“We come from Kent.”
“Oh, some way south. Have you been to Nottingham before?”
“No. I have business there and my wife and daughter are accompanying me.”
“That is a very pleasant arrangement. Could you ask your driver to turn off here. Straight ahead is the direct road into Nottingham. This road leads to my home.”
In due course he pointed to a house. It was large, imposing and built on a slight incline for commanding views of the countryside.
We turned in at the drive. Now we could see the house clearly. It must have been built about a hundred years ago and was characteristic of that time with its long windows—short on the ground floor, very tall on the first floor, slightly shorter on the next and completely square on the top. Looking at the door with its spider-web fanlight I thought it had an air of dignity which our Tudor residence lacked. The aspect was of simple good taste and elegance.
The door opened and a woman came out. She stared in astonishment as Mr. Barrington alighted.
“Joseph! What is it? Where have you been? We’ve been so worried. You should have been home hours ago.”
“My dear, my dear, let me explain. I have been robbed on the road … my horse and purse taken. Let me introduce these kind people who have rescued me and brought me home.”
My father had stepped out of the carriage and my mother and I followed.
The woman was middle-aged and rather plump and at any other time would have been called comfortable-looking. Now she was anxious and bewildered.
“Oh Joseph … are you hurt? These kind people … They must come in …”
A man came out of the house. He was tall and I guessed in his mid-twenties.
“What on earth … ?” he began.
“Oh Edward, your father—he’s been robbed on the road. These kind people …”
Edward took charge of the situation.
“Are you hurt, Father?”
“No … no. They only wanted poor old Honeypot and my purse. But there I was with nothing … nothing … and a good seven miles from home.”
The young man turned to us. “We are deeply grateful for the help you gave my father.”
“They must come in,” said Mrs. Barrington. “What are we thinking of? We are just about to serve dinner …”
My father said: “We have to get to Nottingham. I have urgent business there.”
“But we have to thank you,” said Mrs. Barrington. “What would have happened to my husband if he had been left there … unable to get home.”
“No one would stop … except these kind people,” added Mr. Barrington.
“They were all scared to,” replied my father. “They know something of these knavish tricks people get up to nowadays.”
“You stopped,” said Mrs. Barrington. “Otherwise my husband would have had to walk home. That would have been too much for him in his state of health. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You must come in and have a meal with us,” said Edward with the air of a man who is used to giving orders.
“We have to book rooms at an inn,” explained my father.
“Then you must come tomorrow night.”
My mother said we should be delighted.
“Very well, tomorrow. The name of the house is Lime Grove. Anyone will direct you here. Everyone in Nottingham will know the Barringtons.”
We said goodbye and as we drove away my mother said: “I’m glad we stopped and brought him home.”
“I have an idea,” my father reminded her, “that you tried to persuade me not to.”
“Well, those highwaymen can do such dreadful things.”
“I was terrified when you stepped into the road,” I added.
He gave me that look which I knew so well—slightly sardonic with the twitching of the lips.
“Oh, I was not in the least alarmed because I knew my daughter was there to look after me.”
“You are a rash man,” I said. “But I am glad you were tonight.”
“I look forward to dinner,” added my mother. “The family seem very agreeable.”
Then we were on the road to Nottingham.
We found a good inn in the town and my father was treated with the utmost respect. He seemed to be known, which surprised me. I had always been aware that he had a secret life which was involved in matters besides banking and his various business interests in London as well as the management of the estate. The secret life had taken him to France in the past and involved him and his son Jonathan in numerous activities. Jonathan had died because of his involvement; and Dolly was somehow caught up in the intrigue through the French spy Alberic who had loved her sister Evie. None of us could be entirely unaffected by the smallest action of those around us.
But such activities clearly had their advantages which were now borne home to me. I believed my father was a man who was capable of taking actions which might be impossible for most men.
My spirits were rising. He would use his influence to free Romany Jake.
My mother whispered to me when we were alone in that room which was to be mine and which was next to my parents’: “If anyone can save the gypsy, your father can.”
“Do you think he will?” I asked.
“He knows your feelings. My dear child, he would do anything he possibly could for you.”
That was a great comfort and I felt a good deal better than I had since that terrible moment when the door of Grasslands had opened and Romany Jake stood there while I realized that my father and the man Forby were behind me.
The very next morning my father was busy. He had discovered that the trial would not take place for a week.
“So we have some time at our disposal,” he said with gratification.
He saw several people of influence and when we met over luncheon he told us that the victim was said to be a man of unsullied virtue by his friends.
“We have to prove him otherwise,” he added.
“Would that save Romany Jake?” I asked.
“No. But it would be a step in the right direction. The girl will be represented as a person of low morals.”
“How could they prove that?”
“Easily. They’ll have friends to come forward and swear to it. I’ll tell you what I plan to do. The gypsies are encamped outside the town. They are awaiting the trial. I’ll see them tomorrow and I’ll impress on them that if we can prove the girl to be a virgin, we may have a good case.”
“Why not now?”
“My dear daughter, you are impatient. First I have to make inquiries. And have you forgotten that we have a dinner appointment for tonight?”
“Those nice Barringtons!” said my mother. “It will be interesting to get to know them.”
“We are here to save Romany Jake,” I reminded her.
“We’ll do our best,” said my father. “Now these Barringtons live in the neighbourhood. They are gentry … obviously. They might know the local squire and perhaps they were acquainted with his nephew. You have to tread cautiously in these matters. Leave no stone unturned. A little diversion this evening will do us no harm.”
So that evening we drove out to the Barringtons’, where we were most warmly welcome. Mr. and Mrs. Barrington with their son, Edward, were waiting at the door to greet us, and we were taken into an elegant drawing room on the first floor. Its long windows looked out over well-trimmed lawns and flowerbeds.
We were given wine and again effusively thanked by them all.
“We want you to meet the rest of the family,” said Mrs. Barrington. “They are all anxious to express their thanks.”
My father raised his hand. “We have had too many thanks already for what—-on our part—was a very trivial service.”
“We shall never forget it,” said Mr. Barrington solemnly.
“Oh, here is my daughter Irene,” said Mrs. Barrington. “Irene, come and meet the kind people who brought your father home yesterday.”