by James Payn
CHAPTER XIV.
WHY SIR MASSINGBERD DID NOT MARRY.
"I suppose you have heard, Peter Meredith, young as you are," began theold woman, "a great deal of ill-speaking against us Wanderers. We notonly kill game, but even domestic poultry, if the opportunity is givento us; we not only steal wood, but horse-flesh; and since we are sopartial to carrion, it is not to be wondered at that we sometimessuffocate a sheep with a piece of his own wool, in order to get thecarcass cheap from the farmer. Yet whatever false charges are currentabout us now, these are nothing, either in gravity or number, to whatthey were when I was a young girl--that is, fifty years ago. Everyman's hand, every woman's tongue, was against us: magistrates committedus without testimony; rogues made a trade of accusing us solely to getblood-money. Our name was more than a by-word, it was a brand; to call aman a gipsy, was to say vagabond and thief in one. Under thesecircumstances, Massingberd Heath left his father's house yonder, andcame to live with us as congenial company. We were in this very wood theday he did so. The sun shone as brightly as now, the streamlet ran justas blithe, the air was filled, as now, with the sweet-smelling pine. Thepeople only are changed--ah me, how changed!--who made up that scene.There was my father; he died! ten years younger than I am now; is notthat strange, boy? his brother Morris, dead; poor Stanley Carew, youshall hear of him presently, a handsomer lad by far than his nephewthere; my beautiful Sinnamenta, compared to little Mina yonder, thoughshe is pretty enough, like a blush-rose to a mere peony, the flower ofwomankind. If there are ladies and women born into the world, then shewas a lady. There are no such beauties now; no, friend, not even at theDovecot. Let me see; I have counted four; then I was there also, comelyenough, 'twas said, but not to be spoken of for looks with my youngersister.
"We were occupied pretty much as you see us now, for life in theGreenwood possesses but little variety, when Massingberd Heath strode inamong us, with his gun upon his shoulder. We knew him well, but were notinclined to dislike him. He was a dissipated, wild, young fellow, but,as yet, his heart was thought, as the saying is, to be in the rightplace; his popularity, however, was principally owing to his antagonismto his father. Sir Wentworth had long passed through the spendthriftstage, and was very close with respect to money-matters; a harsh andgriping landlord, and it is probable enough a niggard parent. His son'sextravagances were at that time insignificant compared to what theyafterwards became, yet the old man was for ever complaining. Hepersecuted all who were poor and in his power, but the gipsiesespecially. He feared for his deer, for his game, for his fences, and,besides, I verily believe he detested us for our improvidence. Iremember he sent two of my young brothers to prison for tossing forhalfpence upon a Sunday--he who made not even a pretence of religionhimself, and had been used invariably to pass his day of rest in townat Tattersall's, betting his thousands on some approaching race. It issaid that this wretched old man used to horse-whip young Massingberdalmost daily, until a certain occasion, when the latter found himselfstronger than he imagined, and reversed the process. After that, SirWentworth confined himself to cursing his offspring whenever theyquarrelled. It was after some dreadful outbreak of passion on the partof the old man that Massingberd Heath left house and home, and electedto join our wandering fortunes. We were very unwilling that this shouldbe. It was by no means so unusual a proceeding then as now, for personsof good birth, but broken fortunes, to become gipsies, but such hadusually their private reasons for remaining so for life. They were veryrarely criminals, but generally social outlaws, for whom there could beno reconciliation at home, or younger sons of respectable families,with quite a mountain of debt upon their shoulders. These were regularlynationalized among us; and if they conducted themselves for sufficienttime in accordance with our regulations, they were permitted tointermarry with us.
"Now it was certain that Massingberd Heath sought only a temporary home;as soon as his father died, or even offered terms to him, he would leaveus, and resume his proper station. Moreover, how was the maintenance ofdiscipline and obedience to the chief of our tribe, absolutely essentialas it is, to be kept up in the case of this new-comer? Even at thattime, he was a headstrong, wilful man, to whom all authority, howeverlawful or natural, was hateful. Was it to be expected that he who defiedhis own father, himself a man of iron will, would obey MorrisLiversedge? On the other hand, Uncle Morris rather liked the youngfellow. He had connived at many a raid on his father's own preserves--tosuch a pitch had the quarrel grown between them--and kept our potboiling with bird and beast. Many and many a time had he led theFairburn keepers to one extremity of the preserves, while the slaughterwas going on in the other. Moreover, it would be of great importance,could we make a friend of the man who would one day own all thesepleasant haunts of ours, and who could say a good word, and a strongone, for the poor persecuted gipsies, when it was needed. Poor Morrisdid not know that the rebel but too often turns out a tyrant, when hegets his chance. He could not foresee Sir Massingberd Heath sendingfolks to prison, or getting them kidnapped, and sent across the seas,for snaring the hares that he held so cheaply when they did not happento belong to himself. If you want to find a gentleman who in his youth,and landless, has been a poacher whenever the opportunity offered, lookyou among the game-preservers on the bench of justices. This, however,is among the least of the basenesses of him of whom I speak. It is notfor his bitter guardianship of bird and beast, or his hateful oppressionof his fellow-creatures, that my heart cries out for judgment againstthis man, that I look with eager longing for that hour when God shalltake him into His own hand."
The old woman paused a moment with closed eyes, and muttered somethingthat was inaudible to me, rocking herself at the same time to and fro.
"Massingberd Heath became one of us, Peter Meredith as far as it ispossible for such a wretch to be so; he ate with us, and drank with us,which they say is a sacred bond among even savages. It was not so withhim. He cast his evil eyes upon Sinnamenta, to love her after thefashion of his accursed race. Perhaps you may think, Peter Meredith,that such an occurrence should have been foreseen by her father or heruncle Morris, and, for my part, I always thought that it was thepresence of my lovely sister which mainly caused this man to join ourcompany; but, at all events, neither they nor I dreaded any illconsequences. A gipsy girl is not a light-of-love maiden, like those offairer skins. Heaven, who gives her beauty, gives her virtue also: thisis not denied, even by our enemies. When you call your sweetheart'Gipsy,' it is in love, not in reproach. Massingberd Heath knew thiswell, and therefore it was foe took such pains in the matter. It is truethat we do not marry in church, but when we wed among ourselves, themarriage is not less sacred; It was a wedding of this sort, indissolubleby one party, but not by the other, which this man wished to compass. Hedid not gain his end."
The old woman's eyes sparkled with triumph for a moment as she saidthese words, but her voice sank low as she continued:
"Peter Meredith, if you have a sister, think of her while I speak ofmine; she cannot be more pure than little Sinnamenta, nor lessdesigning. Her weakness was one common to all women, but especially tothose of our unhappy race; she was fond of finery--fine clothing,jewels, shawls; they became her; she looked like any princess whenattired in them. Stanley Carew, who loved her in all honesty, couldgive her no such costly gifts as Massingberd Heath showered upon her,and, to help his end, even upon me. The gipsy's ragged coat looked meanand poor beside that of our guest. This man, too, whom you know but as ascowling tyrant, with a face scarred with passion and excesses, was thena handsome youth. You smile, Peter, at the wonder of it; it is, however,not less true than that the wrinkled hag to whom you are now listeningwas then a bonny girl. Imagine that, Peter, and you can imagineanything. Ah, Time, Time, surely at the end of you, there will besomething to recompense us for all that you have taken away!"
Once more Rachel Liversedge paused as if in pain; then with eyes whosesight seemed to receive but little of what was present, but were fixedon the unreturning Past, continued as follows:
"Yes, Massingberd Heath was handsome enough, unless when enraged; hiswrath always brought the horse-shoe out upon his forehead.[1] Ay, and hewas agreeable enough, too. He could smile as though he had a heart, andvow as though he owned a God. By his devilish art he managed toingratiate himself with Sinnamenta; he caused her to treat poor Stanleyill, and then, pretending to take his part, got credit for generosity.There are many who call us gipsies a base people, yet this excess ofmeanness was quite new to us; my little sister--that was what I alwayscalled her, because I loved her so--she believed him. She would havetrusted to his word, and married him, according to our rites, and beenhis wife and drudge for all her life; but since this could not bewithout the consent both of her father and Morris, he had to ask it ofthem. He might as well have asked it of Sir Wentworth; they had got toknow him well by close companionship, for men fathom men better thanwomen do--even gipsy women, who foretell men's fortunes for them--andthey answered, 'No.' They did not believe that he had the leastintention of being with us longer that it suited him, and theyperemptorily refused his request. After one burst of passionate threats,the young man pretended to yield assent to their decision. Morris wasinclined to think this acquiescence genuine; but my father, more warmlyinterested in the matter, and therefore perhaps less credulous, kept onhis guard. Finding out that Massingberd Heath had secretly madeovertures of reconciliation to his father, and missing him one nightfrom the camp, he caused Morris to strike tent at once; and beforemorning we had put twenty miles between us and Fairburn. Nor was thiseffected too soon, for, as we heard long afterwards, the constables weresearching this very wood for us at day-break.
"Our company was bound on a long travel to Kirk-Yetholm, Roxburghshire,one of the few places in Scotland, although but one mile from thefrontier of Northumberland, where the gipsies reside in any number.There we should meet with friends, and be safe from all molestation. Itwas late in the year to travel so far and into such a climate, but therewas no help for it; and moreover, some of the Carews had a house there,to which Stanley said we should be welcome; and so it turned out. Ibelieve Sinnamenta would rather that we had camped out of doors, even inthat northern clime, so disinclined was she to be beholden to him or hisfriends, after what had happened, although she did not dare to say so.Poor Stanley imagined that, now we had removed from the neighbourhood ofhis rival, he might renew his suit with success; but the proud girlwould not listen to him. She did not exactly pine after the man whosewiles she had so narrowly escaped, but her life seemed henceforthsaddened. The domestic duties which had hitherto sat so lightly uponher, became burdensome, and she set about them languidly. The whole ofthe time we remained at Kirk-Yetholm, and it was many, many months, shenever mentioned Massingberd Heath, but never ceased to think of him. Itwas fated that she was to be undeceived about that man too late."
[1] I am reminded by a friendly critic of the "suspicious coincidence"of a horse-shoe on the forehead, in the case of "Redgauntlet." I neverthink of Sir Massingberd without thinking of that worthy; and it hasbeen a matter of doubt with me, whether Sir Walter Scott might nothimself have seen the Squire of Fairburn and drawn him from thelife--both as to mind and feature--in his famous novel.