Виктория Холт: The Black Opal

And to my almost unbearable joy, he replied: “Nothing would keep me away, now that I have made the acquaintance of Miss Carmel March.”

I stood listening to the sound of the horses’ hooves and the wheels of the carriage which was taking him away. Then, as we went into the house, Estella said: “He’s not your Uncle Toby.”

But nothing would convince me that he was not.

One day, during the spring following Uncle Toby’s visit, Henry came in and announced: “The gipsies are in the woods. I saw their caravans as I came past.”

My heart began to pound. It was years since they had been this way not since the time of my birth.

“My patience me,” said Nanny Gilroy.

“Something ought to be done about that lot. Why should they come here and pester honest folk?”

She looked at me as she spoke, as though I were responsible for their coming.

I said: “They’ve got a right. The woods are for everybody if they want to go there.”

“Don’t give me any of your sauce. Miss, if you please,” said Nanny. ‘ You might have your reasons for being fond of suchlike. I and there are thousands like me feel different. It’s not right to let them come here and something should be done about it. If they come here with their clothes pegs and their bits of heather, you can give them the rough side of your tongue, Sally, and that’s what they’ll get from me.”

Sally wisely said nothing and I put on my sullen look which was silly really because it did not help.

There was a good deal of talk about the gipsies. People were suspicious of them. They would pester, it was said, try to steal things and in their way threaten with sly hints of misfortune for those who would not buy their wares or have their fortunes told.

They made fires in the woods at night and sat round them singing. From the garden we could hear them. I thought they sounded quite melodious.

Several of the young girls in the neighbourhood had their fortunes told.

Nanny cautioned Estella to be careful.

“They get up to all sorts of tricks. They kidnap children, starve them, and make them go out selling clothes pegs. People are sorry for starving children.”

I said to Estella: That’s not true! They don’t go round stealing children. “

“No,” agreed Estella.

“They leave them under bushes for other people to look after. Of course, you would stand up for them.”

She was jealous of me, I told myself. She was two years older than I and I could read as well as she could. Besides, Uncle Toby liked me specially.

She chanted:

“My mother said that I never should Play with the gipsies in the wood.”

“And why not?” she went on.

“Because they kidnap you, steal your shoes and stockings and send you out selling clothes pegs.”

I walked away and tried to look haughty, but I was disturbed. I wished Uncle Toby were here. I should have liked to talk to him about the gipsies.

I was very interested in them and found it difficult to keep away from the encampment.

I was six years old at this time, but I think I might have been taken for more. I was as tall as Estella and that trait in me for asserting myself was stronger than ever. After all, I was made constantly aware that, although I was fed and clothed and shared lessons and the nursery with the children of the household, I was only there because of the charity of the doctor and his wife. So I had to show them constantly that I was as good as, if not better than, the rest of them.

I loved Sally; I was fond of Adeline and Miss Harley. I was fond of anyone who showed me kindness and, of course, I adored Uncle Toby. I seized with great eagerness on any affection which came my way because I was so very much aware of the lack of it in some quarters.

It was easy for me to slip away and I invariably made my way to the encampment. From the shelter of the trees I could look out on the caravans drawn up there without anyone’s being aware of my presence.

There were several children, brown-skinned and bare footed, who played there together and young women squatting about weaving wicker baskets and cutting wood with knives. They sang quietly and chattered as they worked.

There was one woman in particular who interested me. She was by no means young. She had thick black hair with streaks of grey in it. She always sat on the steps of a particular caravan and worked away with the rest of them. She talked a great, deal. I was too far away to hear what she said, but I did hear her singing now and then. She was plump and laughed frequently. I wished I knew what it was all about.

I often wondered what would have happened to me if I had not been left under the azalea bush. Should I have been one of those bare-footed children? I shuddered at the thought. Even though I was not really wanted, I was glad that I had gone to Commonwood House.

I was doubly grateful to the doctor for insisting that they keep me.

He didn’t really want me, of course, but perhaps he thought it was a good idea and he might not go to heaven if he sent me away. Well, I was glad that they had kept me, whatever the reason.

It was a hot afternoon. I sat among the trees and watched the gipsies, the children shouting to each other. The plump lady was on the caravan steps as usual. The basket she was weaving was on her lap and she looked as if she might be dropping off to sleep at any moment.

I thought they were less aware than usual because of the heat and that I might venture closer. I stood up abruptly and did not see the stone which was protruding from the ground. I tripped and went sprawling into the clearing.

It happened so quickly that I could not stop myself from calling out.

There was a sudden pain in my foot and I saw that there was blood on my stocking.

The children were watching me and I tried to scramble up. I gave a cry of pain, for my left foot would not support me and I fell.

The plump woman started to descend the caravan steps.

“What is it?” she cried.

“Why! It’s a little girl! Oh my! What have you done? You’ve hurt yourself, have you?”

I looked down at the blood on my stocking. Then she was kneeling beside me while the children gathered round to look.

“Hurt there, dearie?”

She was touching my ankle and I nodded.

She grunted and turned to the children.

“Go and get Uncle Jake. Tell him to come here … quick.”

Two of the children ran off.

“Cut yourself a bit, lovey. Your leg. Not much. Still, we’ll stop it bleeding. Jake ‘un be here in a minute. He’s over there . cutting wood. “

In spite of the pain in my foot and my inability to walk, I was excited. I always enjoyed escaping from the dull routine of the Uncle-Toby-less days and I was glad of a diversion of any sort. This was particularly intriguing because it was bringing me closer to the gipsies.

The two children came running back followed by a tall man with dark curly hair and gold rings in his ears: he had a very brown face, white teeth displayed by his pleasant smile.

“Oh, Jake,” said the plump woman.

“This little Miss has had a bit of a mishap.” She laughed in a silent way and one only knew she was laughing by the way in which her shoulders shook. It seemed a clever thing to have said and I smiled my appreciation of her choice of words.

“Better get her into the ‘van, Jake. I’ll put something on that wound.”

Jake picked me up and carried me across the clearing. He mounted the steps of the caravan on which the woman had been sitting, and we went inside. There was a bench on one side of the caravan and a kind of divan on the other. He laid me on this. I looked round. It was like a little room, very untidy, and on the bench were some mugs and bottles.

“Here we are,” said the woman.