by Kate Forsyth
‘You can borrow my horse,’ Maloney said over his shoulder. ‘He’s sturdy enough to pull the caravan, as long as it’s not too far.’
‘We’ll go to Richmond Park, we have friends waiting for us there,’ Luka said. Maloney nodded and disappeared down the stairs, Maggie trying to hold herself upright in his arms, not at all pleased to be carried. Lena and Silvia stumbled after them, Mimi and Sabina clinging tightly to their hands, their dark eyes wide and fearful.
‘Where’s Noah?’ Emilia asked, looking around. ‘I’ve been so worried. I had a terrible dream . . .’
‘He’s in the next cell,’ Beatrice said. ‘He’s not been well. We heard him coughing all the time, but they would not let me go to him. It’s all been so dreadful.’
Luka had already hurried to the other cell and was unlocking it swiftly. He was almost bowled over by the press of men trying to get out. Apart from Luka’s father Jacob and his uncle, Ruben, there was a neatly dressed man with ink-stained fingers, a one-armed soldier, several thin shabby men with desperate eyes, and a number of filthy hedge-birds with wild matted hair and beards and stinking rags. Most of them barged past and ran down the stairs, almost trampling each other in their desire to get out, but the gentleman with ink-stained fingers bowed and nodded, and said, ‘I thank you. I will not forget this service tonight.’
‘Don’t thank me, thank Old Ironsides!’ Luka said irrepressibly, waving the pardons.
‘I’ll thank Providence,’ the gentleman replied, and went quietly but swiftly out of the cell. Luka rushed into his father’s arms.
‘Luka!’ Jacob cried. ‘I thought I heard your voice. I could hardly believe it was true. Let me look at you. Why, you’ve grown. Look how tall you are! But so thin.’
‘I need to get some of Baba’s stew into me,’ Luka grinned. He hugged his father fiercely.
Emilia had run straight past her uncles to kneel beside her brother, who lay on a pile of damp straw. The little boy was a ghastly shade of blue, with purple shadows under his eyes, and colourless lips. His eyes were shut.
‘He’s very ill,’ Ruben said. ‘We’ve done what we could for him.’
Beatrice and Emilia both knelt beside their brother, murmuring endearments, patting and stroking him. He did not stir.
‘We need to get him away from here,’ Emilia cried. Tears were hot in her eyes. Jacob nodded and bent to pick up the little boy, carrying him gently out of the cell. Noah’s head lolled sideways, and his arm hung limply. Beatrice and Emilia hurried after him.
Luka grinned when he saw the scold’s bridle locked on the pastor’s head.
Hopefully he’ll sleep all day, he thought, and by then we’ll be far, far away!
Outside, the rain drummed down, turning the ground to mud. In the few scant seconds it took to run across the yard, Emilia and Beatrice were drenched through. The rain seemed to have woken Noah, for his eyes were open and he was turning his face from side to side. Jacob laid him down gently in the bunk.
‘You’re safe now, darling boy,’ Emilia wept, hugging him close. ‘We’ll have you well again in no time! Don’t you worry about a thing now.’
‘Milly?’ Noah whispered. ‘Where am I? What’s happened? Are you real?’
‘Of course I’m real,’ Emilia said. ‘You’re here in your own little bed.’
‘But . . . we were in the cell . . . I can smell it still . . .’
He groped out with one skeletal hand, his face turning anxiously from side to side.
‘It’s your clothes you smell,’ Emilia said. ‘Here, let me take them off you. There are some other clothes here in the chest.’
As she turned away, Rollo pushed past her, whining and wagging his tail so hard his whole body wriggled. He jumped up and put his paws on the bunk, licking Noah on the face.
Noah smiled. ‘Why, it’s Rollo,’ he whispered. ‘You’ve come back.’
‘Aye, darling, we’re all back, we’re all safe,’ Emilia said, gently undressing the little boy. ‘Everything is fine now.’
She and Beatrice together sponged away the worst of the filth with rain water, dressed Noah in a clean shirt and tucked him up warmly. Rollo whuffed with joy and leapt up onto the bunk, curling up in the crook of Noah’s knees, his nose pressed into the little boy’s hand. Noah, smiling, closed his eyes and let himself drift away into sleep.
Emilia smiled and sniffed, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. She turned to tend to her grandmother, sitting hunched in her rocking-chair. The big guard was waiting quietly on the step, and Emilia’s heart lurched in sudden terror. But he smiled kindly at her, and ducked his head inside the caravan to nod at Maggie.
‘Goodbye, ma’am,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’
‘Thank you, Maloney,’ Maggie answered. ‘For everything. And please, when the little one is born, bring her to see us in Norwood. I’ll make her a little blessing for you to hang above her cradle.’
His eyes lit up. ‘It’ll be a little girl then?’
She nodded wearily.
‘Oh, that’s wonderful news,’ he cried. ‘I can’t wait to tell Jenny!’
‘Well, you may as well go on home and tell her,’ Maggie said. ‘I’m afraid you’re out of a job, at least till they fill the gaol up again, which I guess won’t take them long.’
He shrugged. ‘I never liked being a guard anyway,’ he said. ‘I might turn my hand to raising sheep, like you suggested, ma’am.’
She nodded and leant her head on the back of the chair, her face all hooked nose and hooded eyelids in the soft glow of the lantern. ‘Wool will do well when the king comes back.’
He bent and seized her thin, claw-like hand. ‘We’ll name her Maggie,’ he said. ‘In remembrance for all you did for us.’
She crooked her mouth. ‘Better name her Jenny,’ she advised.
He grinned. ‘We’ll call the next one Jenny.’
‘And both very good names too,’ she said. ‘Goodbye, Maloney!’
‘Goodbye, ma’am,’ he said. The caravan swayed and rocked under his weight as he stepped down, and Noah sighed and murmured in his sleep.
Emilia gazed at her grandmother, thinking that the old woman never failed to surprise her. Maggie, without opening her eyes, said, ‘Go help the men harness up the caravan. I want to feel the road under our wheels again.’
‘Aye, Baba,’ Emilia said and jumped down the steps again.
The men were all busy getting the caravan ready to go, even though Maloney was begging them to wait for the storm to blow over.
‘What’s a little rain?’ Jacob scoffed. ‘It’ll wash away the prison stink.’
Luka was helping eagerly, his monkey back on his shoulder, her little paws gripped tight around his throat.
‘So where’s my Sweetheart then?’ Ruben asked. ‘She back at the camp?’
Luka and Emilia looked at each other. Slowly they shook their heads.
‘I’m sorry,’ Emilia said.
‘They shot her about a hundred times. There was nothing we could do.’
‘She saved us,’ Emilia said. ‘More than once.’
Ruben stared at them, grim-faced, then bowed his head and went on with his work.
Slowly Emilia and Luka plodded along the muddy road, the cold wind plucking at their hair and clothes, carrying gusts of icy rain. Tom stumbled just behind, just as wet and bedraggled as the two gypsy children, for he had insisted on giving up his bunk in the caravan for Maggie and little Mimi. The other members of the Finch family trudged along before and behind, barely finding the strength to lift one foot after another.
It was almost dawn. The thin grey light showed a scene of utter devastation. Trees were uprooted, roofs had been torn off houses, and fallen branches lay across smashed walls.
‘This has been the longest night ever,’ Luka said.
‘It feels like it’s been years,’ Emilia said and yawned so widely her jaw cracked.
‘My legs don’t want to walk anymore.’
‘Me either.’
But they trudged on.
‘Will they be there, I wonder?’ Luka asked.
‘Of course they will,’ Emilia answered, smiling across at her sister who tried to smooth back her matted hair with one hand.
Hooves hammered the road ahead. Tense with fright, the children looked up. It was not Coldham riding towards them, though, or a troupe of soldiers. It was Felipe and Sebastien and Lord Harry, waving their hats and hullaballoing.
‘Here they are!’ Lord Harry shouted, drawing up his horse beside them. ‘We rode out to look for you, afraid you may have been hurt in the storm, but look at you! Hale and hearty and with friends, no less!’
‘This is our family,’ Emilia said.
‘We rescued them ourselves!’ Luka cried.
There was a glad hubbub, as quick greetings and explanations flew back and forth.
‘We were worried when we did not find you at Gallows Pond,’ Sebastien said. ‘So, is all well? You broke your family out of gaol yourself?’
His eyes scanned the crowd and found Beatrice, turning away, her shawl drawn up, ashamed of her dirt and dark bruises. Sebastien dismounted and strode quickly to meet her, calling her name in delight. A rosy bloom rose in Beatrice’s cheeks, banishing the tense whiteness of a moment before. Sebastien seized her hand, then said, ‘Come, let me put you up on my horse. You look worn out! We’ll soon have you warm and dry by the fire, eating some good stew.’
‘Thank you,’ Beatrice whispered, allowing him to lift her onto the horse’s back. In a moment, the others were mounted too, Luka up behind his mother, and Emilia clinging to Tom’s waist. The horses strode out smoothly, and Emilia sighed and let herself lay her cheek on Tom’s shoulder and relax.
Soon the travellers reached a gate, standing askew. The caravans turned through the entrance way, bouncing wildly on the rutted road. Although rain still fell in grey veils upon the horizon, the clouds had parted over their heads and a broad ray of sunlight broke through to shine upon the meadow.
A herd of deer lifted their heads to stare at the caravans. Rollo’s ears pricked when he saw a family of rabbits frisking about. Before Emilia could grab the big dog, he was hurtling after them, darting first this way, then that way, as the rabbits fled to their burrows.
‘He never catches one, I don’t know why he tries,’ Emilia said.
‘I wish he would. I’m starving!’ Luka said. ‘Do you realise we’ve only had a bit of bread and honey since yesterday?’
‘Oh, I realise. I was trying not to think about it.’
The road curved down into a small wood, where a thin ribbon of smoke curled up from beside a gleam of water.
Drawn up around a campfire were the familiar caravans of the Hearne family. Emilia smiled and waved as she recognised face after face. Gypsy Joe and Cosmo Hearne, smoking a pipe by the fire; Old Janka, scolding the younger girls as they washed their clothes in the pond; Sebastien’s mother, Julisa, cooking a mess of eggs and bacon over the fire; Milosh the smuggler, and all his men, lying rolled in blankets under the trees. And, there, joy of joys, was the round figure of Father Plummer, tucking into a large plate of sausages and fried potatoes.
Emilia flung herself upon them. ‘You’re here, you’re here!’
‘More to the point, you are!’ Father Plummer hugged her close. ‘We’ve been worried sick about you. What I was doing, allowing you out of my sight?’
‘When did you get here? Did you have any trouble?’
‘Not I! But I bet you’ve been having adventures!’
‘Wait till we tell you . . .’
‘And Joe! You’re here too. You could get away from the inn?’
Joe Wood, who had given up gypsy ways to become an innkeeper in Salisbury, gave Emilia a broad grin. ‘Those girls of mine can run the inn better than I can! Besides, I had itchy feet. It’s been a while since I travelled the roads. Seemed as good a time as any to see a bit of the world.’
‘Thank you so much!’
‘You’ve got some other visitors here too,’ Sebastien said. ‘A Big Man, in every respect. A smith, I believe, by name and by trade . . .’
‘What? Stevo Smith, you mean?’
‘He’s been very welcome, he’s fixed Mama’s best pot and sharpened all our knives,’ Sebastien said with a grin. ‘We might have to keep him.’
‘He’s brought his brother and sister with him,’ Julisa said. ‘Though we haven’t seen much of them, they’re very shy. The honey they brought is good though.’
‘Best honey in the world!’ Luka said with a grin. ‘I can’t believe they’ve come. I never thought Fairnette would leave her father.’
‘Is that the old man who keeps forgetting who he is? Oh, Mama made Nadine stay and look after him,’ Sebastien said. ‘She wasn’t best pleased about that!’
Luka laughed joyously. ‘Serve her right, the spiteful cat!’
Emilia suddenly had to sit down. ‘Everyone’s come, everyone,’ she said wonderingly.
‘Though in the end we didn’t need any of you!’ Luka grinned cheekily. ‘We rescued our families all by ourselves.’
‘Heavens be praised!’ Father Plummer said.
‘Come, come and be welcome,’ Julisa said. ‘What a night! We thought the end was nigh. You must be so tired and so hungry. Come sit by the fire, warm yourselves.’
As the Finch family wearily settled down on the ground, looking about them shyly, and being introduced to the crowd of well-wishers, Julisa came and pinched Emilia’s and Luka’s cheeks. ‘As for you, my weans, look at you! You’re skinnier than ever! Fading away to nothing. Come and eat!’
‘We can’t afford to feed them – Emilia’s horse has been eating its head off for weeks.’ Felipe smiled at them lazily.
‘Alida! Where is she?’
‘Over there, my wean, fat and well,’ he answered.
Emilia ran through the crowd, her skirts bunched up in her hands. A loud whinny greeted her, as Alida cantered out from under the trees, tail held high. Emilia flung her arms about her mare’s neck, smiling so broadly her cheeks hurt. She stroked the mare’s velvety nose, then seized a handful of mane and vaulted onto her back. ‘Come on, Alida, let’s run like the wind!’ The grey mare leapt forward. Emilia leant low over her back, hallooing in joy. Round the campfire they raced, leaping over logs and bundles, veering round groups of laughing gypsies, hooves drumming on the ground. The chain about Emilia’s wrist caught the sun, flashing golden. She turned Alida’s head towards the hill, and they galloped up the sunlit slope. When Alida soared over the crest, Emilia felt as if they could truly fly.
The Last Charm
NORWOOD, SURREY, ENGLAND
13th September 1658
The warm rays of the setting sun slanted through the trees, turning the leaves to the colour of old coins. The air had a new bite to it, the whetted edge of a year turning towards its end.
Emilia sat back against her grandmother’s knees, enjoying the gentle touch of Baba’s gnarled fingers in her hair as she plaited the wild mass of curls into smooth plaits, bound with vivid ribbons.
‘So our Beatrice is to be married tonight,’ Maggie said. ‘I will miss her pretty face about the place.’
‘Me too,’ Emilia said in a constricted voice. She thought she would never get used to the way joy and misery could be twined in the heart, like blond and black hair braided together. ‘But we’ll see them. Maybe now we can travel about again. We’ll go to Kent for the hop harvest and visit Fairnette and Van, and go to the horse fair and see Bea . . .’
‘Aye, I think we could do that now Old Ironsides is dead,’ Maggie said slowly, speaking around the pipe clamped in the corner of her mouth. ‘So, you saw true, my little drabardi. The Lord Protector died before the week was out, just as you predicted . . .’
‘Aye. But nothing else has come true . . .’
‘Yet,’ Maggie said.
Emilia smiled wistfully. ‘Will I still see true, now that I’ve given back the charms?’
‘It is your eyes that s
ee true, darling girl,’ Maggie said.
‘And will it bring us bad luck, breaking the chain again? I had to do it, Baba. I could not take their lucky charms away.’
Maggie looked round the camp, where all their friends and family were laughing and working together. A rare smile warmed her lined old face. ‘It’s a chain of blood as well as gold,’ she said. ‘And that’s been mended now.’
‘The charms did bring us luck, Baba,’ Emilia said. ‘But when I think about that storm I conjured . . . and that lightning bolt . . .’ She shuddered.
Maggie went on binding her hair, not replying. Emilia thought about the tempest. It was the worst England had seen in hundreds of years, uprooting ancient oaks, demolishing houses, hurling cows high into the air, flooding rivers and streams.
And three days later the Lord Protector had died, on the seventh anniversary of his greatest victory against the king. The whole land was stricken with superstitious fear. Surely such a storm was a warning from God? Everyone stayed in their houses, their doors locked, in case of riots or uprisings, while in London the chancellors hurriedly crowned Cromwell’s third son Richard the new Lord Protector, even though he was said to be a mild, nervous man who much preferred pottering in the garden to ordering about armies and parliaments.
Emilia sighed. She knew how he felt. She had no desire to raise hurricanes and cast curses. All she really wanted was to wander through the forest, calling squirrels down to her hand, and tiddling a trout out of the stream for their supper.
‘I cannot help feeling sorry, about Cromwell, I mean. His family must be so upset, losing him so close after his daughter died, and his grandson too. I didn’t like him at all, of course, but it’s still sad . . .’
‘Aye. Any death diminishes us,’ Maggie said.
‘Everything will change now, won’t it?’
Maggie nodded. After a while, she said, ‘Life is all about change, my darling girl. Seasons come, seasons go; we love, and then we lose. We cannot have one without the other, I’m afraid.’