The gatekeeper sniggered softly and Alfred Campbell lifted a hand in greeting, but, instead, flicked his fingers up in a sign of dismissal. After all, there was no need for the man to come to the kitchen. Margaret would never forget to take him his lunch. The woman runs the household with military precision. Besides, the man would do well to try dieting.
Alfred Campbell concentrated on finishing his own meal, chewing each piece of food at least twenty times. He dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin, and rose.
When he went to collect Claudia, he found her gazing at the wall of the formal dining room, nodding her head and tapping her feet on the ground to a silent tune. This was further proof to him that more discipline was needed, certainly not less.
“Time to resume our lessons,” he interrupted her, not willing to acknowledge his fear, triggered by the intangible light shining in her eyes. The childlike wonder conjured distant memories…a smile just for him, full of love, making him feel alive, protective, human.
Claudia stood and followed him into the schoolroom, but not before he noticed the peculiar smile playing on her pink, Cupid’s bow mouth.
The afternoon would have been long and boring without fantasies of the mysterious people outside, sending twinges of excitement to the pit of Claudia’s stomach.
That evening, she raced earlier than usual to her bedroom after supper. Margaret and Mr Campbell had already retired to the servant’s quarters and she was, finally, free from their hawklike eyes.
Her narrow window allowed glimpses of the wagons as they began to disappear under darkness. One lone figure seemed to face the chateau, standing very still with his hands in his pockets. Claudia closed her eyes and imagined him speaking to her. His voice would be deep and musical like the perfect, storybook gypsy, dancing and laughing and talking with her about all the mysteries of the world.
When she opened her eyes again, the gypsies in the clearing had faded away into night and a cold chill had crept into the room. Flicking on the light, she walked to the fireplace to prod the coals into life.
The familiar jingling of keys echoed in the silence. She paused, clenching the metal fire prod until her fingers shuddered. Down hallways and empty rooms, the sound grew louder as it came closer. She dropped the rod and dived under the covers of the bed.
When the gatekeeper opened the door, she rolled into a tight ball, pushing her body into the mattress. His fat fingers lurched towards her, tugging at the sheets from the bottom of the bed. Tonight, if she screamed, would the gypsies hear her? No one else ever did. She whimpered, hiding her face in the quilt.
A fat hand gripped her jaw. “Quiet, little girl, or you know what will happen.” He grinned, his black eyes widening beneath swollen lids as he scanned her bare legs.
She clamped her mouth shut, gritting her teeth and squeezing her eyelids together so tightly she thought they might burst. Sweat and mothballs invaded her nose. His hands felt hot and damp and rough with calluses as he pawed at the soft skin of her thighs. Her body trembled, and she screamed silently in the dark behind her eyes.
In the morning, Margaret let Spotty in before she woke. Claudia was only allowed to play with Spotty three days a week and only if she completed all her schoolwork correctly. She laughed as the purring cat jumped on the bed to nuzzle its wet nose into her neck.
“Now, Miss Claudia, this morning you must bathe and dress and only then will I allow Spotty to spend the day with you.”
“I have no need to dress up, Margaret, but I’ll certainly have a bath.”
“Mr Campbell doesn’t appreciate your unkempt appearance, Miss; you’re nearly a lady and must start behaving as such.”
Claudia sighed. “I’ll wear a riding outfit.”
“What for?”
“Riding outfits are more comfortable than those stupid dresses.”
“At least that will be an improvement on the nightgown. The bath is ready for you. I’ll be downstairs with breakfast when you’re finished.”
Claudia walked to the bathtub in the adjoining room and climbed in. The warmth seeped into her injured skin and she rubbed at the soreness, staring at herself and willing the bruises away. A small amount of dark hair, down below, had started to grow a few months ago and she wished desperately for it to disappear. Why had it grown? Maybe that evil gatekeeper had transferred it to her most private parts from his awful, hairy arms.
She hopped out of the bath, dried herself and tugged a brush through her knotty hair. She glanced at the one photo she had of her parents, in a gold frame at the back of her dressing table. What would it be like to have shiny, blonde hair, like my mother’s? She wished she’d inherited that, rather than her father’s dark hair. He stood next to Grace in the picture, his chest puffed out, a full head shorter than her mother with only a smattering of the hair left on his head — and it wasn’t even dark, just mousy brown. Grace and Edward Spencer. My absent parents.
She tugged harder on the knots, so hard her head jolted each time they gave way. Her scalp began to sting and the stinging seeped into her eyes. The dressing table blurred in front of her and she tasted salt on her lips. She dropped the brush on the floor and ran to the table to slam the picture face down on the gleaming wooden surface.
You can’t make me cry. You’re not even real.
Mr Campbell actually smiled when he saw her that morning.
“Good to see you dressed today, Claudia,” he said.
Claudia beamed, liking the rare approval. “I have a very serious question today, Mr Campbell.”
“Yes?”
“Why can’t I go outside on my own?”
“We have discussed this, Claudia.” He rolled his eyes. Rolling of the eyes was a regular facial expression in the chateau. “Your mother’s most heartfelt wish is that you remain indoors and receive a proper up-bringing. That does not include venturing outdoors and turning into a ruffian. You’re not a boy.”
“So I’ll never be able to run on the grass?” She turned her head to stare at the wide expanse of manicured lawn.
“You may stroll on the grass at appropriate times, running only leads to accidents, and we do have our monthly visits to the stables at the neighbouring property. You like viewing the horses, don’t you? And you also have the greenhouse and a three-storey mansion. Really, you’re a very lucky young lady; not everyone lives in such luxury, you know.”
“No, I don’t know and how will I ever know if I don’t go anywhere?”
“Claudia, there are many dangers in the world, even here around the chateau. Not all people are like Margaret and I. We must ensure your only influences are those that benefit your education and upbringing.”
Claudia had already met evil. She pressed her hands over both eyes. Think of something else. Think of something else. The greenhouse was a place of beauty with its rare plants and tinkling fountains. But, apart from a section at the back where the roof was open to let the sun in to warm rare plants from Africa, it was all indoors, stifled and trapped within walls. Just like me.
“Why then, don’t we live in England if this is such a terrible place outside?” She had asked the question many times before.
Mr Campbell’s neck stained red. “I’m not privy to that information, as well you know, but I presume it is a matter of ensuring you receive a proper education, away from the distractions other teenagers face. After all, your parents have the means to do it and, well, they are very, very busy.” His lips clamped together and turned white.
Stop. Stop asking. Not worth going to bed hungry.
The hours dragged on until Mr Campbell finally left the schoolroom to bring in the morning tea. Claudia swivelled in her chair to gaze out at the gypsy camp. The trailers and trucks were just visible at the end of the field, but it was too far away. She could only imagine smiling faces and glittering headscarves and bells jingling from dancing feet.
Close by, the leaves rustled in the hedge by the rose garden. Surely Spotty hasn’t escaped the library? He’d seemed so comfo
rtable there after breakfast. She peered through the glass, waiting for the cat to bound out of the green with a grasshopper or a field mouse caught in his claws.
Her hand slapped over her mouth before a gasp could escape.
A man, with black hair and deep brown skin, leant on the hedge. He held a hand up in greeting and his white teeth glowed as he smiled. Trying to control her sudden shaking, she lifted her hand in reply. He nodded, almost bowing to her, before turning back to the camp. It was all over in less than a minute and Claudia’s throat constricted as she tried to draw her next breath.
Too soon, she heard quick, light footsteps rush down the stag head hall. She looked back at her book, her face burning red and her heart beating so fast she thought it might jump out on to the floor.
Chapter Two
Little Lady of the Glass House
Claudia’s teeth chattered as she watched fog float by the window in the sitting room. Why does autumn so quickly give way to winter? Her breath misted over the glass and she drew her name with her pointer finger in the condensation. Outside in the front garden, Spotty slinked through the hedges, stepping gingerly over the wet grass in his search for insects. Claudia laughed at his sly antics and wiped the mist away so she could better see him.
But, the clear glass only revealed the gatekeeper waddling into the scene and wrecking it. He looked at Claudia. For long seconds she forgot to breathe as he stared at her while crouching to call Spotty, his hand outstretched and his fingers wriggling like fat sausages. The cat stalked towards the fingers, sniffing them as his tail flicked back and forth.
No, Spotty, he has no food. Get away from him.
The cat’s ears pricked, as if he heard her mental warning. Too late. The gatekeeper caught Spotty in both hands, holding the feline up in the air. Staring right into Claudia’s eyes, he put one hand around Spotty’s neck, squeezing hard. Claudia dropped to her knees, sliding her hands down the glass, blinking through a rush of tears as Spotty hissed and tried to scratch, his paws flailing uselessly in the air.
Suddenly, the gatekeeper let go.
Spotty fell on his side, dead still.
Her forehead hit the window as she pushed hard up against it. “Spotty! Please, please get up.” Her words stopped short at the glass.
She refocused and could just see the rise and fall of Spotty’s breath. In seconds, the cat twisted on to his feet and bolted into a dense garden bed.
She drew a deep, ragged breath. He knows I love Spotty, he knows I won’t tell. So why does he pretend to hurt him? Evil, vicious man.
“You’re up early today, Miss Claudia. What’s all the yelling for that cat about?” Margaret suddenly stood behind her.
Why can’t Margaret see what’s happening under her very nose? Maybe she can. Then why doesn’t she care enough to help me? Claudia turned back to the window and saw the gatekeeper point a finger full of warning at her, before it turned into a friendly wave for Margaret. No, she can’t see. He’s too sly to ever get caught. Ever.
Claudia sniffed back tears. “I was trying to get Spotty to look at me.”
“He can’t hear you through the glass, silly girl. I’ve come to tell you that Mr Campbell is off hunting today, so you won’t have any lessons.”
Oh no, disgusting rabbit stew for dinner, then. “Hunting is an awful hobby, I wouldn’t do it, even if it meant I could be outside more.”
“Yes, I have to say I agree with you there. I don’t fancy boiling rabbits either, but Mr Campbell must have his…recreation time.”
“What will I do?”
“You can read your schoolbooks like a good girl. You’ll have to eat a cold lunch, so I’ve left it in the kitchen for you. I’m popping in to town for the groceries.”
Claudia smiled, excited about a whole day to herself. She could do whatever she liked. She could dream about the gypsies at the bottom of her garden.
“Now wipe that look off your face, young lady, there won’t be any sneaking out to the courtyard, not with gypsies on the land. Not to mention that gatekeeper on full alert for trespassers.” Margaret paused, her eyebrows knitting together.
Claudia no longer listened. She’d only disobeyed once, a year ago when Mr Campbell had been away. Margaret and old man gardener had gone in to town to buy the new ride-on lawn mower and, hours after they’d left, she’d discovered the front door open; not just unlocked, but open.
She’d bolted outside to run around the courtyard, circling it until she was breathless and dizzy and collapsing with laughter. Her eyes had closed to catch her breath and, when she’d opened them again, she’d been staring straight at Margaret’s cream, Birkenstock shoes.
Can’t be blamed for that, they’d left the door open. “But I—”
“Uh uh. No excuses, thank you.” Margaret toyed with her necklace, pulling the chain away from the folds of skin in her neck. The wrinkles on Margaret’s face were so deep, she appeared to wear a permanent frown. Claudia imagined putting her hands on the old lady’s face and stretching it into a smile.
“May I please have Spotty inside today?” she asked instead.
“Well, maybe just this once on a Monday. I’ll have the gardener find him. Use the two-way radio in the kitchen to call for the gatekeeper in an emergency, you remember? But I won’t be long.”
“Yes, Margaret, thank you.” Not even if the house is burning down around me.
Margaret strode away. Claudia waited for the squeak of the housekeeper’s shoes to disappear, before she sat at the kitchen table to eat a thick slice of bread.
She hummed a tune she’d been composing in her head. Mr Campbell tried to teach her music, although he was actually tone deaf. Sometimes, he let her listen to snippets of classical music on the computer. Her favourite was ‘Scheherazade’, by Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov. Listening to it made her heart ache for reasons she couldn’t understand.
Still not allowed to play the grand piano in the parlour though. ‘It’s just for adults,’ he’d said, over and over again.
She brushed the crumbs off the table the minute they fell and told Snow-White and Rose-Red to do the same, humming out loud as she cleaned.
“That’s a nice tune, Miss,” old man gardener said, appearing in front of her with Spotty. The cat purred happily in his arms.
“Oh…thank you.” She lowered her eyes to the floor and fought against the burning in her cheeks.
“Here’s your cat then.” He gently placed Spotty on the floor. Claudia bent to pat the black and white fur. “Why don’t you go outside and play with him?”
“I’m not allowed,” she said, her voice catching and coming out a mere whisper.
He looked at her with a deep frown. “Who says?”
“My parents told Margaret and Mr Campbell to only allow me outside when accompanied by them until I receive a proper education, as befits my station.” Claudia parroted her teacher in her most proper tone,
Old man gardener’s face reddened, Claudia couldn’t tell if with anger or amusement.
“You certainly speak like you’re educated, Miss,” he said, rubbing his weathered cheek with a gnarled, brown hand.
“Thank you.” What other way is there to speak? She mentally searched her limited conversation skills to keep him talking to her. “Do you like being a gardener?”
He scratched his chin and looked up at the ceiling. “I like to see things grow.”
“Me too. But I don’t get to very often. Except in the greenhouse.”
“Well, that’s a sad thing, Miss.”
Claudia thought for a moment. “You may sit down. If you want to, of course.”
“Thanks for asking, but I mustn’t sit here with you,” he replied with a kind smile. She bit her lip, trying to stop the disappointment from turning into tears.
“You could come outside with me.”
Claudia paused, momentarily forgetting to breathe. “Really?”
He nodded in a hesitant, jerky way. “But you mustn’t go out near them front gardens, the gate
keeper stays watch there all day lately.”
“I promise not to.” She stood too quickly and the chair clattered behind her.
“Stay to the back of the house and you’ll be safe enough. Those gypsies won’t do you no harm.”
Was he going to let her talk to the gypsies? Surely she was dreaming and would wake at any moment with a pile of schoolbooks in front of her.
“Come on then, Miss, shut your mouth or the bugs’ll get in. Let’s go.” He held one hand out and she clasped it tightly, staring up at him.
He unlocked the kitchen door — and there it was. The outside. The grass, the trees, the flowers and the cloudless blue sky, without her jailors to stop her from running. Bending to touch a sharp blade of grass, Claudia inhaled the scent of fresh dirt, closed her eyes and drifted with the soft breeze.
The gardener rubbed his chest, pressing his hand over his heart as he watched Claudia’s delight. What’re these silly folk thinking, shutting a child away from nature? Ah well, it ain’t none of my business. He’d ignored the folk of the big house for long enough and he’d continue to do so. Ignoring them was easier.
“You behave yourself and I’ll come get you after my chores are done,” he said, and she looked up at him, eyes as wide as saucers and glistening with ready tears.
Like a timid sparrow, she came to his side, stood on her tiptoes and kissed his wrinkled, sagging cheek. He put his hand to his face, touching the warmth left there.
Dear old Martha, God rest her soul, would have loved the little chit. Ah well, no use thinking about a wife long dead and buried back in Essex. Best to leave the memories there. As he watched, the girl twirled in circles on the grass before taking off on a mad run down the hill.
He chuckled to himself before walking to the garden shed to get his tools. Surely letting the little lass out can’t cause any harm. She wouldn’t tell those stuffy caretakers in the big house and his job was safe enough. Who else would want to work out on this lonely property, with no one but the beady eyed, gruff odd jobs men to chat to?
Gypsy Trail Page 2