Lynda La Plante - The Legacy

He kissed her, slipping her nightdress off, carried her to the bed and laid her down. He snuggled his head close to her and whispered, ‘They’ll have a long night ahead searching for me.’

‘No they won’t, you’re going back, go and give yourself up to them before you cause any more trouble.’

‘Is that what you want?’

Miss Balfour rapped on Evelyne’s door.

‘Open this door this instant, I know you’ve got a man in there, come along, I’ve got Mr Plath with me, open up.’

In a panic, Evelyne reached for her nightdress while Freedom pulled on his shirt and hopped around trying to get into his trousers. Miss Balfour threw the door open. She was carrying a policeman’s truncheon, and was followed close behind by Mr Plath, the estate manager. They just caught Freedom slipping out of the window. Mr Plath made the mistake of grabbing Freedom’s leg, and got a nasty kick in the groin. He rolled in agony on the floor while Miss Balfour screamed, ‘Help, help … someone help!’

Sir Charles made a hurried exit from the house to talk to the police, who were there about the poachers. He had been playing an after-dinner game of rummy, and he was still clutching his cards. His house guests gathered at the windows.

Poor Ed was beside himself, he knew it had all got out of hand. The gamekeepers were embroidering their stories about the gypsy campers every time they retold it. They had been set upon, fired upon, punched and threatened with knives. ‘Freedom, was ‘e wiv ‘em? Will someone tell me, was ‘e wiv ‘em?’

‘Was ‘e wiv ‘em? Look at me throat, the bugger nearly throttled me.’

Sir Charles crossed the courtyard to speak to Ed, his cards still in his hand. ‘I want him found, Ed, brought back, in handcuffs if need be. This is outrageous, do you have any idea of how much time and effort I have been putting in, trying to arrange a bout for him in London? So help me God, he can go back to jail, what on earth possessed him to …’

A screech from a gamekeeper interrupted him. ‘Sir, oh, sir, there’s a man on the roof, look, there he is!’

All eyes were raised to the roof of The Grange, and there he was dancing, singing at the top of his voice,

Oh, can you rokka Romany,

can you play the bosh,

Can you jal adrey the staripen,

can you chin the cosh …

Balancing, holding his arms out as if he were walking a tightrope, Freedom teetered on the roof’s edge. The crowd grew silent.

‘The man must be mad, or drunk, or both.’

Miss Balfour ran to join the crowd. Behind her, Mr Plath came limping, clutching his injured parts. ‘This is her doing, sir, he was with her.’ Sir Charles turned to Ed. His voice was steely, and Ed’s heart sank. ‘When the fool comes down, give him to the law.’

‘But, sir, he’s done nuffink wrong, he’s just ‘ad a few too many.’

Sir Charles’ face twitched, he was so furious. ‘Don’t play games with me, Meadows, I know exactly where he’s been. His friends, so called, have been poaching on my land. He almost killed Fred Hutchins over there. Be in my study first thing in the morning, is that clear? And get all these people away, there has been enough disturbance for one night.’

As Sir Charles strode from the courtyard, there was a gasp from the onlookers. He looked up to see Freedom swinging down from ledge to ledge like a monkey. The police moved in to corner him, and he dodged and ducked as they chased him, then they surrounded him. As they dragged him away, he looked back and Sir Charles flushed as he gave him a dazzling smile.

Ed went into the barn. They had tied Freedom’s hands to one of the posts. His shirt was torn, his face filthy.

‘Why did you do it, lad, there’s two coppers out back with black eyes, and to kick Mr Plath of all people, in the balls. He’s the estate manager … I dunno, I don’t, why in God’s name did you do it? Why did you run?’

Freedom sighed, shook his head. ‘If I’d wanted away, Ed, I’d not have been dancing on the roof, now would I? You tell me why they trussed me up like a chicken?’

‘Sir Charles says he’s through with you, you could even get sent to jail. Poachin’s against the law, never mind what you done to the estate manager.’

With one movement Freedom wrenched the ropes away from the post, shaking the whole barn. He turned on Ed, and Ed backed away, terrified by the anger in those black eyes.

‘You tell His Lordship I want to fight; I don’t want to be kept here like one of his stallions. They’re groomed, and brushed, but spend more time than they should in their stalls. You tell him I could have killed his gamekeepers, each one of ‘em, and Mr Plath’s lucky ‘e still got anythin’ between his legs.’

He swung a punch at the punchbag, splitting it in two. ‘They set their dogs on children, that were wrong.’ Then he walked out, calm as ever. All Ed could think of was that punch, he had never seen one like it…

The following morning Ed went cap in hand to Sir Charles, beseeched him to listen before he launched into the speech he had obviously prepared.

‘Last night I saw a punch, Sir, that would floor any champion in England. I saw it with me own eyes. He’s wild, but he’s trained every day, not put a foot out of line. Don’t send ‘im away, sir, find him a fight! ‘E’s yer champion, I swear it.’

Sir Charles listened, tapping his fingers on his mahogany desk. ‘Ed, I’m a sportsman, you know that, I believe in him just as much as you, but I cannot have any scandal. Unless you control him, then I am afraid, champion or no, he’ll have to go … if these riff-raff follow him around, then …’

‘Your gamekeepers should not ‘ave set the dogs on to the children, gyppos or not, sir.’

Sir Charles rose from his seat and stared out of the window, his back to Ed. ‘How’s your wife? Settled in, has she?’

‘You bastard,’ thought Ed. He knew exactly what Sir Charles was implying; his livelihood depended on Freedom. He and Freda didn’t own their cottage, they owned nothing.

‘I’d like to see how he’s been doing, set up a bout in the barn, would you? Then we’ll discuss it later … that’s all for now.’

Evelyne sat on the edge of the leather chair. Sir Charles’ study smelt of polish and cigars. She watched him carefully cut the end of his Havana with a gold clipper.

‘I will, of course, give you references, but you must understand, under the circumstances your presence here is …’

Evelyne interrupted him. ‘I have packed, sir, and Mr Plath has given me my wages. You see, I had already made up my mind to leave.’

Sir Charles studied her for a moment. Her composure unnerved him slightly. Sitting ramrod straight, her chin up, her green eyes never leaving his face, she was not apologetic in any way. Suddenly he leaned forward, and she could see a muscle twitch at the side of his jaw, ‘Stay away from him, I shall clear everything with the police and my gamekeepers, he’ll get every chance I can give him, but stay away from him.’

Evelyne stood, her mouth trembling slightly, but she held on to her emotions. Without shaking his outstretched hand she opened the oak-panelled door. She didn’t look back, just closed the door silently behind her.

Freda was polishing her brass fender when a housemaid tapped on her door. She handed Freda a letter. ‘She said be sure you get it, I got to rush now, I’m behind with me work … you done this place up ever so nice, Mrs Meadows.’

Freda didn’t hear the girl leave, she was turning the letter over in her hands. It was Evie’s writing, she’d know it anywhere, with its fancy loops and curls.

Ed had warned Sir Charles to stand well back from the ring. The sweat from the boys might spray on to his grey suit.