“I see what you mean,” Sharon began. “That was a lot of work!”
“Do you think Edward was listening at the door the whole time?” Dahlia giggled.
“There wasn’t much to hear,” mused Sharon.
“How was she when she knew my mother? Did you see her more often then?”
“Somewhat more. I know given the relative proximity of Talbot Hall to the Standford estate – and the similar age of Edward to your brothers, that she and your mother did see each other fairly often, then. Your mother had a way of drawing out people, of making them feel welcome,” she said, remembering. “You have that in you, too. But then after your mother passed away, Miss Standford seemed to retreat into herself. There was no one to draw her out – until now.”
“I don’t seem to be succeeding in that task.”
“At least you have made the effort.”
-----
The cold weather continued to keep the Talbots largely indoors. Different tutors came regularly for Dahlia and her brothers, which she enjoyed thoroughly for it exercised her mind and challenged her reasoning. In the evenings, they would discuss philosophy or history or literature. When they could persuade her, Matilda would entertain them all with stories. Dahlia’s brothers loved the Irish fairytales which could be gruesome indeed. Spirited by their questions of the mythical monsters and creatures she introduced from Irish folklore, Matilda would expound in great detail on the physical appearance of trolls and griffins and phoukas, the centaur-like creatures of bad omen that inhabit bogs.
Dahlia would spend hours playing the piano or other instruments, as well as writing down her compositions. She never forgot a song she heard or played, but one of the music tutors had insisted she get in the habit of putting her original compositions down on paper. Everyone in the household was adept at guessing Dahlia’s moods by the music she played. Michael, who spent hours reading while Dahlia played, was particularly adroit at noting the subtle variations in her music. While most of the household could tell if she was happy, sad, or even restless by the music, Michael could pinpoint a joyous cheerfulness as opposed to contentedness, sorrow in lieu of melancholy, or agitation in place of impatience.
Letters came and went with daily frequency during the winter, and snippets from incoming missives were shared with everyone over dinner. Letters to Dahlia from Miss McElroy quickly became favorites. They were delightful letters full of news from town and descriptions of her latest dinner party guests. Mark and Leland wrote to various members of the family in turn. Most of Mark’s letters revolved around descriptions of military procedures. Leland, still in London at the theological college, seemed to be having a marvelous time. He enjoyed his fellow students and London society as well. He wrote that Miss McElroy had invited him to one of her dinner parties, and the Talbots later received accounts of the same dinner party from both Leland and Miss McElroy. The Talbots all laughed at the two points of view since they appeared to have attended two different dinner parties.
During the first week in March, two letters came that particularly delighted Dahlia. Leland wrote to his father that he had heard from James Kent, who was finishing his apprenticeship in Shropshire and would be returning to London in April. He requested that James be invited to break his journey at Talbot Hall in return for his hospitality extended to himself and Mark when they first came to London. Dahlia glanced first at Matty, who knew all the particulars of Dahlia’s preference for Mr. Kent as a result of their late night talks, then at her father for his response. To her surprise, it was Steven who seconded the motion.
“Oh absolutely, Father! He was very amusing at the ball, and he was very interested in seeing the Roma. They should be arriving here about the same time!”
“Which one was he?”
“Father!” Dahlia exclaimed, exasperated. “You met him first in London after one of my performances, then at the ball at Cirencester Park!”
“Did I like him?”
“Yes,” she groaned. “Both times. And I’m sure the Sweets will be glad to see him as well.”
“Very well. Steven, write the boy and ask him to stay. Tell him the Roma are coming the first week in April.”
“You’ve heard from Don Alvaro, then?”
“Yes,” said her father, holding up a second letter with a wide grin. “They are coming and bringing with them a colt whose coat is…” he scanned the letter for the passage. “Ah yes, here it is. ‘I bring the most magnificent colt whose coat is like polished coal and whose eyes sparkle like diamonds. Be warned, my friend, that your precious daughter will fall in love with this superlative equine specimen.’” Her father looked at Dahlia. “No doubt he will be asking the price of a diamond for the beast, so don’t get your hopes up young lady!”
Dahlia smiled just thinking of the black horse, imagining its build and spirit. “How old is it? Will he leave it here to be trained? What’s its name?”
Peter laughed, handing the letter over to his daughter. “Here, read for yourself.”
“How long will they be staying, Father?” asked Steven. “Did he say?”
“They are coming early this year and staying at least a month.”
“Excellent!”
Dahlia could barely get to sleep that night for all her excitement. James and the Roma were coming – with a new horse! She could not have said which pleased her more, and her dreams were filled with both in equal parts.
Chapter 28
Don Alvaro Pedraza was the patriarch of the clan of five extended families known to Dahlia and her family as the Roma and to others as gypsies, tinkers, or vagabonds. These monikers were not completely unfounded, as many of the traveling tribes had come on hard times for trade and resorted to thievery. Alvaro’s clan, however, originated from the south of Spain and had come to England several generations ago with pura raza stallions – pure blood Andalusians. From these sires they had consistently bred some of the finest horses and sold or traded them throughout the country. They also crafted some of the finest gold and silver jewelry and trinkets that were much sought after for their beauty and unique designs. Many of the designs were Arabic from the Moorish traditions so prevalent in the southern Iberian Peninsula. Alvaro’s clan was respected by those who had ever done business with them, and they were more warmly welcomed and accepted in Gloucestershire in great part due to Squire Talbot’s dealings with them.
The families over which Alvaro presided numbered nearly fifty people. He had six children of his own. The clan traveled in brightly painted caravans and dressed in vibrantly-colored clothes readily identified with their Spanish heritage. There was no missing the Roma when they came to town.
Every year, Alvaro and his troupe travelled roughly the same route to capitalize on some regular buyers and traders of horses. They knew the locations where they were welcomed, and a similar tour year in and year out allowed him to plan his visits with a fair degree of accuracy – given some variance due to the weather and road conditions. This year, they would be arriving before Easter rather than afterwards due to an outbreak of typhus that forced them to forego one of their regular stops. They were, therefore, circling from South Wales towards Cirencester, approaching from the western side of the Severn River.
The rain that accompanied the Roma for days, coupled with the spring thaw, had caused many of the roads to transform into muddy sludge that slowed the wagons. The last wagon in the train was driven by Alvaro’s oldest son, Alfonso, and carried his wife Isabel and two daughters, Maripaz and Christina. They had fallen behind because one of the draft horses pulling the caravan lost a shoe when its foot sank into mud. While Alfonso re-affixed the shoe, the caravan itself descended into the muck on one side under its own weight. Alfonso and his sisters tried to dislodge the bogged wheels while Isabel manned the reins for the horse to pull. They were struggling considerably when they heard a rider approaching from behind. Alfonso expected the rider to give them a wide berth and continue on, but the horse stopped and the man jumped down and immediately
took a position behind the carriage and lent his strength to the effort. Alfonso called instructions to his mother while he and his sisters and the newcomer pushed on the spokes of the wheel at the rear of the wagon. With some rocking back and forth, the mud gave up its prisoner with a loud sucking sound as the wheel – and the carriage – shot forward. Both men, who bore the brunt of the effort at the back of the carriage, lost their footing as soon as the resistance gave way and fell face down in the mud. They both started laughing as they looked at each other – covered in brown muck that completely disguised their features and clothes.
“You must be the Bog Monster,” said the stranger.
“Indeed sir, and you must be the Boogie Man. Honor to meet you,” said Alfonso, extending his filthy hand, which the stranger took and shook heartily. “I thank you for your assistance. There is an offshoot of the river not too far from here. Shall we pay it a visit?”
“I think we’d better or those ladies are not going to allow you back on the caravan.”
Alfonso called to his mother and sisters in Spanish and told them to go on, that they would meet up with them shortly. He tied the stranger’s horse to the back of the caravan and the two men headed off to the river.
The rain finally stopped as Isabel caught up with the rest of the clan, which had circled to make camp for the night. She explained to her husband what had happened when he asked about his son.
“An Englishman helped you?”
“He appeared to be an English gentleman.”
Alvaro was immediately on guard. It was not like the English to go out of their way to help any gypsies. He called his son Miguel and told him to track back to the river to meet Alfonso. Without further instructions, Miguel picked up a pistol from atop a nearby trunk and stuck it in his belt which already housed a small dagger. He mounted up and cantered off in the direction of the river.
Half an hour later, three young men returned to the camp, laughing and talking easily. Alvaro watched them approach the campfire, still wary.
Miguel saw his father’s scrutiny of the stranger and called out, “Papa, a blanket for our friend.”
“And some wine to take the chill off of both of us!” added Alfonso, indicating their wet clothes from a plunge in the chilly waters of the stream. Alvaro needed only to wave a hand and someone brought a jug of wine and some mugs.
With his arm around the stranger, Alfonso approached his father. “Papa, allow me to introduce a friend of the Talbots. This is James Kent.”
As hospitality was a paramount directive for the Roma, Alvaro waited until the young Englishman was adequately wrapped in a thick wool blanket, seated by the fire, and plied with a mug of red wine from the Rioja region of their native land.
“You say you know the Talbots?” he began.
“I do, sir. I am on my way to stay with them before returning to London and I was very pleased to hear that my visit would coincide with yours. I have heard Squire Talbot speak of you with respect, and Miss Dahlia can only speak of you with love.” Alvaro nodded, and his wife and sons smiled. “And before you feel the need to warn me of keeping my hands to myself,” James said, smiling and looking at the two young women who had been with Alfonso and Isabel in the quagmire of mud. “Steven Talbot has already informed me of the potential consequences.”
All the family started laughing at hearing this, as they all remembered the startled young Steven surrounded by Roma with swords and daggers drawn after he had tried to kiss one of the Roma girls.
Having put the chief at ease and established his familiarity with the Talbots, James was accepted by the entire clan since Alvaro’s opinion held considerable weight with the families. Despite his promise to Alvaro about the Roma women, he could not help but see the curious looks he was given by the truly beautiful women who then whispered to one another about his turquoise eyes lit up by the fire light.
Miguel took James to one of the wagons to change clothes and offered him some of his own as everything in James’ saddlebags was damp. James donned the dry, warm clothes gratefully. He was amused by the cut of the shirt, which reminded him of the billowy pirate’s shirts he had seen on actors at the theatre.
He returned to the circle around the fire and was treated to a savory and hearty stew that eased the rest of the chill out of his body. Once the meal was finished, various instruments appeared and James was treated to a collection of well-performed musical ensembles. Different singers and players joined in without any apparent pre-meditated orchestration and he deduced that the impromptu sessions were a result of the performers’ familiarity with the songs and with each other’s abilities. The tunes may be commonplace to the Roma, but James found them to be exotic. He was particularly fascinated by the Spanish guitar music. He sat entranced, listening to the staccato notes and watching the blur of the musician’s fingers.
Isabel and her daughters lent their voices to a song of the Moorish palace in Granada, the Alhambra. Although James did not speak Spanish, he was captivated by the music. When it was over, he clapped vigorously and before he could stop himself said, “Wonderful! Oh, I’d love to hear Dahlia sing that!”
He saw several of the Roma look over at him, including Alvaro, and he wondered whether he had just insulted his wife by expressing his wish to hear another singer perform that song. He started to apologize when the clan chief held up his hand and shook his head.
“There is no need to apologize,” said Alvaro. “That would be like apologizing to your wife for claiming an angel from heaven was the most beautiful creature you had ever seen. The compliment to the angel’s heavenly beauty in no way denigrates your appreciation for your wife’s earthly beauty for there is no direct comparison.” His wife nodded in agreement.
“I see you, too, have been enchanted by our little bruja’s voice. We call her our ‘little witch’ because of the spell she casts on her listeners. The Roma believe in many superstitions, and our witches are not the evil hags that the English portray in your literature. To us, witches are wise women with very old souls and a connection to the beyond – like the pagan priestesses of your legendary Isle of Avalon who maintained the veil between this world and the next. We met Dahlia as a small child, but her voice was not the voice of a child for it carries in it all the beauty and wisdom and strength of many lifetimes.”
James nodded without saying a word. That was the first time anyone had come close to explaining the extraordinary way Dahlia’s voice differed from any other he had ever heard.
“She must be a child no longer, though,” said Alfonso. “She must be close to her quinciniera.” He looked at his mother to confirm this. She smiled and nodded.
“Next year. Within Roma society, a girl is accepted into womanhood at fifteen,” she explained to James.
“Really?”
Isabel noted the young man’s interest, but said nothing.
-----
The following day, James and the Roma crossed the Severn River into Gloucestershire under a clear sky. By late afternoon the caravan entered the Southwestern Quarter and their arrival was quickly communicated on the Talbot estate to the house. Dahlia could barely wait for the carriage to be brought around and she was the first one to scramble into it. Squire Talbot watched her with a smile. For all that she was growing up, she still had the excitement of a child for the things and people she loved. He hoped she would never lose that as she became a woman who so reminded him of her mother.
The Talbots and Matty all crowded into the carriage with Dahlia and headed towards the fields farthest from the house at the edge of the estate where the Roma were accustomed to set up their camp. Matty, who had never seen the Roma, craned her neck and listened to all the snippets of information offered by all the Talbots – how they dressed, the formal Roma greeting, some of their customs, and a litany of names and familial ties that Matty knew she would never remember.
As their carriage approached the caravan, the Roma started to form a large semicircle. Had she been alone, Matilda might have
felt some apprehension at the number of people and their physical aspect. Everyone was indeed dressed colorfully in an array of exotic styles and fabrics that, set against the bright colors of the caravan, assaulted the eyes. The Roma were, in general, a dark-eyed, dark-haired people with gently-hued olive skin from their Mediterranean and Moorish ancestry. The men were wickedly handsome and wore their hair longer than British men, most tying it back in long, curling ponytails. Many wore elaborate white shirts that contrasted with the wild colors around them and set off their dark features. The women were stunning and wore what Matilda considered an overwhelming amount of gold and silver in their ornate earrings, necklaces, and bangled bracelets. As the coach came to a stop, she could hear the tinkling of the metal jewelry as the women shifted and moved. Matty wondered if this is how they became known as ‘tinkers.’
The Talbots formed a line and Matilda followed their lead, coming to a stance beside Dahlia, facing the long Roma line. Squire Talbot stepped forward and called out in his deep voice.
“The Talbots of Cirencester, Gloucestershire, bid you welcome to our estate and wish upon Don Alvaro Pedraza and the families of his clan health, wealth, happiness and good cheer whilst you abide on our lands in peace.”
Alvaro stepped forward from his side and responded. “I, Don Alvaro Pedraza y Garcia, accept your kind welcome on behalf of the families of Juan Serrano, Jorge de la Mancha, Iñigo Montero, and Raul Menendez, and convey our most sincere wishes for God to grant you and your household friendship, love, riches, an abundance of sunshine, and crystal clear waters ever flowing on your land.” He ended the ancient Andalusian prayer with a deep bow and a flourish of his hand. The entire contingent of Roma followed suit with bows and curtsies as the Talbots and Matty returned them in kind.
The moment the formality of this protocol was completed, the air erupted in sound and movement with Roma coming forward to hug the Talbots, people calling to one another, and others beginning to unpack the caravans. All formality was forgotten as the two parties became reacquainted after a year’s absence. Dahlia received so many hugs she lost count by the time she had greeted each of the eight Pedrazas. She was already mid-embrace with the next person when it registered that she had seen the flash of blue eyes. The Roma didn’t have blue eyes. She pulled back to see James smiling down at her.
Dahlia's Music Page 17