by Fergus Hume
CHAPTER III.
AN UNEXPECTED RECOGNITION.
"I wish you wouldn't speak the calo jib to me, Chaldea," said Lambert,smiling on the beautiful eager face. "You know I don't understand it."
"Nor I," put in Miss Greeby in her manly tones. "What does Oh baro devil,and all the rest of it mean?"
"The Great God be with you," translated Chaldea swiftly, "and duvel isnot devil as you Gorgios call it."
"Only the difference of a letter," replied the Gentile ladygood-humoredly. "Show us round your camp, my good girl."
The mere fact that the speaker was in Lambert's company, let alone theoffensively patronizing tone in which she spoke, was enough to rouse thegypsy girl's naturally hot temper. She retreated and swayed like a catmaking ready to spring, while her black eyes snapped fire in a mostunpleasant manner.
But Miss Greeby was not to be frightened by withering glances, andmerely laughed aloud, showing her white teeth. Her rough merriment andmasculine looks showed Chaldea that, as a rival, she was not to befeared, so the angry expression on the dark face changed to a wheedlingsmile.
"Avali! Avali! The Gorgios lady wants her fortune told."
For the sake of diplomacy Miss Greeby nodded and fished in her pocket."I'll give you half a crown to tell it."
"Not me--not me, dear lady. Mother Cockleshell is our great witch."
"Take me to her then," replied the other, and rapidly gathered into herbrain all she could of Chaldea's appearance.
Lambert had painted a very true picture of the girl, although to acertain extent he had idealized her reckless beauty. Chaldea's looks hadbeen damaged and roughened by wind and rain, by long tramps, and byglaring sunshine. Yet she was superlatively handsome with her warm andswarthy skin, under which the scarlet blood circled freely. To an ovalface, a slightly hooked nose and two vermilion lips, rather full, sheadded the glossy black eyes of the true Romany, peaked at the corners.Her jetty hair descended smoothly from under a red handkerchief down toher shoulders, and there, at the tips, became tangled and curling. Herfigure was magnificent, and she swayed and swung from the hips with aneasy grace, which reminded the onlookers of a panther's lithe movements.And there was a good deal of the dangerous beast-of-prey beauty aboutChaldea, which was enhanced by her picturesque dress. This was raggedand patched with all kinds of colored cloths subdued to mellow tints bywear and weather. Also she jingled with coins and beads and barbarictrinkets of all kinds. Her hands were perfectly formed, and so doubtlesswere her feet, although these last were hidden by heavy laced-up boots.On the whole, she was an extremely picturesque figure, quite comfortingto the artistic eye amidst the drab sameness of latterday civilization.
"All the same, I suspect she is a sleeping volcano," whispered MissGreeby in her companion's ear as they followed the girl through the camp.
"Scarcely sleeping," answered Lambert in the same tone. "She explodes onthe slightest provocation, and not without damaging results."
"Well, you ought to know. But if you play with volcanic fire you'll burnmore than your clever fingers."
"Pooh! The girl is only a model."
"Ha! Not much of the lay figure about her, anyway."
Lambert, according to his custom, shrugged his shoulders and did notseek to explain further. If Miss Greeby chose to turn her fancies intofacts, she was at liberty to do so. Besides, her attention was luckilyattracted by the vivid life of the vagrants which hummed and bustledeverywhere. The tribe was a comparatively large one, and--as Miss Greebylearned later--consisted of Lees, Loves, Bucklands, Hernes, and others,all mixed up together in one gypsy stew. The assemblage embraced manyclans, and not only were there pure gypsies, but even many diddikai, orhalf-bloods, to be seen. Perhaps the gradually diminishing Romany clansfound it better to band together for mutual benefit than to remainisolated units. But the camp certainly contained many elements, andthese, acting co-operatively, formed a large and somewhat recklesscommunity, which justified Garvington's alarm. A raid in the night byone or two, or three, or more of these lean, wiry, dangerous-lookingoutcasts was not to be despised. But it must be admitted that, in ageneral way, law and order prevailed in the encampment.
There were many caravans, painted in gay colors and hung round withvarious goods, such as brushes and brooms, goat-skin rugs, and muchtinware, together with baskets of all sorts and sizes. The horses, whichdrew these rainbow-hued vehicles, were pasturing on the outskirts of thecamp, hobbled for the most part. Interspersed among the travelling homesstood tents great and small, wherein the genuine Romany had their abode,but the autumn weather was so fine that most of the inmates preferred tosleep in the moonshine. Of course, there were plenty of dogs quarrellingover bones near various fires, or sleeping with one eye open in oddcorners, and everywhere tumbled and laughed and danced, brown-faced,lithe-limbed children, who looked uncannily Eastern. And the men,showing their white teeth in smiles, together with the fawning women,young and handsome, or old and hideously ugly, seemed altogether aliento the quiet, tame domestic English landscape. There was somethingprehistoric about the scene, and everywhere lurked that sense ofdangerous primeval passions held in enforced check which might burstforth on the very slightest provocation.
"It's a migrating tribe of Aryans driven to new hunting grounds byhunger or over-population," said Miss Greeby, for even her unromanticnature was stirred by the unusual picturesqueness of the scene. "Thesight of these people and the reek of their fires make me feel like acave-woman. There is something magnificent about this brutal freedom."
"Very sordid magnificence," replied Lambert, raising his shoulders. "ButI understand your feelings. On occasions we all have the nostalgia ofthe primitive life at times, and delight to pass from ease to hardship."
"Well, civilization isn't much catch, so far as I can see," argued hiscompanion. "It makes men weaklings."
"Certainly not women," he answered, glancing sideways at her Amazonianfigure.
"I agree with you. For some reason, men are going down while women aregoing up, both physically and mentally. I wonder what the future ofcivilized races will be."
"Here is Mother Cockleshell. Best ask her."
The trio had reached a small tent at the very end of the camp by thistime, snugly set up under a spreading oak and near the banks of ababbling brook. Their progress had not been interrupted by any claims ontheir attention or purses, for a wink from Chaldea had informed herbrother and sister gypsies that the Gentile lady had come to consult thequeen of the tribe. And, like Lord Burleigh's celebrated nod, Chaldea'swink could convey volumes. At all events, Lambert and his companion wereunmolested, and arrived in due course before the royal palace. Acroaking voice announced that the queen was inside her Arab tent, andshe was crooning some Romany song. Chaldea did not open her mouth, butsimply snapped her fingers twice or thrice rapidly. The woman withinmust have had marvellously sharp ears, for she immediately stopped herincantation--the songs sounded like one--and stepped forth.
"Oh!" said Miss Greeby, stepping back, "I am disappointed."
She had every reason to be after the picturesqueness of the camp ingeneral, and Chaldea in particular, for Mother Cockleshell looked like athreadbare pew-opener, or an almshouse widow who had seen better days.Apparently she was very old, for her figure had shrivelled up into adiminutive monkey form, and she looked as though a moderately high windcould blow her about like a feather. Her face was brown and puckered andlined in a most wonderful fashion. Where a wrinkle could be, there awrinkle was, and her nose and chin were of the true nutcracker order, asa witch's should be. Only her eyes betrayed the powerful vitality thatstill animated the tiny frame, for these were large and dark, and had inthem a piercing look which seemed to gaze not at any one, but throughand beyond. Her figure, dried like that of a mummy, was surprisinglystraight for one of her ancient years, and her profuse hair was scarcelytouched with the gray of age. Arrayed in a decent black dress, with adecent black bonnet and a black woollen shawl, the old lady lookedintensely respectable. There was nothing
of the picturesque vagrantabout her. Therefore Miss Greeby, and with every reason, wasdisappointed, and when the queen of the woodland spoke she was stillmore so, for Mother Cockleshell did not even interlard her Englishspeech with Romany words, as did Chaldea.
"Good day to you, my lady, and to you, sir," said Mother Cockleshell ina stronger and harsher voice than would have been expected from one ofher age and diminished stature. "I hope I sees you well," and shedropped a curtsey, just like any village dame who knew her manners.
"Oh!" cried Miss Greeby again. "You don't look a bit like a gypsy queen."
"Ah, my lady, looks ain't everything. But I'm a true-bred Romany--aStanley of Devonshire. Gentilla is my name and the tent my home, and Ican tell fortunes as no one else on the road can."
"Avali, and that is true," put in Chaldea eagerly. "Gentilla's a borichovihani."
"The child means that I am a great witch, my lady," said the old damewith another curtsey. "Though she's foolish to use Romany words toGentiles as don't understand the tongue which the dear Lord spoke inEden's garden, as the good Book tells us."
"In what part of the Bible do you find that?" asked Lambert laughing.
"Oh, my sweet gentleman, it ain't for the likes of me to say things tothe likes of you," said Mother Cockleshell, getting out of herdifficulty very cleverly, "but the dear lady wants her fortune told,don't she?"
"Why don't you say dukkerin?"
"I don't like them wicked words, sir," answered Mother Cockleshellpiously.
"Wicked words," muttered Chaldea tossing her black locks. "And them trueRomany as was your milk tongue. No wonder the Gentiles don't fancy you atrue one of the road. If I were queen of--"
A vicious little devil flashed out of the old woman's eyes, and herrespectable looks changed on the instant. "Tol yer chib, or I'll heatthe bones of you with the fires of Bongo Tem," she screamed furiously,and in a mixture of her mother-tongue and English. "Ja pukenus, slut ofthe gutter," she shook her fist, and Chaldea, with an insulting laugh,moved away. "Bengis your see! Bengis your see! And that, my generouslady," she added, turning round with a sudden resumption of her fawningrespectability, "means 'the devil in your heart,' which I spokewitchly-like to the child. Ah, but she's a bad one."
Miss Greeby laughed outright. "This is more like the real thing."
"Poor Chaldea," said Lambert. "You're too hard on her, mother."
"And you, my sweet gentleman, ain't hard enough. She'll sell you, andget Kara to put the knife between your ribs."
"Why should he? I'm not in love with the girl."
"The tree don't care for the ivy, but the ivy loves the tree," saidMother Cockleshell darkly. "You're a good and kind gentleman, and Idon't want to see that slut pick your bones."
"So I think," whispered Miss Greeby in his ear. "You play with fire."
"Aye, my good lady," said Mother Cockleshell, catching the whisper--shehad the hearing of a cat. "With the fire of Bongo Tern, the which youmay call The Crooked Land," and she pointed significantly downward.
"Hell, do you mean?" asked Miss Greeby in her bluff way.
"The Crooked Land we Romany calls it," insisted the old woman. "And thechild will go there, for her witchly doings."
"She's too good-looking to lose as a model, at all events," saidLambert, hitching his shoulders. "I shall leave you to have your fortunetold, Clara, and follow Chaldea to pacify her."
As he went toward the centre of the camp, Miss Greeby took a hesitatingstep as though to follow him. In her opinion Chaldea was much toogood-looking, let alone clever, for Lambert to deal with alone. GentillaStanley saw the look on the hard face and the softening of the hard eyesas the cheeks grew rosy red. From this emotion she drew her conclusions,and she chuckled to think of how true a fortune she could tell thevisitor on these premises. Mother Cockleshell's fortune-telling was notentirely fraudulent, but when her clairvoyance was not in working ordershe made use of character-reading with good results.
"Won't the Gorgios lady have her fortune told?" she asked in wheedlingtones. "Cross Mother Cockleshell's hand with silver and she'll tell thecoming years truly."
"Why do they call you Mother Cockleshell?" demanded Miss Greeby, waivingthe question of fortune-telling for the time being.
"Bless your wisdom, it was them fishermen at Grimsby who did so. Iwalked the beaches for years and told charms and gave witchly spells forfine weather. Gentilla Stanley am I called, but Mother Cockleshell wastheir name for me. But the fortune, my tender Gentile--"
"I don't want it told," interrupted Miss Greeby abruptly. "I don'tbelieve in such rubbish."
"There is rubbish and there is truth," said the ancient gypsy darkly."And them as knows can see what's hidden from others."
"Well, you will have an opportunity this afternoon of making money. Somefools from The Manor are coming to consult you."
Mother Cockleshell nodded and grinned to show a set of beautifullypreserved teeth. "I know The Manor," said she, rubbing her slim hands."And Lord Garvington, with his pretty sister."
"Lady Agnes Pine?" asked Miss Greeby. "How do you know, her?"
"I've been in these parts before, my gentle lady, and she was good to mein a sick way. I would have died in the hard winter if she hadn't fed meand nursed me, so to speak. I shall love to see her again. To dick apuro pal is as commoben as a aushti habben, the which, my preciousangel, is true Romany for the Gentile saying, 'To see an old friend isas good as a fine dinner.' Avali! Avali!" she nodded smilingly. "I shallbe glad to see her, though here I use Romany words to you as doesn'tunderstand the lingo."
Miss Greeby was not at all pleased to hear Lady Agnes praised; as,knowing that Lambert had loved her, and probably loved her still, shewas jealous enough to wish her all possible harm. However, it was notdiplomatic to reveal her true feelings to Mother Cockleshell, lest theold gypsy should repeat her words to Lady Agnes, so she turned theconversation by pointing to a snow-white cat of great size, who steppeddaintily out of the tent. "I should think, as a witch, your cat ought tobe black," said Miss Greeby. Mother Cockleshell screeched like anight-owl and hastily pattered some gypsy spell to avert evil. "Why, theold devil is black," she cried. "And why should I have him in my houseto work evil? This is my white ghost." Her words were accompanied by agentle stroking of the cat. "And good is what she brings to myroof-tree. But I don't eat from white dishes, or drink from white mugs.No! No! That would be too witchly."
Miss Greeby mused. "I have heard something about these gypsysuperstitions before," she remarked meditatively.
"Avo! Avo! They are in a book written by a great Romany Rye. Leland isthe name of that rye, a gypsy Lee with Gentile land. He added land tothe lea as he was told by one of our people. Such a nice gentleman,kind, and free of his money and clever beyond tellings, as I alwayssays. Many a time has he sat pal-like with me, and 'Gentilla,' says he,'your're a bori chovihani'; and that, my generous lady, is the gentlelanguage for a great witch."
"Chaldea said that you were that," observed Miss Greeby carelessly.
"The child speaks truly. Come, cross my hand, sweet lady."
Miss Greeby passed along half a crown. "I only desire to know onething," she said, offering her palm. "Shall I get my wish?"
Mother Cockleshell peered into the hands, although she had already madeup her mind what to say. Her faculties, sharpened by years of chicanery,told her from the look which Miss Greeby had given when Lambert followedChaldea, that a desire to marry the man was the wish in question. Andseeing how indifferent Lambert was in the presence of the tall lady,Mother Cockleshell had no difficulty in adjusting the situation in herown artful mind. "No, my lady," she said, casting away the hand withquite a dramatic gesture. "You will never gain your wish."
Miss Greeby looked angry. "Bah! Your fortune-telling is all rubbish, asI have always thought," and she moved away.
"Tell me that in six months," screamed the old woman after her.
"Why six months?" demanded the other, pausing.
"Ah, that's a dark saying,"
scoffed the gypsy. "Call it seven, myhopeful-for-what-you-won't-get, like the cat after the cream, forseven's a sacred number, and the spell is set."
"Gypsy jargon, gypsy lies," muttered Miss Greeby, tossing her ruddymane. "I don't believe a word. Tell me--"
"There's no time to say more," interrupted Mother Cockleshell rudely,for, having secured her money, she did not think it worth while to bepolite, especially in the face of her visitor's scepticism. "One of ourtribe--aye, and he's a great Romany for sure--is coming to camp with us.Each minute he may come, and I go to get ready a stew of hedgehog, forGentile words I must use to you, who are a Gorgio. And so good day toyou, my lady," ended the old hag, again becoming the truly respectablepew-opener. Then she dropped a curtsey--whether ironical or not, MissGreeby could not tell--and disappeared into the tent, followed by thewhite cat, who haunted her footsteps like the ghost she declared it tobe.
Clearly there was nothing more to be learned from Mother Cockleshell,who, in the face of her visitor's doubts, had become hostile, so MissGreeby, dismissing the whole episode as over and done with, turned herattention toward finding Lambert. With her bludgeon under her arm andher hands in the pockets of her jacket, she stalked through the camp inquite a masculine fashion, not vouchsafing a single reply to thegreetings which the gypsies gave her. Shortly she saw the artistchatting with Chaldea at the beginning of the path which led to hiscottage. Beside them, on the grass, squatted a queer figure.
It was that of a little man, very much under-sized, with a hunch backand a large, dark, melancholy face covered profusely with black hair. Hewore corduroy trousers and clumsy boots--his feet and hands wereenormous--together with a green coat and a red handkerchief which wascarelessly twisted round his hairy throat. On his tangledlocks--distressingly shaggy and unkempt--he wore no hat, and he lookedlike a brownie, grotesque, though somewhat sad. But even more did heresemble an ape--or say the missing link--and only his eyes seemedhuman. These were large, dark and brilliant, sparkling like jewels underhis elf-locks. He sat cross-legged on the sward and hugged a fiddle, asthough he were nursing a baby. And, no doubt, he was as attached to hisinstrument as any mother could be to her child. It was not difficult forMiss Greeby to guess that this weird, hairy dwarf was the Servian gypsyKara, of whom Lambert had spoken. She took advantage of the knowledge tobe disagreeable to the girl.
"Is this your husband?" asked Miss Greeby amiably.
Chaldea's eyes flashed and her cheeks grew crimson. "Not at all," shesaid contemptuously. "I have no rom."
"Ah, your are not married?"
"No," declared Chaldea curtly, and shot a swift glance at Lambert.
"She is waiting for the fairy prince," said that young gentlemansmiling. "And he is coming to this camp almost immediately."
"Ishmael Hearne is coming," replied the gypsy. "But he is no rom ofmine, and never will be."
"Who is he, then?" asked Lambert carelessly.
"One of the great Romany."
Miss Greeby remembered that Mother Cockleshell had also spoken of theexpected arrival at the camp in these terms. "A kind of king?" sheasked.
Chaldea laughed satirically. "Yes; a kind of king," she assented; thenturned her back rudely on the speaker and addressed Lambert: "I can'tcome, rye. Ishmael will want to see me. I must wait."
"What a nuisance," said Lambert, looking annoyed. "Fancy, Clara. I havean idea of painting these two as Beauty and the Beast, or perhaps asEsmeralda and Quasimodo. I want them to come to the cottage and sit now,but they will wait for this confounded Ishmael."
"We can come to-morrow," put in Chaldea quickly. "This afternoon I mustdance for Ishmael, and Kara must play."
"Ishmael will meet with a fine reception," said Miss Greeby, and then,anxious to have a private conversation with Chaldea so as to disabuseher mind of any idea she may have entertained of marrying Lambert, sheadded, "I think I shall stay and see him."
"In that case, I shall return to my cottage," replied Lambert,sauntering up the pathway, which was strewn with withered leaves.
"When are you coming to The Manor?" called Miss Greeby after him.
"Never! I am too busy," he replied over his shoulder and disappearedinto the wood. This departure may seem discourteous, but then MissGreeby liked to be treated like a comrade and without ceremony. Thatis, she liked it so far as other men were concerned, but not as regardsLambert. She loved him too much to approve of his careless leave-taking,and therefore she frowned darkly, as she turned her attention toChaldea.
The girl saw that Miss Greeby was annoyed, and guessed the cause of herannoyance. The idea that this red-haired and gaunt woman should love thehandsome Gorgio was so ludicrous in Chaldea's eyes that she laughed inan ironical fashion. Miss Greeby turned on her sharply, but before shecould speak there was a sound of many voices raised in welcome."Sarishan pal! Sarishan ba!" cried the voices, and Chaldea started.
"Ishmael!" she said, and ran toward the camp, followed leisurely byKara.
Anxious to see the great Romany, whose arrival caused all thiscommotion, Miss Greeby plunged into the crowd of excited vagrants. Thesesurrounded a black horse, on which sat a slim, dark-faced man of thetrue Romany breed. Miss Greeby stared at him and blinked her eyes, asthough she could not believe what they beheld, while the man waved hishand and responded to the many greetings in gypsy language. His eyesfinally met her own as she stood on the outskirts of the crowd, and hestarted. Then she knew. "Sir Hubert Pine," said Miss Greeby, stillstaring. "Sir Hubert Pine!"