“October,” repeated Mr. Forby. “And not since?”
“Oh no, not since,” said my mother. “We should have been aware of them if they had been here.”
“They set my woods on fire,” put in my father. “I turned them off the land after that.”
“They say he is wanted for murder,” said David.
“That’s so,” said Mr. Forby.
“He’s a real villain then.”
“These gypsies have to be watched, sir. It’s usually petty crimes. Murder! Well, I have to say that’s rare enough. But we’re determined to get him.”
“Who was the victim?” asked Claudine.
“He was the nephew of the local squire. They were encamped near Nottingham.”
“Oh dear, that’s bad,” said my mother. “I thought perhaps it might have been a quarrel in the camp.”
“Oh no, the gypsy attacked the young man and killed him.”
“I hope they catch him,” said my mother.
I heard myself say in a rather high-pitched voice: “Why did he kill this man … the nephew of the squire?”
“Some quarrel over a girl. They’re a hot-blooded lot, these gypsies.”
I had to control myself. I wanted to shout: A quarrel over a girl! The squire’s nephew tried to rape her. Romany Jake was quite right to do what he did. Any man of chivalry would have done the same.
I must be careful. I must not betray the fact that I had seen him. I should somehow have to warn him that this man Forby was in the neighbourhood. I must be wary. He never should have come here.
They were talking about him. “A colourful sort of fellow as I remember,” said my father.
“I gather he is not a real gypsy.”
“What’s he doing living with them then?”
“It’s all rather odd. In fact he’s an odd fellow. We’ve been making enquiries. It seems he comes from quite a good family … somewhere in Cornwall. He’s known as an eccentric.”
“Who goes round committing murders,” said my mother.
“We don’t know of any others,” I said. “And it wasn’t murder. It was this girl…”
“Murder is murder, my dear young lady,” said Mr. Forby. “It is my job to see that the guilty are brought to justice.”
“But you said it was a quarrel over a girl. Perhaps …”
My father was looking at me with raised eyebrows and Mr. Forby went on: “We expect a bit of trouble with the gypsies. He seems to be a sort of leader in spite of not being one of them. Cornish name of Jake Cadorson. Romany Jake is just a nickname.”
“I remember the fellow,” said my father. “I quite liked his manner. He was reasonable enough when I went to order them off my land.”
“Hot-blooded,” said Mr. Forby.
“Where are they searching for him?” I asked.
“All along the coasts. I’ve got my men out. We’re determined to get him. He’ll try to leave the country. I think he’ll make for the east coast. Harwich most likely. But for the war I’d have expected it to be the south coast. But he couldn’t very well get to France at a time like this. No, I reckon he’ll make for Harwich.”
I felt myself tremble. I thought: He will go straight into the trap.
I had to see him.
“I’m going to all the houses round here,” went on Mr. Forby. “I’m warning them to keep a look out. If anyone should see this man we want to know right away.”
I made an excuse to get away. I went to my room, got into my riding habit and slipped out of the house. I saddled my horse and rode out.
The trees were still dripping with moisture and the ground was damp after the storm. The bushes looked as though they had had a battering. Why does one notice these things when one’s thoughts are deeply involved elsewhere?
I reached Grasslands. It was very silent. I dismounted and tied my horse to the mounting block. I went to the door and rang the bell. I called through the keyhole: “It’s all right. It’s Jessica…”
I heard his footsteps. The door was opened and he stood there.
Just at that moment there was a shout. My father and Mr. Forby were galloping towards the house.
“No, no!” I cried.
Romany Jake looked at me and the pain in his eyes hurt me more deeply than I had ever been hurt before.
They had leaped from their horses. Mr. Forby produced a gun.
“It’s all up,” he shouted.
I felt as if I were going to faint. My father put his arm round me. “It’s all right,” he said. “I’m here.”
Two men appeared as if from nowhere. I had never seen them before but I knew that they were Mr. Forby’s assistants.
I could not bear to see what was happening.
My father said: “I’ll take my daughter home.”
I turned to Romany Jake. I could not speak. I shook my head. I could scarcely see him. My eyes were full of tears … tears of horror, remorse, frustration … and deep sorrow. I wanted above all things to talk to him, to explain. I could not bear him to think that I had betrayed him.
Quietly I rode back with my father.
We went to the stables and my father lifted me out of the saddle. He held me against him. He was not naturally demonstrative. The grooms took our horses and we went into the house.
My father said: “I think you had better tell me, don’t you? What is your part in all this?”
I said: “We’ve got to save him.”
I wanted to talk to him. All my life he had been the most powerful being in the world. We all knew of how he had brought my mother out of France: he had always behaved as though he were a superior human being with such conviction that we had believed him to be.
Now I thought: He can save Romany Jake. He was my hope. I had to let Romany Jake know that I had not betrayed him. What had he thought when he opened the door and saw me and the men behind me? What could he have thought but one thing? That I had betrayed him.
“Come into my study,” said my father. “You can tell me all about it.”
When we were there he shut the door and said: “Well?”
“It was not murder,” I told him. “It was not what you think. The squire’s nephew was going to rape the gypsy girl. Jake found them. There was a fight and the nephew was killed during it.”
“Who told you this?”
“He did.”
“You mean … the gypsy?”
“He’s not a real gypsy. He joined them because he wanted to be free.”
“You seem to know a lot about him.”
“Why were you there … behind me?”
“I was riding with Forby. We went out together and saw you turn in at Grasslands. I said, ‘That’s my daughter,’ and we rode after you.”
“Why did you do that… oh why?”
“My dear girl, we were going to ask at Grasslands if anyone had seen the gypsy.”
“But no one was there. Dolly and the servants were at Enderby.”
“I thought some of the servants might have been there. They knew him … from when he was here before.”
I buried my face in my hands. I felt so wretched.
“Come on,” he said. “Explain.”
“I went to Grasslands to shelter from the storm. I was going to stand under the porch till it was over. He was there. I thought I saw someone at the window and he saw me. He trusted me …”
“You mean you spoke to him?”
“Yes. I went into Grasslands and he told me what had happened … how he had killed that man. He said there would be no mercy for him. He, the gypsy, had killed the squire’s nephew. I wanted to warn him that that man was in the neighbourhood and had his men all along the coasts. He was going to Harwich after dark. He would have walked right into the trap. And that is just what he did, and he will think that I…”
“You must not upset yourself. You did not mean to betray him.”
“But I did.”