Born to Trouble (11 page)

It was just after this that Corinda said softly, ‘It is our way to have a time together after the work of the day, Pearl. Stories are told and songs are sung and passed on from generation to generation. It’s important our history is kept alive for our children and our children’s children. We have been part of the countryside and lived in harmony with the land for hundreds of years, but the new towns are taking what was once ours. It makes some of our old folk angry and bitter.’

There was a snort behind them but Corinda ignored her mother-in-law and went on, ‘Some of our community are suspicious and wary of non-gypsies because of this. They don’t accept that the only thing we can do to protect our way of life is to adapt to what is happening.’

There was a rustle as Halimena stood up and said something in her sharp voice, to which Mackensie replied, just as sharply. At this Halimena disappeared into the caravan, banging the door behind her. Pearl looked at Corinda but Freda’s mother continued to stare into the flames, her work-roughened hands clasped round her knees and her stance pensive.

Nothing more was said, but shortly after this Corinda called the children and they all went their separate ways, Mackensie and Corinda and the boys into the tent, and Madora and Freda and Pearl into the caravan where Halimena was already stretched out on her narrow bed, apparently asleep.

But Halimena was not asleep. She lay completely still and silent until she was sure the three girls were no longer awake, and then rose, pushing her feet into her boots and pulling her shawl around her shoulders.

It was only Rex, lying outside the entrance to the tent wherein slept his master, who raised his head as Halimena closed the caravan door. When the old woman sat down on the last wooden step he closed his eyes again.

The night was soft and warm, the glow from the dying campfires and the sweet fragrance of woodsmoke drifting on the air as the small, black-clothed figure stared out over the sea of tents and caravans.

It was a bad day when Byron brought that girl into the camp, she thought, her mouth tightening over her full set of teeth, most of which were still strong and whole. She patted her knuckles against her closed lips and looked up into the night sky. And Corinda, allowing a gorgie to sleep and eat and live with them! How could any good come out of that? That child, with her blue eyes and fair skin, would bring down a curse upon them.

Halimena muttered an incantation to ward off the evil spirits that constantly observed human beings in their foolishness, her gnarled fingers making the signs that had been passed down from her mother and her mother before her to those possessed with the Sight. It was a great disappointment to her that none of her children had inherited the gift, but she lived in hope that one of her grandchildren would show signs of it in the years to come. Of course, most of the women in the camp practised fortune-telling at the fairs and country markets at some time or other, but that wasn’t the true Sight. She sniffed her scorn.

Her thoughts returning to the object of her agitation, she turned her head as though she could see through the caravan door to where Pearl slept between her grand-daughters. In her grandmother’s day, even in her mother’s day, this would never have happened. They would have given succour to the child, maybe even taken her to the gates of the nearest church or habitation, but to allow her to remain with them and learn their ways? Never. Never. There were one or two gypsy families she knew who had allowed their sons or daughters to marry gorgies and dilute the blood, but she would rather die than see such a thing within her own. Not that they were talking about that here, not yet, but the girl was too pretty for her own good even now, her skin as smooth as satin and the colour of fresh cream touched with rose.

Halimena ground her teeth irritably. Corinda was a fool and Mackensie more so for being led by her. No good came from the woman wearing the trousers and the man the petticoat.

She continued to sit brooding for another full hour, thinking up ways and means of forcing Pearl to leave the camp. The blood of two newts, mixed with early-morning dew and a fresh spiderweb, enclosed in an acorn cup and placed under her pillow, would do it, but sleeping with Madora and Freda as she did, that was out of the question. The magic wasn’t discriminating – and what if her grand-daughters up and left too? A longer-term remedy would have to do. The wings and antennae of an Emperor Moth crushed to dust and placed in a person’s boots was known to give them the wanderlust, the same as the seeds of rose-bay willowherb spread over the tailfeather of a swallow and hidden in a person’s belongings ensured that they’d be on the move before the month was out. Mind, the chit had no belongings to speak of, so perhaps the Emperor Moth solution was the one? She could easily sprinkle the powder into Pearl’s boots once she was asleep. And if that didn’t work there were other – stronger – methods she could employ.

There was a potion she could slip in the child’s food to make her restless and agitated, another to induce sleeplessness and irritation of the skin, or maybe even one that would cause a severe loss of appetite and bring about a steady decline . . . Yes, there was plenty she could do.

Heartened at having come to a decision on the matter which had been troubling her since she’d first seen Pearl, Halimena stretched her legs and stood up. As she did so, the ghostly white flash of a barn owl flew across the clearing, its great wings lit by the moonlight before it disappeared into the trees. Clutching her scrawny throat, Halimena stared after it.

The guardian.
She sat down again, her legs suddenly weak and her heart racing. Why had it come at this moment, if not to tell her it was aware of her intentions?

She fumbled inside the bodice of her blouse, her trembling fingers finding the amulet she wore at all times and which had been passed down the female line of the family for generations to those who had the Second Sight. She was mortally afraid.

The silence of the barn owl’s long, rapid wingbeats had earned the predator its association with supernatural powers, and its eerie reputation had been enhanced through the ages by the bird’s traditional choice of nesting places – church towers. As guardians of the church, the owls were known to have their favourites among the sons and daughters of mankind, and to cross such a one would bring down the wrath of the bird’s protector – the God of Ages – upon that unfortunate soul. Halimena believed this folklore to the core of her being, and she had no doubt that the bird was warning her to hold her hand with the child who had come among them.

Muttering another invocation, she stared into the night, her fingers working on the amulet’s hard stone surface as she sought comfort. What she saw as the bird’s patronage of the stranger in their midst did not cheer her or ease her mind; rather it endowed Pearl with powers equal to her own. The bird was respected and feared for its mysterious ability to catch its quarry without any warning of its presence, its silent flight and loud shrill shriek terrifying to its prey and those who observed it. It bequeathed favour on those it protected and it could curse any who came against them, with devastating results. Her hands were tied.

Over the next few days Pearl did her best to adapt to the new and strange life into which she’d been thrust. Her natural affinity and love of babies and very young children soon saw a little clutch of devotees gathering around her in the rare moments she wasn’t working. Everyone above the age of five or six worked from dawn to dusk, stopping only for meals, but once dinner was over in the evenings the gypsies relaxed around the campfires. It was then the younger children would make for Pearl, sitting on her lap or playing with her hair as she told them stories, their initial shyness gone. It was in this way she got to know some of the other families; mothers and older children stopping to talk to her for a moment or two when they fetched their little ones for bed.

She no longer felt awkward with Corinda and her daughters; Halimena and the menfolk were a different kettle of fish though. She was well aware that Halimena didn’t like her and wished her gone, a blind man could have seen it. Freda had explained her grandmother’s coldness and refusal to talk to her by saying Halimena didn’t like anyone who wasn’t a Romany. Pearl accepted this excuse – there was nothing else she could do – but the old woman’s gimlet stare made her feel uncomfortable and nervous. Mackensie and his sons she was fearful of, but in a different kind of way. Every time she shut her eyes at night she had to fight against reliving the violation she’d suffered at the hands of her mother’s ‘friend’, but her dreams she couldn’t control. She often woke up shaking and terrified beyond speech, only to realise she was with Madora and Freda; she was safe.

And on top of all this she longed, she
ached
for James and Patrick, her thoughts a constant torment of regret and guilt. She had told Corinda she wasn’t bad, but what was it if not bad, to leave her little brothers the way she had? And that man, Mr E Had he sensed something in her, something that had made him think he could do what he’d done? Had she made him imagine she would allow it? Perhaps if she had fought harder, he would have stopped? And so her thoughts went round and round until she felt her head would burst.

When Byron and his brothers laughed and joked with her, the same as they did with their sisters, she knew they must think her a halfwit, the way she put her head down and became tongue-tied. But she couldn’t help it. Even the slightest touch from one of them panicked her beyond coherent thought. She was spoiling any chance of fitting into the family, that was what logic told her. But it didn’t seem to make any difference to how she
felt
.

Things came to a head the day before the camp took to the road again. One of the older boys about Byron’s age had a pet jackdaw he’d taught to speak. It sat on his shoulder and was rarely parted from him, hopping up and down and cackling as it entertained everyone. Pearl couldn’t understand half it said, as it lapsed into the Romany language most of the time, but just watching it perform was enough to make her smile, even if its sharp beak was slightly intimidating.

Logan, the owner of the bird, and several of his friends had come to sit with Byron and his brothers once the singing and dancing began in the evening. They were playing a game Pearl had noticed before. She supposed it was a form of gambling because coins changed hands for the winners and losers. She didn’t quite follow what went on but it involved the throwing of small smooth pebbles with signs and numbers painted on them which the player aimed through small hoops made of woven reeds and wood.

Madora and Freda had edged closer to the group of lads to watch the game and Pearl had followed them, smiling when the jackdaw became as animated as his master when Logan won three times running. At those times the bird did a little dance and almost seemed to pirouette in its excitement, gabbling away and whistling as it twirled round. And then suddenly, with no warning whatsoever, it flew at Pearl and landed on her shoulder, taking a beakful of her hair in its mouth and pulling.

It didn’t exactly hurt, but the surprise made her scream, and as Logan jumped up and came over, admonishing the bird which immediately flew back to him, she recoiled violently as he went to pat her arm. No one could have mistaken the fear in her face, and for a moment an embarrassed silence reigned, then Byron stood up and came to her side. ‘It was your hair reflecting the glow from the flames of the fire,’ he said very gently. ‘It would have attracted the bird, as they like shiny things.’

Her cheeks flaming, Pearl nodded, first at Byron and then at Logan, who was standing awkwardly by. ‘It’s all right,’ she said weakly. ‘It made me jump, that’s all.’ Forcing a smile, she sat down again but a little further away from the others. She stiffened when Byron chose to sit down beside her, Logan returning to the game, and she didn’t look at him.

‘You know you are safe here? No one will hurt you, you have my word on that.’

His voice was very low but nonetheless she glanced about her before she whispered, ‘I know.’

‘We respect our womenfolk.’

Again she murmured, ‘I know.’ And then, almost in spite of herself, she added, ‘But I’m not – not one of you.’

Byron frowned. ‘My father and I and my brothers would protect you the same as we would my mother and sisters.’

‘I didn’t mean . . .’ She paused, wishing the ground would open and swallow her. He knew what had happened to her and in this moment she was bitterly ashamed.

Byron found himself at something of a loss. This was rare and he didn’t like the feeling, but over the last days since Pearl had been on her feet and among them, he had found his thoughts returning to her constantly no matter what he was doing or who he was with. Initially he had been full of anger and outrage when his mother had told him and his father what had happened to the girl. For a man to do that to a tiny little thing like her was unimaginable. He had been full of pity at first – he still did pity her, but as the feeling of wanting to protect and look after her had grown, so had the desire to be her friend and confidant. Her refusal to have anything to do with him most of the time had caused deep frustration. He wanted to tell her he wouldn’t let anyone so much as lay a finger on her again, but how could he when just catching her eye made her tremble?

Clearing his throat, he said gruffly, ‘You know it was me who found you in the hollow of the tree? Well, it was Rex to be fair, but what I mean is, I feel responsible for you.’ Aiming to lighten the moment, he added, ‘Rex does too. He’s always close to you these days. Have you noticed?’

The big dog had crept from under the caravan in the last minutes and was lying by her side; her fingers were idly tangling and untangling in his grey fur. Byron saw the glimmer of a smile touch her mouth and, encouraged, he went on: ‘What happened wasn’t your fault and I can understand it’s made you afraid, but—’ Now it was he who paused before adding even more gruffly, ‘Don’t be afraid of me. Dai said you’ve got older brothers –’ he didn’t mention that he knew they were in prison ‘– and until you see them again, I’d like to take their place, me and Algar and Silvester.’