Return of the Gypsy

by Philippa Carr

  Then my thoughts were back with Romany Jake.

  I went downstairs to see who had arrived. The whole family were gathered there with my father and mother. Claudine, David and Amaryllis. They were talking excitedly.

  My father said: “This is my daughter Jessica. Jessica, this is Mr. Frederick Forby.”

  Mr. Forby bowed and my father went on: “Do you remember the gypsy they called Romany Jake?”

  I felt dizzy. I hoped I did not show how shaken I was.

  “Mr. Forby is looking for him. We have to be on the watch.”

  “Romany Jake?” I repeated.

  “I thought he might come this way,” said Mr. Forby to my father. “We’re going to all the old haunts and I believe they were here last year.”

  “Yes,” said my mother. “It was October. I remember they were at the Trafalgar bonfire.”

  “October,” repeated Mr. Forby. “And not since?”

  “Oh no, not since,” said my mother. “We should have been aware of them if they had been here.”

  “They set my woods on fire,” put in my father. “I turned them off the land after that.”

  “They say he is wanted for murder,” said David.

  “That’s so,” said Mr. Forby.

  “He’s a real villain then.”

  “These gypsies have to be watched, sir. It’s usually petty crimes. Murder! Well, I have to say that’s rare enough. But we’re determined to get him.”

  “Who was the victim?” asked Claudine.

  “He was the nephew of the local squire. They were encamped near Nottingham.”

  “Oh dear, that’s bad,” said my mother. “I thought perhaps it might have been a quarrel in the camp.”

  “Oh no, the gypsy attacked the young man and killed him.”

  “I hope they catch him,” said my mother.

  I heard myself say in a rather high-pitched voice: “Why did he kill this man … the nephew of the squire?”

  “Some quarrel over a girl. They’re a hot-blooded lot, these gypsies.”

  I had to control myself. I wanted to shout: A quarrel over a girl! The squire’s nephew tried to rape her. Romany Jake was quite right to do what he did. Any man of chivalry would have done the same.

  I must be careful. I must not betray the fact that I had seen him. I should somehow have to warn him that this man Forby was in the neighbourhood. I must be wary. He never should have come here.

  They were talking about him. “A colourful sort of fellow as I remember,” said my father.

  “I gather he is not a real gypsy.”

  “What’s he doing living with them then?”

  “It’s all rather odd. In fact he’s an odd fellow. We’ve been making enquiries. It seems he comes from quite a good family … somewhere in Cornwall. He’s known as an eccentric.”

  “Who goes round committing murders,” said my mother.

  “We don’t know of any others,” I said. “And it wasn’t murder. It was this girl…”

  “Murder is murder, my dear young lady,” said Mr. Forby. “It is my job to see that the guilty are brought to justice.”

  “But you said it was a quarrel over a girl. Perhaps …”

  My father was looking at me with raised eyebrows and Mr. Forby went on: “We expect a bit of trouble with the gypsies. He seems to be a sort of leader in spite of not being one of them. Cornish name of Jake Cadorson. Romany Jake is just a nickname.”

  “I remember the fellow,” said my father. “I quite liked his manner. He was reasonable enough when I went to order them off my land.”

  “Hot-blooded,” said Mr. Forby.

  “Where are they searching for him?” I asked.

  “All along the coasts. I’ve got my men out. We’re determined to get him. He’ll try to leave the country. I think he’ll make for the east coast. Harwich most likely. But for the war I’d have expected it to be the south coast. But he couldn’t very well get to France at a time like this. No, I reckon he’ll make for Harwich.”

  I felt myself tremble. I thought: He will go straight into the trap.

  I had to see him.

  “I’m going to all the houses round here,” went on Mr. Forby. “I’m warning them to keep a look out. If anyone should see this man we want to know right away.”

  I made an excuse to get away. I went to my room, got into my riding habit and slipped out of the house. I saddled my horse and rode out.

  The trees were still dripping with moisture and the ground was damp after the storm. The bushes looked as though they had had a battering. Why does one notice these things when one’s thoughts are deeply involved elsewhere?

  I reached Grasslands. It was very silent. I dismounted and tied my horse to the mounting block. I went to the door and rang the bell. I called through the keyhole: “It’s all right. It’s Jessica…”

  I heard his footsteps. The door was opened and he stood there.

  Just at that moment there was a shout. My father and Mr. Forby were galloping towards the house.

  “No, no!” I cried.

  Romany Jake looked at me and the pain in his eyes hurt me more deeply than I had ever been hurt before.

  They had leaped from their horses. Mr. Forby produced a gun.

  “It’s all up,” he shouted.

  I felt as if I were going to faint. My father put his arm round me. “It’s all right,” he said. “I’m here.”

  Two men appeared as if from nowhere. I had never seen them before but I knew that they were Mr. Forby’s assistants.

  I could not bear to see what was happening.

  My father said: “I’ll take my daughter home.”

  I turned to Romany Jake. I could not speak. I shook my head. I could scarcely see him. My eyes were full of tears … tears of horror, remorse, frustration … and deep sorrow. I wanted above all things to talk to him, to explain. I could not bear him to think that I had betrayed him.

  Quietly I rode back with my father.

  We went to the stables and my father lifted me out of the saddle. He held me against him. He was not naturally demonstrative. The grooms took our horses and we went into the house.

  My father said: “I think you had better tell me, don’t you? What is your part in all this?”

  I said: “We’ve got to save him.”

  I wanted to talk to him. All my life he had been the most powerful being in the world. We all knew of how he had brought my mother out of France: he had always behaved as though he were a superior human being with such conviction that we had believed him to be.

  Now I thought: He can save Romany Jake. He was my hope. I had to let Romany Jake know that I had not betrayed him. What had he thought when he opened the door and saw me and the men behind me? What could he have thought but one thing? That I had betrayed him.

  “Come into my study,” said my father. “You can tell me all about it.”

  When we were there he shut the door and said: “Well?”

  “It was not murder,” I told him. “It was not what you think. The squire’s nephew was going to rape the gypsy girl. Jake found them. There was a fight and the nephew was killed during it.”

  “Who told you this?”

  “He did.”

  “You mean … the gypsy?”

  “He’s not a real gypsy. He joined them because he wanted to be free.”

  “You seem to know a lot about him.”

  “Why were you there … behind me?”

  “I was riding with Forby. We went out together and saw you turn in at Grasslands. I said, ‘That’s my daughter,’ and we rode after you.”

  “Why did you do that… oh why?”

  “My dear girl, we were going to ask at Grasslands if anyone had seen the gypsy.”

  “But no one was there. Dolly and the servants were at Enderby.”

  “I thought some of the servants might have been there. They knew him … from when he was here before.”

  I buried my face in my hands. I felt so wretched.

  �
��Come on,” he said. “Explain.”

  “I went to Grasslands to shelter from the storm. I was going to stand under the porch till it was over. He was there. I thought I saw someone at the window and he saw me. He trusted me …”

  “You mean you spoke to him?”

  “Yes. I went into Grasslands and he told me what had happened … how he had killed that man. He said there would be no mercy for him. He, the gypsy, had killed the squire’s nephew. I wanted to warn him that that man was in the neighbourhood and had his men all along the coasts. He was going to Harwich after dark. He would have walked right into the trap. And that is just what he did, and he will think that I…”

  “You must not upset yourself. You did not mean to betray him.”

  “But I did.”

  “No, no. It just happened.”

  “What will they do to him?”

  “They’ll take him to Nottingham to face trial.”

  “And they’ll find him guilty.”

  “He has killed a man. He does not deny it.”

  “But it was not murder.”

  “It is the usual term for describing such an action.”

  “But you don’t see? There was this girl… What will they do to him?”

  “Hang him, I expect.”

  “They must not.”

  “My dear Jessica, this man is nothing to do with you. A wandering gypsy. Colourful, I admit. Handsome … not without charm. This time next year you’ll be wondering who he was.”

  “I shall never forget that he will believe I betrayed him. He trusted me.”

  “You foolish girl. You did no such thing. You just went there to warn him and we happened to be behind you.”

  “But he will think …”

  “Very soon he will be past thinking.”

  “Oh, don’t talk like that, Father. I want you to save him.”

  “I? What power should I have to save him?”

  “When I was little I used to think you could do anything you wanted to. I thought you could make it rain if you decided to. I thought you could do just anything.”

  “My dear innocent child, you know differently now.”

  “I know you can’t interfere with the elements, but I know there is very little else you cannot do if you really want to.”

  “I’m a lucky man to have a daughter who thinks so highly of me. She is very wise and almost correct. But at least you know I can’t interfere with the weather. Nor can I with the law.”

  “I don’t agree.”

  “Oh?”

  “Laws are man-made.”

  “So it is only the gods I can’t defy. You think I can cope with everything else?”

  “Father, wonderful, dear, clever Father, you can do something.”

  “Dearest daughter, no blandishments you can offer me would enable me to save a man who is a self-confessed murderer.”

  “The circumstances make it no real murder. He had to save that girl. He is chivalrous. Do you remember when we faced the gypsies … you and I together and he was afraid of my getting hurt. I may have saved your life then.”

  “You think the gypsies would have murdered me if you hadn’t been there to save me?”

  “It could have happened.”

  He was silent for a while.

  “There are means of influencing a court,” I said.

  “Bribery? Corruption? These things exist. Are you suggesting that I, a law-abiding Englishman, should commit such crimes?”

  “You could do something to save him. If the judge knows that he killed this man defending a girl from rape … doesn’t that count?”

  “H’m,” he said. “A gypsy … the nephew of a squire …”

  “That’s just it,” I cried indignantly. “Suppose a nephew of a squire had killed a gypsy who was trying to rape his wife …”

  “Ah, there you have a point.”

  “If this man hangs I shall never be happy again.”

  “You talk wildly. You’re only a child, though I must say you make me forget it at times. How old are you. Eleven?”

  “Nearly twelve.”

  “Heaven preserve us. What will you be at eighteen?”

  “Please, Father …”

  “Jessica, my dear?”

  “Will you do something for me … the best thing in the world you could possibly do. Will you help me save this man?”

  “There is little I can do.”

  “There is something then?”

  “We could find the girl. Perhaps bring her forward.”

  “Yes, yes,” I said eagerly.

  “I’ll go to Nottingham.”

  I threw my arms round his neck. “I knew you could do it.”

  “I don’t know what I can do. I am just being bullied into taking actions which I feel cannot be fruitful—and all because of my over-bearing daughter.”

  “So you are going to Nottingham. Father, I am coming with you.”

  “No.”

  “Oh yes, please … please. I want to be there. Don’t you see, I must be there. He must know that I did not betray him. If he thought that, I could never be happy again … not in the whole of my life. So … I am coming with you to Nottingham.”

  He held me away from him and looked into my face. I saw that sudden twitch of the jaw.

  “I used to think,” he said, “that I was master in my own household. That’s changed since I was misguided enough to beget a daughter.”

  I flung my arms round him and hugged him.

  He just held me tightly to him. It was a great comfort to be loved so much.

  The next day we set out for Nottingham. My father had told my mother everything and she wanted to accompany us. When I told her in detail what had happened she was almost as eager as I was to save Romany Jake.

  We went by carriage and the journey took several days. It would be about a week before the trial took place, my father reckoned, and we needed a little time to think out a plan of action.

  It was dusk and we must have been about seven or eight miles from Nottingham and were gambolling along at a fair pace when our coachman pulled up sharply.

  “What is it?” called my father.

  “Well, sir, there’s someone on the road. Looks in distress.”

  “Pull up,” ordered my father.

  My mother laid a hand on my father’s arm.

  “It’s all right,” he said, taking a gun from its place under his seat.

  “Much better to drive on,” said my mother.

  “It might be someone in real distress.”

  “It also might be a trick. You never know with these gentlemen of the road.”

  I looked out and saw a man limping towards the carriage.

  “I’m in trouble,” he said. “Robbed of my purse and my horse…”

  My father got out of the carriage and studied the man. “Get in,” he said.

  My mother and I sat closer together to make room.

  When the man was seated, my father said, “Whip up the horses,” and we were off.

  The man was very well dressed, breathless and bewildered, and it was impossible then to suspect him of a trick. He was genuinely overwrought, and for some time found it hard to speak.

  “I was riding along,” he said at length, “when a fellow stepped out and asked me the way to Nottingham. I told him and as I was talking three of them came out of the bushes and surrounded me. They had guns and commanded me to dismount and to hand over my purse. I had no alternative. I gave them what they asked. They took my horse and left me. Thank you for stopping. I am most grateful. I tried to stop one other carriage but it drove straight on.”

  “Suspecting mischief,” said my father. “These robbers are getting a pest. Tis my opinion that we law-abiding citizens don’t get enough protection.”

  The man nodded agreement.

  “Well, sir, where do you want to be taken?”

  “My home is just outside Nottingham. If you could drop me in the town where I am well known, I can find someone to take me
home, I should be greatly obliged.”

  “We’ll take you to your home,” said my father. “Is it far?”

  “About a mile outside the town.”

  “It will be simple to take you there. Just direct us, will you?”

  “You are very good. My family and I will never forget your kindness.”

  “It is only what travellers owe to each other. There ought to be more supervision on the roads.”

  Our companion was beginning to recover. He told us his name was Joseph Barrington and he had a business in the town of Nottingham. “Lace,” he said. “As you know, Nottingham is one of the headquarters for lace-making in the country.”

  “And your home is outside the town?”

  “Yes. One would not want to live too near the factory. We are within easy reach and it is pleasant to be in the country. May I ask what part of the world you come from?”

  “We come from Kent.”

  “Oh, some way south. Have you been to Nottingham before?”

  “No. I have business there and my wife and daughter are accompanying me.”

  “That is a very pleasant arrangement. Could you ask your driver to turn off here. Straight ahead is the direct road into Nottingham. This road leads to my home.”

  In due course he pointed to a house. It was large, imposing and built on a slight incline for commanding views of the countryside.

  We turned in at the drive. Now we could see the house clearly. It must have been built about a hundred years ago and was characteristic of that time with its long windows—short on the ground floor, very tall on the first floor, slightly shorter on the next and completely square on the top. Looking at the door with its spider-web fanlight I thought it had an air of dignity which our Tudor residence lacked. The aspect was of simple good taste and elegance.

  The door opened and a woman came out. She stared in astonishment as Mr. Barrington alighted.

  “Joseph! What is it? Where have you been? We’ve been so worried. You should have been home hours ago.”

  “My dear, my dear, let me explain. I have been robbed on the road … my horse and purse taken. Let me introduce these kind people who have rescued me and brought me home.”

  My father had stepped out of the carriage and my mother and I followed.

  The woman was middle-aged and rather plump and at any other time would have been called comfortable-looking. Now she was anxious and bewildered.