The Black Opal (7 page)

“Grumble, grumble,” said Mrs. Barton.

“Morning, noon and night.”

“She’d find fault with the Angel Gabriel himself,” declared Nanny.

We used to hear the rumble of Mrs. Marline’s voice behind the closed doors when the doctor was with her. She was, of course, complaining.

On and on it went, and then there would be a brief pause. We knew then that the doctor was trying to placate her, speaking in his soft, gentle voice.

“Poor man,” said Sally.

“Worn out, that’s what he is. Nag, nag, nag, and between you and me and the gate post, he’d be better off without her. She’s going to be an invalid all her life … and her going on like that, well, he’ll be the first in the grave, if you ask me. And don’t you dare mention what I’ve said.”

I was sorry for the doctor. He was so gentle, and he looked very tired when he emerged from that room. He stayed in his own as much as he could, I was sure; and he seemed eager to get off to his surgery, and he stayed there longer than he did before, which I guessed was because he hated coming home to Mrs. Marline. As soon as he did come in, she would call out for him; and then the rumbling of the voices would begin.

Annie Logan continued to come in the mornings and evenings, and she always stayed for a chat and tea; then there would be a lot of

whispering in the kitchen with Nanny and Mrs. Barton. I tried to listen when I could, and it all seemed to be about Her and Him.

I felt or perhaps I imagined I did afterwards that there was an uneasy tension in the house. Sometimes when Mrs. Marline had taken her pills because the pain was worse than usual, a stillness would descend on the house as though it were waiting for something to happen.

Then it would change again, and we would hear the wheelchair going from one room to another, or Tom Yardley or the doctor wheeling it into the garden. We would all avoid going there when the chair was there.

It was easy for me, because she had always ignored me. Not so for Estella, Henry and Adeline. She found continual fault with them, and particularly Adeline. She could not hide her contempt for the poor girl. She could not forget that she had borne a child who was not normal and, I imagined, she had always seen herself as a woman who achieved perfection in all she did.

Poor Adeline would invariably resort to tears as soon as she escaped from those sessions with her mother, for she dared not let her mother see them. It was pathetic to realize how she had to hold back her misery. But Miss Carson was always there when she emerged from that dreaded room. She knew exactly how to comfort her; and soon Adeline would forget her mother and accept Miss Carson’s assurances that all was well because she had her dear Miss Carson, who said she was quite clever after all.

In the summer, the gipsies came to the woods again.

One morning I awoke to find them there. They often came late at night and settled in the woods.

Their presence was always a source of excitement to me, I suppose because of my connection with them; and I should never forget my encounter with Rosie Perrin and Jake.

Soon we were seeing them around with their baskets of

clothes pegs and sprays of dried heather and lavender.

“Buy a little posy for luck,” they said. They went round the houses in the neighbourhood and some of the girls went to Rosie Perrin and had their fortunes told.

She would look at their hands and tell them what the future held for them. It did not cost a great deal and Sally told me that, if you wanted to have a really big glimpse into the future, you could pay more and go into Rosie’s caravan where she had a crystal ball. That, said Sally, was the ‘re al thing’.

I could not resist watching them from the shelter of the trees, just as I had on that occasion when I had hurt my ankle. And one day, when I crouched there, looking at the bare-footed children and, among them, Rosie Perrin on the steps of her caravan, I heard footsteps behind me and I turned and saw Jake grinning at me.

“Hello, little girl,” he said.

“Taking a look at the gipsies?”

I didn’t know how to reply, so I said: “Weller yes.”

“You’ve got a fancy for us, I’d say. Not like the folk you’re accustomed to, are we?”

“No,” I replied frankly.

“Well, change is a fine thing. Don’t you agree?”

“Oh yes.”

“You remember me, don’t you?”

“Oh yes. You carried me back.”

“Ankle all right now?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Rosie took quite a shine to you.”

1 was pleased.

“She was very nice to me,” I said.

“So you liked her, did you? Didn’t take against her because she was a gipsy and all that?”

“I liked her very much.”

“I’ll tell you something. She’d like it if you went to see her.”

“Would she?”

“You can bet on that.”

“She might not remember me. It was a long time ago.”

“Rosie remembers everything, so she’d remember you all right. Come along and say hello to her.”

He started towards the encampment and I followed. The children stopped in their play to stare at me, and Rosie Perrin cried out in pleasure when she saw me.

“Why! It’s little Miss Carmel! Come up, dearie. Well, who’d ‘a thought it!”

I mounted the steps of the caravan, followed by Jake, and stepped inside.

Rosie said: “Sit down, dearie. Well, well, it’s some time since you were here. How’s that ankle and the leg? All nice and healthy now? I knew it would be. Tell me all about it. How is it at the house now?

Still treat you all right, do they? “

“Oh yes. We have a governess now.”

“That’s grand, that is. Is she good to you?”

“She is very nice and I like her a lot.”

She nodded.

“And what about the lady and the gentleman … doctor I beg his pardon?”

“She had a riding accident. She can’t walk. There’s a wheelchair and she’s in pain a lot of the time.”

“Poor soul. That little nurse goes there, don’t she … morning and evening. One of our little ‘uns fell over in the road. She came by on her bike and looked after the child. Did a good job and brought her back to us. She had a little chat with me.”

“That was Annie Logan. Yes, she comes in to help Mrs. Marline.”

“A bit of a tartar, that lady, eh?”

“Yes … I suppose so.”

“All right with you, is she?”

“She doesn’t notice me much. She never did. 1 think she doesn’t like to be reminded I’m there.”

“Well, that’s not such a bad thing, eh?” She nudged me and laughed. 1 laughed with her.

“As long as they treat you right.”

Jake slipped away and left us, and she went on to ask questions about the house and its inhabitants. I found myself telling her about Mrs. Marline’s rooms on the ground floor, the wheelchair, the bells that rang all the time, and how the servants grumbled and said there was no pleasing her.

Then I heard someone singing. It was a beautiful clear voice with a lilt in it.

“Three gipsies stood at the castle gate They sang so high, they sang so low, The lady sate in her chamber late Her heart it melted away like snow.”

I had stopped talking to listen.

“That’s Zingara,” said Rosie, and at that moment the door of the caravan opened and the most beautiful woman I had ever seen came in.

Creole earrings dangled from her ears and her thick, shining black hair was piled high on her head; her dark eyes sparkled and Rosie looked at her with great pride.

“Zingara!” she cried.

“Who else!” said the woman. Then she smiled at me and said: “This is ?”

“Little Carmel March, who comes from Commonwood House.”

“I know about you,” said Zingara, looking at me as though she was very pleased to see me.

“And how you came to visit the raggle-taggle gipsies.”

I did not know what to say, so 1 gave a little giggle. She came close to me and put her hands on my shoulders, studying me intently and giving me the impression that she liked me very much. Then she put a hand under my chin and turned my face up to hers.

“Little Carmel March,” she said slowly.

“I’d like to talk to you.”

“Sit beside her, then,” said Rosie.

“I tell you what. I’ll make you some herb tea. Then you two can have a little chat.”

She rose and went to the back of the caravan where there was a small alcove. I was more or less alone with Zingara. She kept looking at me;

she touched my cheek lightly with her finger.

“Tell me,” she said earnestly.

“Are they kind to you at that house?”

“Well, yes … I think so. The doctor always smiles, and Mrs. Marline doesn’t notice me, and Miss Carson is very nice.”

She wanted to hear about Miss Carson and listened intently while I talked. I thought it was very kind of her to seem to care so much. I repeated what I had told Rosie a short time before.

“You’re being educated, and there’s a great deal to be said for education,” said Zingara.

“I wouldn’t mind a bit more of it myself.

Still, I get along. “

“Do you live here with the gipsies?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“No, this is a visit. I was brought up with them.

I used to run about like those little boys and girls you saw down there. I’d sing and dance a lot. 1 couldn’t stop myself, and then, one day, one of those gentlemen who write books was going to write one about gipsies and he came and stayed with us in the camp. He heard me sing and saw me dance and he said I ought to do something about it. He was the one who did it. 1 was sent away to a school where they trained people for the stage-and that’s what I did. I sing and dance and travel round the country. Zingara, the singing gipsy dancer. “

“But you’ve come back.”

“Now and then I do. 1 can’t tear myself away, you see.

It’s all in the song about the raggle-taggle gipsies. Oh, you can never forget where you belong. “

“But you like being Zingara the dancing, singing gipsy.”

“Yes, I like it. But every now and then I am drawn back.”

Rosie arrived from the alcove with three mugs.

“You’ll like this,” she said to me.

“It’s my own special brew. And how are you two getting on together? Like a house on fire, I see.”

“Just like that,” said Zingara.

“Lucky you were here when Miss Carmel came visiting,” said Rosie with a pronounced wink.

“It was the luckiest thing,” Zingara agreed.

“Now, what do you think of my tea?” asked Rosie.

“Is it as good as that served by the doctor’s servants?”

“It’s different,” I replied.

“Well, we are different, aren’t we?” said Rosie.

“Well, we can’t all be alike. Did Carmel tell you about the governess?”

“Yes,” answered Zingara.

“She seems to be a very good governess.”

I nodded vigorously.

“I reckon,” said Zingara, ‘that one day they’ll send you away to school. “

“Henry is going with Lucian Crompton,” I told them.

“Well,” said Rosie, ‘that’s good. You’ll be going with the young man’s sister. That’ll make a real lady of you. “

How 1 enjoyed sitting in the caravan, talking to them. Zingara fascinated me. She had been a gipsy child, running about the encampment and had been taken away by the man who liked her singing and dancing to go on the stage. It was a wonderful story. I should have loved to see her dance. We talked and talked and then I suddenly realized how long I had stayed and that Estella and Miss Carson would be wondering what had happened to me.

1 said: “I must go. 1 ought to be back by now.”

“They’ll miss you, will they?” said Zingara.

They will begin to,” I answered.

They’ll think you’ve been stolen by the gipsies,” put in Rosie with a laugh.

They wouldn’t think that,” I protested.

“You never know,” said Rosie.

“I shall see you again,” Zingara told me.

“Oh, I do hope so,” I said.

She took my hands and gripped them firmly.

“It has been lovely to be with you.” She gave me her dazzling smile and Rosie’s expression was tender and loving. I felt a glow of happiness and wished I need not leave them.

Then I thanked Rosie for the drink and told them how much I had enjoyed being with them.

Zingara suddenly put her arms round me and held me tightly. She kissed me and Rosie sat very still, smiling.

“She must go,” she said at last. They’ll be waiting for her. “

“Yes,” Zingara said, and came to the door of the caravan with me.

“Better not go with her,” said Rosie.

“Better to let her go on her own.”

Zingara nodded.

I came down the steps and looked back. They were both standing, watching me.

1 waved and then sped across the clearing and into the trees.

I had not gone far when I heard the sound of voices. I pulled up sharply and listened. That sounded like the doctor. It could not be.

What would he be doing in the woods at this time?

Quietly I went forward. I did not want to be seen by anyone, for I did not want to talk of my visit to the gipsy encampment. I was not sure why, except that I thought there might be objections, and I did not want to be told I must not go there. I wanted to think about it.

Zingara had made a deep impression on me, as Rosie Perrin had before

her. But this was different. I wanted to think about our meeting just by myself. I did not want Estella’s scornful comments. She would say that they had flattered me because they wanted to tell my fortune or something like that.

I wanted to remember every moment clearly, from that one when Jake had stood beside me and said Rosie Perrin would like to see me, to the time when I had left.

So, I must not be seen.

But yes . that was the doctor’s voice, and then . Miss Carson’s.

Then I saw them. They were sitting together on the trunk of a fallen tree. I knew the spot well. I had often sat on that tree-trunk myself.

I had approached them from behind. Otherwise I should have been seen.

I stood for a few moments watching them. They were talking earnestly.

I could not hear what was said, but every now and then one of them laughed, so it must have been amusing. The doctor’s manner was quite different from usual. I had never seen him like that before. As for Miss Carson, she seemed very merry. It struck me how happy she appeared to be.