A Place of Secrets (31 page)

“Is Farrell still trying to move you along?” Euan broke in, his voice low and
urgent.

“Yes. And the police were here last week,” Barney said. “Something about stolen birds. ‘Routine,’ they said, ‘very regretful.’ Yeah, routine that we’re the first people they check. I almost laughed. ‘The only bird you’ll find here,’ I told them, ‘is the chicken Margrit bought at the supermarket. But you can search us if you like.’ And, do you know, they didn’t even look? That constable
was all right, wasn’t he, Liza? Said he was sorry and looked really embarrassed. Then he wants to ask us questions—turns out his family were Romany way back. So we have a good long chat about how he could find out about them. You see, people are not always what you expect. But there are some who go round life like they wear blinkers. They only see what they want to see, and that is usually bad.”
His eyes blazed briefly, then returned to their gentle friendliness.

“Now, your Tamsin Lovall. It is possible that she or her family still live nearby. Have you tried advertising in the newspaper or on a website?”

“No,” Jude said, wondering why she hadn’t thought of that before. “I suppose we could.”

“Otherwise, I will ask about, but I can’t promise,” Barney said. “It was a long time ago.”

“Thank you, Barney,” Euan said. “I knew you’d try. Liza, thank you.”

“That is fine, Euan,” Liza said. Then she added something in Romany and gestured to Jude, repeatedly holding out her hand.

“She wants to read your palm,” Barney said, chuckling.

“Go on,” said Euan.

“Should I?” Jude said.

“Yes. You must give her a coin. Here’s one.”

Liza clasped each of Jude’s hands in turn, studying the
shapes of the fingers and the joints before examining first the right palm and then the left, tracing the patterns of the lines and the fleshy mounts. “You have a strong will, very strong,” she pronounced finally. “But something is holding you. Escape it and you make your own destiny. Very good.”

“You must ask her about love,” Barney said, looking from her to Euan, which made Jude feel hot in
the face.

“The love line is broken,” Liza said. “Something sad, huh? Then a fork, see here? You must decide.”

“No tall, dark, handsome strangers?” Jude said lightly, laughing, but Liza didn’t smile.

“I cannot tell you the future, only what you can make from it,” she said. “And you, little one.” She made a coaxing noise as though to a small animal and Summer, with a mixture of fear and fascination,
held out her hands.

Liza examined them both, stroking the fear away, then held them together palm to palm for a moment as though blessing her. “Look after this special little one,” was all she said to Jude.

“I will. What about you?” Jude said to Euan.

“Oh, Liza’s already pronounced over me,” he said. “Some of it seems to involve giving up beer and chocolate, I’m afraid.”

“You’re having me
on,” Jude said, as Liza smiled. “I don’t think she means that kind of heart trouble.”

He smiled, but Barney said quite seriously, “It is possible to diagnose some conditions from the hands. The length of fingers is—” He broke off.

A car was approaching, and they watched it slow right down as it passed. The driver, a hulk of a man in a shirt with rolled-up sleeves and hair as trim as a mole’s
leaned out of the window and swore fruitily at the “gypos.” Liza and Barney ignored him, their faces blank like statues, but Jude, infuriated, took a step toward the car, her fists clenched. Euan grabbed her arm and held her back.

“That’s not the way to deal with it,” he growled as the car sped off with an anguished roar.

“I wasn’t going to hit him!” she said, shaking him off, still angry. “I
can’t believe you didn’t say anything.”

“It only makes things worse. Believe me, I know.”

Summer looked stunned, so Euan put his arm around her and said, “He was very rude to our friends, wasn’t he? Not a nice person. But everybody’s all right. Come on, time to go. I bought some mint chocolate ice cream, Summer, to celebrate the new fridge freezer, so let’s go home and make cones.”

* * *

While Summer wandered outside in the garden, looking at the animals and dreamily licking a huge ice cream, Euan and Jude lolled in deckchairs with mugs of tea.

“Thanks for stopping me back then. I really wasn’t going to hit him, just give him a piece of my mind, but perhaps you were right. Poor old Liza and Barney, putting up with that abuse.”

“I know, but Summer was watching, and anyway, you
can’t deal reasonably with people like that. You don’t know what they’ll do. He might not have hurt you, but he might have got out and swung a punch at me.”

“At you? Why?”

“A strange logic some blokes have. Despite years of everyone talking about equality, they still think the men should be in charge. He’d blame me for not controlling you properly. Or it might be against his code to clobber
someone else’s woman, so he’d hit me by proxy because I was with you. You have to remember, too, Barney would feel humiliated if someone else, especially a
gorgio
woman, tried to fight his battles. Male pride. It’s ancient. Don’t underestimate it, Jude.”

“It’s all very silly,” she said, with a moue. “But what’s going to happen to Barney and Liza and the others? I can’t imagine living like that.
It’s so … precarious. Aren’t they allowed to stay on that patch of land?”

“No. Farrell wants them off. They only have an odd right of tradition. Which isn’t a property right, I’m afraid. The Wickhams, when they owned the land, were, by all accounts, most generous to the gypsies. But up on Foxhole Lane they were in the way of Farrell’s plans. He’s letting them stay by the main road at the moment
and the council’s now involved and trying to negotiate a permanent site for them, but … Well, you saw that driver’s reaction. I won’t get on my soapbox, but since the 1960s and 1970s, government legislation has made it more and more difficult for Romany communities to live a traditional traveling lifestyle. And people are still so prejudiced.”

“I suppose the bad habits of other kinds of traveler
haven’t helped. Rubbish and crime, I mean.”

“New age raves on Yarmouth beach? No, that’s not the Romany way. Nor is fighting back like you tried to do just now, Jude. You’re very passionate when roused, aren’t you?”

Jude thought he was mocking her, but his face was serious.

“I hate seeing injustice, that’s all,” she said quietly.

“I’ve noticed that. And you’re very protective of your family.
I like that, too. Though perhaps you don’t need to be.”

He was leaning forward in his chair now, his hands locked together, intent on what he was saying.

“You’re very defensive about your sister.”

“I suppose I am. I’ve always felt so … sorry for her, you see. You know, because of her poor leg, but also … life has seemed a huge battle for her. She’s never found her way. Until she had Summer.
Summer’s given her a purpose. But we’ve never been at ease with one another, Claire and I. I suppose she’s fond of me, but … there always seems to be that edge. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. It’s not something I’ve said to anyone else, even Mum. Well, least of all, Mum. She’s one of the people I’ve had to defend Claire against.” It felt natural and hugely liberating to confess all this to
Euan, and yet she didn’t know where it was all leading. He seemed to care about Claire, that much was obvious. She felt wan, her energy leaching away.

“Perhaps—I hope you don’t take this the wrong way—but perhaps that’s part of the problem. That you pity your sister. People sometimes resent being pitied. And, let’s face it, it sounds as though you’ve needed as much sympathy as she has. She’s
very strong, Claire. I admire her enormously.”

Jude stared at Euan. Admiration. That implied respect, yes. In the old days it also meant romantic love. She felt a miserable sting of jealousy.

Now she felt she was losing him, she noticed anew the spring of his wavy hair, the clear blue eyes in the tanned face, the deft sculpting of his nose and lips, the pulse at his throat as he studied his
big hands, powerful hands that could dig and build, but were also gentle enough to cradle a wounded animal. He glanced up, across the garden, and she followed his gaze.

Despite her dismal mood she had to smile. Summer was trying to stem a lava flow of melted ice cream, catching it in her mouth as it dripped from the cone, while squeaking that it was cold. At the sound of his deep, relaxed laugh
Jude was dashed by a wave of desire.

Summer finished eating and started to wipe her hands on her trousers.

“Summer, don’t. Come and wash,” Jude called. She fetched her inside to the sink.

When they came out again, it was to find Euan had started to tend to the animals in their cages and she took this as a sign that they should go. It was half past five, she realized.

“I ought to get Summer
home,” she told him. “Thanks so much for taking us to see Barney and Liza.”

“I’m sorry it was so little use,” he said, collecting up the mugs and rescuing Summer’s cardigan from the ground. “What did you think of his idea of advertising for the Lovall family?”

“I thought I’d do that. Would the local paper be best?”

“I think so. If you e-mailed, they’d probably print it very soon,” he said.
“Newspapers seem to like that kind of letter. It interacts with the readership, I suppose. Well, Summer, shall I see you again soon?”

“Yes,” Summer said. “Thank you. And do you remember you said I could sleep in your caravan one night?”

“I do,” he said.

“Well, can we do it soon?” she ordered. “It’s the holidays at the end of the week.”

“So it is. We ought to celebrate. I’ll speak to your mum,”
he promised. “I take it you’d like Darcey, too?”

“Yes,” Summer said.

“Yes, please, little monkey,” Jude muttered.

After she’d dropped Summer off at Claire’s, she drove back to Starbrough Hall, mentally framing the phrases for the letter to the paper. It was too late to send it tonight. The next day’s letters page would have been put together by now. She’d do it tomorrow morning. Instead, after
supper, she transcribed some more of Esther’s journal.

It was not long after our library was finished that I met the gypsy girl again. It was winter and almost a twelve-month since her people had last been seen in Starbrough Woods. The pedlar woman came to the kitchen door again, and this time she brought with her the girl I thought of as my friend, and her elder sister. Susan called me to come and see their wares, for she knew I should wish to choose the lace for a new gown she was sewing for me. I smiled at the girls, but they were shy, and only the little one would meet my gaze. The elder, who must have been closer to me in age, was swarthy of skin and stocky of build, quite different from her birdlike sister, though handsome in a lusty way, I own. I looked at every piece of lace they carried and chose a matching collar and cuffs. Then, on impulse I bought half a dozen lengths of ribbon, to make presents of to Betsy and Susan. I had never seen Mrs Godstone wear anything so frivolous as a ribbon, so for her I chose some clothes pegs and for the men-servants pots of evil-smelling salve for cuts and grazes. For these I paid out of a purse of money my father had presented to me, and in this way I discovered the pleasures of giving.

Several days passed and Jan the coachman brought sobering news. One of the gypsy men, he thought named Luca or Lucas, lay dead after an argument about a horse. The murderer, some ruffian at the inn where they had both been drinking, had been taken into custody. My father was summoned to attend the inquest since Luca’s people were residing on our land. I heard later that he paid for the poor man’s burial himself.

Late the next evening I was upstairs preparing for bed. Going to draw the curtain I noticed a strange glow over the forest, also billows of black smoke. I ran to the door, crying to the household that the forest was afire. All were awake in a moment, doors banged, people shouted and all was panic. Mr Corbett and Jan hurried out with my father, armed with brooms to beat the flames, while I pulled on my cloak and went with Betsy to alert the neighbours and to bid Mr Trotwood raise assistance from the village. This done, we joined a party of people heading in the direction of the forest, intending to see what help we might offer. Before long we could follow the smoke and the flames till we could hear folks’ cries, then when we gained the camp at Foxhole Lane we saw an awful sight. One of the wagons was alight and half a dozen figures staggered around, struggling over possessions or with one another. Two drunken gypsy men lurched about with barrels and stools and clothing, which they’d cast into the heart of the fire. Meanwhile several women pulled them off again, assisted in this by Mr Corbett, Jan and my father. The women scolded and cried, the men were swearing and laughing. It was verily a scene from hell.

Then, standing well apart from the flames and the choking smoke, I saw the children huddled together, their faces golden in the firelight, their mouths great Os of horror. I called to Betsy to help me, and together we went to comfort them.

‘Can we take them back to the house?’ I asked Betsy, but they would not leave their people and instead Betsy set off to fetch Mrs Godstone with blankets and sustenance. The older girl cradled her brother while I looked after my friend. The poor dear thing trembled in my arms, terror in her eyes, and I tried my best to reassure her, until the pedlar woman, their mother, saw us and came instantly to claim her from me.

It was an hour before men from the village arrived, to beat out the flames and an hour after that before the blaze was overcome and Jan and Mr Corbett caught the terrified horses. Then, since there was nothing more the gypsies would have from us, we left them alone to their damaged chattels and their grief.

‘It’s their custom ’tis the trouble,’ my father told me as we set off for home. ‘When a Romany dies they burn his wagon and his possessions. His brothers went too far tonight.’