One of the servants? But I had seen them all at Enderby just before I left. I pulled on the somewhat rusty chain and the bell rang. I could hear it echoing through the house.
“Is anyone at home?” I called through the keyhole.
There was no answer—only a loud clap of thunder.
I rapped on the door. Nothing happened. It was a heavy oak door and I leaned against it, feeling that something very strange was happening. I am not particularly scared by thunderstorms, especially when other people are there, but to see that lightning streaking across the sky and to wait for the violent claps of thunder which followed and to watch the rain violently hitting the ground when behind me was a house which should have been empty … well, I did feel a strange sort of fear which made my skin creep.
I stood for a while watching the storm as it grew wilder. My impulse was to run, for suddenly I knew that there was someone on the other side of the door.
“Who is there?” I called.
There was no answer. Did I hear heavy breathing? How could I? The storm was too noisy, the door too thick.
What was it I was aware of? A presence?
I would brave the storm. They would scold me. Miss Rennie would say, How foolish to run through it. You should have stayed at Enderby till at least the worst was over …
I shivered. My thin damp dress was clinging to me, but I was not really cold. It was just the thought that there was someone in that house who was aware of me … and that it was very lonely here.
I turned to the door and put my hands against it. To my amazement it opened.
How could that be? It had been shut. I had leaned against it. I had rapped on it and now… it was open.
I stepped into the hall.
It was dark because of the weather. I looked up at the vaulted ceiling which was rather like ours at Eversleigh but smaller.
“Is anyone there?” I called.
There was no answer and I had the feeling that I was being watched.
I advanced cautiously, crossing the hall to the staircase. I heard a movement and hastily turned round. There was no one in the hall. The door swung shut with a bang. I ran over to it. Someone was in the house and I had to get out quickly. I had to run home as fast as I could, never mind the storm.
A figure appeared at the top of the stairs. I stared.
“Are you alone?” said a voice.
“It’s … it’s …” I stammered.
“That is right,” he said. “You remember me.”
“Romany Jake,” I murmured.
“And the lady Jessica.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I’ll tell you. But first are you alone … Is anyone with you? Anyone coming after you?”
I shook my head. I was no longer afraid. Waves of relief were sweeping over me. I could not feel afraid of Romany Jake—only a tremendous excitement.
He came down the stairs stealthily.
“It was you who were behind the door. You were at the window … You opened the door so that I would come in. What are you doing here?”
“Hiding.”
“Hiding? From whom are you hiding?”
“The law.”
“What have you done?”
“Killed a man.”
I stared at him in horror.
“You will understand when I tell you. You will not betray me, I know.”
“Why did you come here?”
“I thought Dolly would help me. There was no one in the house so I got in through an open window on the first floor. I was hiding until she came.”
“She is staying at Enderby.”
“Where are the servants?”
“They are there, too. They only come now and then to see that the place is all right.”
“What does it mean?”
“Aunt Sophie is looking after her until the baby comes.”
“The baby?”
“Your baby,” I said, watching him closely.
He stared at me incredulously. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“Dolly is going to have your baby. She wants it very much and so do Aunt Sophie and Jeanne, and my mother says it is not such a bad thing.”
He was silent, running his fingers through his thick dark hair. Then he murmured: “Dolly!”
I said: “You say you have killed someone.”
“I want you to understand. But first… Dolly? Is she all right?”
“She is with my Aunt Sophie.”
“And she told you that?”
“That it was your baby, yes.”
“Oh … my God,” he said quietly. “What a mess.”
“She wants it. She’s happy about it. She’ll be all right. They’ll look after her and the baby, and my mother says she has never been so happy in her life. Tell me what you have done.”
A loud clap of thunder seemed to shake the house.
“No one will come here in this storm,” he said. “Sit down here and let us talk.”
I sat beside him on the stairs.
“You must decide whether you will go straight back to your father and tell him I am hiding here … or whether you will say nothing and help me.”
“I want to hear all about it. I don’t think I would tell my father. I think I should want to help you.”
He laughed suddenly and he was like the merry man I had known before he went away. I was happy to sit close to him.
He said: “First Dolly. It happened you know, suddenly … These things sometimes do. You won’t understand.”
“I think I do.”
He took my chin in his hands and looked into my face. “I believe you are very wise,” he said. “From the moment we met I wished you were a little older … not much … just a little.”
“Why?”
“Then I could have talked to you … You would have understood.”
“I can understand now.”
He smiled and kissed me lightly on the cheek. “I must tell you what happened. We were encamped in a forest near Nottingham. The local squire had a nephew staying with him. I killed the nephew.”
“Why?”
“Because I caught him assaulting one of the gypsy girls. He would have raped her. He thought the gypsy girls were fair game. Leah is fourteen. I know her father. He adores his daughter. He is a good man. You may be surprised but morals are very strict among the gypsies. Leah is a beautiful girl. The squire’s nephew had marked her out no doubt and he just lay in wait to catch her alone. What he did not know was that I was not far off. I heard Leah scream. I hurried to her. He had torn her blouse off her shoulders and had flung her to the ground. I just went for him. I caught him and we rolled over and over on the grass. I was mad with rage against him and all of those people who call themselves nobility and think that gives them a right to take any girl they fancy providing she is not one of their own class. When I had finished with him nothing could have saved him. I took Leah back to the camp. Her father wanted us to move on and we all saw that that was the best thing possible. But we were too late. The law caught up with us. I was arrested on a charge of murder.”
“But it was not an ordinary murder. You did it to save Leah. They would have to take that into consideration.”
“Do you think they would? The squire is a man of great influence in the neighbourhood. It was his nephew who was killed.”
“But it is against the law to commit rape.”
“Does that apply to squires and gypsy girls?”
“To all, surely,” I said. “The real criminal is that squire’s nephew.”
“Do you think you could get a court to believe that?”
“There will be Leah to give evidence.”
“That would carry no weight. No. I could see it was the hangman’s noose for me.” He touched his neck wryly as though he could feel the rope about it. “I have a strong desire to go on living.”
“What happened?”
“Before they took me away, Penfold, Leah’s father, swore the gypsies would nev
er allow me to be hanged. They knew where I was in jail and they had a horse waiting nearby in case I could make my escape. They were aware that if I came up for trial it would be over for me. My chance came … a drunken guard, a little bribery … and I was out and there was the horse waiting for me … and I was away. I want to get out of the country. I’ll never be safe here. I was making my way to the coast. I came this way because I thought Dolly would help me. But I found the house empty …”
I was silent, then I said: “You will be safe here for tonight. Tomorrow the servants will come. How will you get out of England? There is a boat in the old boathouse. I’ve seen it fairly recently, but you would never get across the Channel in it, and how could you go to France?”
“I would attempt it.”
“The French will be watching the coasts. You know we are at war with them.”
“I’d have to take the risk.”
“If you could get to Belgium … but that is a longer crossing.”
“First it would be for me to get the boat.”
“The boat is there. You’d have to row yourself…”
“The case is desperate. I’ll try anything rather than fall into the hands of those who will condemn me before the trial starts.” He took my hands and looked steadily at me. “You will not betray me, little Jessica?”
“I never would,” I cried with fervour. “I’d always help you.”
He kissed me tenderly.
“You are a wonderful girl,” he said. “I never knew a girl like you before.”
He had a certain effect on me. I forgot Dolly and how he had seduced her. I forgot that he had killed a man. Soldiers killed in battles. The enemy, they called them, although they had no personal quarrel. This man had killed another who would have harmed a young girl. He was protecting the innocent against the wicked. He had been right to use whatever methods were necessary to save the girl. I was on his side. I had a feeling that no matter what he had done I should have been.
“You should be out of this house before the morning,” I said.
He nodded. “After dark, I shall go down to the shore and find that boathouse. Perhaps I could take the boat along the coast and find a ship going somewhere …”
“You should go round to Ramsgate or Harwich. There you might get to Holland. Do you have any money?”
“Tenfold brought me money with the horse.”
“It would have been better if you had made for the east coast.”
“I could not choose my way. I was being hunted.”
“If you went abroad, it would mean you would never come back.”
“These things are forgotten with the years. Tell me, when will the baby come?”
“Very soon now.”
“And Dolly, how is she?”
“Very happy. She wants the baby desperately. I think if you came back, she would be perfectly happy.”
“What a neat little ending that would be to a midnight frolic round a bonfire.”
“Is that what it was to you?”
He was silent. Then he said: “Please don’t think too badly of me. You were there, weren’t you. Do you remember?”
“Yes, I do remember.”
“Sitting in the carriage with your parents. I went on thinking of you…”
Neither of us spoke for some time. I was thinking of him in a cart, being taken to some place, and the crowd looking on while they strung him up by his neck. I had never witnessed a public hanging, but one of the servants had. She had come from London and seen it at Tyburn. She had given a graphic description.
That must not be the fate of Romany Jake.
I turned to him impulsively. “You must get away from here as soon as it is dark. I’ll bring you some food. Go to the east coast…”
“There is food here in the pantries. I was sure Dolly would not grudge me that. Where is the old lady? Has she gone with Dolly?”
“She died. She was horrified because Dolly was going to have a baby. She went out into the snow and was out all night. It killed her.”
He put his hand to his head. “So that is something else I have to answer for.”
“We all have to answer for all sorts of things.”
“How wise you are and how lucky I am to have your friendship. It is an unusual story. The lady of the manor befriending a poor gypsy who is running from the law.”
“There have been stranger stories. There is that one you sing about the lady who left home to join the gypsies.”
“You have not gone so far as that!”
The hall was suddenly illuminated by lightning which was immediately followed by a clap of thunder.
“I thought that one was for us,” he said.
“As soon as the storm is over I must go back. They’ll be wondering where I am.”
“They wouldn’t expect you to be walking through the storm.”
“No.”
“So we are safe for a little while.”
“Tell me about the gypsies,” I said. “It seems such a strange life for a man like you.”
“I’ll tell you a secret. I’m not a gypsy, born and bred. I joined them two years ago because I wanted a life on the open road. I had never liked the restricted life. I wanted my freedom. I could have had an easy life… slept in my goose-feather bed … sat down at table and feasted like a lord. This is the story over again. This is not the lady who left her home to follow the gypsies; but the man who left the family home to join them.”
“Why did you do that?”
“I quarrelled with my brother. He is fifteen years older than I. As our parents were dead he was in a sense my guardian—and I was a rebel. I ran away from school; I consorted with the menials on the estate. I made their grievances my concern; and after a serious family quarrel I realized that I did not want to go on doing things just because that was the way they had been done for hundreds of years. I wanted to be free … my own man. I did not want to obey a lot of social laws which seemed absurd to me, so I joined the gypsies. They have accepted me and some of the best friends I ever had are among them. I cut myself off completely from the old life. There were no regrets I believe on either side. My brother was relieved to be rid of one who brought nothing but trouble. It was just that I cannot endure being shut in whether it be by iron bars or conventions.”
“I understand.”
“Well, now this could be the ignoble end of a useless life.”
“Don’t say that,” I cried. “In any case it wasn’t useless for Leah. You saved her, remember. And this is not going to be the end. You can get out of the country. Get to Harwich. I am sure you will be able to get across to Holland. You have the horse.”
“I took the liberty of putting him in the stables. I fed and watered him there. He is resting … ready for the long ride to Heaven knows where.”
“You must get to Harwich. Take the byways. They would not think of looking for you along the east coast. You’d have a good chance there.”
“I’ll leave when it is dark. Can I trust you to tell no one I am here?”
“Of course.”
“I hope to lie in hiding for a while until the hue and cry has died down.”
“Leave tonight,” I said; and I added: “I shall be thinking of you.”
“That gives me comfort, a determination to succeed, and when you are older I shall have so much to tell you.”
“Tell me now. I hate waiting.”
“I hate waiting too … but this will have to wait.”
We sat in silence for a while. Then I noticed that there had been no thunder for some little time and that the heavy rain had ceased.
“I must go,” I said reluctantly. “They mustn’t know that I have been here. Goodbye. Good luck. You are safe here for the rest of the day.”
“I will be watchful… and leave as soon as darkness falls. Thank you, my dear little girl. I shall think of you constantly … my beautiful young benefactress.”
He took my face in his hands and tenderly kissed my forehead. I
felt very emotional. I wanted to do so much for him; but there was nothing I could do but remain silent.
I went across the hall. I stood at the door for a moment looking back, smiling at him.
I felt frightened suddenly, wondering if that was the last I should see of Romany Jake.
When I arrived home there was great consternation. Where had I been? My mother had sent the carriage over to Enderby to bring me back.
“Dear Mother,” I said, “I am not made of sugar.”
“And then we learned that you had already left.”
“I sheltered.”
She felt the sleeve of my gown. “It’s damp,” she announced. “Get it off at once. Where is Miss Rennie? Oh, Miss Rennie, see that Jessica puts her feet in a hot mustard bath at once.”
“Certainly Mrs. Frenshaw.”
I protested. “Really, this is absurd. I’m just a little wet.” And I was thinking, They sent the carriage over. Suppose someone had seen me go into Grasslands? Suppose they had come and found him?
I felt sick at the thought.
I must protect him.
I sat in my dry gown holding it above my knees while my feet were immersed in the hot mustard bath. Miss Rennie filled it again with hot water, when she thought it was getting a little cold.
“You should have stayed at Enderby. You could have come home in the carriage.”
“Such a fuss …”
How was he faring? Nobody else would call at the house this day and by nightfall he would be off.
I could not get out of my mind the horrible thought of his hanging by a rope. It must never be.
My mother came into the bedroom to see if her instructions were being carried out. She herself dried my feet, and while she was doing so there was the sound of voices below. She looked out of the window.
“It’s a stranger,” she said. “Oh, there’s your father. They’re talking earnestly together. I daresay this will mean a guest for dinner. I’ll go down and see. Now put on your stockings quickly. You’ll be heated from the mustard. You don’t want to catch cold.”
“Really, Mother,” I protested. “All this because of a little rain.”
“I don’t want you in bed with a cold. I have enough to do without that.”
In a way it was pleasant to be looked after and made to feel precious.
Return of the Gypsy Page 6