Return of the Gypsy

by Philippa Carr

  “No. I think all this is just what a home should be—and you are part of it.”

  “What’s that Joe is playing now? Sir Roger? You’ll need a younger partner. Oh look. Edgar is taking over from Joe. He doesn’t play so well, but he’ll be adequate. Joe will want to be your partner.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Cresswell sat out for Sir Roger de Caverley. I often remembered afterwards how they looked sitting there smiling, she tapping her foot to the music, looking on at their friends and family with perfect contentment.

  When we retired to bed Helena and I lay awake for a long time talking about the evening.

  “Wasn’t it fun?” said Helena.

  “It was,” I agreed. “Especially for you when your devoted admirer arrived.”

  “That was just like Mrs. Cresswell. She would do that. She invited him especially for me.”

  “She’s a lovely woman,” I said.

  “Mr. Cresswell is so different, but very nice.”

  “I think he is a very good man, and he deserves his family. After all we make our own happiness, don’t we?”

  “Sometimes others unmake it.”

  “It’s up to us,” I said.

  Was it? I thought of Helena before John Milward had come along. It was pure chance with her. If he had not appeared on the scene she would have been the same old Helena … shy, diffident, feeling herself to be unattractive so that she convinced others that she was.

  I was too tired to ponder the matter and slipped gently into sleep.

  On the Sunday morning we made up a party and went to church. We sat in the Cresswell pew, filling it. It was a thirteenth-century church and the memorials on the walls told me that the Cresswells had worshipped here for generations.

  After the service we stood outside the church for a while and I was introduced to certain people of the village. I said I wanted to look round the graveyard. Graveyards always interested me. I liked to read the inscriptions on the tombstones and imagine what the people lying under the ground had been like when they were alive. Old people … young cut off in their youth … and babies. I liked to be alone on these occasions so that I could absorb the silence of the graveyard, the stillness of the air. It seemed to bring back the past and I could feel I was back hundreds of years.

  I had wandered a little away from the others who were standing outside the church and as I strolled round to the back of the building I found myself face to face with the vicar, who had just come out of a side door. He was still wearing his surplice.

  He smiled at me and said: “You are with the Cresswell party, I believe.”

  “Yes,” I replied. “I was looking at the churchyard. The inscriptions on the gravestones inspire my imagination.”

  He nodded.

  “You are here for the week-end, I suppose.”

  “Yes.”

  “People come down often to stay with the family. It is a great pleasure to see them all in church. We owe a lot to the Cresswells in this village.”

  “They must have been here for generations.”

  “There have always been Cresswells here … for four hundred years, I reckon. They were always good to the people, but the present Mr. Cresswell surpasses them all to my mind. We’re very proud of him in the village. He’s a rising politician. They’ll tell you here that he ought to be Prime Minister. There are many who think he would make a better job of it than Lord Melbourne.”

  “I can see he has many local supporters.”

  “It’ll come. He’ll get the honours he deserves. There is a chairmanship coming up.”

  “Yes. I have heard of that.”

  “When he gets that it will be a big stepping-stone. It is important that we get the right men governing us. We want our rulers to be clever and shrewd but at the same time with a sense of morality. Unfortunately most of them seem to be lacking in the latter.”

  “I am sure you are right.”

  “Here I am running on. My wife says that given half a chance I’ll start to preach a sermon. It has been pleasant talking to you. I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay with us.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  I heard Joe calling and I went round to the front of the church to meet him. Then we all went back to the house.

  At luncheon everyone talked a great deal. We sat long over the table unable to tear ourselves away. In the afternoon we went for a walk—Joe and I with Peterkin, Helena and John Milward. I was delighted to see Helena so happy; she sparkled and was quite talkative and even a little witty. How love could change a person!

  The evening was very much like the previous one except that there was no dancing, this being Sunday. Joe and I played duets and the company sang hymns and ballads, both sentimental and humorous.

  When we retired that night Helena was radiant.

  She said nothing until we were in our beds. Then she whispered: “Annora?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you awake?”

  “No,” I said. “Asleep.”

  She laughed as though that was hilariously funny.

  “Come on,” I said. “Tell me all about it.”

  “You guessed.”

  “I guessed something had happened. You look as though you have just kissed the frog who has turned into a prince.”

  “He’s asked me, Annora.”

  “You’re engaged.”

  “That’s right.”

  I leaped out of bed and jumped on to hers, hugging her.

  “Oh, Helena, I’m so pleased.”

  “It was while we were out walking this afternoon. He asked me to marry him … just like that.”

  “Oh, Helena, I’m so pleased.”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “Everyone else will. They only have to see you two together to guess what is in the wind.”

  “Was it so obvious?”

  “As clear as daylight.” I kissed her and went back to my bed.

  “Does his family know?”

  “Well, not yet. And we’re going to wait until they do before we announce anything.”

  “Is he afraid they won’t approve?”

  “John doesn’t think there’ll be any trouble. But they are such a proud family … one of the oldest dukedoms. You know what people are like. Of course, they are not very well off. …”

  “Your father will be pleased.”

  “I think so. There’ll be no difficulty there. He’s been hoping for something like this ever since I was ‘out.’ He spent a lot on my presentation and it seemed as though it was all wasted. Now I’m exonerated.”

  “You make it sound like a business transaction.”

  “Coming out is … in a way. But when people fall in love …”

  “Ah, that is different. They’re outside the transaction but it still exists for the fond parents. Did your father say he was disappointed in your performance?”

  “Not in words. But I guessed. I felt he despised me.”

  “Well, he will have to change his mind now. The great Milwards, eh?”

  “A younger son,” she said with a giggle and added fervently: “Thank goodness.”

  “I’ll be all right. I daresay it would have been different with the heir, but a younger son has more freedom to fall in love.”

  “Oh, Annora, isn’t it wonderful! But not a word yet. You won’t tell, will you?”

  “You can rely on me. But it will come out soon. I have a very reliable set of bones and I can feel it in them.”

  “Oh, Annora, I’m so glad you stayed with us. I hope you won’t go yet.”

  “So do I,” I assured her.

  We lay awake for some time talking.

  That was a wonderful week-end. I was sorry that we had to leave next morning.

  Nothing was said about Helena’s engagement. John Milward was evidently waiting for the right moment to approach his father. I had always felt he was a rather nervous young man.

  I wondered if Aunt Amaryllis guessed.

  Perhaps not, for there was a great d
eal of excitement everywhere about the Queen’s coronation. It was exhilarating to be in London at this time.

  The streets were full of people from all over the country. A few days before the event was due to take place they were making beds on the pavements and camping out all night, so determined were they to get a good view of the procession.

  Uncle Peter was very busy. He was on several committees and we hardly saw him during those days. He would be very occupied on the great day.

  The Cresswells had a town house in St. James’s Street through which the procession would be passing and I, with Helena and Peterkin, were invited to join a party which would be watching from the windows.

  What an impressive sight! The bells were ringing all over London. I was deeply moved as I watched the procession. So many foreign dignitaries had come to take part in it and prominent among them were the Queen’s German relations. Oddly enough, Marshal Soult, our enemy of not long ago, represented France. I was amazed at what a tumultuous welcome the people gave him. But most moving of all was the sight of the little Queen looking so young—almost a child—in her robes of crimson velvet and gold lace, with a diamond circlet on her head.

  I did not see her return from the Abbey but I could picture her riding back through the streets to Buckingham Palace in the robes of state, carrying the orb and sceptre.

  After the ceremony we went back to the house in the square accompanied by Joe. There was a cold supper and after that several of us went to watch the fireworks in the Park.

  It was a day of great rejoicing.

  I was so glad that I had remained in London for such an occasion and was sorry that my parents had missed it. When they came it would mean that we should be leaving soon for Cornwall; and that was something I was not really looking forward to for I had become so caught up in Helena’s affairs. I wanted to see her officially engaged; moreover I was interested in the Cresswell family—especially Joe. My friendship for him was growing fast.

  Helena was very excited because she was going to one of the State balls which were being given in honour of the coronation.

  “I’m sorry you can’t come, Annora,” she said.

  I smiled. Not long ago she would have been congratulating me because I did not have to go.

  She had a new rose pink dress and she looked prettier than I had ever seen her look before. It was not so much rose pink which suited her as happiness.

  I watched her set off with her parents and Peterkin. I knew that John Milward would be at the ball. I hoped he would soon speak to his father. The long wait seemed to me to be a little ominous. I supposed it all depended on how much they needed money and whether Helena’s father was rich enough to supply a settlement which would be satisfactory to them. Yes, indeed, it was quite a sordid transaction or would have been except for the love of the two central characters.

  Joe called with his sister Frances. I was delighted to see them.

  “I thought you would have gone to the ball,” I said to Joe.

  “My parents are there. They’ll represent the family. It wasn’t exactly a royal command tonight.”

  Frances said she had no time for such occasions. She was in London to see if she could get a firm of tailors to pay their buttonhole-makers more money.

  “I thought with all this euphoria about the new reign and coronation they might be in a generous mood.”

  “And are they?” asked Joe.

  “Not a bit of it. I’ll probably have to resort to threats. Expose them in the press or something like that.”

  “You will see that my sister is a very militant lady,” said Joe to me.

  “You are coming to see us one day, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “I am planning to bring her along next week,” Joe told her.

  “Oh good. Bring Peterkin. He shows real interest. This is a lovely house, isn’t it? Such large rooms. Just what I need.”

  Joe said to me: “Frances is looking for new premises.”

  “We’re very cramped. If I had another house …”

  “What about the money?” asked Joe.

  “Father is very generous. I could get him to make a subscription and lobby some of the M.P.s. Many of them declare their concern for the poor. But their sympathy does not always go deep enough to reach their pockets.”

  “I expect your father has been very helpful,” I said.

  “We couldn’t have got very far without him. How many rooms are there in this house?”

  “You couldn’t afford anything like this,” cried Joe.

  “Not in this neighbourhood—but it wouldn’t be much use here anyway. I’m interested in all houses at the moment.”

  “Would you like to see over this one?”

  “I’d love that,” said Frances.

  So I showed them the house. She said: “What I could do with this!”

  We had come to the very top. There was one room which was reached by a short staircase.

  “What’s up there?” asked Frances.

  “That’s my uncle’s study. It’s out of bounds. No one is allowed up there. Only my Aunt Amaryllis goes in to clean it.”

  “She cleans it!”

  “Yes. He won’t allow anyone else to go in. He says servants disturb things. Only Aunt Amaryllis is allowed in. She goes twice a week to clean it.”

  “How very odd! There must be something very important up there.”

  “Oh, it is only his files and papers and things. It’s always kept locked. Along here are the attics … the servants’ quarters.”

  We went downstairs and were soon talking of the coronation and what difference a new queen would make to the country.

  I was awake when Helena came in from the ball.

  I sat up in bed and looked at her. She was positively radiant.

  “Well,” I said.

  “Everything was wonderful. The Duke and Duchess were there. They received me most graciously. Papa and Mama were with them. They are all delighted. It’s all right, Annora. It’s settled. I’m officially engaged to John. It will be announced in the papers in a day or so. I think there’ll be an early wedding. It was hinted that there would be … as soon as all the settlements and things have been arranged. Annora, you must stay for my wedding.”

  “How exciting! It is like a fairy story.”

  “The ugly duckling who turned into a swan.”

  “No, the princess who didn’t know how beautiful she was until her lover came and told her so.”

  “Oh. Annora, you say the nicest things. I’m glad you’re here. You’ve brought me luck.”

  “What rubbish! You brought it all on yourself … you and your John. Now there is only one thing for you to do.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Live happy ever after.”

  “I shall never get to sleep tonight. I don’t want to. I just want to lie here thinking about it.”

  There was not much sleep for me either. I lay there listening to her telling it again … the arrival, the gracious reception from the Duke and Duchess, and everyone showing approval of the most wonderful match that ever was.

  I did not get to see Frances Cresswell’s Mission then because the blow fell before that could be arranged.

  It was two days after the coronation ball. When I went down to breakfast Amaryllis was there with Peterkin. They were absorbed in the morning papers.

  “I wonder who it can possibly be,” Aunt Amaryllis was saying.

  “It says a prominent and highly respected politician.”

  “I daresay his name will soon be revealed.”

  “They’ll withhold it for a while to make it more tantalising. I wonder if Papa has any idea.”

  “He wouldn’t know anything about a man like that.”

  “What is it all about?” I asked.

  Peterkin, who was helping himself from the sideboard at that moment, said: “A real scandal. Someone is in deep trouble. What are you having, Annora? This ham is good.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

>   He set a plate before me.

  “The papers are full of it. It happened last night. This fellow has been caught with a woman of a very dubious reputation. There was a brawl in her room and another fellow … he said he was her husband … attacked him. The police were called and they were all arrested.”

  “Who could it be?”

  “We shall know in time.”

  “I hate this sort of thing,” said Aunt Amaryllis. “It’s so bad for everyone.”

  “I daresay the man in the case hates it more than you do, Mama,” said Peterkin.

  “It will distress your father. It must be someone he knows of … for it says a well-known politician.”

  “The seamy side of life shows itself sometime,” said Peterkin. “By the way, Annora, what about Wednesday for our trip to Frances’s Mission?”

  “That will suit me very well.”

  It was later in the day when the papers revealed the name of the man about whom, by this time, everyone was talking.

  I heard the paper boys calling out in the streets and ran downstairs to hear what they were saying. One of the servants was already there. He was carrying a paper and his eyes looked as though they were ready to pop out of his head.

  “What is it?” I cried.

  “They’ve named him, miss. Would you believe it …”

  “Who? Who?” I demanded.

  “It’s Mr. Joseph Cresswell.”

  I could not believe it. It could not possibly be true. There must be a mistake.

  Aunt Amaryllis was very upset. She kept saying: “It’s a misprint. They have the wrong name. Not that nice, kind, clever Mr. Cresswell. It must be another Cresswell.”

  We were all sure there must have been some mistake, and were waiting for Uncle Peter to come in and hear what his reactions were. When he arrived we all clustered round him.

  He looked shaken. He reiterated what we had all said. It must be a mistake. It could not be true.

  “How could they have got hold of his name?” asked Peterkin.

  “The only thing I can think of is that the real culprit gave a false name. The first one he thought of was Joseph Cresswell. After all his name is well known to the public.”

  Aunt Amaryllis breathed a sigh of relief. “Of course that’s the answer. Trust you to put your finger right on it, Peter.”