The Return of the Gypsy (27 page)

I used to read
to
him a great deal. He enjoyed that. We played piquet and he taught me chess. The days slipped by and I lived in a state of euphoria, feeling that I had done something very noble. I often thought that that was how nuns must feel when they take their vows. In a way I had made similar vows.

I rejoiced in the moment. I lived in a world of adoration. It was quite clear that Edward looked on me as something of a saint.

The Barrington parents came from Nottingham to visit Grasslands, and Mrs. Barrington told me how she would never forget what I was doing for her beloved son, and she thanked God nightly for having brought me to them. It was very gratifying to find myself suddenly playing such a noble part.

Then came Amaryllis’ wedding day—that day which was to have been mine too.

She was married in the chapel at Eversleigh and she and Peter were going to London for the honeymoon. The continent was out of bounds because of the Napoleonic wars. Since the retreat from Moscow, Napoleon’s good fortune had dimmed a little but he was still formidable. Wellington had invaded France and now and then we heard of his successes.

Amaryllis was a beautiful bride; white suited her and in her silk and lace gown she looked like an angel. She was radiant and David and Claudine were so proud of her.

My mother said that we did not really know a great deal about Peter Lansdon, but I think she was a little jealous on my behalf and when she saw Amaryllis with her handsome bridegroom she could not help thinking of her own beloved daughter who had rashly committed herself to a marriage which was not fully one.

There were festivities at Eversleigh and Edward was brought in a wheelchair to join them. There were the usual speeches and toasts and after the bride and groom had left, Edward and I stayed on with the other guests.

The wedding had its effect on me.

After James had got Edward to bed I went in to say goodnight and sit with him for a chat before retiring to my own room.

I hoped I did not show the slight depression which had come to me. Edward had become very sensitive. It was almost as though he had developed an extra sense.

He said rather wistfully: “It was a beautiful wedding.”

“Yes. Amaryllis is a very beautiful girl.”

“She looked so happy.”

“She is,” I said.

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.

I
T 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.”