It was the day of the party. In the morning Amaryllis and I rode over to Enderby. We did not think for a moment that Aunt Sophie would come, but we had to assure her that if she decided to, we should be very happy to see her.
I said to Amaryllis: “It is good to get away from the house. The servants seemed to be running round in circles like a lot of ants. They seem to be busy but they are not sure doing what.”
“There is so much to be prepared and both our mothers want everything to go without a hitch. They’ll be terribly hurt if it doesn’t.”
We had reached Enderby. Jeanne met us and told us that Aunt Sophie was not very well. She believed she had a cold coming.
“Would she not want to see us today?” I asked. “We only came to enquire how she was, and to tell her that if she did decide to come to the party, we’d be delighted.”
“Oh, she wouldn’t come to the party, but she will be glad to see you.”
We went into Aunt Sophie’s room. Tamarisk was seated on a stool with a little table before her. She was painting in lurid reds and blues.
“I am sorry you are not well, Aunt Sophie,” I said.
“Are we disturbing you?” asked Amaryllis.
“No … no. Come in. I thought I’d have a day in bed. Jeanne thinks I should. Just a slight cold. Tamarisk is keeping me company.”
Tamarisk glanced up from her painting, looking very virtuous as though she were performing some act of mercy.
“What are you painting?” Amaryllis asked Tamarisk.
“I’m painting gypsies.”
“Tamarisk saw the gypsies yesterday, didn’t you, Tamarisk?” said Aunt Sophie. “She came back and told us all about it. We wondered where she was. Jeanne went out and found her with the gypsies.”
“I like gypsies,” said Tamarisk. “They have caravans. They sleep in them … and sometimes on the grass. There are horses and dogs and children without shoes and stockings. I don’t want to wear shoes and stockings.”
“You’d hurt your feet if you didn’t.”
“Gypsies don’t hurt their feet.”
“They are used to it,” I said, “and they would be thankful to have shoes.”
Tamarisk was thoughtful. Then she said: “They have fires on the ground and they cook the dinner on them.”
Amaryllis said to Aunt Sophie: “My mother would be so delighted if you came to the party tonight.”
“My dear child,” said Aunt Sophie, “I am afraid I am not well enough.”
“I want to come to the party,” cried Tamarisk. “It ought to be my party.”
“You always have a party for your birthday, mon amour” said Aunt Sophie.
“I want this party.”
“This is Jessica’s and Amaryllis’.”
“I have a birthday, too.”
“We all have birthdays and this happens to be mine and Amaryllis’,” I told her.
“Two of you! It ought to be mine, too. I want to come.”
“My dearest,” said Aunt Sophie, “it is not a children’s party. It is for grown-ups.”
“I don’t want a children’s party. I want a grown-ups’ party. I want to come.”
“When you are eighteen,” I said.
Tamarisk glared at me and leaving her painting went over to Aunt Sophie. She looked at her appealingly. “Please, I want to go to the party.”
“Now, Tamarisk my dear, you shall have a party of your own. This is not for little ones.”
Tamarisk stamped her foot. “You don’t love me,” she said.
Aunt Sophie looked desolate. “Oh, my little one …”
“You don’t. You don’t,” she cried. “I hate you. I hate you all.” With that she ran from the room.
“Oh dear,” said Aunt Sophie, almost in tears.
“She needs a very stern governess,” I said and even Amaryllis admitted that the child was getting out of hand.
“It’s so sad for her, having no parents,” said Aunt Sophie.
“Dear Aunt Sophie, you have done everything for her. She has not learned to be grateful. She must realize that she is not the only person in the world.”
Jeanne came in and said that Tamarisk had gone to Miss Allen who was going to take her for a ride.
When we came out of the house we saw Tamarisk coming out of the stables with one of the grooms. She was on a leading rein and they were making for the paddock. She looked at us serenely, but I thought I saw a certain look of triumph in her eyes.
It was a beautiful night. There was a full moon which threw a romantic glow over the gardens and so after the buffet supper, which had been served in the hall, the guests strolled out to take the air. Through the open windows came the strains of music which was being played in the gallery for those who wished to dance.
I was with Edward who was very anxious to find a secluded spot as he wished to talk to me. I guessed of what he wanted to speak.
We sat on the wooden seat and he was silent for a few moments, then he said: “What a lovely evening!”
“Just what we hoped and prayed for,” I replied.
“Jessica, I have wanted to talk to you for so long. I’ve been afraid to.”
“You … afraid! I thought you were never afraid of anything.”
He laughed. “I am … now. I am afraid that you will say No. I want to marry you.”
I was silent, and he went on: “I fancied you knew. After all, it seems obvious to everyone else.”
“I do know but… well, I haven’t really thought about marriage. I don’t believe I want to … just yet.”
“You are eighteen now.”
“I know that many girls are married at that age, but somehow … I don’t feel ready.”
“We could become engaged.”
“That seems too … definite.”
“My parents would be delighted.”
“Mine would too. It seems that everyone would be. It is just that I am … well, uncertain. I am fond of you, Edward. It’s been great fun since you came to Grasslands. We’re all delighted to have you for neighbours.” I thought then of our first meeting and when I did so there was one other figure who loomed large in my thoughts. But for Romany Jake I should never have known Edward. Then came the thought of what I should feel if instead of Edward sitting beside me on this moonlight night it was that other … he whom I had never been able to banish from my thoughts though it was so long since I had seen him. Something suggested to me that he might be at the root of my indecision. I dismissed that thought immediately as ridiculous. Then I thought of Leah … for whose sake he had been sent away. I thought of her large luminous eyes probing my mind. A choice, she had said. There were two paths. One would lead me to serenity, the other to danger. Surely this must be one of the choices and surely this life with Edward would lead me to peace. How could it be otherwise with a man like Edward? He was distinguished, of good family, comparatively wealthy, considerate and kind. He was all that my parents asked for in a son-in-law. But it should not be parents who made the choice.
As I sat there on that beautiful night with the scent of the flowers all about me and the strains of sweet musk coming from the house, I felt it would be so simple to say Yes. Why should I think of a gypsy with the boldest eyes I had ever seen, a man who had danced round the bonfire with poor Dolly and got her with child … it was quite ridiculous. I was foolish to hold back. But I seemed to see him there in the light of the bonfire looking at me, his eyes bold, wanting me to come down from my father’s carriage and dance with him as he had danced with Dolly. What nonsense! He was a gypsy; he had killed a man; he was on the other side of the world and it was hardly likely that he would ever come back.
Edward was saying bleakly: “You are unsure, aren’t you? Well, you have only just reached the great age of eighteen. There is time…”
“Yes,” I said eagerly, “I must have time. Let me get used to the idea … Let me think about it. Will you?”
“I have no alternative, I’m afraid,” he said with a sigh. �
��I can scarcely sling you across my saddle and ride off with you, can I?”
“Hardly. There would be nowhere to ride to.”
“I might find somewhere. Alas, there will be no announcement tonight.”
“That was what they wanted, was it?”
“My mother thought there might be.”
“Oh dear, I feel I have let everyone down.”
“I understand. But I’m going to make you change your mind soon.”
“I’m glad. I hope you do. I’m afraid I’m being a little silly … a little young…”
“No, wise perhaps. One has to know one’s own mind about these matters.”
“Oh, Edward, I do love you. You’re so understanding. It’s just that marriage is such a big step. It’s for life and I don’t feel I’ve experienced enough of that to commit myself… for life.”
“I have a feeling that it is going to be all right for us.”
We sat in silence for some time.
It should have been exciting to receive a proposal of marriage on one’s birthday, but I felt deflated. By refusing I was disappointing so many people.
He put his arm round me and kissed me gently on the cheek.
“Don’t be sad about this, Jessica,” he said. “I understand. That was why I was hesitating. I have spoken too soon.”
How kind he was! How understanding! I was foolish to refuse such a man … and all because of some childish fantasy concerning a wild gypsy. Edward would be a good husband. But when one was eighteen one did not want a good husband so much as an exciting one; and although I liked Edward … loved him in a way … he did not set my pulses racing as I had heard lovers were supposed to.
I had seen the passionate devotion of my parents. Perhaps I wanted something like that to happen to me. I had also seen the love between Amaryllis’ parents—strong, solid and true—but there was not that between them which there was between my parents; and it was that which I wanted.
Perhaps I was obsessed by foolish dreams. I was, when all was said, only eighteen. I did not seek the peaceful life; I wanted adventure, and deep within me was the conviction which had been planted there some years before, that there was someone who could give me what I wanted.
Clare Carson was coming across the lawn. I withdrew myself from Edward involuntarily. I had a feeling that Clare did not like me very much, and rather resented my intrusion into the family; and what she liked less than anything was Edward’s feeling for me. I was certain that she was in love with Edward.
He was always charming to her, treating her like a sister; but that, I sensed, was not what she wanted and I had a feeling that often his brotherly attitude exasperated her.
“Jessica,” she said, “your mother wants you to go to her as soon as you can. I told her I had an idea where you were and would look for you.”
“What has happened?” I cried in alarm.
“She wants you to go quietly. Not make a fuss … not to disturb the party.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Edward.
Clare put in quickly: “Mrs. Frenshaw did particularly say that she wanted no one else but Jessica.”
Clare took the place I had vacated and I went quickly across the lawn and into the house. I went straight up to my mother’s room. Tamarisk’s governess, Miss Allen, was with her.
“Oh, Jessica,” cried my mother. “I’m glad you’ve come. Amaryllis is looking for your father and David. Tamarisk is lost.”
“Lost? How? Where?”
“Heaven knows. She is not in her room. She went to bed as normal and Miss Allen said she was asleep almost immediately, but when she looked in about half an hour ago the bed was empty.”
“Oh, that child! She is always up to some mischief.”
“Jeanne asked Miss Allen to come over. Jeanne is with Sophie who is almost frantic.”
“I can imagine it. Why, it must be past eleven.”
“Where can the child be at this hour?” said my mother. “Oh, here is your father. Dickon, something terrible has happened. Tamarisk is not in her bed. Where can she be? Sophie is in a demented state. What can we do?”
“I’ll get over there and find out what I can. Where’s David? He can come with me. Oh, here he is.”
My mother quickly explained to David what had happened.
“We’ll get over there with Miss Allen as quickly as we can,” said my father. “Don’t break up the party. No doubt she’s hiding somewhere in the house. We’ll be back soon, I daresay.”
They slipped away and the rest of us joined the guests.
The party broke up at midnight. I think we were all relieved when the last guest departed. The family assembled in the hall—my mother, Claudine, Amaryllis and I. The men had not returned.
“What on earth are they doing!” cried my mother. “If she were hiding in the house they would have found her by now.”
“It seems obvious that they haven’t found her,” I said.
“I think,” continued my mother, “that we should go over there and see what is happening.”
“I shall come with you,” said Claudine.
Amaryllis suggested that we go too.
“There’s no need for you girls to come,” said my mother. “You go to bed.”
But we insisted.
Aunt Sophie was in the hall with Jeanne, Miss Allen and some of the servants. Aunt Sophie, wrapped in a heavy dressing gown in spite of the fact that it was a warm night, looked very ill. Jeanne was hovering over her anxiously. The men were not there.
“No news?” asked my mother.
Aunt Sophie shook her head mournfully.
“Where are the men?” asked my mother.
“They are searching with some of our people,” explained Jeanne.
“The house … the garden …”
“We’ve been over every inch of them,” said Miss Allen. “I can’t understand it. She was there, asleep in her bed …”
“Perhaps pretending to be asleep,” I suggested.
“I don’t know. She was there … I saw her when I looked in. It is terrible …”
“It was not your fault, Miss Allen.”
She looked at me gratefully.
“How can we know what is happening to that poor child?” said Aunt Sophie.
“She will be found,” Jeanne said soothingly. “She will be safe. No harm will come to that one.”
“Taken from me,” mourned Aunt Sophie. “Why is it that I cannot keep anyone I love? Why is life always against me?”
No one answered. There was a faraway look in my mother’s eyes and I knew she was thinking of the time when I was taken away by Dolly Mather. I had heard the story many times. And now Dolly’s child had been taken. Or had she gone of her own accord? I could not imagine Tamarisk’s being forcibly taken away. She would have screamed with all the strength of her lungs, which was considerable. But I could imagine her planning some devilment to teach us all a lesson, no doubt. She had been very angry about the party. She might have taken her revenge for not being allowed to attend.
My mother, who like me could not bear inaction, said: “Have the servants been questioned? Do any of them know anything?”
“They all know that she is not here,” said Miss Allen.
“Well, let’s do something,” said my mother. “Let’s have them in. Let’s question them.”
All those servants who were not out of doors searching for Tamarisk were commanded to come into the hall.
My mother said: “I want you all to think. Has anything strange happened in the last few days? Did the child say anything that might give us a clue as to where she may have gone?”
There was silence. Then one of the maids said: “She was always talking about being a witch.”
“She told me yesterday that she would put a spell on me if she didn’t get her own way,” said another.
“Yes,” I said. “She was always talking about being a witch. You don’t think she has gone to Polly Crypton’s place, do you?”
�
��Polly would have brought her home if she had. Polly’s a witch but a white one. She would do no harm to anybody … not lest they’d done her wrong,” said the cook.
“Perhaps we should send over to Polly’s to see?”
Two of the girls said they would go at once.
When they had gone one of the housemaids said: “She was always talking about the gypsies.”
“Oh yes,” I said, remembering the occasion when Leah came to tell our fortunes. There had seemed to be a special affinity between them then. Of course the child’s father was Romany Jake. “She wouldn’t have gone to the gypsies, surely.” I felt sure that if she had they would have brought her back.
“They say gypsies steal children,” said the parlourmaid. “They sell their clothes. Miss Tamarisk always had of the best. Mademoiselle Sophie saw to that.”
My mother cut in with: “Nonsense!” because she saw this talk was upsetting Aunt Sophie who had covered her face with her hands. Jeanne bent over her whispering in French that all would be well. Tamarisk would be coming through the door at any moment. She was sure of it.
My father and David came back with some of the men servants. One look at their faces showed us that the search had been unsuccessful.
Jeanne was telling Aunt Sophie that she would be more comfortable in bed and as soon as we had news it should be brought to her. If only she would go, Jeanne would make her comfortable. She could bring her something to soothe her throat.
Aunt Sophie shook her head. “How can I rest?” she asked. “How could I… until she is back?”
I went over to my father. I whispered to him: “I want to go to the gypsy encampment.”
“What?” he said.
“Don’t tell them here. It’s just a feeling I have. Will you come with me? Just the two of us?”
“What’s on your mind?”
“Something. I’m not sure. Please don’t ask questions. Just come with me.”
My mother looked at us questioningly.
My father said quietly: “Jessica has an idea.”
We went out together.
“You’re not dressed for the saddle,” he said.
“No, let’s walk. We may find her on the way. Please …”
“I know I have to obey orders, General.”
“Father, I’m terribly afraid.”
Return of the Gypsy Page 13