‘It’s not a diet that we could really recommend to the burghers of Edinburgh, is it?’ said the first student in a cheeky way and he was quelled by a stern glance. They were all so engrossed in their medical speculations that they did not notice when they almost bumped into a girl dressed as a bondager who dodged smartly out of their way. Young Playfair, however, feeling rather bored and left out, did see her and his eyes opened wide. He was about to reach out a hand and stop her when she darted away from him and disappeared into the crowd. ‘I’m sure that was Miss Rutherford. I thought I saw her earlier as well,’ he said excitedly to the Professor, but the older man was not listening, for he was too intent on moaning to his students about the failure of the young gypsy to take him up on his offer of posing for the anatomy class.
When she watched Thompson’s broad back disappearing down the hill Odilie felt safer and, dragging Grace along, she pushed deeper into the throng where she could get a better view of the horses. A dark-haired young gypsy was grooming a grey stallion which was by far the most impressive horse on view and Odilie’s discerning eye told her that the horse had a lot of Arab in its breeding. As if it knew that it was the object of much interest, it was preening itself with nostrils flared wide showing the pink membrane inside and dark eyes flashing with a light that showed great spirit. She sighed in appreciation at the sight of the beautiful beast and as she watched, a man pushed his way through the crowd to ask if the stallion was for sale.
‘Money couldn’t buy him,’ was the proud reply and the gypsy ran a loving hand down his horse’s face, lingering gently on the velvet muzzle and letting it nuzzle his palm with its lips. Finding no titbit there, it raised its head and touched his face as if it was kissing him.
Gib saw that the grey horse had captured the crowd’s attention and announced loudly, ‘If you want to see this horse in action, there’s going to be a jumping contest later on. We’ll challenge any other horse to outjump ours. Put your bets on with me.’
Then, for the entertainment and enticement of the onlookers, Jesse swung the horse round and jumped on to its bare back. He looked like a centaur rising above the press of people and with her eyes shining, Odilie whispered to Grace, ‘Just look at that, aren’t they magnificent?’
She made as if to push farther forward, right to the edge of the crowd but Grace held her back, whispering, ‘This is the gypsy men’s place, Odilie. We shouldn’t be here.’
‘Why not? I want to see that horse. Come on, it’s broad daylight and no one’s going to hurt us.’
‘But you know what they say about the gypsies. They steal and murder. If they find out who you are, you’ll disappear and your father’ll have to pay a ransom to get you back,’ said Grace, who was visibly apprehensive.
Odilie laughed. ‘And that would be an adventure, wouldn’t it? I might not want to come back.’ Overriding Grace’s scruples, she pulled her friend onwards and pushed her way through the ranks of men who were watching Jesse and his horse. Then, without a by-your-leave, Odilie stepped into the middle of the clearing and bent down to run a hand along the horse’s fetlock. When she raised her bonneted head, her voice was solemn. ‘This is a very fine horse indeed. How old is he?’
A laugh came from above her head but the sunlight was so bright in her eyes that she found it hard to see the man clearly. ‘Do you know many horses, then? Have a care that he doesn’t bite you. He doesn’t like strangers,’ came a teasing voice.
‘Oh, he won’t do that,’ said Odilie confidently as she held a hand up to the horse’s muzzle. ‘How old is he?’ she repeated.
Jesse told her, ‘He’s not four yet.’
‘He’s got Arab blood, hasn’t he? Did you breed him yourself?’ she asked next.
There was a hint of respect in his voice when he answered her questions. ‘Yes, he’s Arab and I bought him at Appleby Fair as a yearling. He’s got Eclipse breeding.’
‘He’s beautiful, quite beautiful.’ Odilie sighed and gently rubbed the horse’s ears. Jesse was surprised at how trustingly Barbary lowered his head towards her.
‘You must have a price for him in spite of what you told that man. What is it?’ she said suddenly.
Jesse looked down at her again and grinned broadly, his smile good-humoured. ‘How much can you afford?’ he asked in a way that showed he thought it would not be very much.
She laughed back, looking down at her cotton dress and heavy boots. At that moment she remembered Grace’s warning about the dangers of revealing her true identity in the middle of the gypsy camp. ‘I was only wondering,’ she said. For some reason she felt excited: her heart was beating fast and she did not know why.
‘He’s not for sale. I wouldn’t part with him for a hundred guineas – but if you like horses there’s plenty of others almost as good as this – almost. Go and have a look at them,’ he told her as he turned his horse, leapt back on him and rode away.
As if they were iron filings drawn by a magnet, the crowd flowed off behind him leaving Odilie, full of strange emotions, on the hillock with Grace pulling at her sleeve and saying, ‘Come on – let’s get out of here. I don’t like the way those women are watching us.’
Behind the girls a hostile crowd of women were approaching, led by Thomassin, who had watched the exchange between Odilie and Jesse. Her olive-skinned face was incandescent with anger and she seemed on the verge of violence. She rushed up and one hand reached out for Odilie’s shoulder, grabbing her from the back. The fingers were vice-like on the soft flesh.
‘Leave my man alone,’ she hissed.
Odilie turned around and in spite of herself, her heart leaped in fright when she saw the expression on the gypsy girl’s face. She controlled herself, however, and looked impassively back, shrugging the hand off her shoulder. Her eyes were flashing too as she said flatly, ‘I wasn’t doing anything to your man. It was his horse that interested me, not him.’
When Thomassin looked into the stranger’s face and saw the colour of her skin, she spoke some words in a language that neither Grace nor Odilie understood. They looked blankly at the gypsy girl, who leaned forward aggressively and repeated her words. When they still looked uncomprehending, she hissed like a threatening snake, ‘Don’t pretend you can’t understand me. I’m asking if you’re a Romany. You must be with skin that colour. Where are you from? Are you one of the Lochmaben lot or did you come up from Alnwick with the Earl of Hell? You’d better get out of here before my people see you or there’ll be trouble.’
‘I’m not a Romany,’ protested Odilie, trying to conceal the tremor of fright which threatened to reveal itself in her voice. She heard Grace beside her draw in a sharp breath and they both knew that if they were mistaken for members of a rival gypsy gang, they could be in real danger, for it was common knowledge that the Romany families from different parts of the country hated each other with an implacable loathing. Nearly every year St James’ Fair ended with terrible fighting and killings in perpetuation of ancient feuds between the gypsies. It was a rare year when none of their blood flowed.
Something held Thomassin back, however, for she contented herself with giving the other girl a sharp push in the chest and spitting out, ‘Get away from here and keep your eyes off my man. You’d better not try to cast your glamourie on him.’
‘What did you say?’ asked Odilie in a trembling voice.
Thomassin stepped very close to her and whispered, ‘I said, don’t cast the glamourie on him. You know what that means well enough. If you do I’ll kill you.’ With her eyes fixed on Odilie’s face she flicked up the hem of her skirt and revealed the hilt of a dagger stuck into the top of her boot.
That was enough for Grace, who grabbed Odilie’s hand and together they took to their heels, running as fast as her limp would allow over the uneven ground. When they reached the safety of the crowds around the stalls on the flat ground, they came to a panting stop and Odilie gave a wry laugh. ‘Don’t say it, Grace! I know we shouldn’t have gone up there at all – what with that horrible old fortune-
teller and then the virago with the knife. As if I wanted her demon lover!’ Now that she was safe she felt bold again and announced, ‘But I’m not ready to go home yet. What will we do now?’
‘Mrs Archer said not to come till the evening but we could go and see if we can find the freak show,’ suggested Grace.
By this time the hands of the town clock had reached ten minutes to four and while the girls were searching for Jem’s stand, Adam Scott was still standing at the end of the footbridge, scrutinising the face of every girl who passed him. Gradually he was giving up hope, for although plenty of pretty girls had paid their penny to cross the river, and many of them had smiled at him, the girl with the limp was not among them. By late afternoon, the stream of new arrivals had become a trickle. Most people who wanted to come to the Fair were already on the field. If she was going fairing, the chances were that the girl he sought was somewhere among the throng behind him.
He turned and gazed across the crowd. There were upwards of two thousand people in the field, he calculated, and that meant he had little chance of coming across her by accident. With a shrug of resignation and disappointment, Adam lifted his crook from the grass and walked off in the direction of his family’s pony cart. The position of the sun told him it was almost four and his mother would be laying out their meal.
Although he looked assured and self-sufficient as he strode along, Adam was feeling intensely lonely. The stalls around him were laden with brightly coloured goods for one lover to buy for another and happy young couples were purchasing fairings for each other. He walked along deaf to the blandishments of profusely sweating sideshow buskers who were bawling out their attractions. More couples were giggling in front of the stalls, holding on to each other’s arms, sometimes surreptitiously stealing kisses from each other, for the sun and the ale had swept away all inhibitions even among the most reticent people. The sight of so much happy abandon made Adam feel even more alone. As he watched the happy faces around him, it seemed to him that he must be the only young man without a girl on his arm and he wished he was back in his lonely hills.
When he came to the opening of the ale tent he lingered, wondering if his father was inside. He shoved his head in but could not pick out anyone he recognised in the shouting, reeling, red-faced crowd. Tom had probably gone back to the cart already.
On his way there too Adam had to walk across a flat stretch of land adjacent to the river. To his surprise he saw that a dense crowd was gathered and as he walked towards them, more and more people appeared to be running in the same direction. Something interesting must be going on, he thought, and veered off his path a little to see what it was. When he reached the edge of the crowd he saw that the attraction was a cleared arena in which two brushwood fences had been erected. This was the exercise yard for horses that were for sale and where would-be purchasers could trot or canter around and pop the horses over the fences if they had the courage.
Gypsies as usual were out in force where there were horses and they had all gathered together by the side of the arena, eyes flashing and fists brandishing money at each other. They were spitting into their palms and slapping hands together. What’s going on, wondered Adam leaning on his crook. His attention was particularly drawn to a gypsy with a proud head of white hair who seemed to be a leader and who stood at the entrance to the ring with his shirt unbuttoned at the neck and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had a dashing look which was enhanced by the fact that he was carrying a bag of money and men were running up to him proffering coins which he slipped into the bag. That’s it, thought the young shepherd, they’re laying bets. But what on? The excitement was infectious and Adam could not drag himself away.
Then the big gypsy bawled out, ‘We’ll start soon now. There’s three contenders today for the jumping contest and the prize’ll be ten bars – ten pounds, that is. Take your pick and lay your wagers, gentlemen. I’ll hold the money.’ Behind him, a trio of mounted men were waiting and he turned to them to shout, ‘Bring out your horses, lads, and let the rajahs see them.’
In answer to this summons the three horses and their riders broke through the crowd at the arena entrance. First out was a huge black horse with mean, white-rimmed eyes; then came a piebald. Of all colourings for a horse, gypsies like piebalds best. The last horse was a beautiful dapple grey that pranced lightly on its feet with its head lowered in a way that made it look like a dragon breathing fire. All the horses were well-caparisoned but the grey was once again the best because it was wearing a magnificent bridle embellished with glittering bosses of silver along the brow-band and a curving silver bit that made it open its mouth and chew the air in a manner that added to its dragon-like appearance.
The rider was equally eye-catching for he sat impassive but with wrists flexed as if all the power in his body was concentrated in his hands while the muscles of his forearms rose and fell in a pulsing motion beneath his matt brown skin.
The crowd’s levity changed to rapt attention as the men on the horses, each with a sharp turn of his body, made their mounts head one after another for the first fence. In a line they all soared easily over it while the spectators sighed ‘AAAAH’ admiringly at each leap – for there is no more elegant sight than a good rider on a smoothly jumping horse.
After such a tantalising display the horses left the ring again while the presiding gypsy cried out, ‘That’s the contestants then. Have you all decided on your fancy? Lay your money with Gib Faa.’
By this time Adam’s interest had been well and truly captured. Though it was now past four o’clock he decided that his mother wouldn’t mind if he was a little late for tea. This he wanted to see.
* * *
The sideshow Odilie and Grace were seeking was not difficult to find. Archer’s Freaks – Wonders of the World declared a huge banner that hung along its front, and an enormously tall man wearing a high stovepipe hat and playing a fiddle stood on the platform beside a tiny dwarf who was banging a drum almost as big as himself.
The girls paused at their feet and Grace called up to the fiddler, ‘Are you Mr Archer?’ She hoped that this was not the husband of her friend Alice for he had a crabbed and mournful face and, because of his stilts and excessively high hat, he looked about eight feet tall.
Still playing he shook his head and jerked his head backwards. ‘He’s in there,’ he said, and as if in answer to a summons, the curtains parted and a burly man with a broken nose poked his head out. He was looking very worried. ‘Are you Mr Archer?’ asked Grace again.
The man emerged on to the platform. ‘I am. Who wants me?’ he said. ‘Have you come about Alice?’ She nodded and his face lightened as he asked, ‘Where is she? She didn’t say she was going away.’
The girl looked up at him with large blue eyes and said, ‘I don’t know. Isn’t she here? I met her on Saturday at Bettymill and she told me to come and see her at the Fair today.’
Jem’s eyes were suspicious as he stared at the girl. He remembered Alice’s tearful return from the old mill and her account of meeting someone there. The last thing he wanted was for her to be upset again. ‘She’s gone out. I don’t know where she is but she’ll be back later I expect. Who will I say came looking for her?’
‘Say it’s Grace Elliot and tell her I’ll come back in the evening. Goodbye,’ she said in a dejected voice and wandered off into the crowd with her friend.
Odilie took her arm comfortingly. ‘You’re disappointed, aren’t you? But don’t worry. She did say to come in the evening, remember? My father’s sure to be searching high and low for me by now. It’s time I was going home. Come with me and I’ll dress you up properly so’s you can look really grand when you come back to see your friend Alice.’ She pulled gently on Grace’s arm and they headed offthe wooden bridge. Grace allowed herself to be towed along for suddenly she felt very sad and very tired. With a pang she remembered how she’d dreamed of meeting the young man who’d helped her last year. That was just another of her useless fancies, she thought
dispiritedly. She was not to know it but she stared at the crowds of lovers all around in the same way as Adam was also doing, and with the same bereft feelings. Everyone has a lover except me, she thought.
They climbed the steps to the bridge with Grace clinging to the rail for support. When Odilie was on the level she turned for a last look across the fairground and it was then that her eye caught sight of the jumping horses. She exclaimed with renewed excitement, ‘Oh, I must watch that. Come on, let’s go back for just a few more minutes. If you’re tired we can sit on the bank and watch the jumping. That grey horse I admired so much is there.’
‘What about your father? You said he’d be searching for you by now,’ protested Grace but Odilie was not to be gainsaid.
‘It’s only for a few minutes. I must see the grey horse jumping,’ she pleaded. ‘Come on, dear Grace, come with me please.’ She looked so entreating that it was impossible not to do what she wanted.
They did not have long to wait because the jumping contest was about to begin and excitement was running high.
The first horse into the field was the piebald ridden by a grim-faced man who rode with his shoulders hunched high as he cantered into the enclosure. The crowd knew him and went quiet. His name was Alfie Fleckie and he was a gypsy from the village of Gordon, a man of about forty who had spent years in the Army during the war with the French. Fleckie had been a troublemaker in his youth and if the authorities thought they were rid of him forever when he took the King’s Shilling, they were wrong for Alfie survived the fighting to come home again and spend his nest-egg of sixty pounds on the mare he was riding. She was his pride and joy although her temperament was almost as evil as his own. Fleckie was determined to win the contest and this determination was clear to see in the set of his thin shoulders as he cantered around the ring. He cleared both fences easily and then rode off to give the other contestants a try.
He was followed by a very dark-skinned gypsy called Charlie Horner, who came from Lochmaben, another gypsy town on the western side of Scotland. Horner was also well known because he was infamous for having survived a sentence of transportation to Australia for sheep-stealing. Like Fleckie he returned home after ten years to take up his old career of thieving as if nothing had happened. The day he appeared in the jumping ring was his sixtieth birthday but he was as fit and lean as a man half his age and an expert horseman who had the power of almost lifting mounts over stiff obstacles. For five consecutive years since his return from Botany Bay, Horner had taken the gypsy jumping prize and he was determined to continue doing so.
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