Tragedy at Two (29 page)

“What did you say?” Josie hopped back on to the pavement to avoid being run down by a trotting pony and trap, driven by a fiercely handsome, bare-chested young man with dark curly hair who yelled at his mates on the side of the road as he passed.

“Nothing,” said Lois. “Just watch where you’re going, and stop ogling the raggle-taggle gypsies.”

They walked on over the bridge, and turned left on to a footpath leading along the riverbank into a stretch of tall trees. They passed a slipway into the river, where horses were being led down to be washed, ready for selling among the dealers. There were children everywhere, small brown imps, fearless in the water.

The river under the bridge looked treacherous to Lois, and she noticed police and RSPCA officials mingling among the gypsies here and there. Sandbanks stretched out almost to midstream, and then the fast running channel was suddenly deep enough for young lads to ride bareback with no safety gear whatsoever, driving their horses on until the animals swam, with wild eyes and only heads visible. More imps, their clothes soaking wet from the river, clung precariously to the backs of cars and trucks, as the nose-to-tail traffic edged forward along the road.

“You know what Gran would say,” Josie laughed. “It’ll all end in tears!”

Lois smiled back at her daughter. This was really nice, she thought, being away from home and all its attendant responsibilities and worries, with her only daughter, who looked brighter and prettier than she’d seen her since the—But no! This was a holiday, and until she found Athalia and George she would not brood on anything else but enjoying themselves.

They strolled slowly along the riverbank, listening to the Romany language being spoken. “You know what, Mum,” Josie said. “I feel like we’re the foreigners here. It’s rather humbling, isn’t it.”

“Not humbling for the residents of Appleby, apparently,” Lois said. “They’re all advised to lock up their daughters, cars, garden statuary, an’ that. Some of them curse at the loss of trade when they shut up shop for the week. I suppose it’s necessary,” she added, looking at a family picnicking under a tree, “though it all seems peaceful enough now.”

“Ah, but,” Josie began, and then was aware that her mother had stopped and was staring back along the road that ran parallel to the footpath. “What is it, Mum?” she said.

Lois did not answer for a moment, and then said, “That was one of the gypsies we saw at Farnden! I’d know him anywhere!”

“Not the ones with the dog!” Josie said.

“No, the one who introduced me to the old woman when I thought I’d run over
her
dog. I’m not sure, but I think his name was George.” She was sure, of course. She was absolutely certain that the tall, strong figure sitting sideways on a minimal racing trap, waving to friends at the wayside, was indeed George. He was wearing a bright check shirt, enabling her to follow him with her eyes as his horse sped along with its odd-looking trotting action, weaving its way through the traffic.

Josie frowned. “Aren’t they endangering the public, driving like that? Where are the police?”

“Everywhere. You must have noticed. But it seems Appleby hands over the town to the gypsies for the fair. It’s been going on for more than three hundred years, you know.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s safe now. Supposing a child ran across in front of that man? It wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Lois refused to feel depressed. She recognised her daughter as a child of the health-and-safety age, and wondered what had happened to a sense of adventure and learning to cope with risk by encountering it.

“What about the hunt at home?” she asked Josie. “They mill around on the roads, and their followers in Land Rovers are a menace on the narrow lanes. Nobody persecutes
them
.” But even as she said it, she knew she was wrong. Hunting with dogs was banned, and the hunting folk were keeping a low profile, desperate not to attract attention to the fact that they were carrying on regardless.

“Forget it, anyway,” Josie said. “We’re here to soak it all up. The romance, the tradition, the danger and the spectacle! Stand still, Mum,” she added. “I want to take a picture of you up to your ankles in empty tins and plastic bottles, just to see if Dad mistakes you for a gypsy!”

They walked on through the shadowy trees and out into a camping place. Lois could not believe her luck when there across the field she saw the trap with the horse still between its shafts, with George in close conversation with a man half his height, wearing a cloth cap and carrying a stick.

LOIS DID NOT APPROACH GEORGE. SHE HAD DECIDED TO MAKE her first contact with him when Josie was off doing something on her own. It was a small risk, she knew. She might not be able to find him again in this huge crowd, but as all the gypsies from Athalia’s lot would be here, she would be sure to see at least one of them, and ask about George. Best of all would be to meet Athalia herself. Although the old woman had warned her off from wanting to be friends, she reckoned she could persuade her that here, miles and miles from Long Farnden, there would be no harm in it.

She and Josie walked back across a small iron bridge and on to the footpath going along the opposite side of the river. This bordered the leisure part of the town. A playground for small children had its usual huddle of subteens, up to no good. “Part of growing up, Mum,” Josie said, reading her mother’s expression. “Not that different from your own depraved childhood.”

Lois laughed. “That’s quite enough of that, miss,” she said.

They walked past the scout hut, the wide open sports field, and admired an attractive row of cottages on the far side. Josie tried to imagine the town without the horse fair, and thought how pleasant it must be to have a holiday here. But Rob would have been bored out of his mind. He was an indoor man, she remembered, continuing her train of thought. So in that case, what was he doing
walking
along a road on his way back home late at night?

Lois glanced at Josie, whose pace had slowed. She knew at once what had happened. Josie’s head was down, and she was frowning.

“Penny for ’em,” she said.

Josie looked up. “Nothing much,” she said, and seeing disbelief on her mother’s face, she continued, “and do you really need to ask?”

“Not really,” Lois said, linking her arm through Josie’s. “Let’s try to leave it behind for a few days, duckie. Come on, time for supper soon. I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”

 

 

THIS HOTEL IS
SO
COMFORTABLE AND PLEASANT, THOUGHT LOIS as they sat down at a table in the dining room. I could stay here for ever, away from Farnden and all my worries. She knew she didn’t mean it, and supposed that was what holidays were for, to escape and return home more able to cope.

They ordered their meal, and looked around. It was early, and only two or three other tables were occupied. The waitress was foreign, but her English was adequate, and they had a conversation about her home in Poland and the boyfriend she had left behind.

“I don’t suppose gypsies would be allowed to stay here,” Josie said. “Can you imagine them sitting respectably at a table talking in hushed voices and minding their manners?”

“Of course not,” Lois answered. “The whole point of the fair is to be together with all their . . .”

“Tribe?” suggested Josie.

“Friends, I was going to say,” Lois said. “They want to be with their own. A lot are related, and only see each other at these fairs. Appleby is like the Grand Prix. The big event of the year. You wait ’til we see the races an’ the campsite.”

“How come you know so much about it?”

“I did my homework,” Lois said proudly. “Googled up all the Web sites. Your mum is no slouch, you know.” She patted Josie’s hand and smiled. Then both she and Josie turned to look at the entrance to the dining room, hearing a familiar voice.

“Well, if it isn’t Mrs. Meade and her sidekick!” Alf Smith, with an odd expression on his face, approached them and stood looking down, first at one and then the other. “And what brings you here, may I ask?” he said.

“Same as you, I expect,” Lois said, quickly gathering her wits. “We’re having a break, come to see the fair and shake the dust of Farnden off our feet for a few days. Is Mrs. Smith with you?” She did hope he wouldn’t ask to share their table, but he shook his head.

“No, she’s not interested in gypsies. Quite the reverse, in fact,” he said. “She’s looking after the farm while I’m here. Getting up to mischief, I dare say. While the cat’s away, etcetera.”

Was he joking? Lois thought. He didn’t smile, and excused himself without further conversation, walking across to a table as far away as possible from theirs.

“Blimey, that’s a turnup,” Josie whispered. “Didn’t know he was that keen on his gypsy friends.”

“He claims his great-grandmother was one of them,” Lois said softly.

“Why ain’t he camping up with the rest of ’em on their site, then?” said Josie sourly. She had not forgotten his set-to with Sam Stratford in her shop, and had no neighbourly feelings towards Alf Smith.

AFTER SUPPER, LOIS AND JOSIE DECIDED TO HAVE A WANDER around the town. “Leave your handbag in the room,” Lois said. “Best if we have nothing on us worth stealing.”

“I thought you didn’t believe all that stuff about the gypsies thieving?”

“There’s good gypsies and bad gypsies, just like everybody else,” Lois said. “Better safe than sorry, as Gran would say.”

The town was jumping. Crowds ambling along the roads made it impossible for traffic to do more than crawl. Loud-voiced men, women dressed for a festival, the ever-present wild children and dogs, all filled the town, transforming it into something—as Josie said—very un-English.

There was a police presence larger than any Lois had seen anywhere. Policemen and policewomen on every street corner, cruising round in cars, gathering at well-known hot spots, anticipating trouble. By a Caught on Camera van, a knot of police officers talked together, and then suddenly they all laughed. Friendly badinage between gypsies and police reached up to Lois’s open window, and she felt a strong urge to be part of this festive atmosphere.

The hotel receptionist had given them a key to the front door of the hotel, which was firmly locked. She looked worried when they said they were going for a stroll. “Stick to the middle of town, then,” she said. “We get a lot of hangers-on this week, bad ’uns who use the fair as an excuse to break the law, knowing that it’ll all be blamed on the gypsies. Keep together, anyway. Most of our residents spend the evening in our pleasant lounge, watching television and having drinks. Can’t I persuade you?”

Josie would have been happy to be persuaded, but Lois thanked the receptionist kindly, and said they would be careful. She was sure they would be fine, with all those police about.

EDWINA SMITH WAS NOT AS EXCITED AS SHE THOUGHT SHE would be at the idea of Alf being far away for a few days. She had got up early and seen him off to Appleby, assuring him that she would look after everything on the farm. “And Sam will come over and help with all the things you arranged with him,” she said innocently.