The Dark Enquiry (22 page)

Brisbane was walking quite quickly, his stride eating up the camp as I trotted beside him. “It means I have been a damnable fool,” he said, his nostrils quite white at the tips. “I have never seriously considered Agathe as a possible culprit in her sister’s death.” He stopped and faced me, the wind on the heath tossing his hair and causing his shirt to billow like a sail. “Occam’s razor—the simplest explanation is the likeliest. And yet I have ignored it from the beginning because I believed something far more dangerous was afoot. Can it really be so simple as sisterly jealousy?”

“You think Agathe might have arranged the root of the aconite to be served to her sister?”

“She might have put it in the kitchens herself,” Brisbane said. “She was absent for some time during the séance, and God only knows what she did beforehand. She lodges in the Spirit Club. She would have the perfect opportunity to slip into the kitchens and introduce the root into the pile of horseradish.” He swore and stalked off.

I trailed after him, thinking hard. It made sense, although I did not like the notion of a sister committing such an atrocity. My own sister Nerissa had often driven me to distraction, but I could no more imagine serving her poison than I could imagine walking on the moon. It was simply inconceivable, I told myself. Everything within me rebelled against it.

But as I walked, I considered it dispassionately. If Ludo’s story was to be believed, Agathe had once been the shining star of their little duet. She had been the earner of their bread, although her talents sounded mediocre at best. Agathe had told me they were orphaned as youngsters. It had been her task to look after Séraphine. She had taken on the role of mother to her younger sister, protected her, provided for her.

And then something had happened to change that. Perhaps it was simply that Agathe was not suited to the work or perhaps it was the result of the arrest in Bavaria. Had it broken her spirit? Had Séraphine’s star risen as Agathe’s had set? Gaol was not a nice place. Ludo had not indicated how long Agathe had remained there, but even a few weeks might be enough to break a spirit that was not strong. It had happened to Brisbane’s mother, I remembered. She had died imprisoned, regaining neither her spirit nor her freedom before her death. What if Agathe had been badly damaged by her experience? What was more natural than that the younger sister should move to the forefront, taking the lead in their affairs, reinventing herself as Madame? She had an affinity for the role, and Agathe did not. Did they settle easily into their new responsibilities? Or did Madame preen a little? Did she gloat over the sister she had supplanted? It would have been natural to do so. And it would have been natural that Agathe’s resentment would grow, like a cancer, poisoning their relationship, until one day she could stand no more….

I shook off my reverie. A case could be made, but I still did not like it, and I hastened to tell Brisbane so.

“It is the likeliest explanation,” he maintained, but he was clearly thinking the matter over. We said nothing further, for we had come to Granny Bones’ caravan and she beckoned us with a smile. For the rest of the day, we stayed with her, chatting with the constant stream of family who came to pay their respects to Granny and her prodigal grandson. Once more I was put in mind of a royal court, for she gave the impression of granting audiences as the various relations came forward, sometimes singly, sometimes in groups, to murmur their greetings and stare openly at Brisbane and his
gorgio
wife. Some of them were thoroughly friendly, expressing themselves with wide smiles and words of welcome. Some were more restrained, offering the barest courtesies and taking their leave as soon as they could.

Even Rook paid his compliments, bringing me a gift which he dropped onto my lap with wide, unblinking eyes. The little bundle of fur wriggled on my skirts and gave a tiny squeak.

“Rook, what the devil—” I broke off. “Good Lord, it’s a dormouse!”

The tiny creature stared up at me with enormous black teardrop eyes, sooty against the pale gold of its fur. The whole of its little body trembled.

“Poor little thing, you’re quite damp now,” I observed with a repressive look at Rook. He had fairly drowned the poor fellow in his mouth, and I took out my handkerchief to dry it off.

Brisbane looked over my shoulder. “It seems sound enough. I don’t think Rook did any real damage to him. Do you mean to make it a frock?” he asked, arching a brow as I wrapped the pitiful dormouse in my handkerchief.

“No, but it’s had a terrible fright. Can you imagine how awful it must have been with those tremendous teeth coming down over him? It’s a wonder he didn’t die straight off from the horror of it.”

“You do realise once you set him loose, one of the dogs will surely take him before he can make it home again?”

Brisbane nodded towards the pack of lurchers that skulked about the camp. The Roma used them for poaching, and indeed that would have been Rook’s fate had he not been born pure white. No Rom would ever use a white lurcher for poaching, and so Brisbane had acquired the outcast dog; but from the little dormouse on my lap it was quite apparent that although his coat might be less than desirable, Rook lacked nothing in hunting skills.

“That’s why I shall not set him loose,” I said suddenly. “I shall keep him as a pet.”

“Are you quite sure?” Brisbane asked. “Mice bite.”

I put out a fingertip and the dormouse reached up and touched it with a velvety paw, shaking hands as politely as a duchess.

“Quite.”

Whilst Granny brewed tea, I asked Brisbane about the Roma who had been less than friendly as they paid their respects to the grandson of Granny Bones. By way of reply, he lit one of his favourite thin Spanish cigars and shrugged.

“I am not actually welcome here,” he said simply.

“But we have spent the better part of the day being greeted by your family,” I protested.

“Granny’s family,” he corrected. “They will do as Granny wishes and make the proper gestures. Some of them, like Ludo and Lala and Wee Geordie, will actually mean them. But the rest would just as soon see me hang.”

“But why? You are one of them.”

Brisbane’s mouth turned upwards at the corners, but it was not a true smile. He took a deep draught of the pungent smoke. “I am half a Gypsy and half a Scot and neither side really wants to claim me. The Roma respect me a little because they think I spend my time solving the problems of silly
gorgios
and taking their money and because I am the son of Mariah Young. The rest of them—” He broke off and shrugged again.

“Was it really safe to come here then? If there are Roma who would betray you, perhaps we ought to go else where.”

“Betray me? Not in a thousand years,” he swore. “I am still the grandson of Granny Bones and I am enough of a Rom that any man here would sooner die than give me up to an outsider. But within the camp—” he paused and his smile returned, a genuine one this time “—well, I always watch my back just to be sure.”

“You do an injustice to your brothers,” Granny scolded. She had returned with steaming mugs of wickedly strong tea and she folded herself into a sitting position on the steps of the
vardo,
as supple as a willow for all her years. She handed round the tea and took a deep draught of the stuff herself. As she did so, I realised my new charge had fallen asleep on my lap. I opened my bodice and tucked him inside, making a little nest of the handkerchief as Brisbane grinned at Granny Bones. “Surely you do not believe anyone here is going to slay the fatted calf for me.”

“No one here would piss on you to put out the flames if you were on fire,” Granny said flatly, “but there is not a body in this camp—man, woman or child—who would harm anything or anyone under my protection.” She gave a decisive nod of the head to punctuate her declaration.

“True enough,” Brisbane acknowledged.

“I am
shuvani,
” Granny told me. “You know this word?”

“I do. I had the pleasure of meeting Rosalie. She was very kind to me,” I said, remembering the close relationship I had shared, albeit briefly, with Brisbane’s youngest aunt.

Granny Bones gave a little snort. “Rosalie is a good girl, but she has no power. She brews her potions and crafts her love spells, but she does not work with the dark side.”

“The dark side?” I was intrigued and a little frightened.

Granny tipped her head, giving me an appraising look with her bright black eyes. “If a
shuvani
is to be really powerful, she must learn to work with the dark as well as the light, little one. Granny Bones knows both sides of the coin.”

“I can well imagine it,” I told her.

She rose suddenly and put out her little monkey’s paw of a hand. “Come, child. Granny will show you.”

I flung Brisbane a questioning glance, but he merely sat, smoking his cigar as Granny drew me away.

“There is a child who is overlooked by the evil eye. I am to cleanse him today. You would like to see this.” It was not a question, and Granny did not wait for a reply. She kept hold of me and took me through the camp, calling orders as she strode along. Women scurried in her wake, gathering themselves and their children, and in a very few minutes we were assembled at the edge of the pond. There were no grown men, only women and children. A small boy of perhaps two or three years was brought forward. He did not stir from his mother’s arms and his eyes were those of a sleepwalker, vague and filmy. His mother looked to be no more than seventeen, and she carried herself with painfully erect posture and dry eyes, defiantly, but it was a brittle sort of defiance, and I thought she might break from the strain of it all. Another woman, the child’s grandmother, I expected, stood with the mother, her head bowed and her eyes red from weeping.

Granny gave a series of orders which were instantly carried out. The child was divested of his clothing and made to lie upon the ground. He made no sign of reluctance although the afternoon sun was weak and the breeze cool. It ruffled the trees and raised gooseflesh on the boy, but he lay still as a sacrifice.

Another woman came forward to bring Granny Bones a vessel of water, and as I watched, a quantity of salt was mixed in. Lala came to stand near me, murmuring explanations.

“Salt is cleansing, as is moonlight. If the moon were full, Granny would leave the water under the light of the moon to purify it. White water is life-giving,” she told me. “Why?”

“Because it represents the fluid of the man when he lies with his woman,” she said with a thorough lack of embarrassment.

I coughed so hard I began to choke and she struck me hard upon the back. I peeked in to look at my dormouse, but the blow had not disturbed him.

“Did you not know this?” Lala asked, her expression curious. “It is very good for the pores, as well, to make a woman’s complexion beautiful.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She began to mime the process then, and I touched her hands. “I think I understand now. Thank you.”

She peered at my face. “Your complexion is very good, but you must make use of Nicky if it is ever a problem,” she advised. “His would be good.”

“Oh,” was all the conversation I could manage for the moment.

“Because he is handsome,” she said, speaking as if to a rather backwards child. “You would not want the stuff of an ugly man,” she said, elbowing me with a meaningful nod.

“Of course not,” I agreed.

Thankfully, at that moment, the preparations had concluded and Granny began the ritual. She walked clockwise around the boy, reciting an incantation, and each time she came to the head, she took a deep draught of the salted water and spewed it out in a fine spray over the child’s naked body. Seven times she did this, each time louder and more vehement, until at last, on the seventh she lifted her arms and gave a great shout and the boy sat up with a gasp, his eyes wide. He was entirely himself then, for he looked at his mother and raised his arms and cried out.

Immediately, the women began to celebrate, falling upon the young mother, whose tears fell freely now. She scooped up her boy, wrapping him in a shawl and embracing him as the women praised Granny for removing the evil eye. There was much laughter and tears, and Granny instructed them to feed the child and watch him carefully.

The crowd dispersed then, and Granny Bones took my arm to return to her
vardo
. She was walking more slowly now, and I wondered what the ritual had taken from her that she seemed suddenly older.

“It requires great effort and energy to cast off the evil eye,” she said before I could ask. “I am not so young anymore.”

“It was remarkable,” I told her truthfully.

“The old ways are the best.
Gorgios
forget that. They like their science and their fancy new machines and their engines and their houses. But we were not meant to live so far from the mother,” she said, striking the earth with her heel. A little bit of the soil came up around her foot and she bent to take a small piece into her mouth. “Honest soil, the flesh of the mother. And we desecrate her when we forget.”

We walked a moment in silence and to my astonishment, I felt a tremendous calm steal over me. I turned and saw Granny’s lips moving soundlessly.

“Granny,” I said sharply. “What are you doing?”

She made me wait until she came to the end of her recitation, then shrugged. “A little protection for you both. That is all.”

“And you were not going to tell me?”

She paused and turned to me, putting both hands to my face. “You make him as happy as any woman could. I wanted a Roma wife for him, so his babies would be Roma and I could hold them upon my knee and sing them the old cradlesongs. But it was not to be, and I know better than to argue with the wind. It only makes you hoarse and the wind doesn’t care,” she said. “But he wants you and you must be kept safe if he is to be happy.”

“Thank you,” I told her, very moved by her words.

She dropped her hands and shrugged. “No matter. But if you ever make him unhappy, there is no corner of the earth far enough for you to hide from me.”