She was so pretty. All dark eyes and hair with ruby cheeks and lips to match. Like those porcelain dolls Martha used to collect. Not one for being locked indoors, that was for sure. She had the look of a forest imp, bursting to come out of its shell. He chuckled to himself again, happy to help make it happen. Happy for the contact with youth.
Wind whistled by Claudia’s cheeks and she was glad she’d put the riding suit on today; the jodhpurs were perfect for running. What should she do first? Climb the trees? Find insects in the grass? In all the excitement she’d left Spotty in the house. Oh well, he’ll curl up in a nice corner and sleep. She was almost breathless at the thought of visiting the gypsies.
Do I dare? What if they don’t like visitors?
She shrugged. Better to just wait and see what happened. Right now, birdsong captured her attention and she could see them in the trees, feathers glinting red in the branches. She reached out to a Redstart on a lower branch, recalling Mr Campbell’s monotonous voice as he’d recited the names of the most common birds in the Czech Republic. It watched her closely, turning its little head from side to side, before jumping lightly, higher and higher, to sing from a safe distance.
“I wondered when you would venture outside, little lady of the glass house.”
Claudia’s knees jerked. The hairs on the back of her neck tingled as the deep voice overpowered the chattering birds.
She slowly turned around.
It was the dark-haired man. The gypsy with the brown, brown skin. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, smiling a wide, friendly smile.
“I…I’m not allowed usually. To be outside that is.” She lowered her eyes and focused on the man’s bare feet.
“That’s a very strange situation. Who makes up those rules?” As he spoke, small wrinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes.
“My parents and Margaret and Mr Campbell.” She felt bolder now. His bare feet somehow made her feel comfortable and safe.
“How did you come to be outside today then, may I ask?” His smooth voice made his words sound like a melody and he gestured with his hands as he spoke.
“Mr Campbell is away and old man gardener let me. Oh, but please don’t tell anyone, he’ll be in awful trouble if they find out.”
The gypsy’s laugh was throaty and infectious. “Of course I would never tell your secrets. What is your name, if you would give me the honour of knowing it?”
“Claudia Spencer.” She stood very, very straight, holding her chin high.
“My name is Dane, it’s lovely to make your acquaintance, Claudia.” He offered a tanned, squarish hand for her to shake. She did so and curtseyed at the same time.
Why did I curtsey? Stupid. Quick, say something. “You sound…um…English.”
“Actually, I was born near here, in Slovenia, but I’ve spent most of my life in England.” He smiled, white teeth glinting. He didn’t look poor and malnourished as Mr Campbell had said the gypsies were.
“Would you like to come to the camp?”
“Oh yes!” Claudia jumped up and down, all thoughts of decorum lost in her excitement.
“That’s better.” He grinned. “You have the most beautiful smile, Claudia.”
She blushed as she followed him down to the valley below, drinking in every detail of his appearance. He wore black jeans and a loose, red shirt that rustled in the breeze. Spiry arms swung wide to match his quick stride and dark, grey splattered stubble covered his jaw and upper lip. His black hair curled around his ears, bouncing over his eyes in springy coils. He wasn’t even as tall as old man gardener — and heroes were supposed to be tall — but he was dashing, just like one of the heroes in the romance novels Margaret hid in the kitchen cupboards.
She stared at the wagons as they came into view. They were long and oval shaped, painted in greens, reds and yellows with intricate flowers and fruits carved into the wooden frames. Frayed, transparent curtains fluttered in the breeze, held open to the sun by golden tassels, and musky, smoky smells seeped from the dark interiors.
Claudia felt a nervous twitch above her left eye as she struggled to keep up with the gypsy’s pace. Strange people lounged on the steps of the wagons, chatting loudly as they peeled and chopped vegetables into bowls or played cards. Many looked up at her with curious expressions, most smiled as she passed. All were dressed in flowing, textured cloth, like they’d wrapped odd bits of material around themselves and tied the ends up with strings of bells and pieces of gold rope. Just like a scene from a book.
She breathed in the scent of fresh horse manure and some kind of spicy cooking that mixed with the damp earth. The sweet sound of a violin blended with laughter, and she noticed a group of teenagers chasing each other through the trees, leapfrogging and playfully tackling in the dried leaves. They looked like her, these people with dark, tangled hair and large, almond-shaped eyes.
Dane placed a firm hand on the small of her back. She jumped, cringing at the warmth of his skin through her shirt.
The gypsy frowned, bending down so that his head was level with her own. “No one here means you harm, little lady. I give you my word. Are you scared?”
She rubbed her nose and looked at her feet, shuffling from side to side. “Well, a little. But I’m not really sure why.”
“This is all new for you, it’s quite normal to feel nervous. Come, let’s meet everyone. Perhaps, then, you can relax.” Dane, with great care, offered her his hand.
This time, the heat of his skin felt safe and comforting as his fingers linked with hers.
“We’re a mixed bunch here. Mainly travelling showmen, but we’ve picked up some strays along the way.” His warmth made Claudia immediately want to know who the ‘strays’ were. “Do you know what the word ‘gypsy’ means?”
“Mr Campbell told me gypsies were wandering thieves.” Please disagree with the silly man. Please.
He laughed. “Yes, some think so. Gypsy most certainly means ‘wanderer’, but we’re not gypsies in the traditional sense. The Romani people are the true gypsies and, while Romani do live among us, our lives just mimic theirs to some extent.”
“Because you don’t live in a house?”
“You are a clever one! Mainly, yes.”
“Well, how does that make you thieves? Do you steal chickens to eat?”
He laughed again, a low, husky sound that echoed through the trees. “No, we work for our food. Gypsies can be…well…unfairly treated. But, enough of that for now. Do you see everyone smiling at you?”
Claudia glanced around, struggling between shyness and an awkward need to be liked. She almost curtseyed each time anyone made eye contact with her.
Stop it. Mr Campbell said you only curtsey to royalty. But, these gypsies are all so…majestic.
They finally came to a small clearing, down near the very edge of the lake. Claudia, overcome by the water, ran until she came to an abrupt stop on the edge.
“Go ahead, put your hand in,” Dane said from some distance behind her.
She turned and looked at him, aching to touch the silvery surface. He nodded, a curious smile playing on his lips, so she crouched down and put one finger in. It sent fine ripples out to the centre.
“How beautiful,” she whispered, sensing Dane as he came to stand beside her. She pondered over the strange expression on his face — a fleeting frown as his lips formed words that never came. He offered a hand to help her up.
“Will you come and join us at the clearing? I’d like you to meet my lovely Oriana. You’ll like her.”
Claudia wiped her freezing finger on her shirt and followed Dane back to the clearing, already fascinated by the thought of ‘my lovely Oriana’. This time she noticed a woman, dancing to a violin crescendo, a ballet of red, purple and gold cloth consuming her body as her arms made patterns in the air.
Claudia couldn’t take her eyes from the woman’s undulating hips and the bells tinkling on her waist. Light brown eyes met hers and crinkled with a smile, but the dancer didn’
t stop. The music peaked, then her hips slowed as her hands came to rest in graceful swirls by her sides.
Behind the dancer, a young man rested the violin on the ground as if it were made of glass. As he straightened to stand, he placed his hands on the dancer’s shoulders, towering over her slender form.
His green eyes met Claudia’s in a direct, questioning gaze. “Who is this ravishing creature, Dane?” he asked, a charming lopsided grin splitting his face.
“Hush, Brishan, you are far too young to speak so,” the dancer said, turning to swat his hands away from her shoulders.
“This is Claudia, from the house,” Dane said, glancing over his shoulder at the chateau. “Claudia, this is the love of my life, Oriana, and our nephew, Brishan.”
Claudia began to curtsey and thought better of it. Just in time.
Oriana made it easy for her, catching her shoulders and bending to kiss her flaming cheeks. The scent of roses tickled her nose and the gypsy’s soft cheek left a trail of warmth on her skin. Before she could breathe in, to relish it, to fall into the unexpected affection, she felt a sharp tug on the back of her jacket.
She turned as Brishan grasped her hands. He tugged on her arms, nearly unbalancing her and forcing her to run with him or fall over. The sound of Oriana’s laughter followed them on the wind as they ran all the way to the end of the clearing. Brishan gripped her waist to lift her over the trench of a dried stream, before pulling her, higher and higher, towards the top of a steep hill.
“You look like a fairy. Are you?” he asked, bending over to catch his breath in huge gulps.
Claudia frowned. “I don’t think so, but I’ve never seen one to know.” Her heart pounded in her ears.
“Oh, we’ll have to fix that.”
Autumn had covered everything in gold and red. Trees swayed with the colour of fire on their branches and the ground glowed with fallen, orange leaves. The boy-man beside her appeared wild and dishevelled like the leaves themselves as they tumbled over the grass. She tried to squash the nerves somersaulting in her stomach.
“We’d only need to grow you some wings and you could fly off to fairy land.” Brishan winked.
“How old are you?” Claudia asked. Much too old to believe in fairy tales.
“Sixteen, almost seventeen. And you?”
“Fifteen. You’re the first boy I’ve ever really met. I mean, I know old man gardener and Mr Campbell, my teacher. And the evil gatekeeper. But they’re old. Not like you.” Her words came out in a fast, jumbled mass.
“Well, I’m happy about that. I feel special.” His smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “So, who is this gatekeeper and why is her evil? Does he cook and eat girls like you for dinner?”
“Oh, he’s just very mean.” Claudia glanced at her arm, absently rubbing an old bruise. “Won’t Dane come looking for you? What about your parents?” Her heart thudded, hard and painful in her chest.
“My parents are busy rehearsing for tonight’s performance in town, they’re actors, and Dane knows you are safe with me.”
“Why should Dane care about me? I only just met him.”
“Dane cares about everyone.” Brishan shrugged and his black, wavy hair tangled over his neck. “Sorry to drag you away just then, I…simply had an uncontrollable urge to.” He smiled again, looking deeply into her eyes as if he was trying to find something.
She didn’t know what he was trying to find, but she did understand what he meant. Spontaneous urges filled her life. If only I could act on more of them. She felt her face stretch in a smile and found she couldn’t contain the giggles bubbling in her throat.
His eyes sparkled at the sound of her laugher. “What’s it like to live in such a palace?”
“Lonely. It’s kind of like a pretty jail.” Claudia’s face twitched as the sad truth spilled from her mouth.
Brishan’s eyes narrowed. “Lucky we’re here then,” he said, his voice now quiet and gentle. “I understand feeling trapped.” For a long moment, he stared towards the horizon, his winged eyebrows drawn together in a frown.
Claudia looked down at her feet, swallowing hard to combat the sudden dryness in her throat. “Brishan is a funny name.” Although, the way it sounded rolling off her tongue, ‘Brisharrn’, was somehow musical, like the whooshing of water fountains in the green house.
He laughed. “It means ‘born in the rain’, but really, I was conceived in the rain.” His smile was open and sort of impish.
Claudia dragged her eyes from his and focused on the ground again. “I think I should go back now, old man gardener will come for me soon and I don’t want to get him in trouble.”
“As you wish, my fairy,” he said with a low, flourishing bow. This time, her laugh exploded, full and unheeded, blending with the rustle of dried leaves. Brishan, laughing also, swung his arm over her shoulders to escort her back down the hill.
Dane and Oriana stood with old man gardener in the clearing. The group laughed also and Claudia felt her heart swell at the sight of the old man’s smile.
He’s made my dreams come true today.
“Well then, Miss, had a good time did you?” he called out to her as Brishan pushed her back through the trees.
“Oh yes, thanks to you.” She wanted so much to hug him but an inbred sense of propriety held her back. That and the fact that she never hugged anybody and really couldn’t quite think of how to approach it.
“Glad to hear it, but we must get you back now.”
Claudia sighed and nodded once, her head swivelling from one to the other as the old man and Dane seemed to share a silent communication.
“It’s been an honour to meet you, Claudia.” Dane dropped to one knee as if addressing a queen. Claudia’s cheeks flamed but she laughed all the same. Brishan caught her hand up in his own and kissed it, looking into her eyes with a cheeky wink. She remembered to breathe, then turned to follow old man gardener back to the house, waving at Oriana and smiling at all the shouts of ‘farewell’ following her on the breeze.
She’d never seen the chateau from this angle, rising up from the hill like a regal monarch on a throne. From the front, it looked like a fairy-tale castle, in amongst the roses and hedges of the manicured gardens, with the cast-iron, oval green house extending from its side. Battlements, spires and gargoyles adorned the giant, rectangular structure, in what Mr Campbell called neo-gothic style.
Often, she’d wandered the rooms, trying to count the windows on all three stories — sometimes fifty, sometimes sixty. She usually lost count.
But from here, with two wings jutting out from the long, main residence and rows of imposing arched windows, it looked like a living, breathing giant, waiting to swallow her whole. The square courtyard in between the wings was covered in beige gravel, and she listened as it crunched under her riding boots, all the while fighting the urge to run back to the gypsies.
“Now you go on inside and pretend like you read your books all day.” As old man gardener spoke, large rain drops splashed on his nose and thunder rolled in the distance.
“I will. Thank you again.” Claudia’s voice trembled.
He unlocked the kitchen door and peered into the dark room, pushing his hand over his thinning grey hair to flick the water off. “All clear; go in out of the rain, a storm’s brewing out here. And don’t worry, Miss, I’ll help you do it again.” He rubbed the top of her head and Claudia beamed up at him.
If Santa Claus was real, this is what he’d be like.
She floated into her bedroom and sat on the floor to wait while the late afternoon drifted by, ready to watch the camp disappear under night again. Over and over, she replayed the day, moment by delicious moment, until she felt drowsy and flushed with the anticipation of more.
“Claudia!” Margaret’s voice boomed through the hallways. Breaking into an instant sweat, Claudia stood, too quickly, and steadied herself on the side of the bed, before rushing to the kitchen.
“There you are, child, why is your face so red?”
Claudia scanned her brain for a lie, something so foreign it didn’t come easily. “I was in my bedroom and I heard you calling, so I ran downstairs.” Not a lie, after all. She breathed easier.
“You mustn’t run anymore, you are far too old for that.” Margaret sniffed loudly. “Mr Campbell has been…detained. Something about the weather. His hunt was obviously not successful.” Margaret shook her head, absently rubbing the marble bench top with a bright green cloth. “The man should have been born years earlier. That way, he could have gone off to war, like my dear departed father. Hunting’s not so exciting when you’re forced to do it and the prey are people. Ridiculous hobby.” Margaret looked down at a ring that dangled from her necklace.
Had her ‘dear departed’ father given it to her? Claudia opened her mouth to ask, but her throat closed over and the words wouldn’t come out.
“Mr Campbell said you ought to know what books to continue on with, in his absence, and that you must complete the assignment for science, before his return. Yes?”
“Of course I will. But when do you think he’ll come back?”
“Heaven knows. Your teacher is a brilliant man, but his passion for hunting is beyond my comprehension. Go and wash, Miss Claudia and take that riding suit off. Ridiculous, really, when you have so many beautiful clothes to wear.” The housekeeper bustled over to the stove, mumbling under her breath about wasted money.
That night, the gatekeeper did not come. Had a magical spell taken over the household? Was she released from her night-mares? Maybe he was down in the valley, hunting gypsies with one of Mr Campbell’s shotguns. Please stay away, stay away from all of us. As she closed her eyes, her sleep was blessed by unicorns and fairies, touching her with magic wands and flying her all over the world to visit ancient castles and sparkling beaches.
Gypsy magic.
The moment light filtered in through the window, Claudia jumped out of bed and ran to her oversized, uselessly full cupboard. Why on earth do my parents send so many outfits, when I’m hardly allowed outside? Their reasoning was beyond her comprehension, but today it didn’t matter. She ran a hand over a brand new, soft brown riding suit that had arrived last week, clenching the material in her fists to contain her excitement. She carefully brushed her hair, and then dressed and ran downstairs to the kitchen.
Gypsy Trail Page 3
