Friendship's Bond (33 page)

They had been halfway along Dale Street, Alec smiling and pointing at a group of brightly painted gypsy caravans on a patch of open ground.

‘
You’ve a kind face pretty lady
.’

A woman dressed in a tightly knotted shawl and a dark skirt, its voluminous folds caught at one side into the waistband exposing a white cotton petticoat ending several inches above another of red flannel, stepped quickly to the verge.

‘
Buy a necklace, just two pennies
.’

She had held out a bundle of coloured cords each holding a tiny glass bead then when Ann had refused her wares had turned to Alec.

‘
Buy a necklace from a gypsy young sir, a present for a sweetheart . . . come choose a colour, they all be—
’

The words had broken off as Alec came round the side of the cart. The woman’s bronzed face paled, her jet black eyes suddenly glazing over as they fastened on him, while her voice, which seconds before had held a jaunty note, became no more than a murmur.

‘
Kalo!
’

Her body had trembled.

‘
Kalo RAI!
’

Cords had spilled from her shaking fingers, falling to the ground like slivers of rainbow.

‘
He comes Kalo RAI . . . he takes the eagle’s brood, Raklies
 . . .’

She had held up four fingers of her left hand.

‘
Mush
 . . .’

One finger had lifted on her right hand, staying a moment in the air before both hands dropped to her sides, but her stare had stayed on Alec who had picked up the fallen necklaces and was handing them back to her.

‘
The nest lies empty
 . . .’

She had droned on. ‘. . .
but Kalo RAI is not gone, he waits . . . he waits in the shadows
.’

‘
Elva.
’

A second woman called from the steps of a caravan painted with flowers, its sides holding a medley of pots and kettles blackened by use.

‘
Elva don’t mean to be botherin’ of you
.’

The woman had moved so swiftly.

Ann paused in the task of turning a large round cheese. She could not recall the woman leaving the steps of the caravan, could not remember her crossing the open ground; one moment she had been a distance away yet it seemed in the next she stood beside the girl she had named Elva. Her eyes were also blackbird bright, her skin the same sun-polished bronze, but the sable hair emerging from beneath a red bandanna was dusted over with a sprinkling of grey.

‘
She is not bothering us, she was very kindly offering to sell us a necklace
.’

A smiling Alec was taking coins from his pocket but it was the look in the second woman’s eyes that held Ann’s inner gaze, one bright with what could almost be fear as they rested on Alec.

‘
There be no need o’ buyin’ . . .
’

Her words to them had been sharp but those muttered to Elva, though unintelligible to Ann, had left no doubt they were a reprimand.

‘
Please
,’ Alec had said as the younger woman had turned away, ‘
please, I would like to buy a necklace, they are very pretty
.’

There had been none of that earlier dazed stare; the girl’s eyes were now brilliant as black gemstones as her fingers closed hastily on the coin Alec proffered.

‘
I be givin’ you good day
.’

‘
Wait!
’ Ann had cried. ‘
Tell us
,’ she had asked as that blackbird stare had met her own, ‘
tell us what Elva’s words meant
.’

There had been long moments of silence, the woman clearly undecided, then as Ann’s request was repeated she had said quietly, ‘
Raklies be girls, mush be boy or man
.’

‘
And Kalo RAI?
’

The gypsy’s glance had flicked to Alec then returned to Ann with an intensity which seemed to bore into her very soul and when she spoke it was with a voice that seemed strangely not her own.

‘
The wings of the eagle be broken, its chicks cry no more . . . Kalo RAI searches for another . . . the dark Lord of Death waits in the shadows
.’

It had been so very like Maija’s words as translated by the priest. But death waited for everyone! With this common sense in mind Ann turned the last of the cheeses then made for the cellar steps, but even as her feet touched the first one she asked the question for which common sense had provided no answer.

What had been meant by an eagle pushed from its nest?

Emerging from the cellar Ann experienced a sudden sense of foreboding.

It made no sense; yet three women whose lives were worlds apart had said the same thing.

‘You do love me, Thomas?’

Love Sarah Clews! Thomas Thorpe’s face twisted in disgust. He could sooner love a sow! How could she ever think herself a minister’s wife . . . if it wasn’t so ludicrous he would laugh. But laughter, like his promise to deal with Edward Langley, would have to wait.

‘
Mother be knowin’ my times; when I be over again this next month there’ll be no puttin’ her off, the band’ll bost for sure
.’

That part was true enough. Thorpe grimaced again. Ada Clews’ anger would shout to the rooftops, the entire town would know who was responsible for her daughter’s condition. He could of course deny the whole thing, say it was a lie told to cover the tracks of another who had taken himself away on learning of his lover’s pregnancy. But then such a feast of gossip would feed the townsfolk for months.

But that was one junket the townsfolk would be denied.

Thorpe reached for the jacket draped across the back of a chair, smiling at the decision he made at the moment of assuring the girl of his devotion.

Lay preacher! The term stung like an angry wasp. He should be more than that, he
would
be more than that, it was
his
chapel,
he
was its minister . . .

Another thought followed on, one reminding him that scandal was an enemy not easily defeated, folk could be swayed in the wind of it. Its blast could blow Thomas Thorpe clean out of the chapel.

Unless, he mused as he thrust both arms into the sleeves of the coat worn for visiting parishioners, unless another more juicy dish was provided, and of course it would be.

‘
You do want to be married in our own faith, in our own chapel
.’

He had laid the ground carefully.

‘
Your family, all of our friends, they might not attend should the ceremony be held in some other church; that would spoil your day I know
.’

‘
But we don’t ’ave no proper minister
.’

Had she seen the look sweep across his face, the pallor of bitterness snatch colour from his cheeks?

‘
You does the job good as any,
’ she had rushed on, ‘
but only a minister can marry folk and we don’t ’ave one
.’

‘
I wrote again last week, someone will come
.’

‘
And if he don’t, if it be same as before, that there be nobody comes despite your askin’, then we’ll ’ave to be wed in some other place
.’

‘
No my love
.’ He had mastered his distaste at taking the lumpy body in his arms, having her sniff against his chest. ‘
I won’t have anything mar our special day, we will be married in this chapel
.’

She had looked up at him, tear-reddened eyes rendering plain features even less attractive, a nasal, ‘
But how?
’ babbling on a fresh tide. He had drawn her head back against his chest. An act of comfort? Thorpe’s smile spread a sliver of ice along his mouth. The comfort had been for him, that way he had avoided looking at the girl he had come to despise.

‘
There is a chapel in Darlaston
,’ he had murmured softly, ‘
there is a minister there, maybe he will come perform the ceremony here
.’

Leaving the house in Cross Street Thorpe’s mind continued to review the events of the previous evening. It would go better if they saw the minister together, he would see for himself the feelings they held for each other. Saying as much had all but stuck in his throat but Sarah, thick stupid Sarah, had taken his choked words to be ones of love, her arms reaching up to embrace him as he had gone on to say the man would not deny them and that very soon they would no longer need hide their love.

She had wanted to rush off, to tell her parents that very night that Thomas Thorpe wished to marry her. Striding quickly along streets grey with the lowering evening Thorpe laughed quietly to himself.

‘
Please my love . . .
’ he had replied, holding her the closer, ‘
give me a few more hours, a little while longer of having that delight whisper its secret in my heart
.’

The fool had swallowed it as eagerly as a babe sucking its mother’s milk and now they were going to Darlaston.

The laugh dissolved, leaving a stone in its place.

Sarah Clews would not be speaking with that minister; Sarah Clews would not be speaking to anyone ever again.

‘I wish it could have been splendid as the jewels worn by . . .’

‘Jewels,’ Leah looked up at the hesitation, ‘and where might it be you seen “splendid jewels”?’

Ann glanced across from where she had been replacing supper dishes on the dresser and saw the bloom of pink rising in Alec’s cheeks. He had obviously made a slip of the tongue, said something he wished he hadn’t.

‘I . . . it was . . .’

Ann watched the agitation on the young face, echoed in the faltering reply. Was Alec trying to cover his embarrassment at offering a cheap trinket?

‘It was at Peterhof.’

Ann smiled at the firmness of the reply yet at the same moment felt remorse that she could have suspected him of speaking anything but the truth.

‘Peterhof you says,’ Leah frowned, ‘now where be that place?’

‘It is in St Petersburg, it is the Imperial Palace of the Tsar.’

‘Tsar.’ Leah’s frown changed to a benevolent smile. ‘Imperial Palace! You sure you ain’t been a dreamin’, lad?’

Alec’s answer when it came was quiet as the smile curling his mouth, his eyes glistening with pleasure as if looking on a different world.

‘Not my dream, Grandmother Leah, but one told to me by a friend of my mother. It was, she said, a ball given in honour of Prince Carol of Romania. It was rumoured he was to ask the Tsar for the hand of the Grand Duchess Olga who, it was also rumoured, did not like him but protocol insisted she attend the ball along with her parents and sisters. My mother’s friend told they looked so wonderful, the Tsar in military uniform with golden medals and orders of award gleaming beneath an avenue of amethyst chandeliers, the Tsarina in a white gown that glistened like frost on a winter’s morning, great necklaces of diamonds about her throat, jewelled bracelets on her arms flashing fountains of silver fire as she moved. The Grand Duchesses Olga, Tatiana, Marie, were each like their mother dressed in white gowns, but theirs were worn with silk sashes tied about the waist, matching to perfection the colour of gemstones in necklace and tiara. All three looked like delicate white butterflies flitting in a field of brilliant flowers as they danced among the guests, the gowns of the ladies a lovely rainbow of colour: she said it was like watching a fairy tale.’

‘It certainly be like listenin’ to one.’

‘Perhaps one day I might give you a real diamond.’

‘No lad.’ Leah smiled down at the cord held between her fingers. ‘This along of the jewels I already ’ave be more precious than any a queen might wear; mine don’t be stones found deep in the earth but gems that lie in the heart: my diamonds be the love given by a husband and children, my rubies be the deep affection I know Edward Langley has ever felt for me and my pearls . . . they be the happiness for the friendship you and Ann ’ave given. These treasures of the soul be the true riches of life, beside which . . .’

Leah laughed lightly but Ann sensed the emotion it tried to cover.

‘. . . what would I go a doin’ with a real diamond when I ’ave this pretty necklace to wear? I couldn’t go a puttin’ it on old Betsy, her’d try eatin’ of it like her does everythin’ else, and for sure I couldn’t be drapin’ it about the neck of one of the girls for the rest would be so jealous they’d stop givin’ milk.’

Alec went quickly to put his arms about her. ‘Then you will always wear pearls and rubies for you will always have my friendship and my affection.’