Текст книги "The Return of the Gypsy"

Автор книги: Philippa Carr

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He was silent for a while, then he said: “This was to have been our wedding day. How different it might have been.”

“It is very good now,” I said.

“Are you happy?”

“Completely,” I lied.

“Jessica, you can’t be.”

“What do you mean by doubting my word?” I cried with a touch of annoyance.

“It should have been so different.”

“It is as it is … and I am happy.”

“Jessica?”

“Yes.”

“It can’t always be so. You will miss so much. Seeing Amaryllis so happy … so contented …”

“I, too, am contented.”

“You are wonderful, Jessica.”

I smiled complacently. I had to admit I did enjoy playing the role of saintly woman who had given up so much for the man she had promised to marry when he was in the prime of life. I had always seen myself in dramatic situations in which I had shone. Now I was living in one of these youthful fantasies. But today, at Amaryllis’ wedding, I had realized how easy it had been to escape from my wild dreams when they no longer appealed. This was real life; it could not be shooed away when it began to pall.

But I could feel a certain happiness when Edward looked at me with that adoring devotion.

I kissed him.

“No more of this talk,” I said. “Shall we play a game of piquet before I say goodnight? Or are you too tired?”

“I should so much enjoy it, my dearest.”

So we played, but when I went to my room the vague depression was still with me.

I had passed out of a phase. Seeing those two going off together on their honeymoon had awakened me to my situation.

Suppose I had been going off on my honeymoon with my bridegroom, how should I be feeling? Wildly excited, expectant, gloriously in love?

I pictured it—and the bridegroom was not Edward. It was not Peter either. It was some vague shadowy figure … someone I had known years ago when I had been a young girl… a child no more … Dark, glowing, full of life, dancing round a bonfire.

How foolish to indulge in fantasies. I was the noble wife who had made the ultimate sacrifice for the sake of honour. That was the role I was playing. I wanted to play it. It made me feel good so that I could forget all the little peccadilloes of the past… all the selfishness, the waywardness which had dogged me before I had married Edward.

In the last few weeks for the first time in my life I had felt satisfied with myself.

And now I was having disturbing thoughts.

That night I dreamed that I was being married. I was standing at the altar at Eversleigh waiting for my bridegroom. He came out of the shadows and waves of emotion swept over me. I was in love … passionately in love.

He was beside me. I turned, but his face was in shadow. I cried out to him to come to me.

Then I awoke.

The Debt

IT WAS A WEEK SINCE Amaryllis’ wedding. I had thought about her and Peter a great deal and wondered about their honeymoon. They were staying at the family house in Albemarle Street, so I could picture them clearly.

I thought of their visiting the theatre, taking trips up the river, riding through the surrounding districts, calling at interesting inns—all the exciting excursions one could take in London.

I found myself imagining the intimate moments between them. Beautiful Amaryllis; handsome Peter Lansdon. I wondered about Amaryllis. She had always seemed uncertain and reserved; but she had been like a flower opening to the sun since her engagement to Peter Lansdon.

I felt restless and uneasy. I had a vision of myself living this life for years and years to come.

During those hours I would always take a horse and ride out. I liked to gallop along the sand and feel the wind in my hair. It gave me a sense of freedom. I was always thinking of freedom nowadays. It occurred to me that I was beginning to feel shackled. I always dismissed that thought as soon as it came. The last thing I must do was feel sorry for myself.

If anyone should feel self pity surely that must be Edward. He was an example to me. If he could accept what had happened to him, surely I could.

Another thought came to me. I had willingly accepted this life; he had had it forced upon him.

But these thoughts did not come often … as yet. I was still pleased with my role of self-sacrificing wife.

That afternoon when I came in from my ride I was confronted by one of the servants who said that someone had come over from Enderby and wanted to see me urgently.

“Is something wrong? Mr. and Mrs. Lansdon … ?”

Images were crowding into my mind. There had been an accident. Amaryllis? Peter?

“No, no Mrs. Barrington. It is nothing to do with the master and mistress. It’s someone who has come. She is asking for Mademoiselle Sophie … I didn’t know what to do.”

“I’ll come,” I said. “Who is it?”

“It’s a woman and child.”

I went back with the maid.

In the hall was a woman and with her a young girl. I stared at them for a moment. Then I cried: “Tamarisk.”

“I’ve come back,” she said. “Leah came with me.”

“But…” I began.

“Where is Mademoiselle Sophie? They say she is gone … Gone? Where has she gone?”

“She died,” I said.

Her face crumpled. “Where is Jeanne?”

“She lives in a cottage on the estate.”

“But… I don’t understand.”

Leah spoke then. She said: “The child is distraught. She has talked so much of Mademoiselle Sophie and Jeanne. She missed them sadly. She would not rest until she came back to them.”

“It is a pity she walked out without saying a word.”

“I’ve come back,” said Tamarisk.

I felt angry with her, remembering the suffering she had caused.

I said: “She was so sad when you went away without telling her even. She pined and didn’t take care of herself. Then she became ill… and had no wish to live.”

Tamarisk’s great dark eyes were fixed on me.

“You mean … I did that?”

I shrugged my shoulders. I said: “What is this? A brief visit?”

“I’ve come back,” she said.

Leah laid a hand on my arm. “Please … be kind,” she said. “The poor child … she has suffered.”

“Everything has changed now,” I said.

Tamarisk covered her face with her hands and began to sob.

“I do not want her to be dead. She loved me. Nobody ever loved me like Mademoiselle Sophie did. As soon as I had gone I wanted to come back.”

“It’s true,” said Leah. She was looking at me appealingly.

I said: “I don’t know what can be done now. The house is let.” I suddenly remembered that the house belonged to Tamarisk. She did not know this, of course, and it was not for me to tell her now.

I thought the best thing I could do was take her and Leah to Eversleigh. My parents would know what should be done.

I suggested this. Leah nodded and with the weeping Tamarisk we walked the short distance across the fields.

My mother was astounded at the sight of them. She noticed at once that they looked weary and travel-stained and that what they were most in need of was hot water to wash, clean clothes and some food. She arranged that this should be provided and her brisk, practical approach seemed a great help.

While this was in progress there was a family conference including David, Claudine, my parents and myself.

“The child has grown tired of the nomad life,” said my father, “and I don’t wonder. My impulse is to send her back to it. She was pampered at Enderby by Sophie and light-heartedly she decided to try it with the raggle-taggle gypsies. Then when the novelty of that wore off she says, I’ll go back now. She should be taught a lesson. However, we have to remember that En-derby belongs to her now.”

“She doesn’t know it yet,” said David.

“No, and perhaps it would be wise not to tell her just yet. She might decide to take up residence immediately and banish the honeymooners when they return. She should be a little older before she learns of her inheritance.”

“The question is the immediate future,” put in my mother. “Where is she going to stay? We’ll have them here, of course. They can’t go to Enderby with Amaryllis and Peter away.”

“I wonder where the gypsies were,” said David. “We did make extensive searches at the time she disappeared.”

“Gypsies know how to stay away when it is expedient to do so,” said my father.

Claudine said. “How would you feel about having her at Grasslands, Jessica?”

“Jessica has enough to do,” said my mother quickly.

I hesitated. The days were a little monotonous. They could hardly be that with Tamarisk around. She interested me. Romany Jake was her father. He, too, had fascinated me when he appeared briefly in my life.

“I will take her to Grasslands if you like,” I said.

“But Edward?”

“Edward would not object. He never does to anything I want. I think she might amuse him. Yes, I’ll take her until we decide what is to be done.”

“That’s a problem,” said my father. “The house is hers. I’m a trustee and she couldn’t do anything without my approval and that of the solicitor fellow, Harward, who acts jointly with me. We have to think of her interest, of course. I am of the opinion that we should go on letting the house for a few years.”

“I wonder if Peter and Amaryllis will stay?”

“I hope so,” said Claudine fervently.

“Peter doesn’t seem in a hurry to buy that estate he was talking about.”

“No, he has interests in London now,” said my father. “I think becoming a landowner doesn’t appeal any more.”

“This isn’t settling the problem of Tamarisk,” said my mother. “Let them stay here tonight. You can talk it over with Edward, Jessica, and if he is agreeable I don’t see why they shouldn’t go to Grasslands for a while. We’ve got to look after Tamarisk for Dolly’s sake … and in any case we wouldn’t want to turn the child away.”

“She was desperately upset when she heard about Sophie,” I said.

“So she should be,” retorted my father. “Little minx! Going off like that… and then calmly coming back and expecting to have the fatted calf killed for her.”

“We’ll have to wait and see how things work out,” my mother insisted. “Anyway, let them stay here for the night. Then we’ll see.”

That was how Tamarisk came back to Eversleigh.

It was almost a year since Amaryllis’ wedding and the return of Tamarisk.

I had taken the child and Leah into Grasslands. When I had discussed the matter with Edward, he, suspecting that it was what I wished, had said it would be a good idea to have her come to us. My mother was secretly pleased. Tamarisk was not the most lovable of children and my father certainly not the most patient of men. He was already irritated because Sophie had left Enderby to Tamarisk and so created problems. He said that if he had had his wish he would have sent the child back to the gypsies. So my mother, the soul of tact as ever, thought it would be a good idea if she came to us.

I suppose I really got along with Tamarisk as well as any. I never attempted to show too much affection to her. I was sharply critical and oddly enough that seemed to inspire a certain respect in the child. One thing in her favour was that she was genuinely sorry for the pain she had caused Sophie, but whether this was due to the fact that she missed Sophie’s blatant adoration or to true remorse, I was not sure. Whenever Sophie was mentioned her eyes would grow dark with sorrow and I had often seen her fighting to keep back her tears. One night I heard her sobbing in her bedroom and went in.

“You are thinking of Mademoiselle Sophie,” I said.

“She’s dead,” she muttered. “I killed her.”

“That’s not exactly true,” I said.

“She died because I went away.”

“She was very grieved when you disappeared. We searched everywhere.”

“I know. We went to Ireland. We went straight across the water. It was horrid. I wanted to come back. I wanted to be with Aunt Sophie again.”

“I expect it was uncomfortable living in a caravan after your lovely bedroom at Enderby.”

She nodded.

“And it was only then that you realized all the care you had had.”

“Leah loves me.”

“But she could not give you a warm feather bed, a pony of your own to ride.”

“I had a horse to ride.”

“Silk dresses … delicious food.”

“It wasn’t that… only.”

“Poor Tamarisk. You made a mistake. You walked thoughtlessly away from Mademoiselle Sophie who had done everything for you.

“I remembered after.”

“Yes. When it was too late.”

“I wanted to come back. I did really.”

“I daresay you did.”

“I couldn’t get home … because of the water. And they wouldn’t let me go.”

“You chose them. You hurt Mademoiselle Sophie deeply by deserting her for them.”

She was crying gently. I was unsympathetic but I felt that was what she needed. Any attempt to smooth over what she had done would not have pleased her. She was, at heart, an extremely logical person. She was more impressed if one spoke the truth. She had brought great sorrow to Sophie who had given her nothing but kindness, and any attempt to deny it would strike her as extremely false.

“When something is done it’s done,” I said. “There is no going back. You have to accept it and go on from there. That’s the best way.”

“But she’s dead.”

“Yes. But that is past. You have learned a lesson.”

“What lesson?”

“To think of others besides yourself.”

“Do you think of others?”

“Sometimes.”

“Not always?”

“We’re none of us perfect.”

“So you do wrong things.”

“Of course I do.”

She smiled and the tears stopped flowing.

“Listen, Tamarisk,” I said. “You’re a lucky girl. You did a wicked thing. You walked out on someone who had been kind to you and loved you dearly.”

“I killed her.”

“No, you didn’t. If she had been stronger she wouldn’t have died. She caught a cold and became ill. It was some time after you left. You caused her great suffering, that’s true. But most of us act badly at some time. The great lesson to learn is that it is done and you must try to atone for it.”

“What is that?”

“Being better in the future. Think of others. Go and visit Jeanne more often. Let her see you love her and that you are grateful to her for all the love she gave you. Try to be thoughtful and kind and then Mademoiselle Sophie will look down from Heaven and say, ‘It was not in vain.’ There! Here endeth the first lesson. Now go to sleep.”

I tucked her in and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

“Goodnight,” I said.

I tiptoed out and shut the door.

I wish I could say she changed after that night. She did not. But I think she began to grieve less. She was as headstrong as ever.

Leah was her constant companion and she was a great help in looking after her. I engaged a governess for her. She was eight years old now and in need of tuition. She was bright and eager to learn and very quickly made up for a lack of schooling during the time she had been with the gypsies.

I was seeing a great deal of Amaryllis and every time I came back from Enderby I would fight a battle with myself, for I was becoming more and more aware of what I was missing in life. What I wanted more than anything was a child. I learned that Amaryllis was expecting one. She was in a seventh heaven of delight. She was so much in love with her husband. It could not be anything but a happy house with Amaryllis in it. She was in constant conclave with Claudine; they went to London to buy materials for the baby’s clothes; the nurseries which had been quiet for so long were opened.

David had been wrong when he had said that if the bushes were cut down and more light let in it would take away the eerie brooding atmosphere. The bushes were of no account. Amaryllis, her happy marriage and her coming baby were enough to change that house.

Oh yes, I was envious. Not of her husband. That had passed. It was the baby I wanted.

So much was happening abroad. Napoleon was no longer having one success after another and Wellington was making progress. He was the hero of the hour and when he with his allies marched into Paris and Napoleon was forced to abdicate, we believed that really was the end of him. Napoleon had been banished to Elba and there was once more a king on the throne of France. Louis XVIII now reigned over them.

My mother’s comment was: “All the misery might never have taken place. Here they are just as they were before the storming of the Bastille.”

“Wiser, let’s hope,” said my father.

But the great topic was the coming baby.

Peter was often in London. He had great interests there. He had abandoned the idea of buying an estate. He said he did not think he was meant to be a squire. Moreover he had gone into several flourishing concerns and it was these, apparently, which took him so frequently to London. He talked a little about his affairs with my father and David. David, of course, did not pretend to understand the sort of business in which Peter was engaged. My father admitted that it was a little obscure and something with which he had never had any connection. Peter talked a great deal about his interests in Jamaica and I gathered that he was concerned in the importing of sugar and rum. He discussed Jamaica at length; but since my father was not entirely sure about what he was doing, it was hardly likely that the rest of us would be.

It was of little importance. He was clearly a man of substance; Amaryllis was very happy; and he was the father of the newcomer for whom such a welcome was being prepared.

At the end of April Amaryllis’ baby was born, and there was great rejoicing throughout the family although my father said: “Another girl. When is this family going to produce a boy?”

My mother chided him and said she had not noticed that he had an aversion to her sex.

The baby was christened Helena. I saw her when she was a few hours old, looking rather like a wrinkled and irritable old gentleman; but as the days passed the wrinkles disappeared, her skin developed the texture of a peach and her startlingly blue eyes delighted us all. We were all very soon Helena’s slaves; and the ache within me grew stronger every day.

I took to calling frequently. Amaryllis used to watch me with the child, for I always held her, if chat were permitted, and I did fancy she had a special feeling for me. I caught Amaryllis’ eyes on me and they were full of pity. I felt resentful against her then … against life, I suppose. I began to ask myself whether I should have listened to my parents’ warning.

Then I went home to Edward and sat by his bed desperately trying to checkmate him and failing miserably. I thought: No. I have done the right thing, the only thing. I should never have been happy if I had rejected him because of what had happened to him. But however right an action may be at the time it can be hard to live with. One quick act of self sacrifice is easy; but to go on practising it for years—perhaps for life—that is a very different matter.

I noticed that Peter was spending more and more time in London; and I wondered if this hurt Amaryllis. I mentioned it tentatively one day.

She said: “Oh, Peter is very busy. He has all sorts of commitments in London. He is very much the businessman.”

“All that sugar and rum,” I said.

“Yes. He knows so much about it, having been brought up where they produce it. He has opened several new warehouses.”

“Does he store the stuff then?”

“I suppose he must do if he is opening these places.”

“Have you seen any of them?”

“Me? Oh no. They are near the docks, I think. He has never taken me there. He said they were no place for me. He is so happy about it because he says it has turned out so well.”

“Does he talk to you about his business?”

“Very little. But he does give me money now and then saying that is a dividend.”

“You mean you have money in his ventures?”

“Of course.”

“I see.”

We had both received large sums of money on our marriages. It was all part of some settlement. I think the sums had been equal. Mine was invested and Edward never suggested touching it. The interest came to me and remained mine.

“All I have to do is sign the documents when they come along,” said Amaryllis.

“What documents?”

“I don’t know. Papers about money and all that. You see, I’m a shareholder. Peter manages all that.”

“So your fortune is in his business?”

“It’s a joint affair … only Peter does all the work.”

“And you supply the money?”

“My dear Jessica, Peter did not become rich only when he married me. He was far more wealthy than I before that. He is just allowing me to share in what he has. I do nothing. I don’t understand it. Really, Jessica, what should I know about importing rum and sugar and distributing it to people who want to buy it?”

“Nothing at all, I should imagine.”

She changed the subject, but it set me thinking. He was using her money for this big business in London. Was that why he had married her—so that he could use her money?

I suppose I was really trying to find an excuse for his turning to her. But it did not make sense. I was equally well endowed. There was absolutely no reason why he should have switched his attentions to her except that he found her more attractive.

It was natural. She was sweet and gentle and very pretty. I was abrasive, questioning everything, asserting myself, rather conceited. There was every reason why he should have preferred her.

She was more amenable, of course. Had I been involved in this business with rum and sugar, I should have wanted to know more about it. I should have wanted to see the warehouses; I should have wanted to see the accounts. Not that I was particularly interested in money; I just liked to be aware of all that was happening.

Why should I seek reasons? It did not matter. He had chosen her. I had not been in love with him … just flattered by his attentions and perhaps finding in him a certain sensuality which kindled something in myself. No, I had not been in love with Peter Lansdon, but sometimes I think I might have begun to be … a little.

I would stop thinking about him, The real source of my envy was the baby. She had brought home to me that while I remained Edward’s wife I could not have a child.

There was a sense of euphoria across the whole country now that the ogre who had haunted our lives for so long was in exile. We could go about our peaceful existences without fears of invasion.

“The French should never allow such a man to arise again,” commented my father.

“I think,” replied my mother, “that the French nation adored that man. They looked upon him as a sort of god.”

“What I meant was that we must never allow the French to produce such a man again.”

“Or any nation for that matter,” added my mother. “Why can’t people see how much happier we should all be living peacefully with our families … not hankering after great conquests.”

“Unfortunately,” said David, “it is not the people who decide. It is the so-called great men.”

“They may gain glory for themselves but they certainly bring misery to millions. I wonder what he is thinking of grinding his teeth on Elba.”

“Thinking of escape no doubt,” said my father.

“That must never happen,” added my mother.

Napoleon was finished, everyone said. He was not the first man who had dreamed of conquering the world and doubtless would not be the last. But eventually he had been brought to defeat and we could sleep in peace.

It was a lovely May afternoon when we had visitors. I was at Eversleigh sitting in the garden with my mother, Claudine and Amaryllis, when one of the maids came out to say that two gentlemen had called to see my mother. “Foreigners,” she added.

“Did they give their names?” asked my mother.

“No, Madam. They just said to see you.”

“Bring them out,” said my mother.

And they came.

My mother stared; then she grew pale and I thought she was going to faint. Claudine had risen; she gave a little cry.

Then my mother said faintly: “Is it really … ?” And with a little cry she flung herself into the arms of the elder of the men. The younger stood by, looking on in a bewilderment which was shared by Amaryllis and myself.

“Charlot… Charlot…” cried my mother.

Claudine stammered: “Oh Charlot, is it really you?”

And she embraced him too.

Charlot! My mother’s son—my half brother, who had left England before I was born.

“My dear dear son,” my mother kept murmuring. “To think … after all these years …”

“I came as soon as it was possible,” he said. “It seems so long … You recognized me.”

“My dear boy, as if I should fail to do so.”

“This is Pierre, my son.”

My mother took the hands of the younger one and stared at him. Then she kissed him on both cheeks. “Just think, you are my grandson. And this is your Aunt Claudine … Charlot, Jessica is my daughter … your half sister … and Amaryllis, she is David and Claudine’s daughter.”

“Much has happened since I left.”

“All those years …” said my mother. “It has been a long time to wait. Now tell me … You will stay with us for a while. This is not to be a brief visit. There is so much to talk of. All those years to account for …”

“I should have been here before only travelling was out of the question.”

“Thank God it is over and the tyrant is in exile.”

“We have a king on the throne of France now, Maman.”

There were tears in her eyes as she said: “You were always such a royalist, dear Charlot.” She went on briskly: “Amaryllis, will you go and tell them to prepare rooms. See what’s going on in the kitchens. Tell them my son and grandson have come home!”

My mother had eyes only for him. I realized how saddened she had been by his departure. It must have been more than twenty years since she had seen him. Wars! Revolutions! They did not only ruin states, they brought havoc into the lives of countless families. How we had suffered through them!

Now there was rejoicing. The prodigal had come home.

When my mother had recovered from her emotion a little, we sat in the garden and Charlot told us about his vineyard in Burgundy. Louis Charles would have liked to come with him but they had thought it would be unwise for the two of them to be away together.

Pierre was his eldest son. He was sixteen years of age and was learning about the production of wine. There were two other sons, Jacques and Jean-Christophe; and two daughters, Monique and Andree.

“What a family man you have become!”

My father came to join us. He expressed amazement to see Charlot. He liked the look of young Pierre and was quite interested in the talk about the vineyards; and in any case, he was pleased to see my mother so happy.

I had never seen her so completely content. All through the years she must have felt this nagging sense of loss, as I suppose one must if one lost a son. The thought that he was there just across the water must have been with her for a long time. Death is irrevocable and one can do no good by remembering, but when a loved one is alive, and separated by a devastating war there must always be the fear, the longing for reunion, the continual doubts, the question as to whether one will see that loved one again.

I said goodbye and left them on the lawn. I went back and told Edward all about it.

There would be great rejoicing at Eversleigh that night. I wished I could have been there to share in it.

Charlot stayed at Eversleigh for two weeks and when he left it was with assurances that he would come back, bringing other members of his family with him; and Louis Charles would come with his two sons.

“As for you, Maman,” he said, “you must visit us in Burgundy. We have a fine old house which somehow managed to survive the vandals. Louis Charles and I have had a great deal of pleasure repairing it. Pierre helped, didn’t you, my son? And Louis Charles’ eldest is quite a carpenter. We have plenty of room. You ought to come for the vendange.”

“I will. I will,” cried my mother. “And you too, Dickon. You’d be interested.”

“You’d be welcome, sir,” said Charlot.

And my father said he would be very interested to see everything. It added to my mother’s joy in the reunion that my father welcomed Charlot so warmly.

Amaryllis told me that her mother had said that when Charlot lived at Eversleigh there had been a certain antagonism between the two.

“In those days,” said Amaryllis, “your father had not long been married to your mother and he resented her having been married before and having two children. My mother said he tolerated her but could not bear Charlot. They were always sparring. Now he seems to have changed.”

“It is living with people that is so difficult,” I observed. “Visitors are quite another matter.”

So Charlot returned to France with promises of meetings in the near future.

My mother said excitedly: “It will be wonderful to visit France again. It is wonderful that all the troubles are over.”

My father commented that it was early days yet and while Napoleon lived, we must not hope for too much. But my mother refused to believe anything but good. She had recovered her son whom she had thought to be lost to her for ever. She was happy.

I noticed my father was a little preoccupied and one day, soon after Charlot’s departure, when I was alone with him, I asked him if anything was wrong.

“You’re a very observant girl, Jessica,” he said.

“I think we are all aware when those who mean a great deal to us are anxious.”

He put out a hand and gripped mine. He was not one to give way to demonstrations of affection so I guessed he had something really on his mind which was causing him concern.

“You’d better tell me,” I said. “I know something is bothering you.”

“Old age, daughter.”

“Old age? You? You’ll never be old.”

“What is the span? Three score years and ten? I’m approaching it, Jessica. With the best will in the world I can’t expect to be here much longer. Do you know how old I am?”

“Years have little to do with it.”

“It would be comforting if that were true. Alas, we wear out.”

“Not you. You never did what other people did. You’ll go when you want to and that will be never.”

“What a charming daughter I have.”

“I am glad you realize it.”

“My greatest regret in life is that I was prevented from marrying your mother when we were young. If we had not been stopped, we should have had ten children … sons and daughters like my own Jessica.”

“No use regretting that now. You have a wonderful son in David.”

“He’s a good son, yes. But what has he produced? One daughter. And now she has produced a daughter.”

“Oh, I see, it is this masculine yearning for men in the house.”

“I have the best daughter in the world and I wouldn’t change her, but it would have been a help if you had been born a boy!”

“I’m sorry, dear father, I would do anything I could for you but I cannot change my sex.”