yes,” I cried. “That’ll do.”

  The Dogs’ Home was an old shed a little way from the stables. Jacco used it for anything he needed for his pets. Our father had said that if he had them he must be able to look after them; they were his responsibility. He had a key and no one else had one.

  “It’s the safest place,” he said.

  We went on to the shed. Then Jacco dismounted, pulling Digory with him. The boy seemed in a state of shock and hardly to be aware of either of us.

  Jacco always carried the key of the shed with him. Now he opened it and we went inside. There were dogs’ baskets and sacks of peas with which Jacco fed his peacocks. It smelt like a granary.

  “You’ll be all right here,” he said. “No one would dare come here. We’ll get you blankets and food, so you needn’t worry.”

  Digory still did not speak.

  “Now,” said Jacco, “we’re going to see you’re all right. Annora, you get some blankets for him. You’ll have to be quiet. First let’s stable the horses.”

  We left Digory in the shed, locking him in. He was still stunned. I wondered how much he had seen of the terrible thing which had happened to his grandmother.

  As we left the stables, Jacco said: “We’ll keep him there until our father comes home. He’ll know what to do.”

  I felt an immense relief. Yes, our father would know what to do.

  “None of this would have happened if he had been here,” I said. “Mother Ginny is dead. She couldn’t have survived in that fire. She walked right into it.”

  “She killed herself.”

  “No,” I said, “They killed her.” And to myself I murmured: And Rolf was one of those who killed her. How could he? And yet I had seen him. Rolf. My Rolf. I would never have believed it possible if I had not witnessed it with my own eyes.

  I was glad of something to do. It stopped my thinking of that terrible scene. But I knew I should go on thinking of it … always.

  The task before me was not easy. I had to tread very carefully for fear of arousing attention. I did not know who was in the house. How many of them, I wondered, were still in the woods? But they would soon be coming back. They had done their wicked deed. Surely they would want to get as far away from it as possible.

  I went into the linen room and took some blankets and a pillow. I went to the Dogs’ Home where Jacco was impatiently waiting for me. He seized them and made a bed of some straw. Digory stood there—his thoughts, I knew, far away at that terrible scene—and when we told him to lie down, he obeyed us as though in a trance.

  Jacco knelt beside him. He was gentle. This was a new side to my brother and I loved him the more for it.

  “You’ll be all right now,” he said. “They won’t come here. We’ll keep you here till our father comes home. He’ll know what to do.”

  Jacco stood up and looked at me. “First thing in the morning we’ll bring him some food. Have to be careful with old Penlock.”

  I nodded.

  “Here’s the key,” went on Jacco, turning to Digory and putting it into his hand. “Lock yourself in when we’ve gone. Don’t open the door to anyone except us. Understand?”

  Digory moved his head slightly.

  I wanted to weep seeing him thus, denuded of that reckless bravado which had been such a part of him. I was discovering something about Digory, about Jacco, and so much more about the baser instincts of people whom I had always before thought commonplace. But what I had learned tonight of that other one whom I had idolized—that was what hurt and bewildered me most.

  We went into the house cautiously. I crept up to my room, undressed and got into bed.

  I lay looking through the window at that slim slice of moon and I could not shut out of my mind the sound of voices, the weird light of torches, and all that had happened on that terrible night.

  I had roughly been jerked out of my childhood and I should never be the same again.

  I did fall into an uneasy doze just as it was getting light, but my sleep was haunted by nightmares. I woke up sweating with horror. Will it always be like this? I wondered. I can never forget. I should be haunted forever by the memory of Mother Ginny walking i
nto the flames. But most of all by a figure in a greyish robe leading the mob.

  As soon as I awoke I remembered the boy. The terrible adventure was not over. I tried to imagine what his feelings would be on this morning. His whole life had changed. He had lost his home and his grandmother, who was the only family he had. What else had he? Only us. How I wished my father were home. I kept telling myself that if he had been, this would never have happened. He would have stopped it before it went so far. He alone could have put an end to those proceedings.

  As soon as I went downstairs I found Jacco waiting impatiently.

  “We’ve got to get some food for him,” he said.

  “I don’t suppose he feels much like eating. I don’t.”

  “He’ll have to eat. See what you can get. You go to the kitchens more than I do, so it will be best for you to get it. You’ll have to be careful.”

  “I know,” I said. “Leave it to me.”

  There was a subdued atmosphere throughout the house. How many servants had been in the woods last night? I wondered. Some of them might well have remained on the moor or perhaps they did not get farther than the quay.

  We had to make a pretence of eating breakfast although it was an effort to do so for both of us.

  Afterwards I made my way to the kitchen. I was aware of an unusual silence.

  Mrs. Penlock was seated at the big kitchen table with Isaacs and some of the others.

  This was clearly not the moment to go to the pantry. I should have to bide my time.

  “Good morning,” I said, trying to appear as usual.

  “Morning, Miss Annora.”

  “Is—is anything wrong?”

  There was a brief silence, then Mrs. Penlock said: “There was a fire last night, Mother Ginny’s house was burned to a cinder … and her in it.”

  I looked steadily at them. “How … how did it happen?”

  After some hesitation Isaacs said: “Who’s to know how fires start? They do and that’s about it.”

  They looked down at their plates. I thought: I am sure some of them must have been there. Murderers! I wanted to shout at them. That was who killed Mother Ginny.

  But I must be careful. I had to think of Digory.