He lifted her up in his arms. “You’re an angel, Gypsy, and I love you.”
She smiled. Then she said angrily, “You’re a stupid man. Don’t you know it’s silly to gamble?”
“You are right, Little Gypsy. I am and I do. I have learned my lesson. It shall never happen again.”
“This is our secret,” she said. “Nobody must know.”
“How are you going to sell Enderby without anyone’s knowing?” I asked.
That puzzled her and Jonathan put an arm round her and held her against him.
“Don’t worry, Gypsy. I can get the money easily.”
“Don’t ever do it again,” she begged.
“I won’t. But I’m glad I did this once because it has shown me what good friends I have.”
“I only offered to sell Enderby because you saved my life.”
“Of course. Quid pro quo. One good turn deserves another.”
“Five hundred pounds is a lot of money,” she said severely.
“A life is worth a little more,” he told her. “So you still owe me.
She was very solemn.
I said: “It’s all right, Tamarisk. Don’t say anything about selling Enderby. Don’t say anything at all.”
“Of course I won’t. It’s a secret.”
“We shall pay the money and that will be an end of it. No one shall know except us three.”
She smiled slowly. Secrecy appealed to her devious nature.
The incident revealed to me her feelings for Jonathan, and that gave me a few twinges of uneasiness.
That should have been an end of the matter. Jonathan could raise the money. The Pettigrews were a very rich family and the debt itself, though large, would not have given Jonathan major anxiety if it had not been for the time limit for payment and my father’s somewhat fanatical views about gambling.
The matter would have passed off smoothly—and I believe it had provided a good lesson for Jonathan—but for one thing. Someone was determined to make mischief.
When my father was breakfasting a day or so later, a letter was brought to him. I was with him at the time. He liked someone to breakfast with him and as I was an early riser and believed that he would rather have it with me than anyone else—except my mother—I usually contrived to be with him.
He did not pick up the letter immediately but after talking to me about the celebrations and when we should return to Eversleigh he opened it. His face turned puce with fury.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“The young scoundrel!” he cried.
I took the letter from him. It was headed Frinton’s Club, St. James’s.
Dear Mr. Frenshaw,
I think it is my duty to bring to your notice the fact that your grandson, Mr. Jonathan Frenshaw, visited this club on the night of the 24th June and lost the sum of £500 in play. Knowing your feelings regarding this pastime—which I share—I thought it only right to let you know so that you may—if possible—turn the young man from this foolhardy practice.
A Friend
I cried: “What a beastly hypocritical letter. I think the person who wrote it is loathsome.”
“It’s true, I suppose.”
I was silent.
“My God,”-he said, “and this is the young idiot we are harbouring at Eversleigh! Tell them to send him to me… at once … this minute.”
“He probably isn’t up yet.”
“No. Late night, I daresay. At the tables till the early hours of the morning!”
“Aren’t you accusing him before you know?” I said, with sinking heart.
“Second thoughts … I’ll go to see him.”
He strode out of the room clutching the letter. I followed him up the stairs. He threw open the door of Jonathan’s room. Jonathan was in bed fast asleep.
“Wake up,” roared my father.
Jonathan slowly opened his eyes and stared at us in astonishment.
“What are you doing in bed at this hour? Why aren’t you up and about? Late last night, were you? At the gaming tables were you? I’ll tell you this, young man, you’re out. You’ll not be coming back to Eversleigh. You can go straight back to your mother. I shall speak to your grandfather about you, you lazy good-for-nothing.”
Jonathan was the sort of young man who would always be at his best in a crisis.
“Am I dreaming?” he asked. “Are you figures in a dream? You look real enough to me. Is that you, Jessica?”
“Yes,” I said, and thinking it best to put him in the picture as soon as possible added: “Someone has sent a letter about your gambling debt.”
That startled him. “How tiresome,” he said.
My father went to him and taking him by the shoulders shook him. Jonathan’s head went back and forth, his hair flopping over his face. He looked so comical that I would have laughed if the situation had not been so serious and I was feeling so upset because I liked having him around at Eversleigh.
“You had better not try to hide anything from me,” said my father.
“I had no intention of doing so,” said Jonathan. “I incurred the debt in a rash moment and oddly enough without having any desire to.”
“Stop talking like an idiot.”
“It’s true, sir. I went to the club and was persuaded to sit down and before I knew what was happening I had lost five hundred pounds.”
“Do you think I say what I don’t mean?”
“Certainly not.”
“Haven’t I told you that I won’t have gamblers on my estate?”
“Many times.”
“And you deliberately defy me?”
“Defiance was not really in my mind.”
My father would have struck him but with a graceful gesture Jonathan evaded the blow.
“I can only admit that this accusation is true,” said Jonathan, “and add that it shall never happen again.”
The door was flung open and Tamarisk came in.
“What do you want?” I cried.
“Get that child out of here,” said my father.
“You mustn’t blame Jonathan,” said Tamarisk. She ran to my father and hung on his arm. “It was my fault. I gambled. I lost the money. I was the one. It was five hundred pounds and I am going to sell Enderby to pay for it.”
It was so nonsensical that it stemmed my father’s anger.
“The girl’s gone mad,” he said.
“Yes, it was madness,” went on Tamarisk. “It was the gambler’s fever. You get it… and you are mad. You go in … the stakes get higher and you go on, saying I’ll go higher … I’ll go five hundred pounds.”
She was so beautiful in her charming innocence and determination to save Jonathan that I almost loved her in that moment. Her wonderful dark eyes were blazing and the colour in her cheeks made a charming contrast to her dark hair. No one could have watched her unmoved—not even my father, angry as he was, could be anything but susceptible to a beautiful woman. She was scarcely a woman but her innocence and passionate devotion gave her a certain maturity.
Jonathan was looking at her with great tenderness. I understood his feeling. This selfish rebellious girl was capable of love and when she loved it would be a fierce emotion which matched her temperament.
My father said gruffly: “You’re talking nonsense, child.”
“No … no. It’s true. I was there.”
“When?”
“When I lost the money.”
My father took her by the shoulders and looked into her face. “Don’t lie to me,” he said.
“It’s not lies. It’s true. Jonathan was pretending … to save me.”
“As you are pretending … to save him?”
“You’ll be sorry if you send him away.”
“Do you mean,” said my father and I saw his lips beginning to twitch in the way I remembered he had often looked at me when some precocity of mine had amused him during my childhood, “that you will be sorry if he goes?”