by Betty Annand
As he walked away, Topio tipped the back of the hat up and waved at the audience. The applause lasted until Fernando came back to the stage and lifted his hat so Topio could bow.
The next day, Gladys couldn’t resist going back to the camp to say goodbye to the gypsies, who she now considered her friends. They were just about to hitch the horses to the wagons when she and Dolly arrived. There were no fancy costumes to be seen, but Gladys thought they looked just as appealing in their drab clothes as they did in their finery. Not only Maria, but the rest of the band greeted them warmly and with gratitude. It seemed that they had never put on a more lucrative show, which they credited to Gladys for bringing such a wealthy family to see it. Her ladyship had purchased a good deal of medicines and jewellery without a single complaint over the prices, and his lordship had been more than generous with a donation after the entertainment.
Dolly was given a lovely handmade doll dressed in a colourful skirt and an embroidered blouse. Then she and Gladys stood on the road and waved goodbye to the gypsies until the wagons were out of sight. “I wish they didn’t have to leave,” Dolly said wistfully.
“So do I, dear, but that’s the way they like to live.”
“Why?”
“I don’t really know why, darling.” This wasn’t quite true. Gladys thought she knew exactly why. A yearning to join them had come over her as she had watched them pack up their belongings. Their life seemed so much more romantic than the one she was living. She tried to imagine what it would have been like for her and Tom to live like gypsies, but she knew that would have been impossible. Although Tom enjoyed his freedom, he took pride in behaving like a proper gentleman and would be as out of place in a gypsy camp as they would in his world. She remembered when one of the gypsy men had said something to his wife and smiled as he helped her up onto the wagon. His generous set of teeth looked like white pearls in contrast to his dark skin and made her think of Toughie.
It was very easy to imagine him beside her as they packed up their wagon and broke camp. How she wished it could be true. She appreciated all Andrew did for her and Dolly, but she also thought that being totally dependent on him for their living robbed her of the freedom she longed for—freedom to stop pretending she was a lady and be herself, even if she wasn’t quite sure who that was anymore.
Chapter Twenty-Two
A few days after the gypsies left, Andrew returned from London where he had taken part in a fundraising rally to aid the starving families in Ireland. Unfortunately, all his efforts, along with those of his fellow sympathizers, had only resulted in a fraction of the money they had hoped to raise, so he came home in a slightly depressed state of mind.
Thousands of Irish families were so destitute that they considered themselves lucky to be taken into one of over a hundred Irish workhouses, even though it meant they would be separated and never reunited. Once a person entered into such an establishment, he or she was forbidden to leave, and remained there for the rest of their life. But, as harsh as it sounds, such places did save lives, since two meals a day of oatmeal, potatoes, and buttermilk were provided. To earn the meals, the women knitted, the men broke stones, and the children worked in factories under the pretence of being in training.
Andrew felt ashamed to be an Englishman when he learned of the lack of compassion most of his wealthy friends had for these unfortunate people. An astronomical two million deaths had already happened in Ireland due to starvation and the outbreak of cholera. Cholera had also caused the deaths of some fifty to seventy thousand in England, but Andrew hadn’t seen, or heard, any rumours of neglect or starvation.
As a Custom House official, he visited Ireland from time to time on business and had seen the devastation, but what upset him the most was the vast amount of starving children. The sights were so horrific, he often suffered nightmares after each visit. He had vowed to do what he could to help, but in order to save his job he had to do it with discretion. It wasn’t that he needed employment—he came from a wealthy family and had received a large inheritance—but the job allowed him the opportunity to do whatever he could to ensure that the Irish merchants were treated fairly. It also enabled him to take provisions and money to Ireland from time to time, to aid the starving.
Twistleton, the Irish Poor Law Commissioner, had resigned in protest against the lack of aid the Irish received from Britain. The Earl of Clarendon, acting as Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, informed the British Prime Minister, Lord John Russel, that Twistleton resigned because he thought the destitution in Ireland was so horrible, and the indifference of the House of Commons so manifest, that he was an unfit agent for a policy that must be one of extermination.
James Wilson, the Editor of the British Publication, The Economist, responded to the Irish pleas for assistance by stating in an editorial, “It’s no man’s business to provide for another.” That editorial is what spurred Andrew, an admirer of Twistleton’s and an adversary of Wilson’s, to join the rallies, even though he expected to receive notice that his prestigious government position would be terminated. Ironically, if he was to lose his job, it would have been over something that proved to be of little help.
__________
The day after returning to Dover, Andrew went to visit Gladys and Dolly. It was a lovely day, so he decided to walk. He was just about to their gate when he saw them working in their front garden. Gladys was kneeling, and Dolly was handing her what appeared to be bulbs. They both wore straw hats with wide brims that hid their faces. Dolly had pretty blue ribbon bows on the ends of her two braids, but Gladys’s hair hung loose, and with the sun shining on her curls, they looked like shiny coils of copper. The sight of them with the colourful reds, oranges, and yellows of Gladys’s fall flowers in the background was so charming that after studying it for a time, Andrew closed his eyes and tried to store every little detail in his memory, so it would be there whenever he needed it to lift his spirits.
He was convinced he could never have endured the loss of Tom if he hadn’t had Gladys and Dolly to take his place. Now as he stood gazing at them, the scene was so peaceful, in contrast to what he had seen during the past few days, that he silently thanked Tom for giving him such a wonderful family.
Gladys’s garden also brought back memories of the flower garden his mother-in-law had at her little cottage in Dublin. He and Dorothy took Tom there to visit his grandmother every year, until the old lady died. The picture Gladys and Dolly made in their garden was so similar to the one Andrew had of Tom and his mother-in-law, that it rendered an odd, but welcome, feeling of fulfilment.
As though Dolly could sense his presence, she looked up and saw him standing there. “Gamby! Oh, Mommy, look. It’s my Gamby.” She ran out through the gate and into his arms.
Andrew scooped her up in a big bear hug; then he put her on his shoulders and jumped up and down while making noises like a horse. She hung onto his big ears, feeling very special, and very, very loved. Then, with Dolly still perched on his shoulders, he reached down to help Gladys up and give her a hug.
“If you only knew how much I needed that,” he said a little later as they sat by the fireplace drinking hot chocolate.
Gladys could tell by the sound of his voice that he had been depressed before he arrived, and she commented on it.
“It’s just that things didn’t turn out as well as I had hoped with the rally, but seeing you both has cheered me up more than you can imagine. What on earth would I do without you?” he said as he leaned over and kissed the top of Dolly’s head.
“I love you so much, Gamby,” Dolly answered, then she began telling him about the gypsies and Topio, the monkey. Contrary to Millie’s warning, Andrew showed no sign of being upset over their visit to the nomads’ camp. In fact, he wanted to know all about them.
“I have never seen them,” he said. “They don’t usually come down this way. I have always been curious about the size and shape of their wagons
and I am disappointed that I had to be away while they were here. You know they only started using wagons about eight years ago, and I have heard they paint them quite brightly and artistically. How big were they?”
Dolly and Gladys were kept busy answering Andrew’s questions until it was time for him to read Dolly a story and tuck her into bed. When he was ready to leave, Gladys insisted he stay a little longer and have a cup of tea. While they were drinking, Andrew told her about some of the trials and tribulations the gypsies had to contend with.
“Twenty years ago in Germany, the authorities went so far as to take their children away and give them to non-Roma families.” He then explained that Roma was another name for gypsies and went on to say, “Even today, there are still places where people keep gypsies as slaves. About twenty-five years ago, there was a law introduced in this country called the “Turnpike Act” decreeing that gypsies would be fined if they camped on the side of the road. I don’t know if that is still the case, but if it is, that may be the reason they don’t stay in one place very long.
“As you know, Gladys, I’m not a religious man, but if anyone could change my mind, it would be the Quakers. Theirs is the most humanitarian organization I know of. Around 1816, a Quaker by the name of Hoyland wrote a book calling for better treatment for the gypsies in our country. It did a lot of good for a short while. Then, with very little warning, a large number of them were rounded up and transported to Australia as criminals.”
Gladys thought about Old Nichol and how most of the people living there would welcome being sent to Australia if they were given food during the trip. As far as she was concerned, Andrew should have as much sympathy for them as he had for the gypsies, who seemed to live a very good life with plenty to eat and the freedom to come and go as they pleased.
Although she thought Andrew was the kindest man she had ever met, she couldn’t help but think his priorities were not where they should be. She knew all about people starving to death, and you didn’t have to go across the ocean to find them. Forgetting her manners, there was a note of disparagement to her tone as she said, “The gypsies and the Irish are not the only people who are treated unfairly you know. There are hundreds of English people who are starving, and no one is raising money to help them.”
Andrew could see he had upset her and apologized. Then he tried to explain why he was putting so much effort into helping the Irish. “You see, Gladys, unlike them, people in this country can find help if they take the trouble to look for it.”
“That’s not the least bit true!” she declared, then blushed as she realized how impertinent she sounded. “Forgive me, Andrew, I have no right talking to you like that, but you really have no idea what you are talking about.”
“And I suppose you do?” Andrew’s asked.
“Yes, I do. I had to go near one of those slum areas where people are living like rats when I went to pick up two girls to work for the Watts. Even on the outskirts of that place, the smell of filth and death was so horrific it almost made me sick. You talk about starving to death, why do you think those girls’ parents gave them away?”
“But I am sure we have many benevolent organizations to help those poor souls.”
“Are you?”
“I thought I was, but perhaps I should do a little investigating the next time I’m in London. If you are right, I promise I shall do what I can for them as well. Now shall we talk about something more pleasant?”
“Oh yes, let’s do. You have been away for so long, and what do I do but start an argument the day you come home. Millie is always telling me that I say things without thinking, and she is right.”
“Perhaps she is, but you and I are much alike in that respect, and I doubt we will ever change. I admire your spunk, Gladys. I think you must take after your mother. Tom said she was a governess, and I know that can be a thankless job at times. She must have been someone very special.”
“She was the kindest person I have ever known—except for you.” Gladys said, thinking of Sally. Then when she saw tears come to Andrew’s eyes, she added, “There, now I’ve upset you and spoiled things again.”
Andrew laughed and answered. “No, no, you haven’t done any such a thing. What you have done is make me the happiest father-in-law in the world. Gladys, I shall never forget you for saying what you did just now, and I promise that you and Dolly will never have to want for a thing while I am around to look after you.” This time it was Gladys who had tears in her eyes.
After he left, Gladys pondered what they had discussed. She couldn’t understand why she felt she had to defend the people in Old Nichol. Her parents were both dead—at least according to Mr O’s reckoning, Sally and Bob had moved away years ago, and although she had no idea where Toughie was, she knew he was no longer living in Old Nichol. So why did she feel such a strong allegiance to a place she wanted to forget?
Every time she admitted having knowledge of life in the slums, it could end in disaster. She had married into a wealthy family, and she knew that if she intended to remain in her father-in-law’s good graces, her past had to be kept a secret. Millie was the only one who knew what she had done, and Gladys knew she would never tell. But the memories from her childhood of her and Toughie foraging for food, along with everything else, were memories she could not erase, no matter how hard she tried. Before she went to bed, she vowed to stop and think of the consequences before speaking.
For two weeks Gladys was kept so busy she didn’t have a chance to visit Millie. The regular organist at the church had sprained her wrist, and Gladys was asked to take her place, which meant learning many new hymns. She missed being with Dolly all the time and felt guilty for neglecting her. Fortunately, Millie was always ready to look after her. As soon as the organist returned, Gladys didn’t see Millie for a week; then on the following Monday, she and Dolly went to visit her and invite her to dinner. When they arrived at the shop, Gladys was stunned by her friend’s appearance. Millie had always taken great pride in her attire and her personal grooming, but this day she was wearing a soiled blouse and her hair was poorly pinned up in an off-centred bun.
Millie seemed unaware of her condition and welcomed them both with a big smile and a hug. She was delighted to receive the invitation to dinner and even suggested she close the shop and go with them right then. Gladys agreed, but thought it odd that Millie would leave the shop at one in the afternoon, especially since she could see a great deal of unfinished work lying about. Then when Millie put on her coat without offering to change her clothes or tidy her hair, it added to Gladys’s concern.
Later, when they had finished their dinner, Millie suddenly remarked, “Oh dear, I must have spilled something on my blouse.” Turning to Dolly, she laughed and added, “What a sloppy auntie you have, my darling.” Gladys was a little relieved that Millie finally noticed the stain, and tried to convince herself that the reason she hadn’t changed her clothes was because she was so excited about going out to dinner.
The next time they saw Millie was on one of their mystery trips with Andrew, and she looked as neat and self-contained as ever. That mystery trip turned out to be the most exciting one they had ever had. At first they all thought that Andrew was taking them to visit the Sorensons, but he drove right past their driveway until he came to a field that bordered their estate.
“Well, here we are,” he announced as he drove the buggy into the field and jumped down. Seeing the puzzled look on their faces, he laughed then lifted Dolly down, adding, “What do you think of this place, my little turtle dove?”
“I should say it is a proper place to have a picnic, Gamby. May I pick some of those pretty flowers to take home?”
“You mean those daisies? Of course, you may pick all you want. Now, ladies, let me help you down; I’ve something I want you to see.” When Andrew had them seated on a blanket he had placed on a flat piece of ground, he went back to the buggy and returned with some roll
ed up pieces of heavy paper and spread them out in front of them.
After they had looked at all the drawings, he asked, “What do you think, Gladys?” Although she had never seen anything like them before, she thought she might know what they were.
“Are they plans for a house, Andrew?”
“Not just any house, this is a special house. See, these are all the rooms,” he said as he pointed to them all on each floor.
“But all those rooms? That has to be a mansion, not a house. Why it has as many rooms as Lord Sorenson’s manor.”
“Not quite, but almost. Well, what do you think?”
“First, explain some of these measurements and symbols to me, so I can try to imagine what it will look like when it is built.”
Andrew could tell she was fascinated with all the details as he explained them, and he was amazed how quickly she understood what the architect had in mind.
“It looks like it is going to be simply beautiful. And just as charming as Lord and Lady Sorenson’s, but far more modern and stylish.”
“Yes, I agree,” Millie added. “It also appears like the rooms are more spacious than in most of the older homes.”
“I really like those large bay windows, especially since they are not cluttered up with little squares,” Gladys said.
“I’m happy someone appreciates that. My architect was determined to have twelve panes to the square yard, but I refused to give in. What on earth is the good of having large windows in a house then blocking the view with leaded panes and draperies?”