Return of the Gypsy

by Philippa Carr

“It’s not lies. It’s true. Jonathan was pretending … to save me.”

  “As you are pretending … to save him?”

  “You’ll be sorry if you send him away.”

  “Do you mean,” said my father and I saw his lips beginning to twitch in the way I remembered he had often looked at me when some precocity of mine had amused him during my childhood, “that you will be sorry if he goes?”

  “Yes … yes … and so will you. He’s very good on the estate. The people all love him … more than they do—”

  “More than they do me?”

  “Yes. And people on the estate should love the squire. It’s all part of it.”

  “He doesn’t deserve such an advocate.”

  “A what?” she asked.

  “He doesn’t deserve your confidence in him.”

  “I don’t like Enderby much. It can be sold.”

  Jonathan had risen from his bed and wrapped a dressing gown about him while this conversation had been going on.

  “Tamarisk,” he said, “thank you for trying to save me. I can repay the money and if I have to go I shall come back and see you.”

  She stamped her foot. “It won’t be the same.”

  My father was a little disconcerted.

  “I’ll see you later, Jonathan,” he said, and went out.

  I sat on the bed and looked at Jonathan.

  “It’s a letter he had. Anonymous. Signed ‘A Friend.’”

  “I wonder who that dear friend could be.”

  “It was a miserable thing to do.”

  “It was rather. I’d have had the whole thing cleared up in no time and saved all this fuss.”

  Tamarisk was looking from one of us to the other.

  She said: “He’s very angry. He’ll send you away. I know.”

  “He always sounds more angry than he is,” I reminded them.

  “It just happens to be the cardinal sin,” said Jonathan.

  “What’s that?” asked Tamarisk.

  “The worst possible thing you can do, Gypsy.”

  “I hope he doesn’t send you away.”

  “If he does, I’ll come over to see you. We’ll have secret meetings.”

  “I’d rather you were there all the time.”

  He came over to her and taking her hands looked into her eyes solemnly. He said: “Everything is worth while to know I have such a good and loyal little friend.”

  Then he kissed her gently on the forehead.

  I felt very moved.

  I said: “I’ll try to talk him out of it.”

  “Do you think you can?” asked Jonathan.

  “If anyone can, I can … or my mother. I’ll get her help.”

  We did talk him out of it, but it was not easy.

  I said that people who wrote anonymous letters were the worst possible and to give them the satisfaction of achieving their ends, was to pander to them.

  I insisted that Jonathan had learned his lesson. He would never be so foolish again.

  My mother and I both agreed that if he were found guilty of gambling again we would stand firmly beside my father and make no attempts to persuade him to act other than his inclinations advised him to.

  And at last he gave way with a bad grace.

  “When Eversleigh is bankrupt, you’ll be the ones to blame … just as much as that young jackanapes,” he growled.

  We said meekly that we would accept the blame, hugged him and told him that he was not really such a fierce old curmudgeon as he made himself out to be—and even if he were, we still adored him.

  Jonathan paid back the five hundred pounds and came back with us to Eversleigh.

  But I did wonder who had written that anonymous letter and as the weeks passed I saw that Tamarisk’s feeling for Jonathan was growing stronger.

  After Waterloo

  THE MONTHS PASSED QUICKLY. One day was so like another. I seemed to be caught in the monotony of the days. Sometimes when I awoke in the mornings, I would say to myself: Another day. Is it going to be like this all my life?

  Mr. and Mrs. Barrington were frequently at Grasslands. There was less trouble with the Luddites now. They may have been sobered by the terrible events of the day when Edward had been hurt and the fact that two of them had gone to the gallows for it.

  New machines had been installed in the factory and the workers seemed to be reconciled to that necessary evil. Mr. Barrington would talk to Edward for hours and I would see the light in Edward’s eyes which would afterwards be replaced by a look of helplessness. I often thought how frustrating he must find it to be reduced to his state.

  He was, on rare occasions, mildly irritable and afterwards suffered great remorse. I used to tell him that it was nothing and I marvelled at his good humour. He suffered a great deal—not only physically.

  Try as we might we could not make ours a really happy household.

  Amaryllis was pregnant again. When I heard this a great depression seized me. I congratulated her and pretended to be pleased, and I despised myself but I could not control the jealousy which beset me.

  I had been rash. I could have remained Edward’s friend. I could have devoted a great deal of time to him, visiting him, playing chess and piquet with him. Why had I married him? It had been a quixotic gesture, which was certain to bring frustration. My parents had tried to make me see this but as usual I had been obstinate and gone my own way.

  There were days when I felt shackled, when I looked ahead to the years to come and saw myself growing older in this house, rising in the morning, taking solitary rides and walks, sitting with Edward, playing endless games with him, retiring at night. That was my life.

  I would get old, lined and wrinkled, beyond the age of child-bearing.

  I was becoming obsessed by the desire for a child. And now that Amaryllis was going to have another, this desire in me was stronger than ever.

  My mother guessed at my feelings. I would often find her eyes on me, a little sad and sometimes, I thought, with a hint of fear. She knew me well, perhaps better than anyone, even myself. I think that in her mind was the thought that somewhere, sometime my resolution would break. I was a woman of natural impulses. I was not meant to live unfulfilled.

  She and my father had paid a visit to France that autumn and she had come home very happy. They had been present for the vendange, and how exciting that had been! Charlot and Louis Charles lived with their families in a small chateau which, although it had been vandalized to some extent during the revolution, they had been able to restore, and there they lived with their growing families in perfect harmony it seemed.

  Louis Charles and Charlot had always been like brothers. They were actually half brothers for Louis Charles had been my mother’s first husband’s bastard. There was a great bond between the two and it seemed such a happy solution that they should share a flourishing vineyard.

  My mother gloried in long descriptions of how they brought in the grapes, the pressing, the bottling, and the great rejoicing when everything was brought to a satisfactory conclusion.

  My father grudgingly admitted that they were making a success of it and that their wines were excellent.

  I saw him looking at Jonathan and drawing comparisons. He was still suspicious of Jonathan. He would never forget that episode, and every now and then would expound on the pitfalls of gambling.

  I teased him a little about it. “Obviously,” I said, “it is one of the few vices in which you have not indulged at some time or other.”

  He replied that he had always been intent on making a success of what he had and, thank God, had had the sense to realize that he would not jeopardize one acre of land to chance. “Certainty was what I was after,” he added. “I was not staking my future on the drop of the dice or the place of a card in the pack.”

  I think he was anxious about me and I guessed he and my mother had long talks in the privacy of their bedroom.

  In the meantime life went on as before. Jonathan was doing well… at least he was a
voiding trouble. I think he really was interested in the estate, but that nonchalant air, that easy charm which gave him an air of indifference, was something my father found irritating.

  There were occasional explosions of temper on his part which my mother usually managed to soothe without too much trouble.

  Tamarisk was often at Eversleigh and there was a very special friendship between her and Jonathan. My mother did comment on this once and betrayed a certain apprehension. “She is young yet. Not nine until the summer. But she is a precocious girl. No doubt her feelings will abate a little as she gets older.”

  “Jonathan is very fond of her,” I pointed out. “She will be quite safe with him.”

  “I hope so. I haven’t said anything to your father about it. He’s very critical of Jonathan and I don’t want to make him worse. He would come to all sorts of conclusions.”

  “You worry too much,” I told her and added: “About everything.”

  Which brought us back to the position in which I found myself. There was an uneasiness in the air—faint but present.

  I had never been perfectly at home with Peter since his announcement of the engagement between himself and Amaryllis; and I often felt that he was a little wary of me. He must have known that I had believed his interest to be in me. I often thought of our dramatic meeting and how he had followed me in the street. He had seemed so attentive, so eager to know me, and then suddenly he had fallen in love with Amaryllis.

  I suppose it was natural, but it did seem a little odd. He must have been aware of this and it made for restraint between us.

  When I looked back I realized that I had scarcely been alone with him since the announcement. He was always busy—making frequent visits to London. He was a highly successful businessman. He was doing well with his rum and sugar and seemed to have many interests. He was still renting Enderby, which seemed an ideal arrangement; the money was banked for Tamarisk for when she came of age, so the house was an investment for her; and the fact that Amaryllis and Peter continued to live there shelved the problem of what was to be done with it. I sometimes wondered about his business and would have liked to see those warehouses of his. I still marvelled at Amaryllis’ lack of interest, particularly as she had money invested in the company. Once or twice I tried to discover something about this but she was vague. All she could tell me was that they were very successful and Peter’s business was growing so rapidly that he had to be more and more in London.

  There was one occasion when I found myself alone with him. I had been to Eversleigh from Grasslands when I came face to face with him. We said good morning but could hardly pass on without a word.

  He added that it was a fine morning and after that we exchanged a few trivialities. Then he said: “I hardly ever see you, Jessica, without a lot of people being present.”

  “I suppose that is inevitable. We are a large family.”

  “Are you … happy?”

  I was startled: “Why yes, of course … very happy.”

  He was frowning slightly, looking over my head, back to Grasslands.

  “I’m glad,” he said.

  “And I hear from Amaryllis that you are going from strength to strength with your new warehouses and so on. Business, I gather, flourishes.”

  “She talks to you about the warehouses?”

  “Yes. I expect you will be proudly showing her round them one day.”

  Something in his manner attracted my attention. He seemed a little watchful.

  “She wouldn’t really be interested. Business is not for ladies.”

  “I should have thought anyone would be interested. I am. And Amaryllis particularly, since she has a share in them.”

  “Oh, when I am here I like to forget all about that.”

  “So you are not one of those businessmen who is obsessed by work?”

  “Only when I am engaged in it.”

  “I suppose you have time when you are in London for enjoyment?”

  He looked startled.

  “I mean clubs … and all that. Jonathan said you knew such places. After all it was you who introduced him to Frinton’s.”

  “Oh.” He laughed. “That was disastrous, wasn’t it? I wish I had known he was going to make a fool of himself. He just asked me about a few clubs and I mentioned that one. I didn’t realize he would go to the tables.”

  “I think he has learned his lesson.”

  “Your father does not forget it, I’m afraid.”

  “Poor Jonathan! It just happens to be something my father feels very strongly about.”

  “I see his point, don’t you?”

  “Of course. But I think Jonathan will do very well. We’re all very fond of him.”

  “He’s a charming fellow … if a little weak.”

  “Just that one incident! We mustn’t judge him on that. How is Amaryllis?”

  “Very well.”

  “Will you tell her I will come over to see her tomorrow?”

  “She’ll be delighted.”

  “Well, I must go now.”

  He took my hand and held it lingeringly. There was an expression in his eyes which I could not understand.

  I was glad to get away. He made me feel a little uneasy. I suppose it was because of the past and because once I had thought I might be on the verge of falling in love with him. He was attractive and that touch of mystery added to his charm. I had been young and romantic then. I wondered how many girls fell in love not exactly with a person but because the time seemed ripe and someone appears at that moment. Falling in love with love, was what it was commonly called; and what an everyday occurrence it must be! I had been ready to do just that with Peter Lansdon. The romantic circumstances of our meeting, his immediate interest and what I thought of as the beginning of a courtship … oh yes, that was the trappings of romance and I was ready to fall in love as most girls did.

  Now I had had time for reflection and I realized that I should never have truly loved Peter Lansdon; there was something about him which repelled me, some element of secrecy. That might be intriguing in a way but it seemed now a little sinister. Perhaps I compared him with Edward, who was so open, so frank, so honest that beside him all other men seemed devious.

  The next day I called on Amaryllis. She was showing the first signs of pregnancy. Her baby was due in August and Helena at this time was only nine months old.

  “How are you, my fruitful vine?” I asked.

  She kissed me and said she was feeling better than she had in the last weeks. “The first three months are the worst,” she added.

  “You should know,” I said. “You seem to be making a practice of this sort of thing.”

  “Well, one has to endure the discomfort but it is wonderful when the baby arrives.”

  “Yes, I can imagine it.”

  She looked at me wistfully. “I think of you a lot,” she said.

  “Now you will have more interesting things to think of.”

  “I worry … a little.”

  “About me?”

  “Well, I know Edward is a dear, but the life … My mother was saying …”

  “I really must stop this,” I said. “I’m perfectly all right. I’m living my life the way I want it. I saw Peter yesterday.”

  “Oh?” She looked at me covertly.

  “Yes, we had a little chat.”

  “He told me. Jessica …” I sensed she was going to say something apologetic because she felt uneasy about marrying Peter. She had thought—as many had—that I was the one in whom he was interested and I daresay it was a surprise for her when he proposed. I had had enough of people’s speculations about my feelings and all their anxiety because I had married an invalid.

  I said quickly: “Peter is delighted about the child, I suppose.”

  “Oh yes. He wants a boy.”

  “Men always want boys. They think they are so much more important. I wonder they don’t put girls out on the bleak mountainside and let them freeze to death. Poor, unwanted little
thing.”

  “Oh, Jessica, what nonsense you talk! He loves Helena. We all do. The idea of any harm coming to her …” She shivered.

  “It is just this obsession with boys which irritates me. My father is just the same, and when you think how he has always enjoyed the company of women … far more than that of men, you can’t help laughing.”

  “You were always very serious about things like that. Edward is serious, too. I think you are very well suited.”

  “We understand each other. And you and Peter … you are not much alike.”

  “Ours is the attraction of opposites.”

  “I see.” And as I looked at her frank open face it was borne home to me that this must be the case.

  It was later, when I was in Edward’s room and James was putting extra logs on the fire. The wind had turned cold.

  “We must expect it,” said Edward. “March is still with us and we have to endure more wintry weather before the spring.”

  The fire blazed up and James turned to me.

  “Shall I get the chess board for you?” he asked. “That was an interesting game you left yesterday.”

  Edward said: “I think, my dear, I have cornered you. I see mate in the next two moves unless …”

  “Unless!” said James. “That’s the point. Mrs. Barrington always fights best when she is in difficulties.”

  “I think you are right,” agreed Edward. “How many times have I anticipated victory and had it in my grasp only to be outwitted at the very last move.”

  “It’s a great quality,” said James, “to be able to do your best when your back is against the wall.”

  “Thank you, James,” I said. “I am glad you both appreciate my indomitable nature.”

  James set out the table and carried the chess board to it.

  “There,” he said. “Not a piece but where it was during the heat of yesterday’s battle.”

  We concentrated on the board and after watching us for a while James went off.

  It must have been about ten minutes later when he came back. He dashed into the room and it was obvious that he had exciting news which he was eager to tell us.

  “What is it?” cried Edward.

  “Mr. Jonathan has just come from Eversleigh with the news. He’s on his way up. Napoleon has escaped from Elba.”