There was a potion she could slip in the child’s food to make her restless and agitated, another to induce sleeplessness and irritation of the skin, or maybe even one that would cause a severe loss of appetite and bring about a steady decline . . . Yes, there was plenty she could do.
Heartened at having come to a decision on the matter which had been troubling her since she’d first seen Pearl, Halimena stretched her legs and stood up. As she did so, the ghostly white flash of a barn owl flew across the clearing, its great wings lit by the moonlight before it disappeared into the trees. Clutching her scrawny throat, Halimena stared after it.
The guardian. She sat down again, her legs suddenly weak and her heart racing. Why had it come at this moment, if not to tell her it was aware of her intentions?
She fumbled inside the bodice of her blouse, her trembling fingers finding the amulet she wore at all times and which had been passed down the female line of the family for generations to those who had the Second Sight. She was mortally afraid.
The silence of the barn owl’s long, rapid wingbeats had earned the predator its association with supernatural powers, and its eerie reputation had been enhanced through the ages by the bird’s traditional choice of nesting places – church towers. As guardians of the church, the owls were known to have their favourites among the sons and daughters of mankind, and to cross such a one would bring down the wrath of the bird’s protector – the God of Ages – upon that unfortunate soul. Halimena believed this folklore to the core of her being, and she had no doubt that the bird was warning her to hold her hand with the child who had come among them.
Muttering another invocation, she stared into the night, her fingers working on the amulet’s hard stone surface as she sought comfort. What she saw as the bird’s patronage of the stranger in their midst did not cheer her or ease her mind; rather it endowed Pearl with powers equal to her own. The bird was respected and feared for its mysterious ability to catch its quarry without any warning of its presence, its silent flight and loud shrill shriek terrifying to its prey and those who observed it. It bequeathed favour on those it protected and it could curse any who came against them, with devastating results. Her hands were tied.
Chapter 8
Over the next few days Pearl did her best to adapt to the new and strange life into which she’d been thrust. Her natural affinity and love of babies and very young children soon saw a little clutch of devotees gathering around her in the rare moments she wasn’t working. Everyone above the age of five or six worked from dawn to dusk, stopping only for meals, but once dinner was over in the evenings the gypsies relaxed around the campfires. It was then the younger children would make for Pearl, sitting on her lap or playing with her hair as she told them stories, their initial shyness gone. It was in this way she got to know some of the other families; mothers and older children stopping to talk to her for a moment or two when they fetched their little ones for bed.
She no longer felt awkward with Corinda and her daughters; Halimena and the menfolk were a different kettle of fish though. She was well aware that Halimena didn’t like her and wished her gone, a blind man could have seen it. Freda had explained her grandmother’s coldness and refusal to talk to her by saying Halimena didn’t like anyone who wasn’t a Romany. Pearl accepted this excuse – there was nothing else she could do – but the old woman’s gimlet stare made her feel uncomfortable and nervous. Mackensie and his sons she was fearful of, but in a different kind of way. Every time she shut her eyes at night she had to fight against reliving the violation she’d suffered at the hands of her mother’s ‘friend’, but her dreams she couldn’t control. She often woke up shaking and terrified beyond speech, only to realise she was with Madora and Freda; she was safe.
And on top of all this she longed, she ached for James and Patrick, her thoughts a constant torment of regret and guilt. She had told Corinda she wasn’t bad, but what was it if not bad, to leave her little brothers the way she had? And that man, Mr E Had he sensed something in her, something that had made him think he could do what he’d done? Had she made him imagine she would allow it? Perhaps if she had fought harder, he would have stopped? And so her thoughts went round and round until she felt her head would burst.
When Byron and his brothers laughed and joked with her, the same as they did with their sisters, she knew they must think her a halfwit, the way she put her head down and became tongue-tied. But she couldn’t help it. Even the slightest touch from one of them panicked her beyond coherent thought. She was spoiling any chance of fitting into the family, that was what logic told her. But it didn’t seem to make any difference to how she felt.
Things came to a head the day before the camp took to the road again. One of the older boys about Byron’s age had a pet jackdaw he’d taught to speak. It sat on his shoulder and was rarely parted from him, hopping up and down and cackling as it entertained everyone. Pearl couldn’t understand half it said, as it lapsed into the Romany language most of the time, but just watching it perform was enough to make her smile, even if its sharp beak was slightly intimidating.
Logan, the owner of the bird, and several of his friends had come to sit with Byron and his brothers once the singing and dancing began in the evening. They were playing a game Pearl had noticed before. She supposed it was a form of gambling because coins changed hands for the winners and losers. She didn’t quite follow what went on but it involved the throwing of small smooth pebbles with signs and numbers painted on them which the player aimed through small hoops made of woven reeds and wood.
Madora and Freda had edged closer to the group of lads to watch the game and Pearl had followed them, smiling when the jackdaw became as animated as his master when Logan won three times running. At those times the bird did a little dance and almost seemed to pirouette in its excitement, gabbling away and whistling as it twirled round. And then suddenly, with no warning whatsoever, it flew at Pearl and landed on her shoulder, taking a beakful of her hair in its mouth and pulling.
It didn’t exactly hurt, but the surprise made her scream, and as Logan jumped up and came over, admonishing the bird which immediately flew back to him, she recoiled violently as he went to pat her arm. No one could have mistaken the fear in her face, and for a moment an embarrassed silence reigned, then Byron stood up and came to her side. ‘It was your hair reflecting the glow from the flames of the fire,’ he said very gently. ‘It would have attracted the bird, as they like shiny things.’
Her cheeks flaming, Pearl nodded, first at Byron and then at Logan, who was standing awkwardly by. ‘It’s all right,’ she said weakly. ‘It made me jump, that’s all.’ Forcing a smile, she sat down again but a little further away from the others. She stiffened when Byron chose to sit down beside her, Logan returning to the game, and she didn’t look at him.
‘You know you are safe here? No one will hurt you, you have my word on that.’
His voice was very low but nonetheless she glanced about her before she whispered, ‘I know.’
‘We respect our womenfolk.’
Again she murmured, ‘I know.’ And then, almost in spite of herself, she added, ‘But I’m not – not one of you.’
Byron frowned. ‘My father and I and my brothers would protect you the same as we would my mother and sisters.’
‘I didn’t mean . . .’ She paused, wishing the ground would open and swallow her. He knew what had happened to her and in this moment she was bitterly ashamed.
Byron found himself at something of a loss. This was rare and he didn’t like the feeling, but over the last days since Pearl had been on her feet and among them, he had found his thoughts returning to her constantly no matter what he was doing or who he was with. Initially he had been full of anger and outrage when his mother had told him and his father what had happened to the girl. For a man to do that to a tiny little thing like her was unimaginable. He had been full of pity at first – he still did pity her, but as the feeling of wanting to protect and look after her had grown
, so had the desire to be her friend and confidant. Her refusal to have anything to do with him most of the time had caused deep frustration. He wanted to tell her he wouldn’t let anyone so much as lay a finger on her again, but how could he when just catching her eye made her tremble?
Clearing his throat, he said gruffly, ‘You know it was me who found you in the hollow of the tree? Well, it was Rex to be fair, but what I mean is, I feel responsible for you.’ Aiming to lighten the moment, he added, ‘Rex does too. He’s always close to you these days. Have you noticed?’
The big dog had crept from under the caravan in the last minutes and was lying by her side; her fingers were idly tangling and untangling in his grey fur. Byron saw the glimmer of a smile touch her mouth and, encouraged, he went on: ‘What happened wasn’t your fault and I can understand it’s made you afraid, but—’ Now it was he who paused before adding even more gruffly, ‘Don’t be afraid of me. Dai said you’ve got older brothers –’ he didn’t mention that he knew they were in prison ‘– and until you see them again, I’d like to take their place, me and Algar and Silvester.’
She moved her head once, then said, ‘I – I feel frightened.’
Realising the admission was some kind of a breakthrough, he warned himself to go carefully. ‘Of course you do. Anyone would. I got caught by a couple of gamekeepers once some years ago when I was in the fields. They said I’d been poaching –’ they had been right too ‘– and they beat me to within an inch of my life and left me in a ditch. The first time I went into the fields again after that, I was running scared, but it got better as time went by.’
She continued ruffling the dog’s fur, her head drooping and her eyes on the ground. ‘That’s different.’
‘You’re right, it is.’ He rubbed his mouth, his pity for the child swamping him. ‘But what I mean is, you can’t let this spoil everything. You have to fight back. You got away, didn’t you? That was the first step. Lots of people wouldn’t have had the guts to do that.’
Slowly now, she turned towards him. ‘But I left my little brothers.’
‘Because you had to. We all have to do things we’d rather not do because we’ve got no choice.’
He watched her consider this, before she said haltingly, ‘They – they won’t understand that.’
‘They will one day when you tell them. And you will tell them when you’re older.’ He didn’t know why he said that, but it seemed right. ‘And they’ll be older too, capable of understanding why you couldn’t stay.’
‘You really think so?’
‘I know so.’
His reward for the lie was the way she smiled at him as she touched him, naturally and of her own volition. ‘Thank you.’
He looked down at her small fingers gripping his arm and smiled back. And that was the beginning of their friendship.
The next morning all was bustle and unbelievable noise as the travellers departed. The poultry was gathered into large wooden crates which were slung between the back wheels of caravans or wedged on the rear of a cart, the sound of the birds’ squawks and indignant cries adding to the mêlée. It was a morning of men shouting at horses, dogs barking incessantly, women yelling at enraged and screaming children, and an incessant rumbling as one after another the caravans and carts began to roll on their way. Large and small, like ships at sea, the exodus continued.
Most of the carts were heavily laden, the most trusted, stoical horses straining as they pulled their loads over the uneven ground, and in the caravans the wives and mothers leaned out of the half-doors, holding the reins, as their menfolk led the horses on their way Children were everywhere, some peering out at the scene beside their mothers or balanced precariously on top of a cart laden with furniture, others sitting on the shafts of the vehicles or running behind. Youths led ponies and horses which the families hoped to trade at the next town or village, and dogs ran back and forth between the horses’ legs, miraculously escaping the lethal hoofs.
Pearl was amazed at how swiftly the camp had got underway, but she supposed it was part and parcel of the gypsies’ lives. Perched beside Freda in the back of the cart which Byron was driving, the sun hot on her face and the air full of shouts and cries and men whistling to their dogs, she felt a moment’s panic at the thought of moving further away from James and Patrick. But slowly a sense of, if not exactly peace, then inevitability stole over her.
She was sitting on a sack of oatmeal with a stack of pots and pans at her feet, and as one of the wheels of the cart bumped down into a pothole, jerking her so she rose up in the air and landed back on the sack with a little gasp, Byron turned his head, his deep brown eyes meeting hers. ‘All right?’ He grinned at her and she smiled back as she nodded. ‘It’ll be easier when we get nearer Chester-le-Street and the Great North Road. The roads are always better nearer the big towns.’
‘Is that where we’re stopping again? Chester-le-Street?’ She had heard of this place. Mr McArthur had sent Seth and Fred and Walter there one time on some business, and Seth had been full of the way the railway line crossed the deep valley of the Chester Burn, on an impressive eleven-arch brick and stone viaduct, nearly a hundred feet high and hundreds of yards long. She had wondered what business Mr McArthur had, so far away, but when she enquired, Seth had changed the subject. He had talked about the viaduct for days though.
‘We’re only stopping there overnight. It’s Consett we’re making for,’ Byron said over his shoulder. ‘The red town.’
‘Red town?’
‘That’s what it’s known as. The dust from the ironworks is red and it covers everything.’
‘It’s horrible.’ Freda wrinkled her nose. ‘I hate the towns, they’re so dirty and they smell.’
Byron laughed. ‘The townfolk think we’re the dirty ones. Anyway, there’s a summer fair held on the outskirts of Consett at the end of the month, and there’s always plenty of buyers for the horses. We’ll get some good trading done there, dirt or no dirt. You’ll be able to sell your baskets and mats, and I dare say there’ll be some fine ladies who will be after having their fortunes told.’
‘They have hurdy-gurdies and swingboats and coconut shies and all sorts.’ Freda beamed at Pearl, her disgust with the towns forgotten. ‘It’s a branch of Dai’s family who run the fair. They travel all round the country, so we get to see our cousins and aunts and uncles. Last year, Byron got drunk and had a fight with Aunt Lily’s eldest.’
Byron’s head shot round. ‘That wasn’t my fault! Erin started it – you know he did.’
Freda ignored her brother’s glare. ‘Dai and Dad were furious with him ’cos once they started, all the other lads joined in and we ended up leaving before the end of the fair.’
‘I told you, it wasn’t my fault.’
‘Whoever’s fault it was, you shouldn’t have drunk so much of Uncle Noah’s brew. Dad said it has the kick of a mule.’
‘Shut up, Freda, or I’ll make you walk.’
Byron didn’t turn round but his voice was a growl and his shoulders were hunched. Freda grinned at Pearl, completely unabashed at her brother’s fury. Pertly, she said, ‘Dai said you’d got to have us with you.’
Aiming to pour oil on troubled waters, Pearl pointed to a sunny woodland slope beyond the track they were following, where hundreds of foxgloves, tall and magnificent, waved their dappled bells in the breeze. ‘Aren’t they lovely? I’ve never seen so many.’ Apart from the odd walk Tunstall way, she had never seen anything of the countryside and certainly not what she termed real countryside, like this. The scent of wild flowers and trees was sweet on the lazy air, and just a mile or so before, they’d passed fields of ripening corn rippling in the warm breeze. ‘I can understand why you prefer to travel around rather than live in houses.’
‘No true Romany could live in one place for long.’ Byron seemed glad of the change of subject. ‘Neither would they be idle or expect anything they haven’t worked for. Those who give us a bad name are not of the blood: we’re not thieves or v
agabonds.’
Pearl thought about the poaching she had seen but already she had lived with the gypsies long enough to understand that they considered it their right to hunt for food as their ancestors had done for hundreds of years. The land belonged to every man and woman, that was the way they looked at it, and be it a farmer’s field, an estate owned by the gentry or wild land, it was the same to them. It was a convenient way of thinking, she admitted, and when last night there’d been a communal feast and venison had been on the menu, she had felt on edge until it was all gone and no trace of the young deer remained, but that was the Romanies’ way and that was that. Certainly it didn’t seem wrong in the same way as her brothers’ thieving had, but she didn’t doubt there was a gamekeeper or two who would disagree with her.
‘It can be hard in the winter.’ Freda entered the conversation again. ‘We stay inland then, Penrith way. We were snowed in for weeks last year.’
Pearl wanted to ask a thousand questions. How did the camp manage with food? And what about fuel, if all the woodland was knee-deep in snow? How did they provide hay for the horses and shelter for the animals in the worst of the winter? Were there any friendly farmers in the district, and did they winter in the same location each year? Questions buzzed in her head but she didn’t voice any of them.
She would find out soon enough. Mentally nodding to the thought, she shut her eyes and let the glare of the sun play over her face for a minute or two before reaching for the wide-rimmed black hat Corinda had lent her until she could get a straw bonnet to protect her fair skin. None of the gypsy girls seemed to have need of protection from the sun, their complexions ranging from a light tawny shade to a deep, dark brown.
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