The Return of the Gypsy

After Waterloo

THE MONTHS PASSED QUICKLY. One day was so like another. I seemed to be caught in the monotony of the days. Sometimes when I awoke in the mornings, I would say to myself: Another day. Is it going to be like this all my life?

Mr. and Mrs. Barrington were frequently at Grasslands. There was less trouble with the Luddites now. They may have been sobered by the terrible events of the day when Edward had been hurt and the fact that two of them had gone to the gallows for it.

New machines had been installed in the factory and the workers seemed to be reconciled to that necessary evil. Mr. Barrington would talk to Edward for hours and I would see the light in Edward’s eyes which would afterwards be replaced by a look of helplessness. I often thought how frustrating he must find it to be reduced to his state.

He was, on rare occasions, mildly irritable and afterwards suffered great remorse. I used to tell him that it was nothing and I marvelled at his good humour. He suffered a great deal—not only physically.

Try as we might we could not make ours a really happy household.

Amaryllis was pregnant again. When I heard this a great depression seized me. I congratulated her and pretended to be pleased, and I despised myself but I could not control the jealousy which beset me.

I had been rash. I could have remained Edward’s friend. I could have devoted a great deal of time to him, visiting him, playing chess and piquet with him. Why had I married him? It had been a quixotic gesture, which was certain to bring frustration. My parents had tried to make me see this but as usual I had been obstinate and gone my own way.

There were days when I felt shackled, when I looked ahead to the years to come and saw myself growing older in this house, rising in the morning, taking solitary rides and walks, sitting with Edward, playing endless games with him, retiring at night. That was my life.

I would get old, lined and wrinkled, beyond the age of child-bearing.

I was becoming obsessed by the desire for a child. And now that Amaryllis was going to have another, this desire in me was stronger than ever.

My mother guessed at my feelings. I would often find her eyes on me, a little sad and sometimes, I thought, with a hint of fear. She knew me well, perhaps better than anyone, even myself. I think that in her mind was the thought that somewhere, sometime my resolution would break. I was a woman of natural impulses. I was not meant to live unfulfilled.

She and my father had paid a visit to France that autumn and she had come home very happy. They had been present for the vendange, and how exciting that had been! Charlot and Louis Charles lived with their families in a small chateau which, although it had been vandalized to some extent during the revolution, they had been able to restore, and there they lived with their growing families in perfect harmony it seemed.

Louis Charles and Charlot had always been like brothers. They were actually half brothers for Louis Charles had been my mother’s first husband’s bastard. There was a great bond between the two and it seemed such a happy solution that they should share a flourishing vineyard.

My mother gloried in long descriptions of how they brought in the grapes, the pressing, the bottling, and the great rejoicing when everything was brought to a satisfactory conclusion.

My father grudgingly admitted that they were making a success of it and that their wines were excellent.

I saw him looking at Jonathan and drawing comparisons. He was still suspicious of Jonathan. He would never forget that episode, and every now and then would expound on the pitfalls of gambling.

I teased him a little about it. “Obviously,” I said, “it is one of the few vices in which you have not indulged at some time or other.”

He replied that he had always been intent on making a success of what he had and, thank God, had had the sense to realize that he would not jeopardize one acre of land to chance. “Certainty was what I was after,” he added. “I was not staking my future on the drop of the dice or the place of a card in the pack.”

I think he was anxious about me and I guessed he and my mother had long talks in the privacy of their bedroom.

In the meantime life went on as before. Jonathan was doing well… at least he was avoiding trouble. I think he really was interested in the estate, but that nonchalant air, that easy charm which gave him an air of indifference, was something my father found irritating.

There were occasional explosions of temper on his part which my mother usually managed to soothe without too much trouble.

Tamarisk was often at Eversleigh and there was a very special friendship between her and Jonathan. My mother did comment on this once and betrayed a certain apprehension. “She is young yet. Not nine until the summer. But she is a precocious girl. No doubt her feelings will abate a little as she gets older.”

“Jonathan is very fond of her,” I pointed out. “She will be quite safe with him.”

“I hope so. I haven’t said anything to your father about it. He’s very critical of Jonathan and I don’t want to make him worse. He would come to all sorts of conclusions.”

“You worry too much,” I told her and added: “About everything.”

Which brought us back to the position in which I found myself. There was an uneasiness in the air—faint but present.

I had never been perfectly at home with Peter since his announcement of the engagement between himself and Amaryllis; and I often felt that he was a little wary of me. He must have known that I had believed his interest to be in me. I often thought of our dramatic meeting and how he had followed me in the street. He had seemed so attentive, so eager to know me, and then suddenly he had fallen in love with Amaryllis.

I suppose it was natural, but it did seem a little odd. He must have been aware of this and it made for restraint between us.

When I looked back I realized that I had scarcely been alone with him since the announcement. He was always busy—making frequent visits to London. He was a highly successful businessman. He was doing well with his rum and sugar and seemed to have many interests. He was still renting Enderby, which seemed an ideal arrangement; the money was banked for Tamarisk for when she came of age, so the house was an investment for her; and the fact that Amaryllis and Peter continued to live there shelved the problem of what was to be done with it. I sometimes wondered about his business and would have liked to see those warehouses of his. I still marvelled at Amaryllis’ lack of interest, particularly as she had money invested in the company. Once or twice I tried to discover something about this but she was vague. All she could tell me was that they were very successful and Peter’s business was growing so rapidly that he had to be more and more in London.

There was one occasion when I found myself alone with him. I had been to Eversleigh from Grasslands when I came face to face with him. We said good morning but could hardly pass on without a word.

He added that it was a fine morning and after that we exchanged a few trivialities. Then he said: “I hardly ever see you, Jessica, without a lot of people being present.”

“I suppose that is inevitable. We are a large family.”

“Are you … happy?”

I was startled: “Why yes, of course … very happy.”

He was frowning slightly, looking over my head, back to Grasslands.

“I’m glad,” he said.

“And I hear from Amaryllis that you are going from strength to strength with your new warehouses and so on. Business, I gather, flourishes.”

“She talks to you about the warehouses?”

“Yes. I expect you will be proudly showing her round them one day.”

Something in his manner attracted my attention. He seemed a little watchful.

“She wouldn’t really be interested. Business is not for ladies.”

“I should have thought anyone would be interested. I am. And Amaryllis particularly, since she has a share in them.”

“Oh, when I am here I like to forget all about that.”

“So you are not one of those businessmen who is obsessed by work?”

“Only when I am engaged in it.”

“I suppose you have time when you are in London for enjoyment?”

He looked startled.

“I mean clubs … and all that. Jonathan said you knew such places. After all it was you who introduced him to Frinton’s.”

“Oh.” He laughed. “That was disastrous, wasn’t it? I wish I had known he was going to make a fool of himself. He just asked me about a few clubs and I mentioned that one. I didn’t realize he would go to the tables.”

“I think he has learned his lesson.”

“Your father does not forget it, I’m afraid.”

“Poor Jonathan! It just happens to be something my father feels very strongly about.”

“I see his point, don’t you?”

“Of course. But I think Jonathan will do very well. We’re all very fond of him.”

“He’s a charming fellow … if a little weak.”

“Just that one incident! We mustn’t judge him on that. How is Amaryllis?”

“Very well.”

“Will you tell her I will come over to see her tomorrow?”

“She’ll be delighted.”

“Well, I must go now.”

He took my hand and held it lingeringly. There was an expression in his eyes which I could not understand.

I was glad to get away. He made me feel a little uneasy. I suppose it was because of the past and because once I had thought I might be on the verge of falling in love with him. He was attractive and that touch of mystery added to his charm. I had been young and romantic then. I wondered how many girls fell in love not exactly with a person but because the time seemed ripe and someone appears at that moment. Falling in love with love, was what it was commonly called; and what an everyday occurrence it must be! I had been ready to do just that with Peter Lansdon. The romantic circumstances of our meeting, his immediate interest and what I thought of as the beginning of a courtship … oh yes, that was the trappings of romance and I was ready to fall in love as most girls did.

Now I had had time for reflection and I realized that I should never have truly loved Peter Lansdon; there was something about him which repelled me, some element of secrecy. That might be intriguing in a way but it seemed now a little sinister. Perhaps I compared him with Edward, who was so open, so frank, so honest that beside him all other men seemed devious.

The next day I called on Amaryllis. She was showing the first signs of pregnancy. Her baby was due in August and Helena at this time was only nine months old.

“How are you, my fruitful vine?” I asked.

She kissed me and said she was feeling better than she had in the last weeks. “The first three months are the worst,” she added.

“You should know,” I said. “You seem to be making a practice of this sort of thing.”

“Well, one has to endure the discomfort but it is wonderful when the baby arrives.”

“Yes, I can imagine it.”

She looked at me wistfully. “I think of you a lot,” she said.

“Now you will have more interesting things to think of.”

“I worry … a little.”

“About me?”

“Well, I know Edward is a dear, but the life … My mother was saying …”

“I really must stop this,” I said. “I’m perfectly all right. I’m living my life the way I want it. I saw Peter yesterday.”

“Oh?” She looked at me covertly.

“Yes, we had a little chat.”

“He told me. Jessica …” I sensed she was going to say something apologetic because she felt uneasy about marrying Peter. She had thought—as many had—that I was the one in whom he was interested and I daresay it was a surprise for her when he proposed. I had had enough of people’s speculations about my feelings and all their anxiety because I had married an invalid.

I said quickly: “Peter is delighted about the child, I suppose.”

“Oh yes. He wants a boy.”

“Men always want boys. They think they are so much more important. I wonder they don’t put girls out on the bleak mountainside and let them freeze to death. Poor, unwanted little thing.”

“Oh, Jessica, what nonsense you talk! He loves Helena. We all do. The idea of any harm coming to her …” She shivered.

“It is just this obsession with boys which irritates me. My father is just the same, and when you think how he has always enjoyed the company of women … far more than that of men, you can’t help laughing.”

“You were always very serious about things like that. Edward is serious, too. I think you are very well suited.”

“We understand each other. And you and Peter … you are not much alike.”

“Ours is the attraction of opposites.”

“I see.” And as I looked at her frank open face it was borne home to me that this must be the case.

It was later, when I was in Edward’s room and James was putting extra logs on the fire. The wind had turned cold.

“We must expect it,” said Edward. “March is still with us and we have to endure more wintry weather before the spring.”

The fire blazed up and James turned to me.

“Shall I get the chess board for you?” he asked. “That was an interesting game you left yesterday.”

Edward said: “I think, my dear, I have cornered you. I see mate in the next two moves unless …”

“Unless!” said James. “That’s the point. Mrs. Barrington always fights best when she is in difficulties.”

“I think you are right,” agreed Edward. “How many times have I anticipated victory and had it in my grasp only to be outwitted at the very last move.”

“It’s a great quality,” said James, “to be able to do your best when your back is against the wall.”

“Thank you, James,” I said. “I am glad you both appreciate my indomitable nature.”

James set out the table and carried the chess board to it.

“There,” he said. “Not a piece but where it was during the heat of yesterday’s battle.”

We concentrated on the board and after watching us for a while James went off.

It must have been about ten minutes later when he came back. He dashed into the room and it was obvious that he had exciting news which he was eager to tell us.

“What is it?” cried Edward.

“Mr. Jonathan has just come from Eversleigh with the news. He’s on his way up. Napoleon has escaped from Elba.”

So the euphoria of the last months was wiped out in a single moment. We were back to the fears of the past. The lion had escaped from bondage. He was on the rampage again.

Peace was shattered. Everyone was talking about the escape and asking what it meant. Was it all going to start again? Were we going to be plunged into war?

My mother was particularly bitter. The visit to Burgundy was still fresh in her mind; she was making plans for Charlot to bring his family to visit us and our going over to Burgundy in the summer. And now this miserable wretch had escaped and was preparing to start it all up again.

Edward and I were often at Eversleigh. There was much to talk about, and the conversation was all about Napoleon and the future which concerned us all so much.

David took a calmer view than the others. My father was apt to be choleric and his hatred of the French clouded his opinions. Jonathan was not sufficiently involved. Peter was more concerned with what effect it was going to have on business; so it was David to whom I listened with the greatest attention. We used to sit over dinner talking long after the meal was finished.

David said: “Napoleon is the idol of France and temporary defeat cannot alter that. They have never taken kindly to the King and it is to be expected that they will turn him out now that their hero has returned.”

“I heard they were welcoming him throughout France,” said my father. “The fools! Do they want war? Do they want conquests?”

“Of course they do,” said Jonathan. “Who does not want conquests?”

“Those conquests bring no good to the people,” went on my father.

“They enjoy the return of the victorious armies. They like to think of Europe under the control of Napoleon.”

“He’s certainly made kings and rulers of the members of his family,” said my mother. “And irrespective of their merits.”

“That is a weakness,” agreed David. “And one most human beings are guilty of. But let us face facts. The return of the Bourbons was unpopular. Louis had turned the army against him by appointing émigrés to high posts when a short while ago they were fighting with the allies against France.”

“They were fighting for the restoration of the monarchy,” said my father hotly.

“That was against France,” pointed out David. “Now Napoleon has appeared as the liberator of France, the army is rallying to him.”

“And now,” added my mother wearily, “it is all going to start again.”

“I heard,” said Peter, “that he has become fat. And part of his success was due to his physical fitness.”

“But he was an epileptic, wasn’t he?” asked Claudine.

“Well, he had been in his youth,” replied David. “But that has not prevented his being the most outstanding man in Europe. Whatever you think of him, you have to admit that.”

“We’ll find his match,” said my father. “I’d like to hear what the Duke is doing about this.”

“It is a blessing that he remained close at hand,” added David.

“Yes,” agreed my father. “That idiot Liverpool wanted to send him to America. Thank God the Duke refused to go. Perhaps he saw something like this coming. In any case he did not want to move far away while Napoleon was alive even though he was in exile.”

“What will happen now?” asked Amaryllis.

Her husband smiled at her. “For that, my dear, we have to wait and see.”

We did not have to wait long. Wellington took command of the army and left for Belgium at the beginning of April. Napoleon was going from strength to strength. He was proclaimed Liberator of France. Louis had fled to Ghent and in the streets of Paris people were dancing in transports of joy.

The conquering hero had returned to them.

Each day we awoke to a feeling of expectancy mingled with dread. He had been so victorious in the past. He was back. He was a legend and legends are hard to defeat. But we had a mighty Duke and he was such another hero to us. Defeat seemed as impossible for him as the French saw it for Napoleon.

The Duke was in Flanders where he would join up with Blucher and our Prussian allies. Feelings ran high. “This time,” said the people, “we are going to see the end of Old Boney for all time.”

Through May this mood continued. Napoleon, brilliant general that he was, was doing everything he could to prevent the union of Wellington and Blucher.

June had come—hot, uneasy days. Napoleon had defeated the Prussians at Ligny and that news was received with great gloom which lifted considerably when we heard that the Prussian army had managed to escape.

Wellington was at the village of Waterloo where, said my father, he could keep an eye on Brussels while he awaited the arrival of Blucher’s army.

We knew how important this battle was. It was going to decide the fate of Europe. On it rested Napoleon’s Empire and our own future well-being and safety.

The French had Napoleon but we must never forget, my father told us, that we had Wellington.

And so to the great battle which will never be forgotten in our history.

Forever I shall remember the day when news came of Wellington’s victory at Waterloo, bringing with it the knowledge that Napoleon had been defeated for ever. From now on we should be able to sleep peacefully in our beds at night.

What days they were following that historic battle. There was rejoicing everywhere. Bonfires, dancing in the streets … Waterloo! It was a word which was written in glittering letters on our country’s history and the man who had made that victory possible was everybody’s hero. I thought of how people had dragged his carriage from Westminster Bridge to Hamilton Place. That would be nothing compared with the welcome he would receive now.

He was the mighty Duke, England’s great son, the saviour of the world who had freed Europe from the tyrants. His praises were sung in stately mansions and in cottages; men fought out the battle on their table cloths after dinner and we were no exception. How many times had I seen the pepper and salt and cutlery laid out on a table Waterloo. “Here is Napoleon… Here is Wellington. Napoleon wanted to finish off the English before the arrival of Blucher. Wellington’s idea was to hold the ground … here … until they came. And hold the ground they did against all attacks. Now in the afternoon the Prussians were sighted. Here they are approaching. It is the end for Napoleon. He knows it. Ney knows it. They’re beaten. Napoleon flees to Paris. He’s finished. The end of a dream …”

Never, never must he be allowed to come back. That must be the end of Napoleon. The wars he had created were over.

“Long live Peace,” was the universal cry. “Glory to the Victor. Blessings on the great Duke!”

This was a wonderful day for England.

The entire country was rejoicing. Celebration balls were given. There was one at Eversleigh to which the whole neighbourhood and friends from farther afield were invited.

Napoleon had tried to escape from France, but finding this impossible had surrendered to Captain Maitland of the Bellerophon at Rochefort about a month after his defeat at Waterloo. He must be given no opportunities to escape again; and this time he was banished to St. Helena.

This must be the end of him.

And so the celebrations continued. Later people would be counting the enormous cost of the war and complaining about the taxes that had had to be imposed to pay for it. While the war was in progress these had been accepted; it was only when it was over that voices would be raised in protest.

But in the meantime there was little thought beyond the euphoria of victory, and everyone was determined to make the most of it.

We went to London where we received invitations to the Inskips’ ball.

The Inskips were associates of my father, and Lord Inskip was a very important and influential gentleman. This would be one of the most splendid balls of that season of rejoicing.

We needed very special ball gowns for the occasion and my mother said they could not be trusted to our seamstresses. We must go to the Court dressmakers and give ourselves a little time beforehand, because naturally on such an occasion we must be suitably garbed.

Amaryllis was not with us in London, being in no condition to travel and therefore Claudine preferred to stay at home with her. David naturally did not come. He, after all, had not been concerned in the London side of my father’s involvements. So it was just Jonathan, my parents and myself.

My mother and I had a busy time shopping and attending the dressmakers. I had never had such a dress. It was of flame-coloured chiffon, narrow at the waist and a skirt which billowed out in flounce after flounce. It was slightly off my shoulders and my mother said I should wear my hair dressed high with a gold ornament in it. About my neck I was to wear a gold necklace and there were to be gold earrings in my ears.

My mother’s maid spent hours with us both, dressing our hair and making sure that our gowns set as they should and we wore the right accessories.

My mother was beautiful in her favourite shade of peacock blue. Jonathan was his jaunty self and my father looked distinguished and handsome, but I noticed how white his hair had become and that gave me a tremor of alarm. Even he could not live forever, I thought uneasily.

However, those were not reflections for such a day.

We set out in the carriage for the Inskips’ mansion which was close to the Park. There Lord and Lady Inskip received us most graciously and as we mingled with the glittering guests our magnificent dresses seemed suddenly to become commonplace among that throng.

Dancing was in progress in the ballroom and I danced with Jonathan. My mother and father danced together. When it was over a young man approached. He knew Jonathan who introduced us and he and I went into the next dance.

There followed the cotillion and the quadrille. Conversation was light and meaningless as it is on these occasions for one cannot very well talk of anything of moment when one is being whirled round the ballroom.

It was when the quadrille was over that I looked up suddenly and saw a man coming towards me. There was something familiar about him. He was very tall and so lean that he looked even taller than he actually was; his hair was dark, his eyes a lively brown; and there was something in his face which suggested that he found life very amusing—in fact something of a joke. I wondered vaguely why I should notice so much in such a short time. It might have been because I had seen it all before.

I must have stared at him, showing some interest.

“I believe,” he said, “that we have met before.”

He stood before me, smiling. “You don’t remember me evidently.”

“I … am not sure.”

“Perhaps it is a long time ago. Would you care to dance?”

“Yes,” I replied.

He took my hands and excitement gripped me. He was very like … He couldn’t be, of course. That would be impossible.

“When I caught sight of you,” he said, “I was taken back … years ago. I thought we had met before.”

“I had the same feeling. Do you live in London?”

“I have a place here … a small house. My home is in Cornwall.”

“I don’t think we can possibly have met before. But you are so like someone I knew once … when I was a child … briefly. He was … a gypsy.”

I saw his mouth twitch. “Don’t be afraid to tell me. He was a wicked character, was he? Someone it was not right that a well-brought-up young lady should know? And I resemble him?”

“Well, in a way you do. But there is a difference.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Nine years.”

“You remember so promptly.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Tell me how different I am from him?”

“Your skin is more brown.”

“That’s the Australian sun.”

My heart began to beat very fast. “You have been in Australia?”

“As a matter of fact I have but recently returned. I have been in England some six months. You have changed … more than I have. After all you were only a little girl. I was at least grown up. But nine years can do something to a man, especially when they are nine such as I have had.”

“You can’t be …”

“Yes, I am.”

“What a strange coincidence.”

“We should have met sooner or later. I was planning to come down your way to see what had happened after all those years.”

“Are you really Romany Jake?”

“I confess I am.”

“They sent you away …”

“For seven years.”

“And now you are free.”

He nodded. “There is one thing I never forget,” he said. “I should not be here but for a certain young lady.”

“You know that I didn’t betray you then?”

“I never thought that you did. Well, perhaps for just a little while when I came out of that house and they were there with you.”

“I suffered agonies. Then I made my father help you.”

“It would have been the end of me if you hadn’t.”

“I can’t tell you how glad I was when I knew your life was spared. There is so much I want to know. It is difficult to talk here.”

“There is a garden. We’ll slip away and find a corner down there where it is quieter. I have much to tell you.”

He took my hand and we went out of the ballroom and down the stairs. The Inskip garden faced the Park and beyond the wall it stretched out before us—the trees reaching out to the midnight blue sky, the stars shining there and the light of a crescent moon turning the Serpentine to silver. It was a perfect night but I was hardly aware of it. I was not aware of anything much but the man at my side.

There were one or two couples there who had sought the quiet of the garden, but they were well away from us.

We sat down together.

“I can’t believe you are Romany Jake,” I said.

“That is well in the past.”

“Tell me …”

“Let me tell you how Romany Jake managed to get an invitation to such an exclusive ball. I am a man of substance now. Sir Jake Cadorson. Jake to his friends. The Romany no longer applies.”

“But the last time I heard of you you were on a convict ship going out to Australia.”

“Seven years’ transportation. Those seven years were up two years ago. I am a free man.”

“So you came back to England.”

“At first I did not intend to. I was put into the service of a grazier in New South Wales some miles north of Sydney. He wasn’t a bad fellow. He was just and fair if one worked well. I was glad to work. There was so much to forget. So I worked and I was soon in favour with him. When my years of servitude were up he gave me a patch of land. I was going into wool myself, and I did for a year, I didn’t do too badly. It is easier in a new country. All one has to contend with is the elements, the plagues of this and that and other blessings of nature. It can be pretty grim, I can tell you; but there was a challenge in it and it appealed to me.”

“But you decided not to stay?”

He looked at me intently. “Life is strange,” he said. “You know I left home to wander with the gypsies. I never got on with my brother. He was considerably older than I, and very serious … without imagination. But that’s my side of the question. When I went he was glad to be rid of me and washed his hands of me. The family estates are in South Cornwall. Well, my brother died and then everything, including the title, has come to me. You see I have come a long way from the gypsy and felon I was when you last knew me.”

“I am so glad It has turned out very well for you.”

“And you?”

“I married.”

There was a brief silence and then he said: “I suppose that was inevitable. Is your husband here tonight?”

“No. I am here with my parents.”

Again that silence.

“My husband is an invalid,” I said slowly. “He was injured during the Luddite riots.”

“I’m … sorry.”

His manner had changed.

I said coolly: “I think I ought to tell you that you have a daughter.”

He stared at me.

“Dolly … of course,” he said. “Poor Dolly.”

“Poor Dolly indeed. She died giving birth to your child.”

“What?”

“Of course you wouldn’t remember anything about it. You had your little … frolic. Do you remember the bonfire? Trafalgar Day? Your daughter in fact lives with me now.”

“But this is incredible.”

“Of course you had forgotten. It is amazing, is it not? These things seem so trivial to some who partake in them, but they can have devastating results, and one of the partners is left to deal with them.”

“A daughter, you say?”

“Her name is Tamarisk. She is a rather wild, rebellious girl, as perhaps might have been expected.”

“You are hostile suddenly. A few moments ago …”

“Hostile? Indeed not. I was just stating the facts. When Dolly discovered she was to have a child, her grandmother was so upset she died.”

“Died! Because her granddaughter was going to have a child?”

“Some people care about these things. She had a similar trouble with another granddaughter. She just seemed to give up. She went out one cold winter’s night to consult someone and she almost froze to death. Dolly was taken under the wing of my Aunt Sophie and she died when the child was born. My aunt brought up the child who showed her gratitude by running away with the gypsies. You remember Leah.”

“Leah? Certainly I remember Leah.”

“It was because of Leah that you almost lost your life.”

“One does not forget such things. Poor Dolly… and the child.”

“She came back to us. She had tired of the gypsy way of life. She wanted her warm bed, the comforts of that other life she had experienced. But when she returned my aunt had died of a broken heart. You see what a trail of havoc one little frolic round a bonfire can bring?”

He closed his eyes and suddenly I felt sorry for him. He must have suffered a great deal.

I said more gently: “Well, now Tamarisk is with us. I don’t think she will want to go wandering again.”

“I must see the child,” he said.

“She is at Grasslands. Do you remember Grasslands? It was Dolly’s home.”

“The house in which I was hiding when they took me?”

“Yes,” I said. It was all coming back to me so vividly—that moment when he had opened the door and I had suddenly become aware that I was not alone, and that he would think I had betrayed him.

“I live at Grasslands now,” I went on. “It is my home. It was bought by my husband’s family before he was injured.”

“So much happens as the years pass,” he said. “I must see the child. I wonder what she will think of me. Perhaps I should take her back to Cornwall with me.”

“She will be excited to know she has a father.”

He was silent for a while. Then he said: “Forgive me. I am overwhelmed. I feel that sitting here I have lived through years. I have been thinking ever since I came back to England that I must come and look for you. How foolish one is! I let myself believe that I should find you just as I left you … a young girl… nine years ago … as if nothing would change.”

“And you? You married?”

He shook his head. “I always knew I should come back to England.”

We heard a distant bell ringing through the house.

“I think that means they are serving supper,” I said.

The other people left the garden and we were alone.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” he said. “I can’t tell you how often I dreamed of coming home when I was away.”

“I suppose one would.”

He stood up and taking my hand drew me up to stand beside him.

“I used to say to myself, I’ll go back. I’ll ride through the country. I’ll visit the places we used to see when we trundled through in our caravans. I’ll go down to Eversleigh. I remembered it well. That cosy corner of England. Isn’t it called the Garden of England?”

“Yes, because of the apples and cherries and plums that grow there better than anywhere else in the country.”

“Eversleigh … Grasslands and the young girl with the dark expressive eyes who had a spirit like mine and would fight for what she believed was right. Do you know, I thought you were the most enchanting little girl I had ever seen.”

“And Dolly?” I could not resist saying.

“She was a tragic little thing. Life had been unkind to her.”

“You mean people, don’t you?”

“I was thoughtless … careless …”

“You betrayed her.”

“I betrayed myself.”

“What does that mean?”

“That I thought nothing of it. We were dancing round the bonfire. Dolly was eager to be loved … even fleetingly.”

“Oh I see. Just worthy of your attention for a very short time.”

“It wasn’t like that, you know.”

“But you honoured her briefly with a little of your attention.”

“You are angry suddenly.”

“I hate this attitude towards women, as though they are here to pander to the temporary needs of men, little playthings to be picked up, amusing for a while, and then cast aside.”

“You are talking in well worn clichés.”

“Clichés come about because they are a neat way of stating a truth.”

“I have never before heard them so described and I repeat that it was not like that with Dolly. She was not forced, you know.”

“I think we should go to supper,” I said.

He took my arm and pressed it.

“This has been a most exciting evening. Meeting you … like this. I meant to come to see you within a few days. This is the first opportunity I have had of getting to London. My brother was an old friend of Lord Inskip so naturally I, the heir, was invited to the ball.”

“Do they know that you served several years … as a convict?”

“In Australia, yes. It doesn’t count. People are sent to Australia for their politics. There is not the same smear as serving a term of imprisonment here. I shall not attempt to hide my past, I assure you. People must take me as they find me.”

I had turned away and we went into the supper room. My emotions were in a whirl. I had been so taken off my guard. It had taken me some time before I could believe that he had come back.

For some reason I did not want to see him again. He disturbed me. I realized that over the last nine years I had thought about him quite often. He had intruded into my thoughts and now that he was back he seemed more disturbing than ever.

I saw my parents seated at one of the tables and leaving him I hurriedly joined them.

My mother said: “What a distinguished looking man you came in with. Had you been in the garden?”

“Yes. It was rather hot in the ballroom.”

“Who is he?”

“Sir Jake Somebody.”

“Your father said he thought he knew him but couldn’t quite place him.”

I was not surprised.

The salmon was delicious; so were the meat patties; there was champagne in plenty. I ate and drank without tasting. I could not forget him.

I saw him across the supper room. He was seated at the Inskips’ table, talking vivaciously and there seemed to be a good deal of merriment around him.

He caught my eye across the room and smiled.

“He is very attractive,” said my mother, following my gaze. “He seems to have his eyes on you.”

“I daresay he has his eyes on quite a number of people.”

“Was he flirtatious?” asked my mother. “He looks as if he might be something of an adventurer.”

“Hardly that.”

“But interesting.”

“Oh yes, very interesting.”

She sighed and I knew she was once more wishing that I had not hurried into marriage.

After supper he asked me to dance. I rose, trying to assume an air of reluctance which I was far from feeling.

“It is good of you to do me the honour,” he said.

We joined the dancers.

“I must come down and see my daughter.”

“Perhaps it would be better if she were brought to London.”

“Would you bring her?”

“Perhaps my mother would. Or her governess. Leah is with us.”

“Leah!”

“When she returned from her sojourn with the gypsies she brought Leah with her. Leah has stayed with us ever since.”

“Leah …” he said softly and I felt a ridiculous stab of jealousy. That should have been warning enough in itself. I was a staid married woman; he was a one-time gypsy, a convict, a seducer of an innocent girl, and he had killed a man. Why should I feel jealous of Leah? Why should I feel so emotional to be near him? Why should this ball be the most exciting one I had ever attended?

Because of him? Oh yes, I should have recognized the warning signals.

“I would rather you brought her,” he said.

“I should have to consider it. I do not care to leave my husband too frequently.”

“And he is too ill to travel?”

“Yes.”

I thought of Jake at Grasslands, a guest in our house. That would be very disturbing. It was such an extraordinary situation. I imagined myself explaining to Tamarisk: “You have a father. He has just appeared. Here he is.” And Edward? What would Edward think of this man? He was very perceptive, and where I was concerned particularly so. He was always conscious of the sacrifice I had made in marrying him. Constantly he said that I should never have done it and as constantly I tried to show him a hundred reasons why I should. I loved Edward. I loved him more than I had when I married him. My admiration for him had grown. I was resigned to my life with him and never until this night had I realized how much I gave up to marry him.

Briefly I imagined myself free. Suppose I had not married Edward and tonight I had met Jake … we should have been together after all those years.

I felt angry with life, with myself, with this man who had come back almost casually into my life and talked so lightly of his relationship with poor Dolly. But I was forcing myself to see him in a certain light. I remembered Dolly as she had looked dancing round the bonfire, sitting at the kitchen table in Grasslands while he sang and played on his guitar. Dolly had adored him. Dolly had loved him. Dolly had wanted that moment of passion between them. It was the only time she had felt herself to be loved … well, desired. And that had resulted in Tamarisk. Dolly had wanted the child. Flashes of memory came back to me. I remembered how she had talked of her child. Dolly had regretted nothing … so why should he?

At least he had brought colour into her life, a joy which she had never before known, and if it had not meant so much to him as it had to her, he was not to blame.

“How long have you been married?” he asked.

“It is nearly two years.”

“So if I had come back …”

He stopped. I knew what he meant. If he had come back earlier he might have been able to prevent my marriage.

It was a confession. He must feel as drawn to me as I did to him. The thought made me blissfully happy … for a moment. Then I realized how absurd this was. I had never thought to see this man again. When I had known him I had been a child with a child’s emotions. Why should I feel this exhilaration one moment, this despair the next… just because he had come back into my life.

I said to him: “I was engaged to him. He was injured … badly … in his factory. I could not break my promise to marry him.” I hesitated. “Nor did I want to,” I added almost defiantly. “He is a good man … a very good man.”

“I understand. And may I come to Grasslands to see my daughter?”

“Yes, of course.”

He came close to me as we danced. “You have not changed very much,” he said. “I believe you would do again all those wonderful things you did then … for me.”

“I was sorry for you. You had done nothing criminal. You saved Leah.”

“Perhaps you will again take pity on me.”

I laughed as lightly as I could: “I doubt you are in need of that now, Sir Jake.”

“I may well be. And then you will be … just as you were all those years ago.”

The dance was over. My mother was sitting with Lady Inskip and he returned me to her, bowed and was introduced by Lady Inskip. My mother expressed her pleasure in meeting him and after a few words he departed.

“Charming man,” said Lady Inskip. “His brother was a good friend of mine. He has come into quite a large estate and I hope to be seeing a good deal of him if he can tear himself away from Cornwall. Yes, very large estates there and a nice little house in London just off Park Lane. John Cadorson did not use it a great deal.”

“I thought I had met him before,” said my mother.

“He is very attractive. I shall take him under my wing. I can see he will be a prey to all the rapacious mamas in London. He’s had a very romantic past, too, and he makes no secret of it. Why should he? It was to his credit really. He killed a man who was trying to assault a young girl. They tried to bring in murder. That was absurd. He was sent to Australia for seven years.”

“Oh,” said my mother blankly. “I am beginning to understand.”

“There was quite a stir at the time in Nottingham or somewhere like that. Jake went off and did the seven years and now he is back … one of the biggest catches in Town.”

My mother looked at me anxiously. Perhaps she noticed the shine in my eyes.

When we arrived home she came to my room for one of those talks of which she was so fond and made a habit.

She came straight to the point.

“Do you realize who that man was?”

“Yes. Romany Jake.”

“That’s right. I was trying to think of his name. You danced with him quite a lot.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Did he talk about the past?”

“Yes. Quite freely. As a matter of fact I told him about Tamarisk.”

“Good heavens, yes. Of course he’s her father … if Dolly was telling the truth.”

“Dolly would not have lied. He is the father. I can see something of him in her.”

“What a situation. Who would have believed it?”

“He’s making no secret of his past. Lady Inskip mentioned it, didn’t she?”

“Oh, it adds a sort of glamour. The man who lived as a gypsy, killed a man to save a woman’s honour and served seven years in a penal settlement because of it. Lady Inskip is right. It’s so romantic—particularly when there’s a fortune and a title to go with it.”

“Yes,” I said. “He will be much sought after. He will have a wide choice.”

“He seems to have a very pleasant manner. Not much of the wandering gypsy there tonight.”

“I thought he was very much the same.”

“You had a long session with him, of course. Oh, here’s your father. He must have guessed where I am. Hello, Dickon. You were right. We were gossiping again.”

“I’m always glad when these affairs are over,” he said, sitting down in my easy chair. “You were the two most beautiful women at the ball.”

“Isn’t he a good faithful old husband and father?” said my mother. “There were more glittering figures than we were.”

“I wasn’t talking about glitter. I was talking about beauty.”

“Dickon, did you see who was there?”

“Half of fashionable London, I imagine.”

“Anyone in particular?”

“I had eyes only for my beautiful wife and daughter.”

“Dickon, you are really old enough now not to be so maudlin.”

“You ungrateful creature!”

“What I meant was did you see the young man who was dancing with Jessica quite a lot?”

“Dark fellow.”

“That’s right. Did you notice anything about him?”

“Good looking, well set-up sort of fellow.”

“Dickon, you are so unobservant. He’s a figure from the past. Do you remember Romany Jake?”

“God bless my soul! Well, yes … I can’t believe it.”

“It’s true,” I said. “He made himself known to me.”

“Lady Inskip told us,” said my mother. “They are making no secret of it.”

“What was he doing at a ball like that?”

“Invited,” I replied. “And he was an honoured guest.”

“Introduced to me by Lady Inskip herself,” put in my mother.

“He’s inherited a fortune and a title. That’s why he has come home from Australia. His estate is in Cornwall but he has a house in London.”

“You certainly found out all the details.”

“Isn’t it a romantic story?” said my mother.

“He’s a romantic sort of fellow.”

“He’s coming to Grasslands,” I said.

They both looked rather startled.

“He has a right to see his own daughter.”

“Tamarisk, of course,” said my mother.

“Best thing to do would have been to keep quiet about that,” added my father.

“He doesn’t seem to want to keep quiet. He wants to see his daughter.”

“So he’ll be staying at Grasslands?” said my mother. “Would you prefer us to have him at Eversleigh?”

“Why?” I asked.

“Oh,” said my mother quickly. “I thought you might have preferred it.”

“Tamarisk is at Grasslands. He would want to be where she is.”

“Quite so,” said my father.

“I hope people are not going to harp on about his sentence,” I said.

“What does it matter? He’s served his term. It’s over.”

“He has a daughter,” my mother reminded him.

“Lots of men have daughters.”

“Illegitimate ones?” asked my mother.

“Scores of them!” he retorted. “Let him come. He might even take her off your hands, Jessica. That wouldn’t be such a bad thing.” He yawned. “Come on. I’m not so fond of these late nights as I used to be. Goodnight, daughter. Sleep well.”

My mother kissed me tenderly. I had a notion that she was aware of the effect Romany Jake had had upon me.

The next morning he called at the house and asked for me. I received him in the drawing room, pleased that he had come and yet uncertain of myself.

“Good morning,” he said, taking both my hands and smiling at me. “I hope you will forgive such an early call. We left each other last night without making arrangements.”

“Arrangements?” I repeated.

“You kindly said I might visit you at Grasslands to see my daughter.”

“Yes, of course. I think I had better consult my mother. When would it be convenient for you?”

“As soon as possible. I feel that having suddenly learned that I possess a daughter I should lose no time in making her acquaintance. I was going to ask you if you would care to take luncheon with me. I know one or two very good inns hereabouts.”

I hesitated and he went on: “There is so much I want to know about… my daughter.”

“I understand that, of course.”

I felt foolish, awkward … wanting so much to go with him and at the same time feeling it was unseemly to do so with so much enthusiasm. But why not? I was no longer a young girl, I was a married woman. They deserved certain privileges, certain freedoms. To refuse to go with him alone would have suggested that I suspected him of intending to make advances. Or would it? Sensing my hesitation he pressed home the point.

“What about a trip on the river? Some of the riverside inns are of the best. We could sit in the gardens and watch the world sail by. I always find that pleasant.”

I said I should be ready in ten minutes. I went to my mother’s room but her maid told me she had just gone out with my father. I was rather glad as I did not want her speculating.

I put on my cloak and came down.

He looked very elegant in his dark blue coat and light waistcoat and his hessian boots. In my dreams I had seen him in his brown breeches and orange coloured shirt. Even then he had had a certain style—gypsy fashion it was true, but he had been outstanding as he always would be.

I was beginning to feel happy for no reason at all except that I was in his company.

He took my arm as we walked through the streets towards the river. It was a lovely morning: the sun was warm and that ambience of victory still hung about the streets. Everyone seemed full of joy.

“I am so pleased I found you,” he was saying. He pressed my arm. “Of course I should have done so in due course. I was planning to come down to find you when I left London. How much more interesting this is! I little knew when I set out for the Inskips’ ball how much I was going to enjoy it.”

“Surprises are always appreciated.”

“Pleasant surprises, yes. Do you know, I have often thought of something like this, sauntering through the streets of London, a beautiful young lady on my arm, and the strange thing was that it was with one particular young lady … and here I am. In my mind’s eye I have seen it many times. Is that precognition, would you say?”

“Certainly not. Once you were in London you could easily have found a young lady to stroll with you. You must have been homesick during your stay abroad.”

“Homesick for a morning like this.”

“It is certainly a beautiful one and I suppose however far one roams one never forgets one’s native land.”

“The longing to return is always there.”

He turned his head to look at me. “I had a very special reason,” he said.

“Because you were a prisoner and you knew you could only walk again in the streets of London as a free man.”

“It was more than that.”

We had reached the river. He hired a boat and helped me in; then he picked up the oars and we were speeding past the banks, past the Tower of London and all the other craft on the river. There were people in boats, bent on enjoying themselves, laughing, shouting to each other, some singing, some swaying to the strains of violins.

“It will be quieter by Greenwich,” he said. “That is where I propose to take you. The White Hart. I went there long ago and was impressed. Of course, I was young then. Do you think it is wise to go back to the haunts of one’s youth?”

“Hardly ever. They become beautiful in retrospect. Then when you see them again they are less than you expected, because they remain the same as they always were.”

“I have an idea that the White Hart is going to be more delightful today than it ever was.”

“Don’t set your hopes too high. I should hate them to be disappointed.”

“That will not happen.”

“You’re tempting fate.”

“I have always tempted fate. Do you know, I have a sneaking feeling that fate likes to be tempted.”

“I don’t think that is the general opinion.”

“I was never one who went in for general opinions. I was always an individualist.”

“You must have been to leave home and live with the gypsies. How long were you with them?”

“About two years.”

“That’s quite a time.”

“It was a gesture of defiance. They were camping on our land. My brother and I were engaged in one of our quarrels. It would have been unusual if we had not been. These quarrels were part of our daily lives. He said, ‘You’re no better than those gypsies. It would suit you roaming about, getting nowhere, living aimlessly …’ I said to him, ‘Maybe you’re right. At least they live naturally.’ And then I went off and joined them. It was a stupid thing to do. I was eighteen at the time. One can do stupid things at eighteen.”

“Yes,” I said quietly, “one can.”

“Not you. You never would.”

“You do not know me.”

The boat had drawn up at some stairs. We alighted and he tied it up. “Here is the inn,” he said. “Right on the river. There are the gardens. We could sit out there and watch the craft on the river while we eat. It’s just as I remembered it.”

We climbed the slight incline to the inn and seated ourselves. A buxom girl in a mob cap and a low-cut bodice came out to attend to us. There were fish fritters, whitebait, cold beef and pigeon pie, she told us, with ale, home-brewed cider or real French wine to go with it.

“I wonder if it is Charlot’s burgundy,” I said. “That is my half brother who lives in France.”

“Let’s have it in honour of your half brother.”

“I must tell you about him,” I said.

We decided on the cold beef and it was served with hot potatoes in their jackets. The food was plain but delicious. I quickly told him about Charlot’s vineyard and how now the war was over and Napoleon finally defeated, I expected we should be visiting him now and then.

He listened attentively, then he said: “It is so good to be here with you.”

I flushed a little and gave my attention to the beef.

“I want to talk to you about my experiences. Do you know, I have never talked about them much.”

“Won’t that bring back to your mind something you would rather forget?”

“Once I have told you I shall begin to forget. Can you imagine my feelings in that courtroom?”

“It is difficult to imagine something which has never happened to one, but I have a fair idea what it must have been like. Horrifying!”

“I trust you will never come so close to death as I did.”

“We all have to come close to it some day.”

“When we are old it is inevitable, yes, but not when it is decided by others that it is time you left the Earth. I used to lie in my cell and wonder. The uncertainty was hard to bear. I used to say to myself, This time next year, where shall I be? Shall I be on Earth or in the realms of the unknown?”

“Don’t speak of it.”

“I shall tell you once and then never again refer to it. There I was in the courtroom. I believed I was going to be condemned to death. To be hanged by the neck is so ignoble … so undignified. No man should be subjected to that humiliation. That was what I cared about… the degradation … not losing my life. I’ve risked that often enough.”

“You must put it out of your mind.”

“I will, so I’ll go back to the moment when I knew I was going to live. I had not realized before how very sweet life is. To live … but as a slave … seven years of servitude in a foreign land. But for a time I rejoiced. As I said, life is sweet.”

“Tell me about Australia,” I said.

“I shall never forget my first glimpse of Sydney Harbour. We had been battened down in the hold for the voyage. We did not know whether it was night or day. There were the terrible hours at sea when the ship pitched and tossed. People were ill and some died. The sea was beautiful but we only saw it when we were taken up on deck for an hour’s exercise each day. There we were roped together… thieves, vagabonds, murderers, men who had been guilty of poaching a pheasant, stealing a handkerchief or writing something which was not approved of. All of us together … the seven year men, the fourteen year men and the lifers. There were times when I wished your good father had not intervened on my behalf and I was sure it was more comfortable dangling from a rope than living in that hell.”

I put my hand across the table and touched his. The response was immediate. He grasped my hand.

I said: “I am very sorry. I wish I could have helped you escape from Grasslands that day.”

“If I had I should have been a hunted man for the rest of my days. Now you see me free. I have served my sentence. I am at liberty. I was fortunate. I could have been in a chain gang.”

I shivered.

“Imagine that. Guarded by troops when at work, never having the chains removed from one’s legs … living in a stockade with a hundred other wretches. But why am I telling you this? This was to be a happy day.”

I said: “I think you want to talk of it… just once. Relieve your mind and then try to forget. Have you talked of it often?”

“No. There is no one to whom I wish to speak. It is different with you. You were my friend … right from the day when you came upon me in that house.”

“I thought it was so unfair. You had killed that man who deserved to be killed. You had saved Leah … and for that you were hunted … called a criminal.”

“Now let me tell you of my good fortune. We came up and there before us was that wonderful harbour. How can I describe it to you … all those inlets, the sandy beaches fringed with foliage. It was quite splendid and one’s spirits rose to contemplate it… The hot sun, the fragrance in the air, the magnificent birds … cockatoos, parrots … of the most dazzling colours. It must have looked a little different from when Cook first saw it for now buildings were visible, little houses which had been built by the settlers, low hills, gullies and the bush in some parts coming to the water’s edge. When one has been cooped up for months it is a glorious feeling to look at all that beauty, to take deep breaths of that wonderful air and suddenly to feel how good it is to be alive.

“We were in the ship a few days before we were chosen by those who would be our masters for the term of our sentence. An advertisement would have appeared in the newspapers to say that a cargo of prisoners had arrived for selection. We were taken on deck and there we stood while our prospective owners came and inspected us. I can tell you that was one of the most humiliating moments of my life. We were like cattle. But I distress you again and I want to tell you of my good fortune. I was selected by a grazier who had a small station some miles out of New South Wales. He was not a bad man. He wanted a good worker. I was young and strong and I was to serve a seven years’ term, which was an indication that I was not a hardened criminal.

“Joe Cleaver selected me and from that moment I began to feel a little more like a human being. It was not an easy life. I began to realize how comfortably I had lived during my twenty years. But I was not averse to work. In fact I welcomed it. I was given blankets and I slept in a hut which I shared with two others. There we prepared our food and boiled our water in billy cans. Eight pounds of beef a week, ten pounds of flour; and a quart of milk a day—that was our ration. And we laboured from dawn to sunset. It was a hard life but I began to like it. Joe Cleaver noticed me because I had introduced him to one or two methods of work which produced good results. Within a year I was sleeping in the house. He consulted me now and then.”

I nodded. I could well imagine it. He would be noticed wherever he was.

“The months passed … the years passed … all seven of them and I was free. Joe didn’t want me to go. He gave me a strip of land and helped me. I had a few sheep. Then I had more sheep. Joe said I would be a lucky grazier. He reckoned in no time I would have a station of my own. Then the news came. They had traced me. My brother had died and I had inherited my family’s estate and title.”

“So you left what you were building up and came home.”

“Yes, I came home.”

“You will go back to Australia?”

“I think I may one day. You would be interested to see the place?”

“I am always interested to see new places.”

“It changes all the time. It grows. I saw it grow in the years I was there. Joe used to take me into Sydney with him. He said I had a way of bargaining which he lacked. I supposed I was more articulate, more shrewd perhaps. Joe and I became very good friends. What was I saying … Yes, a growing town. There are streets where once there were cart tracks. There are so many natural assets. Yes, I should like to go back.”

“What of the land you have there?”

“I put a man in charge of it, so I must go back one day.”

“Not to stay.”

“No. My home is in England … in Cornwall. Do you know Cornwall?”

I shook my head.

“You would like it. It is different from the rest of England. It’s closer to nature. It isn’t that only. The Cornish are a superstitious race. There is something there … something fey. You who are so practical, so full of good sense would be sceptical perhaps.”

“I fear I am not so full of common sense as you appear to think.”

“I am sure you are.”

“How could you be sure? You hardly know me.”

“I know a good deal about you.”

“You met me when I was a child more or less … and then nothing more until last night.”

“You have never been far from my thoughts since our first meeting.”

I laughed lightly. “Gallantry, I suppose,” I said. “The sort of thing men feel they must say to women.”

“The truth,” he insisted. “Do you know, when I was battened down in that loathsome place I could soothe my fury against fate by thinking of that bright-eyed little girl who was so earnest, so eager and who had saved my life. One never forgets someone who saved one’s life.”

“You exaggerate.”

“Indeed not.”

“I didn’t save your life. My father did what he could.”

“Because you insisted. Penfold told me everything. He came to the docks to see me off before I left.”

“I felt responsible.”

“Because you were followed to the house. Yes, you sustained me during those days. And then afterwards when I was living in my hut I would think of you. I used to say to myself, One day I am going to be free and I shall go back and find her. She will be grown up then …”

“Did you ever think of Dolly?”

“Now and then. Poor Dolly.”

“I should have thought she might have been the one in your thoughts.”

“Dolly? She was there … and she was gone. I think she felt like that of me.”

“Do you think a girl like Dolly would indulge in a light relationship, a sensation of an hour and then think no more of it? Dolly never knew a man before you, nor after you. Dolly was no light o’ love to be picked up and thrown aside.”

“It happened. She understood. She knew I was going away. It was that sort of relationship. There was never intended to be anything permanent… on either side.”

“I find that difficult to understand.”

“Of course you do. But for the child it would have been of very little moment.”

“I do not think it was for Dolly, but then of course she is a member of that sex which is born to serve the other.”

He smiled at me. “How fierce you are in defence of women. You are just as I knew you would be. But I never thought I should come back and find you … married.”

“Why not? I am not a child any more. I shall soon be twenty-one.”

“Seven years … eight years … it’s a long time out of a life. Tell me about your marriage. Are you happy?”

“I am happy.”

“But not completely so?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I sense it.”

“I could not have a kinder husband.”

“You have told me very little about him. He had an accident. That is all I know.”

“Before that accident I was engaged to marry him.”

“Were you very much in love?”

I hesitated. I did not know why I had to be entirely frank with him.

“You weren’t,” he said. “Then why did you marry him?”

“Amaryllis had become engaged, and I suppose I thought it was time I did. They all wanted me to marry Edward … his family and mine.”

“Rich, I suppose? Of good family,” he said ironically.

“Not particularly rich. Comfortable, with a business in Nottingham … good solid people, honourable. My family liked them. As a matter of fact, but for you we should never have known them.”

He looked surprised.

“It was when we went to Nottingham … when you stood on trial… that we met them. They became friendly and they bought Grasslands when Dolly died. They became our neighbours as well as friends.”

“So you became engaged because Amaryllis did?”

“It was something like that. Then there was this terrible accident. Edward was so brave … so wonderful. He wanted to free me but I wouldn’t have it. So we were married.”

“It is no life for you,” he said.

“It is the life I have chosen.”

“You were not meant to live a nun’s life. You are a vibrant person, full of life.”

“Were you meant to be treated like a slave? What do you mean when you say it is not what I was meant for? Clearly we are meant for what befalls us.”

“I could not help what happened to me. Could I have stood by and seen Leah ravished?”

“Could I stand by, having given my promise, and leave Edward because he had been crippled?”

“You do the most quixotic things. The idea of tying yourself for life because of a gesture!”

“And what of you? The idea of coming near to death and then suffering seven years of servitude … just for a young girl.”

“Would you say we were a pair of fools?”

“I can only say that what I did I had to do. And I believe the same applies to you.”

He took my hand and held it. “What a serious meeting this has been. I meant it to be so happy, so full of fun … meeting after all these years. We should be enjoying our reunion.” He filled my glass with the burgundy. He lifted his. “Come, laugh and be merry.”

I was surprised at the manner in which he could throw off his melancholy. Now he was very much like the laughing gypsy I had known long ago.

He told me about his estates in Cornwall and so vividly did he talk that I could picture the old grey stone mansion with the battlemented towers, with its long gallery—“haunted, you know. No house in Cornwall is worthy of the term ancient unless it has its ghost. We’re not far from the moors and we have the sea as well. I hope you will visit it one day.”

I let myself believe I would. He had that effect on me. He transported me into a world of make-believe. He made me feel young and carefree. I could temporarily forget that I had duties and responsibilities. I saw myself going through that house in Cornwall, marvelling in the long gallery, the solarium, the crown post, the priest’s hole, the great hall and the garden full of azaleas and rhododendrons with hydrangeas, pink, blue and white, growing in profusion.

He was a vivid talker and brought it all to life for me; moreover he made me long to be there to see it for myself.

I was brought back to reality by the realization that time was passing. My family would wonder where I was and I must go back.

Reluctantly we returned to the boat and I was a little sad as we rowed back. I had been indulging in dreams and as I came out of them I realized as never before, what a rash act it had been to marry Edward. When I looked at this man, pulling at the oars, smiling at me in a significant manner, all the melancholy I had seen in his face when he had talked of his trials disappeared. I was stirred as I never had been before. I wanted to go on being with him. I wanted to see that joy in living which he could display and which seemed particularly exciting when I heard of all he had endured during his years of servitude which would have been so hard to bear for a man of his nature.

In those moments on the river I said to myself: This must be falling in love. I had thought it would never happen to me, and now it had … too late.

We alighted from the boat and began the walk to the house. I realized it must be nearly three o’clock. I felt faintly irritated, frustrated. I had forgotten how anxious they would be about me, so completely absorbed had I been.

We came out into Piccadilly. I must have increased my pace a little, and he said: “You are anxious to get on.”

“I didn’t realize it was so late.”

“Let’s take this street. It’s a short cut.”

That was how I saw her. Recognition was instantaneous—after all she had made a great impression on me. It was the girl who had pretended to be blind.

How different she looked now! There was no doubt that she could see. She was fashionably dressed in rather a gaudy manner; her cheeks were startlingly red, the rest of her face very white; those eyes which had seemed so pathetically sightless were rimmed with kohl. She had crossed the road and gone into a building.

I said: “What place is that?”

Jake said: “It’s Frinton’s Club.”

“Frinton’s! I’ve heard of that. That was where Jonathan lost so much money. What sort of place is it?”

“It has rather a shady reputation, I believe.”

It was very strange. What was that girl doing in Frinton’s Club? Something should be done. I did not know what.

“Do you know who owns it?”

“It is said to be a Madame Delarge.”

“I’ve heard of her.”

“There are a chain of clubs like Frinton’s. I’ve heard all sorts of things go on in them. Not gambling only. They are the haunts of prostitutes and idle young men—and perhaps older ones—who have more money than sense.”

“I see.”

“There are a number of them in London. Madame Delarge is the accepted owner, but I have heard that she is just a name, and there is some big organization behind her. Frinton’s is just one of a chain of such clubs. Madame Delarge is the one behind whom the real owners cower. At least so I’ve heard.”

“Why should there be this need for anonymity?”

“It is rather an unsavoury business. It wouldn’t surprise me if the real owners are posing as pillars of society.”

I felt shaken. After my idyllic experience I had seen that young woman who for some time had haunted my dreams. To say the least, it was disconcerting.

When I told my parents I had seen the girl who had pretended to be blind and that she had gone into Frinton’s Club, my father said: “She’s obviously a loose woman. Many of them frequent those clubs. There’s nothing much we could do even if we approached the girl. It’s too long ago.”

“There is a woman who is said to own the place. A Madame Delarge.”

“Oh yes. She’s just a figurehead, I believe.”

“It was a great shock to see that girl. I should have known her anywhere although she was so dressed up and quite different. And her face …”

“Let’s hope she sticks to her trade,” said my father, “and doesn’t attempt any more to kidnap young innocent girls.”

“I think something ought to be done,” said my mother.

My father said to me: “Don’t you attempt to follow her if you see her again. Don’t do anything like that.”

“As if I should!”

My mother was more concerned about my going out with Jake Cadorson.

“I wondered where you were,” she said, mildly reproving.

“I came to tell you I was going but you were out. He wants to come down to see Tamarisk. I am not sure how Tamarisk will feel having a father suddenly presented to her.”

“She’s an unpredictable girl,” said my mother.

“I think,” I mused, “it will be best to break it to her gently. Then when she knows, I’ll ask him to come down.”

“We’ll have him at Eversleigh.”

“Why should you? Tamarisk is at Grasslands.”

My mother looked faintly embarrassed.

“I wondered …” she said.

She betrayed to me that she, who was very perceptive where I was concerned, had guessed that my feelings for this man were perhaps a little more intense than was desirable.

I said calmly: “I will ask him in due course.”

He called next day and my father asked him to dine with us. He accepted with alacrity. It was quite clear that my parents liked him. He had a special gratitude towards my father and quite openly they discussed the trial and the state of the country after this most devastating and prolonged war which had been going on.

“Twenty years one might say,” said my father. “The people are in a merry mood at the moment… singing the praises of the great Duke, but wait till the taxes are enforced. It will be a different story then.”

“You expect trouble?” asked Jonathan.

“I know there’ll be murmuring.” He turned to Jake. “I don’t know how things are in Cornwall.”

“Very much the same as in the rest of the country, I fear,” replied Jake. “And of course the people there are considerably poorer to start with.”

“We’ve had an example of what the mob can do,” said my mother. “Jessica’s husband has been a victim of that.”

“Yes, so I heard.”

“We are better off on our estates,” put in my father. “We manage to weather these storms. It’s townsfolk who suffer most.”

“In addition to the poverty engendered by the war, the people have another complaint,” said Jake. “They are demanding representation. They want universal suffrage.”

“It will be some time before we get that,” said my father. “Do we want every Tom, Dick and Harry who can’t read or write making the laws of this country?”

“They are not asking to make the laws,” I pointed out. “They are merely asking to have a voice in which man they send to Parliament to represent them.”

“Nonsense,” said my father. “The people have to learn. They have to accept what is. They have to march with the times.”

“I would say that is just what they are attempting to do,” I said.

“My daughter is a very contentious woman,” my father remarked to Jake. “Raise a point and she is bound to come up with the very opposite.”

“It makes life interesting,” said Jake.

I was glad they liked him. I was glad he fitted in so well.

After he had gone my father said: “Interesting fellow. Fancy entertaining an ex-convict at your table, Lottie. I’m surprised at you.”

“I found him better company than quite a number I could name.”

“Such experiences are bound to leave their mark. I’m glad things worked out the way they did. It would have been a tragedy to hang a man like that. He was only in that position because he’d saved a young girl from a drunken bully. Silly young idiot.”

“Why silly?” I said. “It was just the sort of thing you would have done in your youth.”

“My dear daughter, you flatter me. I never did much which was not going to bring me good.”

“Why do you always make yourself out to be so much worse than you are? You’re bad enough without that.”

We grinned at each other. I felt so happy because they all liked Jake Cadorson.

I did not think it could happen so soon.

We should be leaving London at the end of the week and it was a Wednesday. It was arranged that Jake should visit Grasslands one week after our return. That would give me time to break the news to Tamarisk that she had a father.

He had said there was so much he wanted to know about Tamarisk, and he confessed that he was a little nervous about meeting her.

It was afternoon. I wanted to go out and make a few purchases and when I left the house I met him. I believe he had been waiting for me.

“It seems so long since we have met,” he said.

I looked at him in astonishment. “It was yesterday.”

“I said it seemed a long time … not that it was.” He went on: “I want to talk to you. I have so much to say to you.”

“Still? I thought we had talked a lot.”

“Not enough. Let’s find somewhere quiet. I know. You have not seen my house yet. It isn’t very far.”

“I was going shopping.”

“Couldn’t that wait?”

“I suppose so. It wasn’t really important in any case.”

“I should like to show you my house. It is small by the standards of your family home. My brother used it as a pied á terre, and as he was a confirmed bachelor I suppose it sufficed.”

He took my arm and I felt as though I danced along those streets. The house was in a quiet little cul de sac. There was a row of Georgian houses with a garden opposite.

“It’s charming,” I said.

“Yes. My brother had elegant tastes and liked to indulge in the comforts of life.”

“Who looks after the house for you? Have you servants?”

“There is a basement in which live Mr. and Mrs. Evers. They as they say ‘do’ for me. It’s an excellent arrangement. Everything is looked after. Mrs. Evers is a good cook and their great virtue is that they don’t intrude. My brother taught them that. They appear like Aladdin’s genie when called on. Otherwise they remain tucked away with their lamp, which is of course in their basement apartment.”

“How fortunate you are. I often think we are plagued by our servants. They note everything we do, embellish it, garnish it and serve it up as salacious titbits.”

“I am free of such observation. It can be very comforting.”

He opened the door with a key and we stepped into the hall. There was a grandfather clock and an oak chest on which stood a big brass bowl, very highly polished. The silence was broken only by the ticking of the clock. I thought to myself: I ought not to have come.

He turned and faced me.

“It is a wonderful moment for me,” he said, “to have you here … in this house.”

“I’m longing to see it.”

“Here is the dining room and the kitchen, and on the next floor a drawing room and study, on the next two bedrooms. It is quite small, you see, but enough for my needs.”

“And you have the estate in Cornwall. I take it you will be living there most of the time.”

He took me up to the drawing room. It had big windows, reaching from floor to ceiling. The apple green drapes were trimmed with gold braid and the furnishings were a deeper shade of green. The furniture was elegant in the extreme.

“Let me take your cloak,” he said, and did so, throwing it over the back of a chair. We stood facing each other and suddenly he put his arms round me and kissed me.

For a moment I did not resist. I had forgotten everything in the acute pleasure such as I had never experienced before.

Then I withdrew myself trying to give the impression that what had passed between us was nothing more than a friendly greeting. It was a poor pretence.

He said: “It is no use trying to pretend this does not exist, is it?”

“What?” I retorted sharply.

“This—between us—you and me. It’s there, isn’t it? Wasn’t it there right from the beginning? You were only a child but I knew. Of course it seemed ridiculous then. You a little girl… Myself a man who had abandoned everything to go off with the gypsies. I can’t tell you how I regretted that when I saw you. Do you remember?”

“Well… vaguely. You were sitting under a tree wearing an orange shirt. You had a guitar. Do you still play it?”

“Now and then. I was playing a part, playing at being a gypsy.”

“You had gold rings in your ears.”

“Yes. I worked hard at it. When I saw you I thought I had never seen anyone quite like you.”

“I certainly had never seen anyone like you. But then I knew little of gypsies.”

“I thought: I shouldn’t be meeting her like this. It should be at a ball and she should be older. She should be seventeen, her first ball, and she should have the first dance with me. I realized then what I had done by throwing away my old way of life, my background, everything … just for a whim.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“It’s true, I swear.”

“But you did not go back to your home.”

“You know the pride of the young. They take a step and refuse to see that it is folly. I was determined to go on with what I had begun, but I never forgot you. And then … there I was in danger of losing my life and you came to save it. Doesn’t that show that you and I were meant to be a great deal to each other?”

“I don’t know about such things. Perhaps I don’t believe that anything is meant. Things are what we make them.”

He said slowly: “I am not going to let you go now I have found you.”

“I daresay you will visit us. You are Tamarisk’s father. You will want to see her and she will probably want to see you.”

“I was not thinking of that. I love you. I always have. I used to think of you on that fearful ship and later in my hut. I used to come out at night and look at the stars overhead. I used to imagine that you, too, would be looking at the stars and they would be different from the ones I saw. We were on opposite sides of the world. We should be together always.”

“I think I should go,” I said. “Show me the house quickly and I will get on with my shopping.”

He rose, took my hands, and pulled me up beside him. For a moment we stood very close. I felt an extraordinary lassitude creeping over me. I was unsure what it meant except that it was a warning. I ought to get out of this house as quickly as possible.

We mounted the stairs, he leading the way.

“Small, as I told you,” he was saying. “But compact.”

We had reached a landing and he threw open a door. There was a large bedroom with a four-poster bed. The curtains were of green velvet; they matched the drapes at the window and there were touches of green in the carpet.

“Your brother was very fond of green,” I said.

“His favourite colour obviously. Do you like it?”

“Enchanting. It’s so fresh.”

He shut the door and I said: “Show me the next room. Then I must go.”

He put his arms round me and pulled me down to sit on the bed. “What are you doing with your life?” he said.

I laughed on a rather high note. “I believe,” I answered, “that I am doing what most people do with their lives. I am living it.”

“You are living in a half world, Jessica. You have shut yourself away from reality.”

“My life is real enough.”

“You are merely existing. Why did you do it?”

I turned rather angrily to him. “I had to do it. Why did you leave your home and become a gypsy? Why did you kill a man for the sake of a girl and almost lose your life for it?”

“Why do we do these things? But having done them should we suffer for them for ever?”

“You won’t. You have cast your misfortunes aside admirably. I shall never forget how you looked at the Inskips’ ball. No one would have guessed.”

“One doesn’t have to live for ever with one’s mistakes. You cannot shut yourself away. You can’t just wither away in that place.”

“I’m not withering away. I am living a very useful life.”

“Now that I have found you, you don’t imagine that I am going to let you go.”

I was shaken. I wanted to hear him say that. I should have gone then … but I could not. More than anything I wanted to stay.

I replied: “I have made my bed, as they say, and I must lie on it.”

He shook his head. “You and I will find happiness together.”

“How can that be?”

He drew me to him and kissed me over and over again.

No, said my conscience. But something else said: Stay. Why shouldn’t you? What harm is it doing?

Harm! But I was married to Edward.

Edward would not know.

That was the danger signal. I was actually telling myself that Edward need never know. I felt quite depraved and with it a sensation of great excitement. I knew in that moment that I was going to succumb to temptation.

He went on kissing me.

“It had to be,” he said.

I made no effort to break away.

“Please, Jessica,” he said, “I have dreamed of this for so many years. It has sustained me … brought me through. One day I shall find her, I told myself. And now I have, I shall never let you go.”

I was in love with him. How different this was from the mild attraction I had once felt for Peter Lansdon. This was overwhelming, an intense longing to be with him. I thought, I shall never be happy when he is not there.

“I know you love me,” he said.

“I can’t. I must not.”

“You cannot say you can’t when you do.”

“Jake,” I said pleadingly. “Jake, I must remember my obligations. I never knew until now what a terrible mistake I have made, but it is done, and it is my mistake. I must live with it.”

As I was speaking he was slipping my gown from my shoulders; and I knew I could not resist.

So it had happened. I felt bewildered and exhilarated by the experience. I felt as though I were dreaming. But there he was beside me and I knew that I loved him, had always loved him, and would love him for ever.

He kissed me tenderly. “You must not be sad,” he said. “It had to be. You could not go on in that way … not when I was near you. You must not be afraid.”

I could only say: “I have done this … to Edward.”

“Edward would understand.”

I shook my head. “He must never know.”

“He won’t.”

“I would die rather. He has been so good. That terrible accident… to happen to such a man. I have to care for him for the rest of our lives.”

“It will not always be like this,” he said. “We will think what it is best to do.”

“We must never meet again.”

“That is quite out of the question. My dearest Jessica, this is not such an unusual occurrence as you think.”

“I know wives are unfaithful to their husbands, husbands to wives. But that does not help me. This is not any husband and wife. This is Edward. It is myself.”

“My dear sweet Jessica, life is not meant to be a penance. It is to be lived to the full… to be enjoyed. As soon as we met again this was inevitable. In view of what your marriage has been no one would blame you.”

“I blame myself.”

“I will teach you differently.”

Then he took me into his arms and made love to me again … this time less urgently, tenderly.

And I made no attempt to restrain him.

I knew that I had changed the course of my life then. I knew that this was a beginning and that I should not be able to resist him. I was about to embark on a double life.