The Legacy

by Lynda La Plante

  They had been at The Grange almost four months, and tension lay close to the surface. Freda could feel it and it worried her. She hoped the four of them would discuss it today, it was Evelyne’s half-day off. Freda always cooked a roast on these occasions, and she had already begun laying the table. Ed paced up and down, unable to relax enough to put his carpet slippers on.

  ‘You know he’s ready ter fight, and we ain’t had a word from Sir Charles. He’s gettin’ hard ter handle, Freda, he knows ‘e’s ready an’ all. I just don’t know what else I can do …’

  Evelyne arrived and tossed her coat aside. She sighed, and slumped into the fireside chair.

  ‘I’ve had enough of that Miss Balfour. The library’s nearly finished and she snoops after me, checking that I’ve done this or that. Well, she’ll not get me lugging buckets of coal up and down them stairs like the maids. She caught me in the drawing room, I was just looking at the paintings and she tells me I have no right to be in there. “I’m just looking at the paintings, Miss Balfour,” I tell her. “You’ve no right to look,” she says. Can you believe it, Freda? I said to her, “You don’t mind if I look out of my window and see the woods, the countryside, he don’t own them, does he?”’

  Ed sighed, looking very glum. ‘They do, love, they do, far as the eye can see - all his Lordship’s land, he owns the lot.’

  Evelyne turned to Ed with a furious look. ‘Well, he doesn’t own me!’

  ‘As long as you are in his employ, he does.’

  Evelyne paced the tiny cottage while Freda finished setting the table. Ed flicked the curtains aside, wondering where Freedom was and hoping no one would see him coming to the cottage.

  ‘He’s late, he’s in a terrible mood, an’ all, can’t you talk to ‘im, Evie? Settle ‘im down, you know he’s taken to sleeping outside, made hisself some kind of tent? The lads don’t know what to make of him … where the hell is he? You got the time, Freda?’

  Freda pointed to the clock, then checked to see how the chicken was cooking. Unlike everyone else, Freda was happy as a lark. The cottage, with its new curtains and loose covers, delighted her. ‘Oh, he’ll be here, he won’t miss seeing his Evie.’

  Ed sighed. That was another thing, if Sir Charles found out about those two, there would be real trouble. He was up and down, jumpy as a ferret, worried someone would find out about these weekly meetings.

  Evelyne took out Freedom’s exercise books, thumbed through the pages of looped, childish writing. ‘He won’t try half the time, you know. He should be able to read and write by now, but he won’t concentrate for more than a minute …’

  Freda tittered, waved her wooden spoon. ‘His attention is too much on you, that’s why, darlink.’

  Ed flicked the curtains again, muttered, and sat down opposite Evelyne.

  She was shaking her head, still turning the pages. ‘Funny thing, he’s completely ambidextrous, and he’s no fool, got a wit about him, has me laughing …’

  ‘What? What you say ‘e’s got? Ambi what? Ill, you fink ‘e’s ill?’

  With a giggle, Evelyne explained to Ed that she meant he could write with either hand, right or left.

  ‘Gawd ‘elp me, I been assumin’ he was a southpaw, but … Hey, wait ‘til I get him in action termorrow, ambidixious, that what you call it? Well, I never … look, Freda love, I’ll just go an’ see what ‘e’s doin’, all right, ducks?’

  Freda raised her eyes to heaven. ‘Well, at least that cheered him up … Evie?’

  Evelyne was staring into the fire, Freedom’s book still on her knee. Freda sat on the arm of her chair and hugged her.

  ‘What is it, darlink, you want to tell me?’

  Evelyne kissed Freda’s hand. ‘I’m thinking of leaving, Freda, I feel as if I’m being buried alive. There’s a whole world out there, and I want… I want…’

  ‘What, Evie? What, do you think is so special out there?’

  Confused, frustrated, Evelyne bit her lip. ‘I won’t know unless I try, but I want to teach, you know? And maybe I could get work that would fulfil me. Here, I’m just stifled.’

  ‘What about Freedom?’

  Tears pricked Evelyne’s eyes, and she shook her head. ‘There’s no future for us, you must know that, and if Sir Charles knew we even saw each other … well, I don’t have to tell you what would happen.’

  Freda kept quiet, knowing Evie had to talk, get it out of her system.

  ‘We meet on Sundays, oh, far away from this place, up in the woods. We walk, and he’s like a child. There’s a wild deer, and he calls to it and it comes over, nuzzles him and takes food from his hand. He knows the name of every flower, every creature, and sometimes it’s magic with him. He’s so gentle, caring, and those times I love him … He’s like no other man I’ve ever known, and yet, he won’t educate himself, he won’t better himself… I have to go away, Freda.’

  Freda bent and kissed the top of Evelyne’s head as Ed burst into the cottage. ‘He’s gone, no sign of ‘im no place, the lads said they saw ‘im crossin’ the field at six, an’ ‘e had a bundle under ‘is arm. He’s run off … you better go back to the house, Evie, I’m going ter ‘ave ter get a search party out.’

  ‘Oh, Ed, don’t be stupid, he will be back! He will just have gone walking, you know the way he is - he knows it’s Evie’s supper with us.’

  ‘There’s a gypsy camp in the field behind the woods, I got to get to ‘im first. If the estate manager finds out, they’ll get the law on to ‘em. If they’re poachin’, there’ll be all hell let loose.’

  Evelyne’s hands clenched in anger. ‘Ed, he came here of his own free will, he’ll not run out on you … for God’s sake don’t tell the game wardens, I’ll go and find him.’

  Ed gripped her by the shoulders, tight. ‘You’ll do no such thing, ‘is Lordship’s back, arrived half an hour ago wiv a whole party of society people, I don’t want you gettin’ involved. My job’s on the line as it is, havin’ you meetin’ him here.’

  It was Freda’s turn to confront Ed. ‘Ed, listen to her, she knows him better than anyone, he’ll be back, you know he will.’

  ‘Will he> Well, you go an’ tell that bitch, Miss Balfour. He took a bundle under his arm all right, two hams, a chicken and a turkey what they was preparin’ fer Sir Charles’ bleedin’ house guests. It ain’t me settin’ the gamekeepers on ‘im, but Miss bloody Balfour.’

  Evelyne grabbed her coat and was halfway to the door.

  ‘Evie, darlin’, I’m sorry, don’t get me wrong, I trust him, Gawd ‘elp me, I love the lad, but … I been worried sick these last few weeks. I knew somethin’ was brewin’, I didn’t mean to sound off at you, you an’ him are welcome here any time.’

  Evelyne gave him a small smile, then hurried back to The Grange. From her tiny window high in the roof she could see the flare of torches as the gamekeepers prepared to search the woods. She was saddened by Freedom’s foolishness, but at the same time it cemented her decision. She would have to leave.

  The camp-fire was lit, piled high with logs stolen from The Grange’s wood-house. There were only four wagons, belonging to travellers on their way back from the Ascot races. Sitting in a semicircle around the fire, they ate the food Freedom had brought. There was beer and Jesse had two bottles of whisky. They were all in good humour, and one of the men took out his fiddle and began to play. Strung up on one of the wagons were rabbits, poached from the estate.

  Jesse was wearing a new, dark pinstriped suit, and he was proud of it, flaunting his waistcoat, amusing them all as he clicked his heels and danced to the fiddle. There were gold rings on his fingers, and his heavy earring was of gold. He clapped his hands, and his whiter-than-white teeth gleamed in the firelight. ‘Will you rokka Romany, Freedom? Eh, ehe heyup yup?’

  Freedom had been downing beer and whisky and now he lolled against the side of a wagon. He shook his head and waved for Jesse to continue. Jesse was making them all laugh at the fine man Freedom had turned into, living like a prince and bein
g made to run each day to beat the motor vehicle …

  Rawnie slipped to Freedom’s side. She still wore her brightly coloured skirts, her bangles and beads. Her thick, coal-black hair was braided and threaded with gold. The kohl around her eyes made them seem huge, like the tame deer that fed from Freedom’s hand. But she was thin, even gaunt, and she coughed constantly. ‘Are thee well, mun?’

  Freedom smiled up at her and nodded, held out his hand for her to come and sit with him. She looked back at the arrogant, dancing Jesse. She wouldn’t come close.

  ‘Does he care for thee?’

  She drew on the ever-present hand-rolled cigarette, releasing a cloud of smoke that all but obscured her face as she spoke in her low, husky voice. ‘He does … are thee with the paleface woman?’

  Freedom smiled, tilting his head. ‘Ay, she’s my manushi?

  A small boy with dark, flashing eyes and thick, black curly hair appeared behind Rawnie’s skirts. Freedom leaned forward and the child peeked around Rawnie and gave him a cheeky grin.

  ‘He be called Johnny … Johnny Mask, he’s a right bugger, we call him mask because you can belt the livin’ daylights out of him an’ he don’t ever care none.’

  Freedom looked up at her as she touched the young boy’s head, gently. Then Johnny ran back to Jesse, clicked his heels, and the pair danced together.

  ‘He be Jesse’s boy, a pure Tatchery, then there are two more doshas, see them, on the vargo steps.’

  Freedom looked over at the two little girls, hand in hand, watching the dancing. He stood up, watched Rawnie’s sad eyes. They were not her own, she did not even have to tell him … he held out his arms, wanting to hold her. She tossed her cigarette aside, stepping back so he could not touch her. ‘We’re moving to the races, north, we’ll join the clans. Jesse is leader now, but we need a strong-armed man, the fights are where the money is … livin’ like a king, maybe ye don’t need it.’

  Her voice had become mocking. She rolled another cigarette, and as she lit it the flame illuminated her face, her haunted eyes. ‘Will thee travel with us, Freedom? See, there’s Chalida with no man beside her, she’s Romanchilde.’

  Chalida, sitting with the two doshas, was a beautiful girl with her hair unbraided to show she was unmarried. She looked up, and Freedom gave her a small bow, then turned to Rawnie and shook his head. Before he could say a word, two gypsies ran to the fire and began stamping out the flames. They shouted and pointed into the darkness, and everyone began to run this way and that.

  Four gamekeepers with blazing torches were moving towards the camp through the woods. They carried shotguns, and their tracker dogs strained at their leashes. Jesse began shouting instructions. Pans and bottles and equipment were swiftly packed, and the horses were dragged from their roped pen to harness to the wagons. The poached rabbits and pheasants were quickly hidden. The children screamed in terror as the gamekeepers crashed into the camp and released their dogs. For a moment Freedom was frozen, he couldn’t believe what was happening. One of the little doshas was hunched by a wagon, shrieking with fear as a dog snarled and snapped at her. In seconds Freedom was on his feet and at her side. He kicked the dog away and grabbed the child, lifted her into the wagon. ‘Call your men off, you bastards, call the dogs back …’

  Jesse was already fighting with one of the gamekeepers. Freedom ran to a man he recognized, grabbed him by his lapels. ‘You call your men off or so help me God I’ll have your throat wrung, hear me … look at me, mun, you know me.’

  Little Johnny Mask was beating back one of the dogs with a stick. Jesse had wrested a shotgun from the hands of one of the gamekeepers, and had turned it on the man Freedom held. ‘No … Jesse, no!’

  He held the gun poised, finger on the trigger. Rawnie ran to his side and placed her hand over the barrel. ‘Freedom, get them out of the camp, tell them we’ll move out, we mean no harm …’

  The gamekeepers, terrified, did not need to be asked twice. They backed off, calling their dogs to their sides. Freedom held the shotgun, keeping the men back, but he stood with them, not his own people.

  It took only a short while before the wagons were ready. Jesse walked up to Freedom, carrying his son in his arms. ‘Come with us, brother, leave with us.’

  Past antagonisms forgotten, Freedom held Jesse close, and they kissed each other on both cheeks. From his pocket Jesse took a gold coin, pressed it into Freedom’s hand. ‘Kushti rardi, brother.’

  The wagons moved out, and the gamekeepers made their way back down the hill to The Grange. The men were silent, their dogs under control. Freedom walked slightly ahead of them, his thoughts with his people. As they came out of the wood he saw below him, glistening like a mirage, The Grange, lit by a multitude of chandeliers. His anger rose up and he stiffened. They had treated his people no better than dogs.

  ‘Come on, move on, bloody gyppo, get on back …’ In an instant Freedom swung around and knocked the man out, took his shotgun and broke it into pieces. Then he took off so fast none of them had a hope of keeping up with him … the night enveloped him, and he could no longer be seen or heard.

  The gamekeepers ran into the courtyard and reported to the chief warden. ‘Bastard took off after his people, bloody gyppo should never have been brought here in the first place.’

  Evelyne could hear them and their dogs clearly. Watching from her litde window, she saw the police wagon arrive, and she turned back to her cot bed. So Ed had been right, he had run. She was feeling queasy, and she reached for her dressing-gown, slipped quietly along the corridor to the bathroom she shared with the other servants. Fighting her dizziness, she was violently sick. More than ever she felt she must leave The Grange.

  As she returned to her room, she found two housemaids whispering together near her bedroom door. One of them turned to Evelyne.

  ‘Oh, Evie, they say the gyppo fighter’s run off, half-killed the gamekeepers, tried to strangle one, and him what was almost hung afore … and he stole the dinner cook was preparing for Sir Charles, what a to-do.’

  Miss Balfour appeared, wearing a hairnet, tight-lipped, her skin wrinkled like a prune. ‘Back to bed, all of you, now. This has nothing to do with you, back to bed this instant.’

  The two maids shot into their rooms like rabbits bolting into their holes. Miss Balfour stared at Evelyne with such overt disgust on her face that Evelyne barred her way.

  ‘If you have something to say to me, Miss Balfour, then say it to my face.’

  Miss Balfour shrank back and scurried to her room, locking the door behind her. Evelyne entered her own bedroom and gasped. Freedom lay on her bed, smiling, his feet up on the iron bedrail. She closed the door fast. ‘What are you doing here? Do you not know everyone’s out searching for you, and now the police are called in -are you mad, man?’

  Miss Balfour could have sworn she heard a man’s voice. She slipped out of her room and crept along the corridor, listened at Evelyne’s door. Afraid to confront them both, she tightened the cord of her dressing gown and hurried down the back stairs.

  Freedom cocked his head to one side and placed his finger across his lips to remind Evelyne to speak softly.

  ‘Will you come with me, you don’t belong here, and they keep us like prisoners … Come away with me? Is this the way you want to live your life? To be paid each month so they own you? So they can tell you when to eat and when to sleep?’

  He began to undo his shirt, as if the sounds of the baying dogs below and the whisding of the searching policemen had nothing to do with him.

  She whispered back, frantically, ‘You’re drunk, I can smell it, and you go back down right now. They think you’ve run, and poor Ed will get into terrible trouble.’

  He threw his shirt aside and began to unbutton his trousers.

  ‘Are you mad, man? What are you thinking of, here, in the house?’

  His face changed, his eyes were so black they frightened her, ‘They don’t own me, they got a piece of paper says they do, but I’m no animal to be
bought. No man sets his dogs on me.’

  ‘You forget yourself, Freedom Stubbs. If it weren’t for Sir Charles you’d be at the end of a hangman’s rope and you well know it.’

  ‘It’s you that saved me, you, manushi, now come here.’

  She backed away from him, pressed herself against the wall. ‘I’m not your manushi, I am not your wife. You don’t belong to them? Well, I don’t belong to you. Now get out of here, go on, get out!’

  His fist curled in rage, but she stood up to him, unafraid now.

  She slapped his fist. ‘That’s all you know, isn’t it -the fight? You don’t want to better yourself - well, run back to your people, go on, run back, but don’t expect me to be with you in some wretched wagon, chased off the land, run out of every town.’

  In a fury he pulled her to him, but she slapped his face. He took it, smiled down at her, and she stepped back and slapped him again.

  ‘Oh, manushi, is that all yer know, the fight? But my, my, you’re rinkeney when you’re angry … now come to me before you give me a tatto yeck … see, I got something for you.’ He handed her the gold coin Jesse had pressed into his hand … she threw it across the room. He cocked his head to the side, then picked up his shirt and began to dress.

  Suddenly she clung to his back … he turned in her arms and cupped her face in his hands. ‘Eh, woman, you twist me so, ye don’t know what thee wants, listen to your heart, manushi, listen.’

  He kissed her, slipping her nightdress off, carried her to the bed and laid her down. He snuggled his head close to her and whispered, ‘They’ll have a long night ahead searching for me.’

  ‘No they won’t, you’re going back, go and give yourself up to them before you cause any more trouble.’

  ‘Is that what you want?’

  Miss Balfour rapped on Evelyne’s door.

  ‘Open this door this instant, I know you’ve got a man in there, come along, I’ve got Mr Plath with me, open up.’

  In a panic, Evelyne reached for her nightdress while Freedom pulled on his shirt and hopped around trying to get into his trousers. Miss Balfour threw the door open. She was carrying a policeman’s truncheon, and was followed close behind by Mr Plath, the estate manager. They just caught Freedom slipping out of the window. Mr Plath made the mistake of grabbing Freedom’s leg, and got a nasty kick in the groin. He rolled in agony on the floor while Miss Balfour screamed, ‘Help, help … someone help!’