by Wendy Bayne
“Why does Robert have a say in this?”
“Because he’s the loader he thinks it would unfair if a girl were favoured over him.” I scrunched up my face ready to say what I thought when he stopped me by saying, “I have the deciding vote and I wanted to hear what you have to say on your own behalf. I know that Robert believes I will favour you. So, what say you, brat?”
I felt like this was an unfair test. I looked down at my arm in the sling then around the kitchen at the height of the windows. I grimaced and said with as much conviction as I could muster, “Robert should have the pistol, Uncle Samuel, not me.” He raised his eyebrows in surprise but waited for me to continue. I pointed to my bad arm. “I’ve never shot at a moving target and he will have been hunting around here for years and besides I can’t reload without assistance.”
Uncle Samuel smiled then put two pistols on the table before him with powder and shot. “Robert will be back here along with Dawson and me.” As he got up to leave he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pocket pistol, already loaded, which he put on the table and pushed towards me. “Use it only if it’s absolutely necessary, you’ll only get the one shot and it has to be at close range for that thing to do any damage.”
We heard shouting coming from the front of the house and we all ran into to the hallway to see what the commotion was about.
Mr Dawson was standing there gesturing with his hands. “Then tell me, Mr Bloody high and mighty Turner, have any of you gentleman here ever been in a fight at night; without the benefit of captains and generals giving yee orders and all you’re trying to do is just stay alive!?” He quieted down a bit when he saw us looking at him. When no one responded he looked disgusted, “I didn’t think so. This isn’t the bloody fecking army! The men coming here will kill you anyway they can they ain’t going to march up ta the doors and let you shoot at them. If you think Browne hasn’t told them what to expect then you’re fools!”
Murphy stepped forward to stand beside Mr Dawson, “Sorry, Mr Turner, but the man’s right. We need to be waiting for them out there as well as in the house. Those men will be coming armed and with wagons to hide behind. We need to be able to lure them to where we want them. Dawson and his son know this place better than any of us despite our having looked over the lay of the land and it always looks different at night, sir. Dawson knows how the land breathes at night and what it’s like in changing weather. He knows this house and the outbuildings. Personally, I’d like to be heading back to London but here we are so let’s make the best of the element of surprise…it’s the only advantage that we’ll have.”
The entire plan seemed to change in a matter of minutes Dawson, Murphy, Michael and Jacob headed outside. My father, Mr Johnson, Dr Jefferson and Mr Spencer took the front of the house and my uncle, Dalton and Robert came to the kitchen.
Mrs Dawson had pulled out an assortment of knives and a bow. Dalton gave them the once over and tested the edge of one knife then he whistled when he drew blood. “These aren’t kitchen knives, dearie.”
Mrs Dawson smiled. “Not likely. They were me mam’s knives, but they belong to me now. I’m good with a knife, have been all my life.”
Dalton nodded and sucked in his lower lip before saying, “Right you are then, but that remains to be seen.” He smiled like he didn’t believe her as he picked up the bow testing the string. “And who is the bowman, the wee girlie?”
He chuckled and for his trouble Mrs Dawson picked up a knife, whipped it across the room, pinning his coat through at buttonhole to the table edge before anyone could move. “Yes, it’s hers and my Angel’s a fine shot with it.”
Dalton didn’t seem to hear her, he was too busy pulling the knife out and looking closely at it, the table and his coat. “Well, bugger me. I’ve never seen anyone but gypsy pull off that kind of trick!”
Mrs Dawson put her hand out for her knife as Dalton walked over and handed it to her. “I’m only half; my mam married an English soldier.”
There was a rumbling outside in the yard and a commotion coming from the front of the house. Father came bursting into the kitchen with Mr Spencer and Dr Jefferson hard on his heels followed by a dark-haired boy who worked his way around the table only to race out the door into the yard. Robert took off to the front of the house. Father looked puzzled, “Mrs Dawson, it appears that relatives of yours have just arrived.” She grinned from ear to ear and pushed past them out through the door with Angel running after her.
Dalton cocked one eye at my father and said, “Gypsies?”
Father nodded. “Gypsies. How the hell did she get a message to them? When did she get a message to them?”
Robert came back through the door from the front of the house with an elderly bent lady who he helped over to the settee by the fire as he said to my father, “That would have been me who got the message to them. This time of year, my mother’s people can be found on Hampstead Heath, so before delivering my messages to all of you I paid them a visit.”
Father looked suspiciously at Robert and crossed his arms, “They came to help us out of the goodness of their hearts?” Robert only shrugged.
The older lady cackled but there was a look of bright intelligence in her eyes as she looked my father over, “Hardly, Mr Turner. We did not know who would come to the aid of my granddaughter and her family so, we wait to see who stays to protect them.”
“You’re here to help us because of your family?”
She shrugged her shoulders just like Robert. “It has been a long trip, we lost much business by coming here so there are many things to be considered and talked about.”
Uncle Samuel laughed. “If tinkering and horse trading on Hampstead Heath is that profitable, why did you all come? You could have just sent a few men.”
The doorway out to the courtyard darkened as several men came in carrying weapons, bottles and bags. One of them had his arm around Angel’s shoulder and she was beaming up at him. Her mother came in behind them, laughing and smiling. Mr Johnson came in with two young ladies hanging onto his arms and a very bemused expression on his face. “Turner, can you explain to me what is going on? There is a rather large Gypsy camp setting up in the meadow next to the stream.”
The large man with Angel stepped forward, looking at my father and place his hand on his heart introduced himself, “I am Jibben.” He looked at Mrs Dawson and continued, “Bita is family, but Robert has told us about the men taking your daughter and that smugglers were involved.” He turned his head as if to spit but Mrs Dawson swatted him. Then he pointed at Mr Johnson. “Bita has also told me about this man’s promises so I think you may be worthy of our help, English.” He looked at Mr Johnson, frowning at the women holding onto his arms. They let go of his arms and stepped back through the door.
Mr Johnson nodded at Jibben and walked across the room to stand next to me. He smiled as he straightened his coat and cleared his throat. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Mr Jibben, but I assume what you are not saying is that you are expecting a share of the spoils of victory as payment for your assistance?”
Jibben looked at him puzzled as if thinking then he smiled, “No, no, no, my friend.” He waved his hand to encompass his followers. “We will help you. Then we will take the wagons and goods off your hands. The smugglers will either be dead or your prisoners, you will have no need for the goods. Besides you don’t have enough men to take the wagons from us.” He paused and put a finger to his lips standing like a man deep in thought then announced, “But I will lend you some men to help you get any prisoners back to London to hang. That’s a good deal, no?” He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes as he waited for a response.
My father covered his eyes with one hand then pushed his hair back off his forehead. “Those goods are proceeds of crimes against the King and therefore default to the Crown.”
Jibben paced back and forth between the door to the yard where his followers where standing waiting for his orders. He pulled on his chin and grunted. When he came to a stop
in front of my father, he was smiling. “Humph. Half the wagons and goods,” then he stopped smiling, “or my people sit back and watch then we will take what we want from the winners and the losers. I think you are a smart man, Mr Turner.” He pointed at me. “She is your daughter?” Father nodded. “She’s very pretty, when you die, I’ll take care of her. Maybe even take her back to her mother in London.” He smiled evilly.
Mrs Dawson had moved to speak to the old lady in a whisper. The old lady stood up without assistance and walked over to Jibben, she smiled up at him, patted his cheek then she slapped him hard on the back of the head then calmly she said as she patted his cheek again, “You don’t decide for us, Jibben.” She turned around pursing her lips as she stared at my father, then she stared at Mr Johnson and pointed at him, “You, you will own this place?” She gestured to encompass the room and Mr Johnson nodded. She looked at him intently through shuttered eyes, “You are offering work and a home to my granddaughter and her family?” Again Mr Johnson nodded. She looked over everyone slowly like she was assigning a value to each of us. She motioned for Mr Johnson and my father to follow her into the yard.
The rest of us just stood there looking around at each other, waiting for them to return. Jibben and Mrs Dawson were having a heated discussion by the hearth in a language that I didn’t understand. It was obvious that Jibben was furious, Robert and Angel joined her as the conversation continued. Suddenly Jibben seemed to give up arguing and turned to hug Robert and Angel.
The old lady returned to the kitchen with Mr Johnson and my father. They both looked bewildered. The old lady waved all her people out the door and then followed Jibben out. Uncle Samuel turned with his hands spread out wide. “They’re leaving?”
Father rubbed his forehead. “Quite the contrary, they’re staying and fighting with us. Actually, I should say that they will fight but they have their own methods which they will implement without our assistance or supervision.”
Samuel sputtered, “But—but how? And WHY?”
Father pointed at Mr Johnson, “It’s all thanks to him.”
My uncle turned to him, “What?”
Mr Johnson chuckled. “I’m not sure how it happened but it seems I’m going to provide them with enough land on this property located near running water for their permanent winter quarters. In exchange, they will help us tonight and will assist me at planting and harvest time for a portion of what we harvest.”
Uncle Samuel stood there with his mouth open. “You’re lucky that you don’t have any near neighbours. I’m not sure that the locals will be very friendly towards you once they find Gypsies are living on their doorstep for part of the year.”
Father laughed. “That might be, Samuel, but Miles here drives a hard bargain. They have agreed that anyone caught thieving, cheating or involved in any illegal activities while in the district will suffer the consequences of the law and the whole camp will have to leave and forfeit the land. He has also insisted that all the children be taught to read and write. They can already do their sums better than any banker.”
I could see that my uncle was on the verge of laughing but he collected himself and asked soberly, “Are you really going to honour that arrangement, Miles?”
Mr Johnson looked affronted and responded as such, “Of course, I will! Frankly, I’m surprised that you would even ask me. In the past, I may have given people the impression that I’m not reliable; but I assure you, sir, that I take my responsibilities very seriously.” Then his voice became quiet and slightly melancholic, “Perhaps one day a lady may look favourably upon the bastard son of an Earl and agree to wed me.” His gaze flick to me as he spoke.
The silence that followed was suddenly shattered by a blood curdling scream coming from the room where they had locked Louisa.
Chapter 20
And They Come
Dr Jefferson had been standing resolutely by the door to the hall listening to everything when the scream rang out. He gritted his teeth, closed his eyes then pulled the key to the laundry room from his pocket. “Would someone like to assist me? Preferable with a weapon in hand.” He looked about the room, but no one would make eye contact with him.
Mr Johnson shook his head. “No, thank you, Jefferson. Wrestling that she-devil in the muck was quite enough for me.”
No one else appeared to be up for the challenge, so Dr Jefferson started towards the hall where the laundry room could be found. My Uncle Samuel let out a sigh and took up the cudgel that Mrs Dawson had been holding out for any interested party. “Come on then. Let’s get this over with. But I swear to God if she starts anything, Matthew, I will finish it—lady or not!”
Mrs Dawson chuckled as they moved toward the hallway as the screaming continued. She picked up her knife and began peeling vegetables and without looking at anyone said, “It’s probably just Timber what’s set her off.”
I was curious by what she meant and since no one else asked I did, “What’s Timber?”
She smiled “The cat!” and let out a burst of laughter. “He’s the best mouser I’ve ever seen, keeps the whole house clear of vermin. But sometimes he likes to play with his catch for a bit before, well, you know, before he eats them.” She laughed again this time a good deep belly laugh. “I imagine that’s not something that would appeal to a lady.” She was chuckling with a twinkle in her eye that belied what she said next. “I don’t know for love nor money how he gets into the laundry, but tis one of his favourite places.”
My uncle and Dr Jefferson both chuckled then set off on their errand of mercy. They returned with a white-faced weeping Louisa between them and a very large orange cat with yellow eyes following them, licking its chops as it plunked down by the hearth to wash. Louisa spied it, pointed and started to wail again; the cat ignored her entirely.
Mrs Dawson who had watched the parade with a smug smile suddenly moved into action. Stepping up to Louisa, she slapped her soundly across the cheek. “Shut your face, you bloody fool, it’s just a damn cat! An if you don’t behave, I’ll have my man lock you in the wine cellar with the spiders and the real vermin.” Angel’s eyes went wide, she opened her mouth, but Mrs Dawson winked at her. I took that to mean that either there wasn’t a wine cellar or if there was it was as clean as the kitchen and vermin free. Mrs Dawson pushed Louisa into a seat at the table. Then she grabbed a bowl, filled it with soup and thumped it and put spoon down in front of her. She tore off a chunk off a freshly baked loaf of bread, poured a cup of ale and placed them before her as well. “Now eat and not another sound out of you or I’ll stuff a gag in your mouth myself.”
While this was happening, I stepped to the yard door and looked out, but no one was there. It was as quiet as a church yard. The rain had stopped, and the wet cobblestones glistened. The only light outside was from the stars and the moon with clouds rapidly scudding across the sky creating strange shadows that almost looked alive. There was no sign of the gypsies, anywhere.
Angel was suddenly at my elbow. “It’s wicked spooky out there, isn’t it! Especially knowing that my mum’s people are all around and you can’t see nor hear ’em. It’s like magic!” She snapped her fingers and gave me a mocking smirk as if she expected me to be spooked.
I told myself that it was only the quiet that was unnerving, “Not really, I’m not afraid. I know that they’re out there, you can sense the difference.” I could feel their eyes on the house and me and it gave me the shivers. “It’s just that they moved everything so quickly and quietly.”
She looked about her and smiled slyly, “That’s the way of the gypsy. Now that Mr Johnson is gonna let them stay here I hope to get to know their ways better. My mum’s a good teacher but we don’t live like they do so it’s not the same.”
She made them sound so mysterious. “Do you want to live like them?”
She grunted, “Who? Me? Oh no, I’m too English for ’em and they’re too gypsy for me. But I like the thought of ’em being around and helping to turn this place into a real home. Desp
ite what people say gypsies are hard workers but they’re cursed with the wanderlust. I want to make a good life for myself here with a good man and my own babes. Wandering about the country is not for me.” She looked out into the dark. “It’s just a dream I have to know their ways,” she sighed and leaned against the wall, “it’s just a dream.”
Father came up behind us. “Ladies, I think it’s time to close and lock the door. Murphy and the others just came in and said that they could hear movement on the road. So, let’s get you two situated out of the way, shall we.” He gently nudged us back into the kitchen then closed and locked the door.
I frowned at him. “I’m not going to hide, Papa. I can shoot, and Angel can load for me.” He pointedly looked at my arm then at Angel who was shaking her head. “Oh no, miss, I’m going to be using me bow. Besides I’ve never touched a pistol, I don’t know how to load one…my Da wouldn’t allow it.”
Father gave me a stern look. I could tell he was surprised at my attitude. “Lissa, we agreed and now is not the time to argue about this.”
I felt in my pocket for the little popper Uncle Samuel had given me. “I’m not arguing, Papa, I’m just being realistic. You need everyone to help! If I’m going to die, I’d rather be with you then left behind in a locked room at the mercy of the winners.”
Father opened then closed his mouth. He took a deep breath, rubbed his temple. “Fine, come with me. Angel, you stay here with your mother and brother.”
Mr Johnson walked up to my father, grabbed his arm then he pulled him close and spoke in a very low hissing voice “You have got to be kidding. You can’t bring her into the middle of a fire fight!”
Father shook his hand loose. “You’ve changed your tune, earlier you voted that she should be given a gun.”
Miles grimaced. “That was for her own protection!”