The Return of the Gypsy (49 page)

My mother, with Mrs. Barrington, had made hasty arrangements. They had both agreed that I must get away for a while. For one thing I needed a change of scene, and for another there was the question of Jake.

Whatever the verdict, suspicions would remain. I could not go to Jake so soon. Nor could I see him every day. I was unsure of my feelings. There would always be a doubt in my mind. He had been there … alone. He had had the opportunity and I could not forget that he had said most vehemently: “I will find a way.”

All my life I would be haunted by those words.

So my mother had said: “We must get away. Why not go to Charlot? He has often said we should. You would like to see the place, Jessica. It is so interesting. And the children are fun. You will love it.”

I knew it was a great sacrifice for my father to leave England. He had always disliked the French and France, and I guessed that he must be longing for England, but his desire to be with my mother and me was greater than that; and he agreed that it was better for me to get as far away from Grasslands as possible.

I felt too listless to think for myself and I allowed them to make the arrangements.

Tamarisk went to stay with Amaryllis at Enderby; she was happy enough, I believe, because she saw a great deal of Jonathan who had said he would keep an eye on her. The Barringtons went back to Nottingham, taking Clare with them. They were going to stay in Scotland with Irene and her family.

Jake went to Cornwall. I had heard from him. In fact I had had several letters. I only had to say the word and he would come and get me, he reminded me. There was a convention that a widow should allow a year to pass after her husband’s death before she remarried. He did not care a fig for such conventions. He was ready for me now.

“You will come here,” he wrote. “You will be far away and on the other side of England. I am waiting for you, longing for you. I hope you are thinking of me. No one here will know what has happened; and when we pay our visits to London it will all have been forgotten. Who cares for conventions, anyway? True lovers never did.”

To read his letters brought him back to me so vividly. I thought of him constantly during the long hot days and dreamed of him at night.

If he came, I asked myself, how should I feel? Should I ever be able to see him without seeing also that room in Grasslands with the cabinet by the bed and the glass standing on it?

What had happened that night? Should I ever know? Could I love the man who had murdered my husband? Had he? Could I suspect the man I loved of such an act?

I was unsure of myself.

Perhaps that was why my mother had brought me here. That was why my father curbed his impatience and tried to suppress his longing for home.

I accepted their care of me. I leaned on them. I had to. I dared not go back … yet. I had to discover my true feelings.

If I went back it would be a sign to Jake to come to me. And if he did … what should I feel? What should I do? I would say: “Jake, tell me the truth. Did you kill Edward?”

He would answer No. And would I believe him? I was not sure. If I loved him, would I be unsure? Yes. But if I loved him truly would anything he had done make any difference to me?

Now the culmination of the season was upon us. I had helped with the vendange. I had seen the grapes gathered; I had watched the peasants who had come in from miles round to help with the wine harvest.

It was a warm night and they were celebrating the successful gathering in. I was in my room. There was a stone parapet outside my window and I could step out onto this, and leaning over the wrought iron rail I could smell the scents of the night. I could make out the pepper pot towers at the east side of the
château
which Charlot and Louis Charles had so lovingly restored. I could hear the strains of violins in the distance and the singing of the workers.

There was the sound of wheels on the cobbles of the courtyard. Then … I saw Jake.

He looked up and for a few seconds we were silent, gazing at each other. Then I turned and ran down to him. He caught me in his arms.

“I’m here,” he said. “No more partings.”

“Jake … Jake …” I gasped. He was holding me so tightly that I could scarcely breathe. “How … how did you get here?”

“On the wings of love,” he answered and laughed. “Actually it was by the usual tedious way. I wanted to be with you so much. I am not going… until you come with me. No more waiting. Nothing matters … except that we are together.”

I knew then that I did not care about anything. It did not matter what he had done. I only cared that he had come to me.

J
AKE TOOK ME DOWN
to Cornwall and we were married there. His house was like a castle, set high on the cliffs; it stood facing the sea, defiant and formidable as a fortress, and the gardens which wound down to the shore were a blaze of colour in the spring and summer; yellow gorse bloomed almost all the year round and in season there were the rhododendrons, azaleas and hydrangeas.

The house was almost feudal. I marvelled afresh that he had once left such splendour for a life with the gypsies. But that was Jake … unaccountable, the complete individual. It was one of the reasons why he was so exciting to be with.

I had no doubt that I loved him absolutely, that no matter what he had done I would follow wherever he led.

My parents had said it was right for me to go with him. It was the only way in which I could be cured of my melancholy. It was the only way I could forget the past and begin my life afresh.

That made the way easy for me.

My mother had decided that it would be best for Tamarisk to go to Amaryllis. She was rather fascinated by Jake, but Jonathan was the most important person in her life. She was a different girl with him—softer, more reasonable, humble, even biddable. “She reminds me of myself when I was a girl and loved Dickon,” said my mother. “We were separated because they thought it was best, but I never forgot him… all those years when we were both married to someone else. It was only when we came together that I knew fulfilment and complete contentment. I understand Tamarisk. Let her stay near us. She grows more mature every day and she is a precocious girl. I believe she will marry Jonathan one day. There is no need to worry about Tamarisk. She will always take care of herself. My dear Jessica, you have now to grow away from all that has happened. You have to put the past behind you. You have to be happy.”

The Barringtons had left Grasslands when we came to France. They said they would not want to come back for it could never be the same to them after Edward’s death. In time they would see what they would do about the house.

And when I married, my parents suggested putting it up for sale.

Jake and I did not go back to Grasslands. We left France with my parents and parted from them at Dover—they to go to Eversleigh, Jake and I to Cornwall.

My mother’s parting words were: “Be happy.”

My father’s were: “You’ll be all right. Jake’s the man for you. He’ll look after you.”

I wondered what their thoughts were about Edward’s death. What did they say to each other when they were alone? Did they accept the theory of Edward’s suicide? Toby’s evidence had made that seem almost plausible. Yet I who knew Edward so well, had my doubts. I wished I could throw them aside but they lingered with me … and they came back to me in odd moments. Even when I was most happy, they would intrude.

We went to London now and then and my parents always contrived to be there when we were. That first Christmas after Edward’s death they came to Cornwall. It was hard to believe then that it was only a year after that fateful night.

It was scarcely a merry Christmas to me. There were too many echoes from the past. I lived it all again, returning from Eversleigh, going to Edward’s room, talking to him, handing him the glass. And the morning’s discovery. Then I must go over the questions which crowded into my mind. Did Edward do it because he knew? Had he realized that Jake and I were lovers? Was I to blame?

When my son was born how proud I was! How proud was Jake! We called him Jake and he was soon Jacco which in Cornwall means a conqueror. He certainly conquered the hearts of all who saw him. The servants adored him and Jake thought him the most perfect child who had ever been born; and although I laughed at him and said he saw in Jacco an image of himself, I shared his view of our infant son.

I should have been completely happy. I was … almost. It was just that now and then the doubts would come. How had Edward met his death? Could it really have been that the decision to die had been his?

Always … always … the same niggling doubt.

The months passed quickly, and when I knew I was to have another child I was delighted. Jacco was now eighteen months old and a bonny boy.

And then I achieved what I had wanted so much. I had a daughter.

It was three days after her birth. I lay in bed with my little girl in her cradle beside me. Jake was at my bedside when one of the servants came in to say that there was a gentleman who wished to see me. He had come from a long way and was a stranger in these parts. “A foreigner,” the maid called him; but that could apply to anyone who was not Cornish.

Jake said he would go and see who it was.

It must have been about ten minutes later when he came back to my room and the stranger was with him. Jake brought him to the bedside and gave him a chair.

“This is Mr. Tom Fellows,” he said. “I have brought him because he has something to say to you.”

“Mr. Tom Fellows,” I said, looking at him intently for his face was vaguely familiar.

He said: “You are wondering who I am, Lady Cadorson,” he said, “and I must apologize for calling on you at such a time. But this is a matter of extreme importance. It is due to a deathbed promise that I am here.”

I remembered the name Fellows. It was a Fellows who had hanged after the Nottingham riots for his part in them.

He said: “I see you are wondering who I am. We met once in Mr. Barrington’s factory when I was with my father guarding the looms.”

My mind went back to that momentous day. Yes, I had seen the looms and the man named Fellows guarding them.

“I remember,” I said.

“You know my brother. He came to work for you. He called himself Toby …”

“Toby! Your brother!”

“Yes, he was my brother. After your husband’s death he came back to Nottingham.”

“But he was not Toby Fellows …”

“He changed his name. His own was known. When he came back he worked in horticulture. He was felling a tree in the forest. There was an accident and he was badly hurt. He lived for a week and during that week what he had done weighed heavily upon him, and he made me swear that I would find you and give his confession to you in person.”

“What… was his confession?”

“Let me explain. He was a young lad when our father was hanged. Ten years old. He adored his father. He used to listen to him for hours. Our father was a leader in a way. He used to talk to the men and rally them together.”

“Was he one of the leaders of the Luddites?”

“No. He saw the folly of breaking up the looms. He said that improvements had to come. On that day he was caught up with the rioters. He worked with them. You know what happened. He was sentenced to death. My brother never got over it. That was Tobias … Toby for short. He became obsessed by revenge. He used to say ‘an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.’ Yes, he wanted vengeance. Your husband represented the enemy. He would not be content until a life had been taken for the one his father lost. You know the rest. He came to work for you. He had decided that only when Edward Barrington or his father was killed would justice have been done. He was always a strange lad—going in for boxing at the fairs, and he thought it was a heaven-sent opportunity when he was asked to work in the sick room. He killed Mr. Edward Barrington in just retribution, he said, for the murder of his father. But faced with death himself he was horrified by what he had done. He said he could not rest until you were told because suspicion hung heavily over certain people, including you from whom he had had nothing but kindness. He prevailed on me to find you, to bring you to him that he might confess all and when that could not be done he begged me to find you and tell you in person.”

“It was good of you to come,” I said. “I understand the poor young man’s feelings.”

“I wish I could have found you before he died. I wish I could have gone back and told him I had seen you. He excused himself by the fact that Mr. Barrington was an invalid who would never recover, and he insisted that he would not have stood by and seen someone else accused of the crime which he had committed. He said he had made it appear as suicide.”

“Then my husband never said what Toby told the coroner he had. I found it hard to believe that he would discuss such a matter with him.”

“My brother said he had tried to make it so that no one would be accused. He would never have allowed anyone to stand trial for murder. He just wanted justice done … ‘an eye for an eye.’ He kept stressing that.”

Jake had stood up. “I think my wife is a little tired. Our daughter is but a few days old.”

“Forgive me,” said Tom Fellows. “But I had this duty to discharge.”

“How can I thank you for coming,” I said.

“I will see that you are given some refreshment,” Jake told him and turned to look at me with a rather special smile.

I lay in my bed. I could see my baby’s cradle—it was on rockers, the cradle which had been used by the babies of the family for the last two hundred years.

I was glad of those few moments alone for I was filled with an emotion which I should have found it impossible to hide.

The haunting fear had been swept away now that I knew the truth. It was dazzling, revealing and irrefutable.

Jake came back.

“The poor fellow hadn’t had a meal for twenty-four hours,” he said.

He came to the bed and taking my hand smiled at me.

“Well,” he said, “so now you know. I didn’t do it.”

“Jake,” I said. “I’m so glad.”