Born to Trouble (19 page)

The hard black eyes narrowed. That butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth guise had never fooled her, unlike some. In spite of what Corinda had said about the girl’s virtues, she’d always known it was a case of like mother, like daughter. There were some who were forced into it and some who were born to it, and she knew which fitted that little chit.
And to think Byron would have stooped to mix his blood with hers.

Her indignation had no visible form, but such was the power of her malevolence that the last of the baby mice sensed danger and skittered off after the others as fast as its tiny feet would carry it.

But not now. She knew her grandson well enough to be sure what his reaction would be when he found out Pearl had been making merry with another man. Besotted he might be, but no Lock would take being made a fool of. And that’s what the chit had done: she’d made a fool of them all. All her love potions had been like water where Byron was concerned, the gorgie’s hold over him was undiminished.

Halimena brought her eyes from the young couple and as silently as she’d followed Pearl, began her retreat. It wouldn’t do for the girl to know she’d been rumbled, not yet. It might give her time to think up some story that Byron would find half-plausible. And it would take only the weakest tale for Byron to clutch at straws. That was men for you. They always let what was between their legs rule their head. No, he had to catch the girl in the act.

Like the dark mist that rises from wet, treacherous ground, Halimena melted into the shadows.

For the first time in his life Byron had found the haggling and negotiations that went on at a horse fair irritating. He had watched his father and Horace and Edgar Lee driving a hard bargain, and his only emotion had been one of frustration. He wanted to get home. Home to Pearl. Nothing else mattered.

Since he’d declared himself and brought this thing that was between them out into the open, he couldn’t bear to be separated from her for any length of time. He knew that if he could just persuade her to forget her fears and inhibitions, she would admit she loved him like he loved her. She’d told him he was special, hadn’t she?

They were nearing the campsite now and behind his impassive face his emotions were at fever pitch. They’d been travelling all day, stopping only for a quick lunch of bread and cheese washed down with ale, but the sun was already set. In the days they’d been gone she’d been at the forefront of his mind constantly, and he knew his father had been annoyed at his lack of fervour regarding their business. Edgar, Horace’s son, had been on top form, but the normal spirit of competition which existed between Edgar and himself had been absent, at least on his part.

The curling blue smoke of the gypsy campfires was apparent some distance away, but now the twilight was closing in swiftly, and as they rode into the camp, mothers were already marshalling little ones to bed after the evening meal. After securing the horses at a grassy patch on the perimeter of the caravans and tents, Byron and his father made their way to where the family were sitting round the fire. Algar and Silvester jumped up at their approach and for a few minutes all was bustle and talk. It was only when Byron and his father were seated with a bowl of thick rabbit stew each that Byron felt able to say casually, ‘Where’s Pearl?’

‘Oh, she’s taken to going to bed early since the harvesting began.’ Corinda’s voice was indulgent. She neither liked nor agreed with her mother-in-law’s opinion that Pearl was lacking the stamina and strength of a gypsy girl, but she had to admit the work in the fields seemed to have taken it out of the girl the last little while. According to those women who worked with her she more than held her own, but come evening time she was very quiet and subdued.

‘She’s not ill?’

‘No, she’s not
ill.’
It was Halimena who replied, and something in the tone of her voice caused Corinda to look sharply at her mother-in-law, the expression on her face saying, ‘Don’t start.’

Halimena tossed her head. She had watched Pearl slip away into the field behind their caravan a short time ago, but she didn’t want to say anything in front of them all. What she had to reveal was just for Byron’s ears and it had to be at the right time. The trouble was, she wasn’t sure how long this fancy gentleman would put himself out to come this way. She hadn’t dared get close enough to hear what the pair were saying the night before, but from the way the chit had been clinging hold of him, he might have been cooling off a bit. To a man like that, girls like Pearl were ten a penny, after all.

Controlling her impatience with some effort, Halimena waited until Byron had finished his meal and was gazing pensively across to where several of the lads were playing their fiddles while couples danced and laughed in the fire-light. Algar and Silvester had joined the circle and were standing talking with their arms round their girls’ waists, and Mackensie and Corinda had moved to the entrance to the tent where they sat close together, Corinda’s head on Mackensie’s shoulder. Rex, tired out by the last few days and the journey home, was deeply asleep, snoring and twitching under the family caravan.

Seizing the opportunity, Halimena touched her grandson’s arm, bringing Byron’s gaze to her. ‘There’s something I think you should see,’ she murmured under her breath.

‘What?’

‘It’s to do with Pearl and I’m not sure how to handle it, that’s the thing. I know I’ve made no secret of the fact I think it’s unwise to have a gorgie among us, but your mother’s fond of the girl.’ She had decided to pretend she was unaware of Byron’s feelings and used her daughter-in-law as a smokescreen. ‘I don’t want to upset her.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Ssh, keep your voice down.’ Halimena glanced round at her son but Mackensie and Corinda had disappeared into the tent. ‘Pearl’s not abed, she hasn’t been abed these last few nights either – not since you went, in fact. I didn’t know at first, but then last night . . .’

Byron stared at the woman he respected and loved but whom he’d come to find intensely aggravating since Pearl had come into his life. He had been careful to keep his feelings for Pearl hidden from his grandmother because he knew the fury she’d pour over his head if she guessed he loved the ‘gorgie’. He just didn’t understand the desire – which bordered on obsession, especially in Halimena’s case – most of the older folk had to keep their bloodline pure Romany. There had been all manner of shenanigans a few years back when one of the girls from another tribe had run off with a clockmaker from Gateshead, even though the man was well respected and had immediately made her his wife. His grandmother had been a prophet of doom then, predicting the marriage would be an unhappy one and any children born of the union would be shunned by both sets of families.

Reminding himself she was set in her ways, he said dutifully, ‘What’s the matter?’ thinking he didn’t blame Pearl for wanting some time to herself. Maybe she’d been missing him? His heart beat a little faster. Perhaps she’d wanted to sit quietly in the cool of the evenings after a hard day’s work and think about him? He knew she found his grandmother’s constant criticism wearing. In Pearl’s eyes Halimena was the main obstacle to them getting together, he was sure of it, and as things were, the poor girl even had to sleep in close proximity to his grandmother. But everything would change once they were married. He would make sure everyone, especially Halimena and the older generation, gave Pearl the respect due to her as his wife.

Halimena read her grandson like a book. What she saw as Byron’s obstinate determination to see only the best in the gorgie brought a touch of asperity to her voice when she said, ‘Come and see for yourself.’

Somewhat wearily, Byron said, ‘Don’t be silly, just tell me.’ If Pearl wanted a few minutes in peace he’d wait till she returned and seize the opportunity to spend a little time with her without the rest of the family around. Suddenly the night was beautiful.

‘I said, come and see for yourself.’ Halimena’s eyes bored into his, and as he stared at his grandmother the expression on her wrinkled face brought a strange numbness into his being. Without further protest he stood up. Once they left the campsite, the two of them moved through the shadows without a sound. It came naturally to move thus; even the very youngest Romany children were capable of roving through the countryside they inhabited undetected, their progress as silent and stealthy as the wild animals they hunted and poached.

Afterwards Byron was often to ask himself if he had expected what he found. On reflection he thought not, and yet when he saw the outline of a man and a woman against the charcoal-streaked sky embracing by the low stone wall bordering the lane, he felt no surprise. He stared at them, his eyes wide as he took in the handsome horse tethered some yards away. By the look of the animal, its rider was no common labourer or farm hand.

At this realisation there swept over him a feeling of such rage he must have made a sound in his throat because the horse stopped its munching of the thick sweet grass at its feet and raised its head.

Halimena placed a restraining hand on his arm, warning him to be quiet, but Byron shook her off. He was damned if he was going to skulk in the shadows. Stepping forward, he’d walked a few steps before the couple noticed him, and then it was only the horse whinnying and pawing the ground which alerted them.

He heard Pearl’s exclamation of dismay but his eyes were focused on the man who still held her in his arms. Now he was closer, Byron recognised him as one of the sons of the big house. He’d seen him a couple of years back when he and his father had been delivering a horse to the estate. The man had been sitting on his horse talking to Tollett but had ridden off at their approach. When he’d asked Tollett about him, Tollett had described him as a grand young man, adding that this son was the only member of the big house he had any real time for. Now the recollection of the manager’s approval made him even angrier.

‘Take your filthy hands off her.’ His facial muscles working, he was now so close he could see the amazement in the man’s face. A handsome face, aristocratic.

‘Byron, no. Let me explain.’ Pearl had wrenched herself out of the fellow’s arms and twisted herself in front of the man in an attitude of protection.

It added fuel to the fire, the more so when the fellow gently but firmly moved her to one side, saying, ‘I don’t know who you are but this isn’t what you think. It’s no idle flirtation. We are going to be married.’

With a deep oath, Byron was on him. It was an uneven fight from the start. Byron was a gypsy, used to hard work and hard living. From a boy when he’d fought he’d used both fists and feet and given no quarter. Furthermore, Christopher was not a violent man and had been taken by surprise; he had expected to reason with his adversary.

When Christopher fell to the ground and Byron continued to hammer him with his big hobnailed boots, Pearl’s screaming rent the air. Rex had appeared from nowhere, barking madly, and added to the mayhem were the horse’s panic-filled cries as it pranced and stamped, attempting to free itself from the constraint of the reins Christopher had tied to the branch of a tree.

Dimly Christopher realised the gypsy had murder in mind, and as his groping hand found a thick piece of wood, he grabbed it and brought it swinging against Byron’s legs. It wasn’t a hard blow, since from his position on the ground Christopher had little impetus, but it was enough to make Byron lose his balance. As he fell, Christopher rolled and staggered to his feet, dazed and shocked by the ferociousness of the onslaught. As Pearl flung herself at him, one arm went automatically round her waist, and by the time Byron sprung up it was to see the two of them facing him.

Halimena was screeching profanities at Pearl, and in the distance was the sound of cries and shouts; the furore had obviously raised the camp. All the dogs were barking in answer to Rex’s din, and that alone was deafening in the sleeping countryside. Byron was aware of none of this. A red mist had come before his eyes at the sight of the gentleman with his arm once more about Pearl.

He didn’t remember reaching for his whittling knife, but suddenly there it was in his hand. With a sound that could have come from an animal he sprang forward, lunging wildly. He felt it pierce the body in front of him, and as the man flung Pearl to one side he lunged again. This time the knife went in to the hilt.

Christopher once more hit the ground, but now he was groaning horribly, one hand clutching the top of his chest and bright red blood pumping through his fingers. Pearl crawled to him from where she’d fallen, sobbing as she cradled his head in her lap, and Halimena hung on to Byron’s arm to prevent him striking again. Not that he would have. Even as they were joined by some of the others the knife fell from his limp fingers.

‘Get help. You must get help, he’s bleeding.’ Pearl was trying to staunch the blood with her petticoat now, looking up at the circle of faces above her. Mackensie arrived at that moment, and taking in the situation at a glance, his face as white as Byron’s, he took control.

‘Ride the horse and get Tollett.’ He pushed one of the men towards Jet who was calmer now the barking and screaming had stopped. ‘And you two, get Byron back,’ he added grimly, nodding at Algar and Silvester who were now standing either side of their brother. ‘Tell your mother what’s happened – he’ll need to be got away fast before the law comes. She’ll know what to do.’ Glancing at Halimena, he bit out, ‘Do what you can for his wound. If he dies it could be a hanging job if they get hold of Byron.’

A hanging job.
And Christopher, her Christopher dead. As Halimena roughly pushed Pearl out of the way, she stood, her face ashen as she glanced about the men and boys in front of her. No one spoke a word. They didn’t have to. The condemnation was so thick she could taste it.

The next morning Pearl was summoned to the big house. The police had arrived at the camp before first light, but Byron had long since been spirited away. Edgar and Horace Lee had volunteered for the job of making sure he got safely to a distant branch of his mother’s tribe way up in Scotland. He hadn’t said more than a word or two since the fight; he’d appeared as one stunned, except when he had cried on his mother’s breast like a baby.