The Legacy (20 page)

The last caravan in the line, with red curtains, was brightly painted, and the blues, reds and greens merged into a strange pattern all over the wagon itself.

‘Rawnie wants to see you, then we will take you back to town.’

Evelyne was led over to the caravan, and she mounted the steps and tapped on the door. Jesse opened it, and with a curt nod jumped down and gestured for her to go inside.

Jesse joined Freedom, who was dismantling the tent Evelyne had used. He jerked his head in the direction of Rawnie’s caravan.

‘By God she’s a big’un, you see the way she fought, like a wildcat…’

Freedom made no reply but continued to pull down the canvas.

The caravan inside was as bright as the outside, full of colours and wonderful paintings. Each panel bore a different scene, and the wooden ceiling was dark blue with moons and stars, and lanterns dangling. The brass was sparkling, polished like mirrors. Bright skirts and blouses were strewn around, and the heavy, sweet smell of musk was everywhere. A side table attached to the wall of the caravan was crammed with pots of cream and rouge. Hanging on hooks were bracelets and bangles and hundreds of beaded necklaces, mostly of bright red beads mixed with gold coins. There were boxes of gold earrings, hair slides, strange, diamond-cut stones, and amber, quaint and oriental. There was malachite and silver, and wonderful, rich, matte yellow gold, a treasure-chest of coral and jet. Evelyne gasped: there were so many colours and sparkling ornaments, it took her completely by surprise.

Rawnie sat curled up on a couch. She was dressed in a bright red skirt with layers and layers of ribboned petticoats. Her hair glistened with oils, her arms covered with bracelets, and she wore a shawl with embroidered roses. She gestured for Evelyne to sit, and seemed pleased with the effect her home had on the strange girl with the funny hair.

Evelyne had to bend slightly, the ceiling was so low, and she sat down next to Rawnie. The girl took Evelyne’s hand and kissed her palm, then she removed her heavy gold earrings and handed them to Evelyne.

‘No, no, I can’t, please, you don’t have to … take them back.’

Rawnie frowned, took back the earrings and reached for some beads. She held them out, and Evelyne again shook her head.

‘You don’t like them? What is it you want?’

Evelyne smiled and said she wanted nothing.

Rawnie’s eyes filled with tears. She lowered her head, and her voice was so soft Evelyne could only just hear.

‘Will you take him when you go?’

Evelyne did not understand. She looked puzzled and reached for Rawnie’s hand, but Rawnie cowered back against the cushions.

‘What is it, Rawnie? That’s your name, isn’t it? Are you afraid of me? I am ashamed for what happened to you, and I will help you in any way … if you want the police informed …’

Rawnie grasped Evelyne’s arm and shook her head, said there were to be no police, they had their own ways of taking care of their people. She had to give her thanks, and Evelyne had refused her gifts; was she ashamed to take them? They were not stolen, they had been handed down to Rawnie from her mother … Evelyne accepted a tiny pair of hooped earrings, and as she bent to kiss Rawnie again, the girl shrank away. There seemed nothing more to say and Evelyne prepared to leave. She could hear the men moving, putting a horse between the shafts of the caravan.

She was aware of Rawnie’s dark eyes staring at her, as if she could see inside her head. Then Rawnie took Evelyne’s hand, her own in comparison were dark-skinned, tiny. The girl’s touch was delicate, as she slowly traced the head line, the life line, her dark eyes seeming even darker as the feather-light touch traced the heart line. Three times she traced the heart line and murmured, ‘Mercury, Apollo, Saturn, Jupiter … venus, venus, venus … the venus.’ She reached over for a lighted candle, brought it closer, and as Evelyne tried to withdraw her hand, her grip tightened. She began to drip the wax slowly into Evelyne’s upturned palm until it was covered in the warm wax. Her black eyes held Evelyne as she began to spread her hand down, pressing hard, palm to palm.

Freedom looked in at the caravan door, glanced at the two women and closed the door again. Rawnie was distant, her eyes expressionless, dark pools. They held Evelyne’s like a snake and then Rawnie lifted her hand away together with the imprint of Evelyne’s in the wax, like a shell. She held it up against the candle flames and stared at the strange, delicate imprint.

The sides of the wagon were banged and Jesse’s voice called out that they must be on their way. Evelyne stood up, nearly knocking her head on the ceiling but remembering just in time. Rawnie still held the paper-thin waxen palm to the candle flame. Evelyne was opening the door to go outside when Rawnie spoke, her low, husky voice as hypnotic as her eyes, ‘He will give you two sons, strong, healthy sons, and you will lose him when the sky is full of black … dark birds. They fill the sky. Beware of the big dark birds, my friend …’

Rawnie was crying soundlessly, tears streaming down her face. She could not read her own destiny, but the faces of the palefaced woman’s two sons mirrored Freedom’s. She might not know it now, but one day he would be the paleface’s rommando: she would have his heart, she already had his soul.

Evelyne turned back, but Rawnie did not look up. She was melting the wax palm in the candle flame, the tears on her cheeks like wax drops, clear, heavy drops.

THE CARAVANS moved out. As the dukkerin, Rawnie travelled last. Roped to the wagon shafts was their herd of wild ponies. Rawnie stood at the door of her wagon and heard from up front the boy yelping and clicking his tongue to move her horse forward over the field.

In the distance she could still see Freedom, Jesse and the paleface woman sitting on top of the rag-and-bone cart. She sighed, so be it, she would marry Jesse, the Black Prince, if he would have her. She closed the door and flicked open the knife Jesse had given her, similar to his own. He had carved her name on the shaft. She ran her finger along the blade, then opened her palm and slit the mound beneath her thumb. The blood oozed out, became a fine trickle. Although the wagon rocked and jolted, she was able to stand still as if by magic, unaware of the movement … suddenly she opened her eyes wide and screamed, cursing like a witch, and the blade sang through the air to land poised in the wood of her caravan wall, twanging.

Sitting on top of the cart, Evelyne clung on for dear life. Jesse led the donkey, pulling on the reins and glowering, muttering to himself. Freedom walked casually alongside, occasionally looking up at her and smiling. Twice she had almost slipped off, but each time he had been there, hand out to help her regain her balance. He had a way, this fighter, of always being there.

Jesse hit the donkey with a stick and the beast veered to the right, tipping Evelyne over. Freedom made Jesse stop the cart for a moment and got up beside her. Jesse flipped him the rein and walked on, swishing the hedges with his stick. Casually, Freedom slipped an arm loosely around Evelyne’s waist and clicked his tongue for the donkey to move on. She sniffed, there was a musky, sweet smell, and at first she thought it came from the hedgerow, maybe a flower, but as she turned her head she realized it came from Freedom, that he must be using a perfume on his hair, or oil. He caught her looking at him and smiled, showing his perfect white teeth.

As soon as they entered town Evelyne jumped down, insisting she would be all right. Without a word Jesse hopped up on to the cart and took the reins again, flipped them and whacked the donkey with his stick at the same time. The cart rattled off.

‘Rags, bones … bring out yer rags …’

As Jesse shouted, Freedom turned back to stare at Evelyne. He gave her a small wave and then turned to face ahead.

Not having the slightest idea where she was, Evelyne kept walking. She had not a penny to her name, and wondered if there might be a post office, then remembered it was Sunday. She sighed, no train ticket home, no handbag, and what did she look like? She was filthy, her skirt was wrinkled, her blouse torn, beautiful suit completely ruined. She walked on until her feet ached, heading towards the centre of town.

Miss Freda stepped out of her shop, neat as ever and wearing one of her hats. She alwats walked past the Grand Hotel on a Sunday, showing off her creations as a means of advertising.

‘Miss Freda, oh, Miss Freda…I’ve found you.’

She squinted in a shortsighted fashion and looked in the direction of the voice, then her mouth dropped open.

‘Oh, oh, what happened to you, child?’

‘Could I possibly borrow my bus fare, it’s a threepenny ride from the terminal, only I lost my bag and …’

To Freda’s horror Evelyne burst into tears. She looked around to see if anyone was watching, ashamed to be seen with the girl, and hustled her towards a shop doorway. Wiping her nose on Miss Freda’s little lace handkerchief, Evelyne promised to come to the shop next day and repay the three pennies. Freda opened her purse and counted out the money, snapped it shut again and said she had to be on her way as she had a very important business meeting and couldn’t stop to talk. From the doorway, Evelyne watched her hurry away down the street.

By the time Evelyne arrived at Dr Collins’ house her heels were blistered and red raw. Mrs Darwin opened the basement door to her.

‘Gawd love me, what have you been doing? Come on in, lovey.’

She ushered Evelyne into the kitchen where the maid was slumped in a chair by the fire.

Kicking the maid out of the chair Mrs Darwin settled Evelyne down with a steaming cup of tea. As Evelyne drew breath to launch into an explanation of her appearance, Mrs Darwin began to cry, wiping her nose on her apron.

‘I’d have left long ago, but I’ve not had me wages and Master David’s taken everything of value, and what he left that bugger Morgan’s made off with. It’s a shocking state of affairs …’

Evelyne felt the tea warming her chilled body.

‘Is David at home, Mrs Darwin?’

Mrs Darwin looked at Evelyne, her jaw dropped open.

‘We went to a fair last night, there was a terrible to-do afterwards, all the benches fell down and David hurt his leg. Did he come home, or is he in hospital?’

Mrs Darwin glanced at Muriel then back to Evelyne. ‘He doesn’t live here, not any more.’ She could see the confusion in Evelyne’s face and she bit her lip, concerned. ‘He only stays here occasionally, see, he wants to sell this place but he can’t, not without your permission, and then what with all his debts, well, the place is not what it was. He’s sold off everything that wasn’t nailed down. We’ve not been paid …’

Evelyne interrupted her, saying she had already said that she would see about the wages as soon as things were settled.

‘Where is David living, then?’

‘Well, with his wife of course. Then if he’s not there he’s with his friend Freddy Carlton, spends a lot of…’

Mrs Darwin didn’t finish. Evelyne’s body shook and she had to put her teacup down.

‘Wife? Is David married?’

‘Oh, yes, he’s married all right, not that you’d know by his manner, and he’s got a little boy too … Lady Primrose, he married Her Ladyship - oh, what would it be - three, almost four years ago.’

Evelyne couldn’t stop herself shaking, her whole body trembled. Mrs Darwin stood up and bent over her. ‘Are you all right, lovey? You’ve gone ever so pale.’

Unable to speak, Evelyne bit her lip hard, forcing herself not to faint, not to cry out, scream his name. Mrs Darwin held her close, patted her head.

‘I can see by your face, lovey, something is terribly wrong. What did he do to you? Oh, dear God, what did he do?’

Mrs Darwin blew her nose on her apron and, shaking her fat head, slumped into her chair.

‘We’ve had a terrible time with him, he killed his father, you know. Oh, it was shocking the way he carried on when he came home. See, he didn’t know who he was - sometimes he would be gone for days on end and we’d have to send the police out looking for him. Her Ladyship had a shocking time of it, it’s memory loss, they say, but it’s terrible to see. He don’t know who he is, where he is, and he never recognized his father. Broke his heart, it did, killed him as sure as I’m sitting here, shocking, terrible, shocking time.’

Evelyne’s heart was hammering inside her chest and Mrs Darwin’s voice droning on made it worse. She put her hands over her ears.

‘Stop it, stop it.’

‘But it’s the truth, if it wasn’t for Lord Carlton he’d be in a mental home, isn’t that right, Muriel?’

Evelyne stood up and clenched her fists.

‘But he knew me, he recognized me. You saw the way he ran to me. He knew who I was … he called my name, he did, he called me … he called my name!’

She sobbed, and Mrs Darwin rocked her in her arms.

‘No, lovey, I went to fetch him, tell him you was here; you see, they say perhaps something from his past’ll make him remember, sparking something off, like. I told him, I told him who you were … but he didn’t recognize you - he didn’t know you.’

Evelyne felt again the sweet kisses, his gentle kisses on her neck, her face, her lips … she wouldn’t believe it. She shook her head fiercely, and Mrs Darwin sighed.

‘Did he have his way with you?’

Evelyne turned away.

‘Oh, lovey, I wish it was different, but what can I say, he used this place like a whorehouse, always bringing terrible women back here, some of them so filthy I’d have to burn the sheet afterwards. He don’t know what he’s doing … and him what used to have two baths a day.’

Evelyne downed her tea and carefully placed the rose-patterned cup back on its saucer. Always able to fight her emotions, she was suddenly icy calm, controlled, ‘I’ll need to see him, see about signing over my part of the house. We’ll have to sell it to give you both your wages … Do you - do you have a telephone number where I could call him?’

Mrs Darwin nodded and led Evelyne to the hall. ‘There’ll be his own home, Lady Primrose’s, it’s her family house they live in. They had a shocking war, she lost her brother and her father, you know…’

Evelyne snapped, her voice hard. ‘What is the telephone number?’