The Legacy l-1

by Lynda La Plante

  ‘Your eldest, he has the dukkerin look. He could read well, I can feel it, and you, me love, you look well-fed.’

  While Evelyne sipped the thick, spicy, hot tea, Rawnie was twice seized by such spasms of coughing that it frightened her. Someone tapped on the caravan door and two little girls peeped in, but Rawnie shooed them outside.

  ‘They’re Jesse’s babes from Martilda, she lives yonder. He’s got a fine boy up in Scotland and one down in Cornwall, both fine boys.’

  Evelyne didn’t wish to appear shocked, and Rawnie’s obvious acceptance of Jesse’s other women made it seem almost natural.

  As Evelyne finished her tea, Rawnie reached over for the cup and stared into the tea leaves. She put the cup down and sighed, she frightened Evelyne. ‘What did you see? Rawnie …? What is it?’

  Rawnie would not meet her eyes, she sucked in her hollow cheeks.

  ‘Remember all those years ago, that terrible night at the fair, you saw something in my hand then, is it the same?’

  Rawnie kept her head bowed. ‘Do I remember that night? Now there’s a question, do you think I would forget? ‘Tis not something you forget, bein’ defiled, torn inside. Don’t heal like a cut on the outside.’

  ‘I’m sorry, that was thoughtless, but will you tell me? You see, I always remember your words — you said “Beware of the birds in the sky”, but I don’t understand …’

  Rawnie coughed again, her body shaking, her bangles tinkling and jangling. ‘Ye’ll know when they come, I can’t say when, but they’re big, big birds.’

  Rawnie did not finish telling Evelyne what she could see, could not tell her that when the birds flew over Evelyne’s head they would take everything from her, all that she loved. Evelyne would have persisted, but the caravan door was flung open by Edward. He demanded that Evelyne come with him, the fair was closing and they were going to have chicken cooked over a real fire.

  All the men from the fairground had gathered around the wagons and a fire had been built in the centre. Behind them the Ferris wheel was still lit up, but the organ that piped out the music was silent. A fiddler was sitting on a beer crate, tuning up.

  ‘Well, gel, it’s a night to celebrate, is it not, we’re all brothers here, and we’re going to put on some entertainment for you.’

  Evelyne could see Edward and Alex, their shoes and socks discarded, running like wild things round and round the caravan. The fiddler started playing and the girls began to dance and sing.

  Rawnie sat at her caravan door, tapping her foot and clapping to the music. Evelyne sat with a, group of women who were peeling potatoes for a big pot of stew. She knew the last train would have gone by now. There was nothing she could do or say — Freedom was standing drinking with a group of his brothers and had no intention of leaving.

  Evelyne wished the night would end. They had eaten, and the men were getting drunker and drunker. The girls still danced and the fiddler still played, and the fire had been constantly fed so that it still blazed. The two boys were curled up beside three other children on a large straw mattress dragged from one of the wagons, their arms wrapped around each other in exhausted sleep. Rawnie beckoned Evelyne to her caravan and pointed to a bed she had made up. Evelyne was as tired as her sons so she didn’t refuse.

  ‘He looks happy, a happy mun, will you see?’

  Evelyne looked out of the door. Freedom was the centre of attention. Someone had given him a bandanna, which he had tied around his head, and he was roaring with laughter. He was well drunk, and they were trying to pull him to the fireside to dance. He made excuses about his bad leg, but they would not hear and he gave in to the young girls that pulled him. The fiddler began a new tune and they all watched as Freedom stood, straightbacked, heels together, slowly lifting his hands above his head. He began to clap, short, sharp slaps, then clicked his heels, and there was no sign of his limp. The alcohol and the atmosphere made him unaware of the pain in his leg, and he danced to his heart’s content, soon joined by three other men.

  At one point Jesse looked over to where Evelyne sat with Rawnie and gave her a cold stare. She was an outsider tonight, not her children nor her husband, but she was and she knew it. She got up and went to lie on the bed. The heavy, oily perfume that Freedom had always worn swamped her, but this time it was Rawnie’s perfume, it was oil from her hair on the pillows.

  Evelyne fell into a deep sleep, and when she woke it was fully dark, the blackness lit only by a warm, glowing light from the fire. No candles, no blinking lights from the fairground, nothing but the fire.

  The voice was beautiful, clear, singing such a sweet, sad song, and she lay back on the pillows and listened. There was-no fiddle this time, but a guitar being played well.

  Can you rokka Romany, Can you play the bosh, Can you jal adrey the staripen Can you chin the cosh …

  The singing lulled her, the voice deep and soft. She felt the caravan rock slightly as Rawnie moved, and she opened her eyes.

  Rawnie gestured for Evelyne to come to the door, and she crept forward. She wanted to weep — the singer was Freedom, and he was playing the guitar. She had never heard him sing like this, had not known he could play. ‘Oh, Rawnie, sometimes he is like a stranger.’ I’ve never seen him play, heard him sing … he does it so well.’

  Rawnie patted the step for Evelyne to sit beside her. She too was moved by Freedom. That wondrous face, singing with his eyes closed, his whole body seeming to shimmer in the firelight. All the people around him were hushed. His voice rose and fell, emotional but clear, with such ease that it reached their souls.

  ‘I loved that mun, but you know, I loved him so.’

  Evelyne was touched by the dying woman, and she slipped her arm around the wasted shoulders. She did know, perhaps she always had. ‘He loved you too, Rawnie, he would have hanged for you.’

  Rawnie’s gnarled hand reached out, gripped Evelyne’s chin, and she looked into her face. ‘So would every mun around the fire. It were not love fer me, gel, but honour. Gringos don’t understand, cannot understand our ways, our love of the stars, the air, the land … But we can hate, and we believe in revenge, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. This is our way, our law.’

  Evelyne bit her lip. Rawnie knew revenge, hadn’t she slit every one of those boys’ throats? Or had it been Jesse? As if Rawnie had read her mind, she gave a chuckle. ‘It were me, gel, me used the knife. Now I’ll tell yer what yer man is singing.’

  She whispered the meaning of the song to Evelyne. Freedom was asking if they understood the Romany tongue, asking if they could hold their own in a ilay-chingarpeni, an argument or a fight; he was asking if they could play the fiddle, if they were men enough to fight the music, to hear a prison sentence and do their bit without flinching: last of all the song was asking if they were qualified to earn their living as gypsies. If they could not in one way or another chin the cosh, they would never be successful on the road.

  Evelyne clung to Rawnie. Now she could see her boys, the two little brothers, standing naked by the fire, hand in hand, looking at their father, their eyes fixed as though hypnotized by him. An elder knelt down beside them, and she saw the knife. Rawnie gripped her tightly so she could not move. The sick woman had more strength than Evelyne had given her credit for.

  ‘Let him make their blood our blood, their father’s blood, it is right, they are Romany.’

  Neither child made a murmur as his thumb was cut, and the blood kissed by their father. Then they were wrapped in blankets and taken back to sleep on the mattress. Evelyne now knew that Freedom had planned this — not necessarily with Jesse and Rawnie — but she remembered that bank holidays were their big days for fairs right across England. He had known all along that some of his people would be at Brighton — his brothers as he called them. She returned to Rawnie’s bed.

  When the morning came, Rawnie gave each child a golden sovereign. They kissed her, eager to get on to the train, not to get away, but just because it was a train. Their night’s initia
tion had had no obvious after-effects, and Freedom was preparing to leave. ‘I’ll come again to you, sister, we won’t be parted as long again.’

  Rawnie touched his face, tracing it with her fingers; it was still handsome, even with his battle scars. She traced his lips, and then stood at her caravan door to wave their farewell. Rawnie knew she would never see him again, she would be dead within months.

  ‘Well, gel, it looks like our brother’s come back into the fold, eh?’

  Rawnie smiled. Jesse had never had the powers, he couldn’t read what was in the air. The woman still had Freedom, and she was stronger than they were.

  The train journey home was as exciting for the brothers as the one to Brighton, and they wanted to go back again as soon as they got to London.

  ‘We’re going home, and you’ve got to go to school tomorrow.’

  Eddie started sulking, and had to be dragged along to the tram stop. He wanted to go back to the fair, he didn’t want to go to school. Evelyne slapped him hard, pushed him ahead of her up the tram stairs.

  ‘You’ll go to school, my lad, and what’s more you’ll get that scholarship or you’ll end up on a fairground with no education and no place else to go. Now get up these stairs this instant.’

  Evelyne received a mask-like glare from Edward, and he stomped up the stairs to the top deck. Alex, close behind him, slipped his hand into his brother’s, and they went to the very front seats.

  Evelyne and Freedom sat at the back, looking at the busy traffic below as they headed across London. Evelyne took out the doll for Mrs Harris’ youngest, and checked that she had all their things. She looked up sharply when she heard two small voices singing from the front seats,

  Can you rokka Romany, Can you play the bosh, Can you jal adrey the staripen Can you chin the cosh …

  Freedom smiled and nodded to his sons, slipped an arm around her shoulders.

  ‘Well, gel, looks like we gotta pair of gyppos up front.’

  Chapter 27

  Edward Stubbs was awarded a scholarship to a grammar school, the first boy ever from his area. For one son to gain a scholarship was a cause for celebration, but for a second son also to pass gave rise to suspicion and jealousy, and set both boys apart from the children of the neighbourhood.

  In their identical uniforms the boys travelled to school together, always together. Already closer than most brothers, they grew even more so. Eddie and Alex were both tall for their ages, well-built and athletic, excelling at all sports. In the classroom, however, although Alex was bright, he fell short of his brother’s academic brilliance. Edward was the dominant one, and Alex accepted life in his brother’s shadow without jealousy. Edward was his hero.

  Unemployment was as high as ever. Dole queues were long and money short, and for the workers and their families times were hard in the reign of King George.

  Proud of her boys, Evelyne Stubbs worked constantly, and kept her head above water while all around her others sank. Freedom worked at the docks most weeks, and when he was laid off he busied himself making rabbit hutches in the back yard and selling them. Occasionally he would disappear for a few days to visit his friends, and those were the times Evelyne dreaded. He would return surly and bad-tempered, and found it difficult to get back into the day-to-day routine.

  Rawnie had died of consumption, and Jesse had lost his fairground through gambling. He was serving a sentence for robbery in Durham gaol.

  Miss Freda and Ed were in financial trouble and had taken in more lodgers. They now had a married couple and two single girls. The girls, it was suspected, were ‘on the game’, but Freda wouldn’t hear of it. To her they were simply youngsters trying to make their way.

  Ed’s brother’s family were even worse off, and although their kids were working they still lived on the breadline, always in debt. They invariably owed money to Evelyne, whose moneylending business was growing. Freedom collected the debts for her, and the boys helped him at weekends. The Stubbs family was secure, and the brothers went from strength to strength with their school work.

  Evelyne later tried to pinpoint the turn of events, to recall exactly why things went wrong. She had to try to blarne someone, but she knew in her heart that the trouble was within her own home.

  Freedom was the perfect father when the boys were small, attentive and fair, and they obeyed him. But he couldn’t make head or tail of their homework, he was so far removed from them academically that his frustration turned to anger, and they in turn realized that their father — the man they had always looked up to — was illiterate. They were too young to be understanding about it, to help him, and they turned against him and looked increasingly to their mother for guidance. The resulting bitter arguments usually ended with Freedom storming out to the pub.

  Evelyne had cleared the table, tidied away the boys’ books, and was about to start on the weekly wash when there was a hard rapping on the door. A policeman informed Evelyne that Freedom had been arrested for brawling outside the docks. He had knocked out the manager who was pressing charges for assault.

  Ed and Evelyne hurried to the police station and found Freedom sitting gloomily in a cell. The fight had started because Freedom, who always expected to be given work, had been rejected for three days running. He had not told Evelyne, pretending he had been taken on. But on the fourth day he had been offered work, and that was the cause of it. One man who was turned away muttered something in Freedom’s hearing about black bastards getting work before whites, and when the manager had tried to break up the fight Freedom had knocked him senseless.

  At the hearing the magistrate reprimanded Freedom severely — a man with a history of professional boxing should never resort to fighting in the streets. Freedom was given a three-month suspended sentence. Evelyne never said anything, but her reproachful looks and above all her silence tormented him. If he had felt inadequate before, now things were far worse. Evelyne had arranged for a lawyer and paid him, and the more Freedom thought about it the more frustration he felt.

  The appearance of Jesse on their doorstep was the kiss of doom. Recently released from prison, he was as cocksure as ever, with rings on his fingers and gold chains around his neck. He offered Freedom the chance to go into business with him, buying and selling furniture. Evelyne tried to persuade Freedom to have nothing to do with him. They were sitting at the kitchen table where the two boys were doing their homework. Evelyne tried to keep her voice calm, not wanting to get into an argument in front of them. ‘He’s no good, Freedom, he never was. You and I know just how far he will go. Don’t go with him, please, you can do my debt-collecting full-time, we could do it together.’

  Freedom banged his fist on the table and Edward’s inkwell tipped over, spilling its contents on his exercise books. The boys scrabbled to pick them up and mop them, fussing around.

  Freedom couldn’t take it any more and he roared. ‘Will you get out from under ma feet. mun. take yer readin’ out of here, better still, go get work like the other lads around here.’

  Edward stood up to his father, just as hot-tempered, but cocky and self-assured. He gathered his schoolbooks up and hurled them across the room. ‘Right, I’ll go out now and join the dole queue, just like you and every other sucker round ‘ere. You call that work, do yer?”

  Freedom struck him so hard that he sprawled on the floor. Alex sprang between them, trying to protect Edward. ‘Dad, no, don’t, don’t hit ‘im no more.’

  Freedom lashed out at Alex in fury, trying to grab Edward, and now Evelyne pushed between her sons and Freedom. With her arms out she faced her husband.

  ‘You’ll have to hit me first, Freedom, I mean it. Just stop this nonsense right now or so help me God I’ll take the rolling pin to you, I will.’

  Freedom backed away. The three of them were against him, and he knew then that Evelyne would choose her sons before him. She was like a lioness with her cubs, glaring at him so fiercely … He turned and beat his fist against the fireplace.

  Evelyne shooed
the boys from the room, but Edward held on to her. She shook her hand free. ‘Get out, the pair of you, leave us alone. Go on, nothing’s going to happen.’

  They slunk out and closed the door behind them. Freedom gave her such a helpless look, filled with guilt and remorse. It was the first time he had ever struck his sons, and his voice sounded choked in his throat. ‘I’d never have struck thee, Evie, God help me, never.’

  She held him in her arms and comforted him, whispering over and over that she knew, she knew it. She felt remorseful herself, it was becoming obvious that she put the boys before Freedom. ‘I’m sorry too, Freedom. I should never have gone against you. Sometimes Eddie needs a firm hand. Will you forgive me?’

  They kissed,1 it had been a long time since they kissed as lovers, and she sat on his knee by the fire. ‘What is it, my love, what’s hurting you so?’

  He buried his face in her chest, and she stroked his hair.

  ‘It’s the debt-collecting, Evie. It’s hard for me to face them that owes you, going to them with me hand out for their shillin’s. Some of ‘em have nothin’, and to stand there frightening the life out of them, wantin’ money paid over, knowing they’ve not got it to give — it’s no job for a mun, I can’t do it no more.’

  Evelyne forced herself to keep her mouth shut, although she could have asked how he thought she felt. How did he think they could have lived so well for so long without her moneylending business?

  ‘Just don’t do anything against the law, the boys are doing so well and I don’t want people talking.’

  That did it. He pushed her away from him and grabbed his coat.

  ‘Always the boys, always them, when do you ever think of me? When it’s too late!’

  He slammed out of the kitchen.

  Eddie came downstairs and slipped his arms around his mother, kissed her and patted her head. ‘Maybe he’s right, Ma, I’m fourteen, I could get work.’