Philippa Carr: The Return of the Gypsy

My father made an attempt to seize him but then Romany Jake spoke.

He said in loud tones which rang with authority: “Stop that. Leave the girl alone.”

The man who had touched me fell back.

There was silence, tense and ominous.

“Fools,” said Romany Jake. “Do you want to get the law on us?”

I was aware of the effect he had on the gypsies. The knife had been ready and was for my father. The man stood still with it in his hand.

“Get back,” said Romany Jake.

The man with the knife seemed to be some sort of leader. He said: “It’s time to show them, Jake.”

“Not now … not before the girl. Put that knife away, Jasper.”

The man looked at the knife and hesitated. It was a battle of wills, and I sensed that a great deal hung on this moment. Those watching people were ready to follow either man. Jasper wanted revenge, wanted to wreak his anger against those who owned land and whose permission had to be granted before the gypsies could rest their caravans. What Romany Jake felt on that subject I was not sure. He had spoken as though it were solely on my account that they were to hold off. What would have happened to my father if he had come alone?

My father remained calm. He said: “You seem a reasonable man. Be off my land by nightfall.”

Romany Jake nodded. Then he said quietly: “Go. Go now.”

“Come, Jessica,” said my father.

We turned our horses and walked them slowly away from the gypsy encampment.

When we had left the woods my father pulled up and turned to me. I saw that the rich colour which had suffused his cheeks while he was talking to the gypsies had receded and he was pale. There were beads of sweat on his forehead.

“That was a near thing,” he said.

“I was terrified.”

“And had every reason to be. And another time when I tell you to do something, I expect obedience.”

“What do you think would have happened if I hadn’t been there?”

“Ha! You may well ask. I would have given my full attention to those rogues.”

“Romany Jake saved us. You have to admit that.”

“He’s a rogue, like all of them. If they are not off by dawn tomorrow, there’ll be trouble for them.”

“That man with the knife …”

“Ready to use it, too.”

“And, Father, you had nothing.”

“I wish I had brought a gun with me.”

“I’m glad you didn’t. You had me instead, I was better than a gun.”

He laughed at me. I believed he was very touched because I had insisted on going with him.

“There’s no doubt whose daughter you are,” he said. “Jessica, forget I said this, but I’m proud of you.”

“I’m so glad I insisted on coming with you.”

“You think it would be the end of me if you hadn’t, don’t you? You’re kidding yourself. I’ve been in tighter spots. What beats me is that such a thing could happen on my land in broad daylight. Another thing … not a word of this to your mother.”

I nodded.

And as we rode home each of us was too emotionally stirred for words.

The next morning the gypsies left and there was lamentation in the kitchen because of the departure of Romany Jake.

LIFE SEEMED QUITE DULL after the gypsies had gone. We were all dismayed to hear of Napoleon’s great victory at Austerlitz that December. It seemed that he was not beaten yet. Trafalgar had merely robbed him of sea power and he was anxious to show that his armies were supreme.

However, we settled into the usual routine: lessons, rides, walks, visiting the sick of the neighbourhood with comforts. It was only with the preparations for Christmas that life became eventful again. Bringing in the log, hunting for mistletoe, cutting the holly, and all the baking that went on in the kitchens; selecting the gifts we were giving and speculating on what would be given to us: the usual happenings of the Christmas season.

Christmas came and went and it was January, three months after the gypsies had vacated our woods. I had not forgotten Romany Jake; I believed I never should. He had made a marked impression on me. I found myself thinking of him at odd moments. I was sure he had been attracted by me in a special sort of way; and there was no doubt that he had had an effect on me. He made me feel that I was no longer a child; and that there were many things I could learn and which he would teach me. I felt frustrated because he had gone before I could understand the meaning of this attraction between us.

The winds were blowing in from the north bringing snow with them. We had fires all over the house. I loved fires in the bedrooms; it was pleasant to lie in bed and watch the flames in the grate—blue flames which were due to the salty wood which was brought up from the beach after storms. It was great fun going down to collect it and to burn the pieces we had personally found; I always said that the pictures in the blue flames were more beautiful than any others.

Outside the wind buffeted the house; and there we were warm and cosy with our fires round which we sat roasting chestnuts and telling uncanny stories—the same which we told every year.

It was the middle of January, during an icy spell, when Dolly Mather came over to Eversleigh in a state of panic. She asked for young Mrs. Frenshaw. She seemed to have a special feeling for Claudine. I happened to come in just as Claudine was coming down to the hall, so I heard what was wrong.

“It’s my grandmother … Oh, Mrs. Frenshaw, she’s gone.”

“Gone!” For the moment I thought she was dead for people say “gone” because they fight shy of saying the word “dead” and try to make the act of dying less tragic by calling it something else.

Dolly went on: “She’s gone. I went to her room and she’s not there. She’s just gone …”

“Gone!” echoed Claudine. “How can she be? She found it hard to get about. Where could she have gone on a day like this? Tell me exactly …”

“I think she must have gone last night.”

“Oh no … Dolly, are you sure?”

“I’ve searched the house. She’s nowhere to be found.”

“It’s impossible. I’d better come over.”

“I’ll come too,” I said.

Claudine went up to her room to get her coat and snow boots. Dolly looked at me, staring in that disconcerting way she had.

“I don’t know where she can have gone,” she said.

“She can’t be far off. She was almost bedridden.”

Claudine came down and we walked over to Grasslands. There were only two servants there; the man who managed the small estate lived in a cottage half a mile away and his wife also helped in the house.

Dolly took us up to Mrs. Trent’s bedroom.

“The bed has not been slept in,” I said.

“No. She couldn’t have gone to bed last night.”

“She must be in the house somewhere.”

Dolly shook her head. “She’s not. We’ve looked everywhere.”

Claudine went to the cupboard and opened the door. “Has she taken a coat?” she asked.

Dolly nodded. Yes, she had taken a coat.

“Then she must have gone out.”

“On a night like last?” asked Dolly. “She would have caught her death.”

“We’ve got to find her,” said Claudine. “She must have had some sort of breakdown. But where could she have gone?”

Dolly shook her head.

“I’ll go back to Eversleigh,” said Claudine. “We’ll send some men out to look for her. It’s going to snow later on. Where on earth can she be? Don’t worry, Dolly. We’ll find her. You stay here. Get a fire going in her bedroom. She may need to be warmed up when she gets back.”

“But where is she?” cried Dolly.

“That’s what we have to find out. Come along, Jessica.”