The Legacy

by Lynda La Plante

  Underneath the ring, three lads held Rawnie down, her skirts around her head. A fourth was on top of her with his trousers round his ankles, while the others leered and encouraged him. Her face was scratched and bleeding, her mouth bruised and a tooth missing. She lay half-conscious mewing like a small, drowning kitten.

  Evelyne let the tarpaulins fall back into place. ‘Go away,’ she told herself, ‘don’t get involved, get out of here, never mind the handbag, just get out, Evelyne Jones, and for God’s sake do it now!’ At the same time as the voice in her head was talking to her, someone else - not Evelyne, she was sure, but another person entirely - grabbed one of the broken bench legs and was under the boxing ring like a wildcat.

  The lad on top of Rawnie had his head cracked by the bench leg, felt his hair being torn out by the roots, heard a scream like a tiger. Two of the others tried to grab Evelyne; one caught her by the hair, but she was kicking, biting, spitting, and punching with all her strength. The other tried to pull her off his mate and suddenly they all turned, open-mouthed. Light flooded beneath the ring as Freedom, his muscles straining, lifted the platform bodily upwards and tossed it aside.

  Jesse took on one of the lads and Freedom, panther-like, moved towards the other three. He grabbed two of them by their necks, bashing their heads together, and knocked out the other with one punch. The boy’s nose split in two and blood streamed down his face.

  ‘You’re all right now, love, it’s all right, you’re safe, we’ll take you right now, nobody’s going to hurt you any more, it’s all right.’

  Evelyne held the terrified, raped and beaten girl in her arms, covering her body with her own jacket. Rawnie moaned and clung to Evelyne like a child, her body heaving as she sobbed. Her small body jerked and shuddered, and Evelyne stroked her hair.

  Evelyne talked non-stop, saying anything that came into her mind to try and calm the terrified girl. Wood splintered around them, cries of ‘Fire! Fire! Fire!’ went up. The tent was aflame.

  Jesse repeated the cry as smoke began to billow from one side of the tent, the lanterns having fallen when Freedom moved the boxing ring. He called again, but Freedom was searching one of the boy’s pockets. Jesse pulled Freedom’s sleeve, urging him to get out, the police were inside the tent arresting everyone in sight. Freedom still grasped the terrified boy with one hand and shook him, his feet off the ground, until his teeth rattled in his head.

  ‘Remember me, because I’ll be coming after you, each and every one of you, this is not the end of it.’

  Jesse turned and gestured for them to hurry.

  ‘Bejesus, Freedom, it’ll be us in the clink if you don’t get a move on.’

  Freedom picked up Rawnie in one arm as if she were no more than a rag doll, and with his other hand he guided Evelyne out. They kept moving, Evelyne crouching down as she ran along behind a row of chairs. Half of her felt she had no need to flee like a criminal, but the flames were spreading behind her and the boy she had walloped with the bench leg was shouting after them, pointing at her. The smoke billowed back and masked their escape, Jesse slicing through the side of the tent with his knife.

  They made it to Rawnie’s wagon and Freedom helped Evelyne aboard. He laid Rawnie gently down, and the wagon jolted off, Jesse whipping up the horse. Evelyne had now lost her hat, her handbag and one shoe, her hair was loose, her stockings laddered and one sleeve was torn right out of her jacket and soaked with Rawnie’s blood.

  As the wagon made its way across the fields, keeping off the roads and away from the police, one of the youths was telling a detective sergeant that he had seen with his own eyes an Amazon woman with a sword, and she was beating everybody up. It was she who had given him the bloody nose, he’d not touched a soul. The youth was thrown into a police wagon and taken away to be charged with disorderly conduct. He maintained his innocence in the wagon, still persisted with his story at the police station. There had been this enormous bloody woman, like an Amazon he had seen at the local cinema. She had red hair down to her waist and was screaming like a crazy horse. One of the other boys, with his head cut open, was put into the next cell. He said nothing, but by God he’d remember that wildcat as long as he lived. Nearly broken his skull, she had.

  The Amazon sat hunched in the wagon, having no idea where she was going or with whom. She watched as the big fighter they called Freedom rocked the poor girl in his arms. He talked quietly, intimately, close to Rawnie, and his soothing voice and quiet strength calmed her. She lay with her face turned away from Evelyne and began to weep softly, and all the time Freedom talked in a language Evelyne couldn’t understand. She had never seen a man so gentle; it was hard to reconcile him with the fierce man she had seen fighting in the ring.

  They travelled for about thirty minutes and then Jesse pulled up the horses. They were by a stream and Rawnie would want to wash. Freedom bent to lift her down.

  ‘Acoi Rawnie, chies so betie, you’ll wash here you’re so chiklo, an’ Jesse mun, we’ll leave gav, the gav mush will be after us.’

  Evelyne did not understand what they were saying. She saw Freedom lift Rawnie in his arms and then Jesse grabbed him.

  To Evelyne’s astonishment the men argued, the poor girl between them. Rawnie clung to Freedom’s neck as Jesse tried to pull her out of his arms.

  ‘She’s ma woman, raped mun, we take revenge.’ Freedom snarled angrily, his voice hissing, ‘Kek, kek.’ Evelyne stood up and hit her head hard on the roof of the wagon. She saw stars before her eyes and slumped down again.

  ‘Will you stop your arguing, the girl should be washed.’

  They carried Rawnie to the water and she was silent, head bowed.

  ‘Leave her with me, go, the pair of you, and let me help her.’

  Jesse gave her a foul, snarling look and Freedom held him back.

  ‘Thank ye for this, woman.’

  Freedom filled a pail with water and placed it beside Evelyne. Then he took off his shirt and ripped it in two, throwing her the pieces to use as washcloths. The two men went back to the wagon, still arguing.

  Rawnie sat staring, stunned, and Evelyne wet the cloths and washed the girl’s face and neck, then sat down and eased the girl’s skirt back to wash her thighs, and was horrified. Her legs were crusted with blood and bruised, deep blue and red marks where the boys had forced her thighs apart.

  ‘Oh God help you, God help you.’

  As Evelyne washed her gently, the girl laid her head on Evelyne’s shoulder.

  When it was done Evelyne whispered to her that there was no trace left, she was clean. She dried Rawnie with the remainder of Freedom’s shirt and called out that they were ready. It was Jesse who gently scooped Rawnie into his arms and helped her up the wooden steps of the wagon.

  Evelyne went to empty the pail of water. Her foot slipped and she ended up standing in the stream. Freedom appeared on the bank and held out his hand to her, and as she reached for it she slid down the bank again, ending up sitting in cold water to her waist. Freedom hauled her out with one jerk of his strong arm, but her new suit was now soaked.

  ‘Ye’d best come back to camp and dry off by the fires.’

  Evelyne hesitated, and he cocked his head to one side and waited. Then she gave a brief nod and was helped aboard. Well, she couldn’t really arrive back at Mrs Pugh’s in this dishevelled condition.

  As the wagon rumbled and bumped its way along the rutted lanes, Rawnie sat staring into space, her hands plucking at her brighdy coloured skirt. The bracelets tinkled and jangled, but she stared straight ahead, her beautiful face scratched, her lips puffy and bruised. She was calm now, her eyes impassive and distant. Evelyne supported herself on the wooden frame of the wagon as it jolted and swayed. She tried to remember what she had in her handbag, maybe the return ticket was on the dressing table at Mrs Pugh’s, but she knew in her heart that it wasn’t. How much money? The more she tried to remember the more she felt like weeping. Her lovely hat, oh God, fifteen shillings gone. She sat as far from the fighter
as possible, aware that he kept staring at her. She felt no fear, she wasn’t afraid of them, just extremely worried about her purse and the waste of money, bag, hat and shoes. She bit her lip to force back the tears, then felt disgusted with herself - that poor girl raped and all she was worried about was her outfit.

  At long last the wagon stopped, and Jesse opened the fiap. They helped Rawnie down, she wouldn’t be lifted but stepped down, her head high, even her dark eyes were proud, her face a mask. Caravans and wagons formed a semicircle with large tents and the site was lit up by a huge, blazing fire in the centre. Women sat on caravan steps, while cooking pots on stands around the fire sizzled and boiled.

  The gypsies had done well that night and they were celebrating. Four girls danced around, flashing their skirts. In the firelight they glittered with gold and their red underskirts flashed as they clicked their heels. A fiddler started to play and an old woman beat her fists against a ribboned tambourine. As Freedom stepped down from the wagon, they cheered and a group of small children clustered around him. Jesse took Rawnie’s hand and led her towards a painted wooden caravan, its shafts laid flat on the grass.

  Evelyne hovered at the door of the wagon, and felt the whole camp grow still and silent as they all stared towards her, their expressionless eyes taking her in, then turning to Freedom for an answer. Freedom guided Evelyne into the glare of the fire, and she was very conscious of her appearance. She knew she must look very strange to the gathered people. Her hair was loose, her skirt filthy, she wore no stockings and her jacket had only one and a half sleeves. On top of that she was covered in mud and blood, even her face was streaked with dirt.

  Freedom held her hand, guiding her firmly forward, and spoke sharply to two old women who whispered to each other. Evelyne couldn’t understand him, he spoke in his strange language. Whatever he said made one of the old women step towards Evelyne and take her hand, tugging at her to follow. Evelyne was a little afraid to let go of Freedom’s strong hand, but he nodded that it would be all right and to go with the old crone.

  She was let into a rounded tent. Inside she could see the carved willow hoops that supported the canvas, shaped like a ribcage. The tent was large, and inside were four cot-like beds. Cooking utensils and household equipment were stacked in one corner and the floor was strewn with rushes. The tent was warm and cosy, and the old woman tugged at Evelyne’s sleeve for her to follow. Opening a wooden box, the woman chatted away, although Evelyne couldn’t understand a word. Out of the box came a cardigan, an old skirt and a white petticoat. Again the woman plucked at Evelyne’s sleeve, gesturing for her to take off her skirt. There was a strange, musky smell to the clothes, but at least they were dry, and she began to feel a little warmer.

  Evelyne could see the women scrubbing her clothes and she sighed; they looked as if they were trying to get the oil stain out, but she knew they were rubbing too hard. They should have used vinegar and brown paper, but she didn’t like to move out of the tent, in fact she wasn’t too sure exactly what she should do. She had no idea of the time or where she was.

  Jesse was all for driving into town and finding the boys. He constantly flicked his knife, it was razor sharp and his intentions were obvious. Freedom strove to keep the peace.

  ‘Jesse, I know, mun, what was done to her, but for us all to ride into town is madness.’

  Jesse hurled the knife at a tree. It whizzed through the air.

  ‘I’ll not move out of camp until I take revenge, you saw nothin’ - you did not see what they done. It scarred her mind, not just her body, mun.’

  ‘Jesse, the men will pay for what they done.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, you tell me how much? Go on, an’ tell me how? By us going to the police when you know what they would do, clap every one of us into jail so much as look at us. We all go in now. We ride in, take them bastards one by one and then we ride out.’

  ‘You go in tonight, Jesse, and they will arrest you.’

  Jesse put up his fists and struck out at Freedom. He was crazy with rage.

  ‘It’s you, mush, they want you, the law want you for tonight’s fight.’

  The other men stepped in and held Jesse back. Their prince, their great warrior, made them more money than Jesse, they needed him and they needed his fights.

  ‘He’s our fighter, mush, so listen to what he says. It was fair, no fault of his if that bastard dies.’

  Freedom gripped the furious, blazing Jesse. ‘Trust me, mush, we’ll get each one.’

  Jesse wanted to weep, always they turned against him in favour of Freedom. He removed his knife from the tree.

  ‘So be it, but I want each man dead, I want their hearts.’

  Mr Beshaley rode up on his sweating horse. He shouted to the men to collect their winnings, and make it fast.

  ‘Hammer’s still alive, but the law want to question one and all, so pack up and get out, move fast, we’ve made good money … head for Scotland.’

  Never one to ride with them, Beshaley heeled his horse and galloped away. He looked back once to Freedom and shouted that he would arrange a fight come next month, then he was gone.

  The men occupied themselves with counting their winnings, and Rawnie’s plight was forgotten for the moment. Freedom took Jesse aside and told him to get everyone prepared to move out by morning. Everyone except himself and Jesse who would repay the men who had raped Rawnie.

  ‘How will ye do it, man, punch every miner we cross?’

  Freedom smiled, and took out the wallet he had taken from one of the boys. Find one and they could get the names of the others. Jesse was so eager to use his knife - he would soon have the opportunity.

  Jesse seethed inside. It was as if Freedom was always one step ahead of him, but he had to concede that it made sense. Already the men were preparing to move out, quietly taking down the tents and bringing the horses from the fields.

  Freedom went to the tent where Evelyne was and stood at the opening. He could see Evelyne fast asleep, her mass of hair sprayed out across the pillow. Her white skin seemed translucent, and the soft violet shade of her eyelids fascinated him. He moved closer to the bed, and stood for a while looking down into the strange, beautiful face. He touched her hair gently - golden hair, it felt soft to his touch, and then he looked again. There was something in the back of his mind, a long-forgotten memory. Evelyne woke to see his face looming above her, and started. As she sat up he smiled at her and said she had no need to fear him.

  Her clothes were dry but wrinkled, and when she was left alone to change she discovered that they had shrunk. So much for expensive French labels! She went to the tent flap and opened it a fraction. Freedom was waiting, as if on guard, outside.

  ‘I can’t get into my skirt, it’s shrunk.’

  He turned and looked at her and then laughed, said for her to keep what she had been given. Wearing the petticoat and brown sack skirt, with her own blouse and the jacket that now had only one sleeve, she opened the tent flap. There was a blackened area where the fire had been, and all the tents had been packed away. Most of the camp had already moved on, there were just a few caravans left in line with the horses being backed into the shafts.

  The last caravan in the line, with red curtains, was brightly painted, and the blues, reds and greens merged into a strange pattern all over the wagon itself.

  ‘Rawnie wants to see you, then we will take you back to town.’

  Evelyne was led over to the caravan, and she mounted the steps and tapped on the door. Jesse opened it, and with a curt nod jumped down and gestured for her to go inside.

  Jesse joined Freedom, who was dismantling the tent Evelyne had used. He jerked his head in the direction of Rawnie’s caravan.

  ‘By God she’s a big’un, you see the way she fought, like a wildcat…’

  Freedom made no reply but continued to pull down the canvas.

  The caravan inside was as bright as the outside, full of colours and wonderful paintings. Each panel bore a different scene, and the wooden
ceiling was dark blue with moons and stars, and lanterns dangling. The brass was sparkling, polished like mirrors. Bright skirts and blouses were strewn around, and the heavy, sweet smell of musk was everywhere. A side table attached to the wall of the caravan was crammed with pots of cream and rouge. Hanging on hooks were bracelets and bangles and hundreds of beaded necklaces, mostly of bright red beads mixed with gold coins. There were boxes of gold earrings, hair slides, strange, diamond-cut stones, and amber, quaint and oriental. There was malachite and silver, and wonderful, rich, matte yellow gold, a treasure-chest of coral and jet. Evelyne gasped: there were so many colours and sparkling ornaments, it took her completely by surprise.

  Rawnie sat curled up on a couch. She was dressed in a bright red skirt with layers and layers of ribboned petticoats. Her hair glistened with oils, her arms covered with bracelets, and she wore a shawl with embroidered roses. She gestured for Evelyne to sit, and seemed pleased with the effect her home had on the strange girl with the funny hair.

  Evelyne had to bend slightly, the ceiling was so low, and she sat down next to Rawnie. The girl took Evelyne’s hand and kissed her palm, then she removed her heavy gold earrings and handed them to Evelyne.

  ‘No, no, I can’t, please, you don’t have to … take them back.’

  Rawnie frowned, took back the earrings and reached for some beads. She held them out, and Evelyne again shook her head.

  ‘You don’t like them? What is it you want?’

  Evelyne smiled and said she wanted nothing.

  Rawnie’s eyes filled with tears. She lowered her head, and her voice was so soft Evelyne could only just hear.

  ‘Will you take him when you go?’

  Evelyne did not understand. She looked puzzled and reached for Rawnie’s hand, but Rawnie cowered back against the cushions.

  ‘What is it, Rawnie? That’s your name, isn’t it? Are you afraid of me? I am ashamed for what happened to you, and I will help you in any way … if you want the police informed …’