He noticed me and cried: “What are you doing here?”
“I had to come, of course,” I replied.
He did not answer. He was watching the flames being beaten out. Then he shouted to the gypsies: “You’ll be off my land tomorrow.”
He turned and started to ride away. I followed with David.
My father was up early next morning, and so was I. He was preparing to go out and I said to him: “What are you going to do about the gypsies?”
“Send them packing.”
“What? Now?”
“I’m riding out in a few minutes.”
“Are you going to blame them all because one or two were careless?”
He turned to me, his eyes narrowed. “What do you know about it? These people nearly burned down my woods. If it hadn’t rained how much timber do you think I would have lost? I won’t have them burning down my trees, stealing my pheasants. Thieves and vagabonds, the lot of them.”
“The woods weren’t burnt down. And I don’t suppose you’ll miss a pheasant or two.”
“What does all this mean? Why are you making excuses for a band of gypsies?”
“Well, they have to stay somewhere. If people won’t let them camp, where can they go?”
“Anywhere, but on my land.”
With that he strode out. I went to my room and hastily put on my riding habit. I ran down to the stables. There, they told me that my father had left a few minutes before.
I hurried out and caught up with him before he had reached the woods. He heard my approach and looking round pulled up sharply and stared at me in astonishment.
“What do you want?”
“You are going to see the gypsies,” I said. “I am coming with you.”
“You!”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m coming.”
“You’ll turn right around and ride straight home.”
“I don’t want you to go alone.”
I saw the familiar twitch of his lips. At least he was amused.
“What do you think they are going to do to me? Truss me up like a pheasant and eat me for supper?”
“I think they might be dangerous.”
“All the more reason why you should not be there. Go back at once.”
I shook my head.
“So you would disobey me, would you?”
“I am coming with you. I am afraid for you to go alone.”
“Do you know,” he said, “you get more like your mother every day. Plaguey daughters! I don’t know why I put up with you.”
“I’m coming,” I said.
He was laughing inwardly, well pleased. He turned his horse and started to trot towards the woods. I fell in beside him. It was far from his mind that there would be any trouble or he would then have insisted that I go back. He must have been dealing with gypsies all his life and I doubt he had ever known rebellion, either from them or anyone else with whom he came into contact.
We came to the gypsies’ encampment. There were four caravans there—brown and red—together with a van which was laden with baskets, clothes pegs and plaited rush mats. A fire was burning and over it sat a woman stirring something in a pot which smelt like a stew. Several horses were tethered in the bracken and four or five men were seated near the fire watching us.
It was clear that no preparations for departure had been made.
I felt a shiver of apprehension as I glanced at my father. The blood had rushed into his face. He was going to be very angry and show these people who was the master here.
He said in a voice of thunder: “I ordered you off my land. Why are you still here?”
The group near the fire did not move and the woman went on stirring. They just behaved as though my father was not there. This was the quickest way to anger him. He urged his horse forward towards the group of men. I followed.
“Get up, you louts!” he shouted. “Stand up when I speak to you. This is my land. I’ll not have you despoiling it… stealing my birds. Take your horses and your caravans and go. Go, I say. You were here with my permission. That permission is now withdrawn.”
One of the men got slowly to his feet and sauntered towards us. There was insolence in his very movements. Colour burned under his brown skin and his eyes were fierce. I saw that his hand rested on a knife in his belt.
“We do no harm here,” he said. “We go when we are ready.”
“No harm!” cried my father. “You call setting fire to my woods no harm! No harm … stealing my pheasants. You will go when I say and that is … this minute.”
The man shook his head slowly. He stood there threateningly but my father was not to be threatened.
My throat was dry. I tried to whisper that we must go at once. The gypsies in this mood were dangerous; they were a wild people and we were unarmed. It was folly to stay here. They were so many and we were but two.
“Father…” I whispered.
He made a gesture with his hand. “Leave me,” he said. “Get away … at once.”
“I will not go without you,” I answered fiercely.
Another of the men stood up and started to come towards us. Others followed. Four … five … six, I counted. They came very slowly. It was as though time had slowed down and they were taking a long time to reach us.
“Do you hear me,” cried my father. “Start packing … now.”
“The land belongs to the people,” said the man with the knife. “We’ve got a right.”
“Much right as you have,” shouted one of the others.
“Fools! Knaves! I’ll have the law on you. I’m going straight now to see about it.”
He had my horse by the bridle and was about to turn it when a stone hit my saddle. I caught my breath. It was too late for retreat now. I was aware of them closing in around us, and for the first time in my life I saw fear in my father’s face. It was for me, of course. He was terrified that he would not be able to protect me.
Then suddenly there was a shout from one of the caravans. We all looked towards it. Romany Jake was standing on the steps—colourful in his orange coloured shirt and the gold glittering in his ears.
“What’s to do?” he shouted.
Then he took in the scene—my father with me beside him, the angry gypsies surrounding us.
“His lordship wants to drive us off the land, Jake,” said one of the men.
“Drive us off? When we’re going in good time?”
He sauntered towards the crowd and came close to us. Even in such a moment his eyes held mine, slightly mocking, full of hidden meaning. “Good sir,” he said, in loud ringing tones, “I and my friends will not harm your land. Last night there was an accident. It was not our intention to cause damage.”
“But you did,” said my father. “And you’ll get out… now.”
“In good time we will pass on.”
“Not in your good time but mine. And that is now! This day, and, by God, if you continue to defy me I’ll have the law on you. It’s time some action was taken. I’ll get you shipped to Botany Bay, the whole lot of you. Perhaps you’ll be prevailed upon to do a bit of honest work out there.”
The man with the knife stepped nearer. I saw it flash in his hand as he lifted his arm. At that moment someone threw another stone.
“My God … Jessica…” murmured my father. I think he would have killed the man who threw the stone if he could have caught him. I felt numb with fear. I had always thought of him as invincible. He had always been a power in our household; he had lived a life of adventure; he had faced the French mob in the Terror and brought my mother out from under their noses; but here he was, unarmed, completely outnumbered … and vulnerable … because he was afraid … afraid for me as he could never be for himself.
They were cunning, these gypsies. I think some of them sensed the weakness in him.
One of them came close to me and laid a hand on my thigh.