Born to Trouble

by Rita Bradshaw

  The butler continued without a pause to a door at the far end of the hall. There he stopped, knocking twice, before opening it and motioning her through. He followed her into the room and shut the door behind him.

  The room outdid anything she’d seen thus far in splendour, but Pearl was taken up with the three people staring at her. One she knew to be Christopher’s brother, since the physical similarity was so strong, and the woman seated on the sofa next to which the two men were standing must be his mother, because again the resemblance to the brothers was marked. But it was the older man who held her attention. He was small and dark, and his presence seemed to fill the space between them with seething fury. He looked behind her to the butler. ‘You fetched her yourself and kept your mouth shut?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘The rest of ’em out there can think what they like, but if a word’s said you get rid of them immediately. Got that?’

  ‘Yes, sir, but none of them would be so foolish.’

  ‘They’d better not be.’ The hard little eyes switched to Pearl. ‘What is the name of the man who tried to kill my son?’

  Pearl blinked. ‘I – the police said—’

  ‘I know what the police said. They were told what was appropriate. Now I ask you again, what’s his name?’

  ‘I – I don’t know’

  ‘This man is . . . what? Your lover? Your betrothed? And you don’t know his name? I warn you, girl. Don’t play games with me. My son confided in his brother that the two of you were together when this gypsy attacked him, so I’ll ask you one more time. His name?’

  Pearl gave no answer but her chin rose a fraction.

  ‘Do you realise I could have the lot of you arrested? Do you?’

  Then why hadn’t he? As Pearl stared into the glowering face she warned herself to keep quiet although her legs were trembling so much she was frightened she’d sink down onto the carpet.

  ‘So, there’s honour among thieves, is there?’ It was not laudatory. ‘Well, let me tell you, you dirty little slut, if my son dies you’ll swing along with the man who killed him, because I’ll make sure of it. I know your type. Thought you were on to a good thing, didn’t you? Leading him on until he didn’t know which end was up. But I’m not like that, girl. Believe me. In my father’s day you’d have been horsewhipped until you begged for mercy or were put six foot under or both.’

  Clarissa Armstrong hadn’t taken her eyes off the gypsy girl who had ensnared her son. It had been she who had decided that not a word of this dreadful affair must become public when her husband had wanted to tell the police what Nathaniel had told them. It would be the end of an alliance with the Steffords, and there was talk of Algernon getting a knighthood before too long. Furthermore, they’d become a laughing stock; their social standing would never recover. It was one thing for the sons of gentlemen to make merry with servant girls and the like, quite another to be involved in this sort of scandal. And according to Nathaniel, Christopher had said he loved the wench, even that he wanted to marry her. She still felt faint at the thought of it.

  Her voice thin and cold, she said, ‘My son is engaged to a gentlewoman, a lady of the utmost good taste. I trust you are aware of this?’ Without waiting for a reply, she went on, ‘Even now she is at his bedside, willing him through these dark hours. For her sake we have held our tongue about the true facts of this matter, not wishing to add to her grief. You can count yourself fortunate in this instance, but should you make any attempt to see him again then both you and the man you are attempting to shield will be brought to justice. Have I made myself plain?’

  ‘He – he’s not engaged. He would have told me.’

  ‘How dare you,’ Clarissa hissed. ‘Your effrontery is shameless.’

  Nathaniel stared at the girl who was the cause of his brother even now fighting for his life. He wanted to leap across the room, put his hands round her neck and squeeze the life out of her. Christopher was a gullible fool and he blamed himself for not sensing what was going on. But his mother was handling it the right way. A sly little baggage like this one wouldn’t be intimidated by his father’s blusterings, but he could tell she’d been shaken when his mother had spoken. Yes, the girl had thought she was on to a good thing, that much was obvious, and by disabusing her of the notion, there would be no reason for her to stay.

  He watched his mother rise to her feet. He had to hand it to her, he thought with admiration, she looked every inch the ice queen.

  ‘You will return to your dwelling with Parker,’ Clarissa said in a clear, ringing tone, ‘and we shall expect to see and hear no more of you and your kind. Is that clear?’

  ‘I – I can’t go. Not till I know Christopher’s going to be all right.’

  ‘You most certainly will.’ Clarissa nodded her head to the butler who took Pearl’s arm.

  Shaking his hand off her, Pearl stepped forward a pace. Everything Christopher had told her about his parents was true. They were cold, unfeeling, and she didn’t believe a word his mother had said. Looking straight at Nathaniel, she said, ‘If Christopher told you what happened, he must have said we love each other and want to be together.’

  Nathaniel studied her for a moment. ‘He was anxious that no whisper of your liaison reached his fiancée, that’s all.’

  ‘That’s not true. You know it’s not true.’

  Oswald, his patience gone, growled an order to the butler, who now took both her arms and with a strength that belied his thin frame, whirled her round and out of the door he had opened. He didn’t let go of her until they were outside standing by the trap and even then, after he had pushed her unceremoniously onto the seat, he drove with one hand, the other gripping one of her wrists. He only let go when they were well clear of the house.

  Pearl said nothing until they were approaching the campsite. She had sat stiff and still beside the butler, but this time her head had been up and her shoulders straight. They were on the coach road, and before the man turned the horse and trap on to the dirt track leading to Lot’s Burn, she said steadily, ‘You can stop here. I will walk the rest of the way.’

  ‘I’m to see you back.’

  ‘I said, you can stop here.’ Her tone had been authoritative, her voice crisp. ‘Please do as you’re told.’

  The butler’s face flushed with colour. ‘Don’t you talk to me like that, you little hussy. I know all about your kind – vagabonds and thieves the lot of you.’

  He had nevertheless stopped the horse, and as Pearl jumped down from the trap, she stood facing him. ‘And you’re so much better, are you?’ she said bitterly. ‘Toadying to them up there. They’re liars, every one of them.’

  The butler looked as though he was going to burst. His voice losing its polished edge and dropping into a brogue which proclaimed his working-class roots, he shouted, ‘Get out of here afore I put this whip across your shoulders.’

  ‘Just you try.’ Pearl didn’t know what had got into her, but whatever it was, she welcomed it. ‘And you can tell your master and the rest of them that I’m not going anywhere. I don’t believe a word about Christopher having a fiancée. I’d have to hear it from his own lips first. They’re all snakes in the grass up there. My brother used to say you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, and they’re sows’ ears if ever I saw any.’

  The man was now apoplectic. Such was the fury in his face Pearl prepared herself for the whip being used, but instead he jerked on the reins so hard the horse reared up, narrowly missing her with its lethal hoofs, before cantering off in a whirl of dust and grit. She stood staring after the trap, her lips trembling as she fought back the tears. She felt desolate. It had been a long time since she’d felt as desolate as she did right now, and then Byron had found her and saved her. Byron, oh, Byron. And Christopher. If he died, she’d want to die too. She had ruined all their lives . . .

  The gypsy camp was unusually quiet when she made her way to the tent where Corinda and the others were waiting. A number of men and wome
n were standing about and Pearl knew she was being stared at, and in a manner which would have made her afraid if she hadn’t been so bereft.

  Corinda’s eyes betrayed her fear, but her voice was low and normal-sounding when she said, ‘Well? Do they know it was Byron who stabbed him?’

  Pearl shook her head. ‘Chris – Christopher said it wasn’t one of us to the police but he told his family what happened.’

  ‘One of us!’ Halimena spat the words. ‘Don’t you claim to be one of us, girl.’

  Corinda raised her hand and the old woman fell silent. ‘What are the family going to do?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Nothing?’ Mackensie looked at his wife. ‘I don’t believe it, that’s not natural. They’ll want their pound of flesh all right, especially if he snuffs it.’

  ‘They’re saying . . .’ Pearl took a deep breath. ‘They told me Christopher is engaged to – to a lady and she doesn’t know the truth of what’s happened. They want to keep it that way.’

  ‘So it all depends on the lad pulling through.’ Again Mackensie was speaking to his wife. ‘And from the look of him last night, that’s questionable.’ Turning to Algar and Silvester who were standing to one side, he said, ‘Spread the word we’re leaving tomorrow at first light but quietly, all right? If the law come sniffing around again today I don’t want it to be obvious.’

  Both young men nodded, looking at Pearl as if she was the devil or something before turning away.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Pearl reached out to touch Corinda, but as the woman shrank from her touch she let her hand fall to her side. ‘I never wanted this to happen.’

  ‘You’re bad, girl. Right through.’ Halimena’s eyes were pinpoints of black as she narrowed them at Pearl. ‘I knew it from the first. Born to trouble, you were, and you’ll take trouble wherever you lay your head. It’s a curse that’s on you and woe betide any man who’s drawn to you.’

  Pearl stared aghast at the old woman. ‘No.’ She wrenched her gaze from Byron’s grandmother, her eyes imploring as they met Corinda’s. ‘No, I couldn’t help what happened. Please, you have to believe me.’

  ‘All I know is that because of you, my son is exiled from us.’ Corinda’s voice was still low but it trembled when she said, ‘I wish we had never set eyes on you.’

  The gypsies were gone by noon the following day and Pearl did not go with them. With her few belongings tied up in her shawl she made herself a bed of moss and grass under a hedgerow and spent the night under the stars.

  The next few days were hot and sunny, and with the knowledge she had gained in her years with the tribe and the fact that it was the height of summer, she had no trouble feeding herself from the land. She did not venture far.

  On the fifth day she washed all over in the burn before washing her hair too. Once it was dry she wound it into one thick, long plait and tidied herself as best she could, brushing the dust and grass from her clothes and cleaning her boots. When she was as respectable as she could make herself, she set off for the big house. She had to know what had happened to Christopher. She held out no hope now that they could be together, but she had to find out whether he had pulled through. If he hadn’t . . . She didn’t dare let herself imagine he hadn’t.

  She didn’t try to enter the grounds by way of the lodgekeeper, knowing instinctively that she would be turned away. Instead she climbed over the high stone wall which surrounded the house and grounds and skirted through the gardens, making sure no one saw her. Once the house was in sight she stood looking at it for some time.

  She had to know and she would do whatever it took to find out. She would shout and scream and fight them all if necessary.

  Her heart beating fit to burst, she left the shelter of the bushes and trees and set off across a smooth green lawn which led on to the drive that curved round the side of the house. She was on familiar territory here. Moving swiftly but not running, she came to the stableyard where two men and a boy were working. Her chin up and her walk purposeful, she nodded briskly at them as she passed, and such was her stance they didn’t think of challenging her. Once she was in the courtyard beyond, she went straight to the kitchen door. Here she hesitated. If she knocked and waited she might not be admitted into the house but she could hardly just walk in.

  Her dilemma was solved in the next moment when the door was pulled open and a young kitchenmaid carrying a bucket of kitchen slops emerged. When the girl’s look of surprise changed to one of recognition, Pearl knew it was no use pretending.

  ‘You’re the one Mr Parker brought here a few days ago, the one all the fuss is about. What are you doing here?’ The girl was young, fourteen or fifteen by the look of her, and as she spoke she took a step backwards as though she was frightened Pearl was going to leap on her and rend her limb from limb.

  Struggling to remain calm, Pearl appealed to the girl’s mercy. ‘I’m not supposed to be here but I have to know how–’ she stopped herself saying Christopher, changing it to – ‘the young Mr Armstrong is, whether he’s better.’

  ‘We were told if we saw you we had to tell Mr Parker at once.’ The girl was still wary but something in the bright eyes told Pearl she was a perky piece. This was confirmed when she added, ‘Mr Parker told the housekeeper who told the cook that you cheeked him. Did you?’

  Pearl nodded.

  ‘By, you’re a one.’ This was said with a touch of admiration and something approaching friendliness. ‘He’s a real tartar, is Mr Parker.’

  ‘Do you know how Mr Armstrong is?’ Pearl asked again.

  The girl leaned forward, her voice a whisper. ‘We’re not supposed to know owt, but is it true you an’ him were . . . well, you know?’

  Again Pearl nodded. She wasn’t quite sure exactly what she was admitting to, but it didn’t matter in the circumstances.

  ‘And he caught his toe when one of your lot found out.’ The girl didn’t wait for an answer, a note of bitterness coming into her voice when she said, ‘Makes a change for the gentry to come a cropper – it’s normally the other way round. My sister was in service at a big house Sunderland way, and when she came home with her belly full by the master, an’ him old enough to be her granda, it was the workhouse for her. Me mam says I’ve got to scream an’ keep screaming if anyone tries it on with me.’

  For the third time, Pearl said, ‘Mr Armstrong, how is he?’

  ‘Poorly.’

  ‘He’s alive then?’ She felt the world turn upside down for a moment and reached out a hand to steady herself on the wall of the house.

  ‘Oh aye, he’s alive, or he was when he left this mornin’.’

  ‘Left?’

  ‘The mistress went with him. He’s supposed to be con – convales – getting better abroad. Cook says it was foolhardy to move such an ill man. She says the upstairs maid told her Mr Christopher didn’t know what day it was – rambling all the time, she said. She can’t understand what possessed the mistress to insist they leave.’

  Pearl stared at the girl. She knew what it was. Christopher’s family were determined to get him as far away from her as possible. No matter if the journey might kill him.

  ‘And we’ve bin told to say he fell off his horse while out riding and did himself an injury, if anyone asks.’ The girl made a ‘Huh!’ sound in her throat. ‘Think we’re half sharp, the gentry do.’

  No, they didn’t think their servants were half sharp, merely bought and paid for, body and soul. As Christopher’s father had said to the butler that day, the servants could think what they liked as long as they didn’t voice it. Their servants’ opinion of them mattered so little it wasn’t worth considering.

  ‘Do you know when they’re expected back?’

  The girl shrugged. ‘Not for months, Cook said. The housekeeper told her she wouldn’t be surprised if Mr Christopher decides to live in Italy or somewhere foreign where there’s plenty of art an’ books an’ such. A great one for poetry and art, Mr Christopher is. But then I suppose you’d know all about wha
t he likes,’ she added slyly. ‘He hasn’t left you with a belly full, like my sister, has he?’

  Pearl straightened. ‘No.’ And then she softened the brusqueness of her tone when she said, ‘And thanks – thanks for talking to me.’

  ‘That’s all right. It fair broke me mam’s heart when our Betsy was taken down,’ the maid said by way of explanation.

  Pearl walked away from the house in the same way she had approached it, with her head held high, and this time she continued down the drive. When she reached the iron gates, the lodgekeeper came running out, his eyes wide as he spluttered, ‘When did you come in, lass?’

  Pearl walked to the narrow side gate and waited until he had unlocked it. ‘Earlier,’ she said briefly.

  She left him scratching his head and muttering to himself, but he didn’t try to detain her. Once she was clear of the lodge she veered off the road and into the fields, and it was then she felt free to sink onto the ground and give way to a paroxysm of weeping. She had ruined Byron’s life and lost Corinda and the family in the process, and now she would never marry Christopher, never marry anyone. If she couldn’t have him, she didn’t want anyone else.

  She cried until there were no more tears left and she was limp and spent. The grass was warm and sweet-smelling under her face, and the air carried the fragrance of ripe blackberries from the hedgerows. She sat up eventually, her eyes tired and heavy as she gazed into the distance. Along the wayside, elms and sycamores were faintly touched with yellow, and the landscape in front of her was chequered in a patchwork of subtle tint and mellow hue which indicated autumn was round the corner. The summer was all but gone.

  There was nothing left to live for. The thought came in with the swiftness of an arrow and just as swiftly she thrust it aside. A few weeks ago, days even, she wouldn’t have thought herself capable of surviving without her adopted family, but she had and she would. Halimena had said she had a curse on her. Holding her hands tightly against her chest, she swayed back and forth several times. She didn’t know about that. What she did know was that life was a battle and you couldn’t stop fighting until it was over. And her life wasn’t over. She was still breathing and feeling, wasn’t she? She had her eyes and her ears and her limbs, which was more than some poor souls had.