Bewitched (Bantam Series No. 16) (7 page)

“You do not always think so,” she said, “but one day you will realise how important this House and everything it contains is to your happiness.”

“I think I realise it now,” the Marquis said. “Are you telling my fortune, Saviya?”

“No, not really,” she answered, “but at the same time there is something I do not like.”

It seemed to the Marquis that her voice had changed.

Now she turned her head to look at him and he had the strange feeling she was not actually seeing him but looking through and beyond him.

“Yes, there is danger,” she said in a low tone. “You must be careful! You have an enemy. It is a man and he is trying to injure you.”

“How do you know that?” the Marquis asked sharply. “Has Hobley been talking to you?”

“I know it because he is there,” Saviya answered. “I can see him quite clearly. He is dark, he has a long nose, and his name has the same first letter as yours. You must be careful ... very careful where he is concerned!”

“How do you know this?” the Marquis asked again.

As he spoke, his voice almost harsh, Saviya shook her head as if she would dispel something that was hurting her and from which she would be free.

Then she knelt on the window-seat and looked out into the garden.

The Marquis did not speak for a moment and then he said: “What you have told me is true, but I cannot understand how you can be aware of something which concerns only my private life.”

“I told you I am a witch.”

“I thought you were joking.”

“Magic is not a joke to the Kalderash. It is a part of us and part of our destiny; we cannot escape it.”

“What you have told me is true,” the Marquis repeated, “but you did not say if my enemy would be successful in what he is attempting to do to me.”

There was a silence, and then Saviya, still not looking at him, said:

“I have warned you of danger. That is enough. A man prepared is already armed.”

“I hope you are right!”

She turned her face suddenly.

“Be careful! Please be very careful!” she pleaded.

Her eyes met his and for a moment it seemed as if something passed between them and it was impossible for either of them to move.

Almost without meaning to, the Marquis put out his arms towards Saviya.

It was an instinctive gesture—something he had done so often in his life, when he had been attracted by a lovely woman, that he did not even consider what her reaction would be.

He just followed his impulse.

Then as his hands touched her, as he would have drawn her close against him—and had already bent his lips towards hers, she gave a little twist of her body.

She was free of him, and he saw incredulously that she held in her hand a long, shining dagger—a stiletto such as the Italians carried.

She held it firmly in her hand between her breasts, the sharp point directed at his chest.

Slowly the Marquis dropped his arms.

For a moment neither of them spoke, and then Saviya said:

“You are a Gorgio. You must not touch me. It is forbidden.”

“Why?”

“No Rom can associate with a Gorgio. If she does she is exiled from the tribe.”

“Do you really mean that?” the Marquis asked in genuine surprise. “Tell me about it, Saviya, and put away that dangerous weapon. I promise I will not touch you without your permission.”

She looked at him searchingly, as if not sure whether she should trust him. Then so swiftly that he hardly saw it happen, the stiletto disappeared into her bodice and she sat down on the window seat.

“I am very ignorant of your rules” the Marquis said, “so you must please forgive me if I offended you.”

He spoke beguilingly and a very much more experienced woman than Saviya would have found it hard to resist him.

“If you had been here with a ... lady of your own race,” she asked hesitatingly, “would you have ... kissed her?”

“I have a feeling,” the Marquis said, “that she would have been very disappointed if I had not attempted to do so.”

He smiled as he spoke, but Saviya’s face was serious.

“If she had been unmarried, would you not have felt obliged to ask her to be your ... wife?”

“If she were unmarried,” the Marquis answered, “it is most unlikely that we should be here together unchaperoned.”

“And had she been married?”

“Then in most cases the lady in question would have expected me to show my admiration for her charms.”

“If she had been a Gypsy, her husband would have beaten her for such behaviour,” Saviya said sternly, “and in France her head would have been shaved.”

“Shaved!” the Marquis ejaculated. “Is that really true?”

“It is a common punishment among Gypsies,” Saviya answered, “and for many months a woman who has aroused her husband’s jealousy becomes an object of shame in the eyes of the tribe.”

“Then Gypsy husbands beat their wives!” the Marquis said.

“There are worse punishments if they behave improperly,” Saviya told him. “But it does not happen often. Gypsy marriages are very happy and they last forever!”

“Even if they do not get on together?” the Marquis enquired.

“We are a happy people,” Saviya answered. “Family life is sacred and anyone who offends against the sanctity of their marriage deserves the punishment they receive.”

She spoke with some conviction, and the Marquis knew that what she was saying must be the truth. Nevertheless he was astonished.

“Who will you marry, Saviya?” he asked.

“I shall not know that until he approaches my father.”

“You have no choice?”

“In the Kalderash a marriage is always arranged between the fathers of the bride and bride-groom. A betrothed girl has no right either to visit or to talk to the man she will marry, even when other people are present.”

“Surely that is very strange?” the Marquis said.

“I think perhaps it is something we have inherited from our Indian ancestors,” Saviya replied. “Whatever the origin of the custom, a gold coin is placed on the girls neck and this marks her as
Tomnimi—
promised.”

“What happens,” the Marquis enquired, “if a Gypsy man or woman falls in love with a Gorgio?”

“In either case it brings exclusion and exile from the tribe,” Saviya said.

“For life?” the Marquis enquired.

“The woman or the man, is held in contempt, indeed hated, and no-one will speak to the offender. They are
Poshrats, Didikais,
they no longer exist.”

“It is a very harsh code!”

Then the Marquis asked:

“Does not the idea of marrying someone you have never seen, whom you do not know and whom you may not even like, frighten you?”

Saviya looked away, and he had the feeling that he had touched on some secret that she had kept hidden, perhaps even from herself.

She did not reply and after a moment he said in his deep voice: “Tell me. I want to know, Saviya.”

“Yes,” she said hesitatingly, “the idea does ... frighten me.”

“Do you not think,” the Marquis asked, “that love is more important than anything else? Is there no place for love among the Gypsies?”

“A woman should love her husband,” Saviya answered.

“And if she finds it impossible?” the Marquis insisted. “If for instance she falls in love with another man before marriage, would that not seem to her more important than tribal laws and regulations?”

“I do not know,” Saviya replied, “it has never happened to me.”

“And yet you have thought about it,” the Marquis persisted. “Perhaps too, Saviya, you have dreamt of a man that you could love, a man who could capture your heart and make it his.”

His voice was very deep and now, as she turned her eyes to look at him, he thought there was an expression in them like that of a very small and frightened animal.

Then she said after a moment:

“But the laws of the Kalderash are just and my people believe in them.”

“But you—you are different,” the Marquis said. “You are a witch and so perhaps more sensitive and capable of deeper feelings than the others.”

“Why do you say such things to me?”

“Because you are so beautiful,” the Marquis replied. “Because you are not only unbelievably lovely, but because you have a brain. It is the intelligent people in this world who suffer the most, Saviya.”

She did not answer, but he saw a little quiver run through her.

“It is the difference between a race-horse and an animal that draws a cart,” he went on. “You know as well as I do that the one is far more highly strung, far more sensitive to pain than the other.”

Saviya was silent and then she said:

“It is best not to think of ... love.”

“But you do think of it,” the Marquis replied. “And something that you cannot control yearns for it.”

His words seemed to vibrate between them. Then, as he waited for her answer, there was the sound of footsteps at the far end of the Picture Gallery and a familiar voice cried:

“Ah, here you are, Fabius! I was told you were going round the House.”

The Marquis turned his head to see Charles Collington advancing toward him.

“I received your note,” the Captain said as he walked over the shining oak floor. “I felt there must be some very unusual reason for you to stay in the country, so I have ridden to the rescue, if that is the right word!”

“I was merely informing you that I could not dine with you tonight,” the Marquis said.

“Nevertheless I felt it was important for me to be with you,” Charles Collington replied.

He reached the Marquis’s side to stand with a look of surprise on his face, staring at Saviya.

“Let me introduce you,” the Marquis said. “Captain Charles Collington—Saviya, a very lovely Gypsy whom I ran over with my Phaeton.”

“That was an original way of getting yourself introduced!” Charles Collington exclaimed.

He put out his hand to Saviya and went on:

“It is delightful to meet you, Miss Saviya.”

She dropped him a small curtsy.

“I must go now,” she said to the Marquis.

“No, please do not leave us,” the Marquis begged. “This is my great friend, and I know when I tell him about you, he will not believe a word I say unless you assure him that I am speaking the truth.”

“Did His Lordship say that you were a Gypsy?” Charles Collington asked Saviya with undisguised interest.

“She is indeed!” the Marquis answered, “and she has opened my eyes to a whole new world I did not know existed.”

“I have always been a great admirer of the Gypsies,” Charles Collington said. “When we were fighting in Portugal, the Ciganos, as they were called, were extremely useful. They could move between the two Armies without fear. They were neither friend nor foe, and in consequence they carried messages and spied for both sides!”

“Now that I think about it, I believe you are right!” the Marquis said. “I never paid much attention to the Portuguese Gypsies myself.”

“Gypsies do not wish you to pay them attention,” Saviya said with a smile. “What they would like most would be to be invisible. To come and go with no-one troubling about them.”

“Well, I am very glad that you are not invisible!” Charles Collington said with a look of frank admiration in his eyes. “No wonder His Lordship is in no hurry to return to London. Having seen you, I find it a most compelling reason for preferring the country!”

“I expect you would like a drink, if you have ridden here from London,” the Marquis interposed. “How long did it take you?”

“An hour and thirty-five minutes,” Charles Collington replied. “It is not a record, but I did not hurry myself. My horses are not as good as yours, Fabius.”

“It usually takes me an hour and fifteen minutes,” the Marquis said. “That is, across country. It takes longer by road.”

“I do not mind how long it has taken. I am delighted to be here,” Charles Collington said, his eyes on Saviya.

The Marquis noticed that she drew a little away from him, as if she felt he was encroaching upon her.

When they went downstairs for Charles Collington to have a glass of wine after his ride, it was to find tea had been laid in the Salon.

They sampled a few of the vast selection of sandwiches, cakes and small delicacies for which the Chef at Ruckley House was famous.

As they ate and Charles Collington described in graphic detail a Ball he had attended the night before, he said to the Marquis:

“By the way, Sir Algernon was there and sneering because none of us had yet attempted to win his wager of the thousand guineas.”

“A thousand guineas for a wager?” Saviya exclaimed. “What a huge sum!”

“It is nothing compared to what some fools lose gaming,” Charles Collington replied. “Over twenty thousand pounds changed hands last night at White’s alone. Needless to say, none of it came my way!”