The Legacy (55 page)

He gave Evelyne a strange, disdainful look, turned, his head held high, and made a sad, foolish exit, still trying desperately to hold on to his dignity.

One of the stableboys looked at Ed, ‘You need us, Mr Meadows?’

All eyes turned to Freedom and Evelyne. As if they were animals in a circus ring, they waited for the roar. The pair of them faced each other and the atmosphere was so highly-charged that no one dared speak. Then Evelyne walked away. She heard scuffling behind her and raised voices, but she hurried on, almost afraid to turn back and see what was happening.

Ed was trying to persuade Freedom not to ride, not at this hour of the night - it was dark and the horse could fall. The head stableboy stuttered that Sir Charles would hit the roof, and received the snarling reply, ‘Bugger Sir Charles.’ No one had the nerve to try to stop Freedom as he galloped off without a saddle, leaving Ed thinking, ‘There’s Freedom’s best suit ruined,’ and silently praying his champion wouldn’t fall. He was doubly concerned because Freedom had taken Sir Charles’ prize stallion. God help them all if anything happened to the horse, never mind Freedom.

If Ed had watched for another second he would have had a heart attack as Freedom and the horse jumped a five-foot wall and headed for the forest.

The baby was sleeping, his thumb stuck in his mouth, and his warmth and peacefulness touched Evelyne. She lifted him gently out of the bizarre cradle they had brought from London and sat by the fire, rocking him in her arms. She closed her eyes, vowing to herself that he would never have to endure the humiliation she had known. She hated being poor, being subjected to ridicule. Growing steadily inside her were seeds of loathing for the so-called aristocracy.

If only Freedom would educate himself, beat them at their own game, learn to use them as they were using him. She was even more determined that she would teach him to read and write, make him learn. She shuddered when David came into her thoughts. He’d called her a slut. Well, she would not waste her time on him any more, he was out of her life. She looked down into her son’s face, touched his head.

‘You see, Edward, David’s trouble is that he got given all the opportunities a man could have, but he frittered them away. You know why? Because he won’t face up to being who he is. It doesn’t matter, Edward, where you come from. Titles? Half of them don’t have two pennies to rub together … You’re going to be somebody, be successful, be powerful and not need anyone. You have to want it and fight for it - not with your fists, like your dad, that isn’t good enough. No, you’re going to have to fight for an education and I’ll be right alongside you. I’ll kill for you to have it, so help me God I will - you’ll never be any man’s servant.’

Hours later Freedom came home to find the curtain drawn across the window and Evelyne already in bed. She heard him kicking off his shoes and knew he would be scattering his clothes all over the room. She got up and pulled her cardigan round her shoulders, checked that the baby was asleep, and opened the curtain quietly so Freedom did not hear her.

He was sitting by the fire, staring into the coals, his bare chest gleaming in the firelight. Evelyne curled up at his feet, squeezing her body between his knees. He didn’t speak and made no effort to hold her, but at the same time he did not push her away. For a few minutes they sat in silence, and then Evelyne began to tell him, softly, everything there was to know about her and David - how much she had loved him in a childish, romantic fantasy way, and how he had humiliated and hurt her … how even tonight he had made her feel like a second-class citizen, because of his background, his money. When Freedom had found them David was crying like a baby because he couldn’t have what he wanted, she had refused his advances. Not that he really wanted her - he never had - she was poor, something that could be bought, and thrown away when he had tired of her.

‘We may be poor, but our son will have everything, and you know what everything is, Freedom? Us, you and me beside him always. He’s going to have what we never had, proper schooling, education. We can have that for free, but love costs a lot more, you know that?’

He didn’t really understand what she was saying, but the fact that she had told him everything about David without his asking made him reach to hold her. He was so proud of her, the fight in her. He built up the fire until it blazed and brought the mattress from their bed, put it in front of the fire. Then he took off her long cotton nightdress and laid her down on the mattress, naked in the firelight. She loved him all the more. David’s weakness emphasized his strength, and she lifted her arms to him. He knelt beside her and kissed her, and they made love as they had in the enchanted summer months out in the fields. Since the child’s birth he had been gentle and caring, but now he loved her roughly, taking her time and time again until they lay sweating, their bodies close, so close, their love deepening, bonding them together.

‘Don’t ever betray me, manushi, not ever. It would set a demon loose inside me, and I wouldn’t care what happened to me, do ye understand what I am saying, gel?’

Evelyne did, she too had felt that surge of jealousy when she had seen him dancing with Lady Primrose, and it was a new emotion. She felt she would kill if anyone ever tried to take him from her. She turned in his arms and stroked his long hair, placed her hand to his heart, ‘And we must always talk, Freedom, be honest with each other, never pretend or lie.’

He lay back and thought about what she had said, about them being there for their son. It had never occurred to Freedom that he had never had a father, but then the elders of the camp acted in that role. Evelyne told him the difference, what it had been like with her Da, the closeness, the strong bond between them. She sat up and prodded the fire, snuggled down in his arms and asked him what he knew of the man who had fathered him. He could remember little, just that his mother had been very young, she was a Tachey Romany chat, of high blood, her father a prince and her mother the dukkerin of the camp. Her family had visited a village in the Rhondda and she had seen with her ‘eye’ the boy, tall as a tree, she said, and so rinkeney he had made her heart stop. She had known immediately that she wanted him. Freedom reverted to his Romany tongue as he described his mother, and the tall, wild man the village had nicknamed ‘The Lion’.

During the telling Freedom sat up, slightly apart from Evelyne, and she suddenly clutched him, hugged him, desperately. She clamped her hand over his mouth to prevent him going any further, ‘No, no, don’t say any more. Dear God, don’t say any more.’

He had to prise her away from him, she was that strong. He lifted her bodily, and from her face he knew something was terribly wrong, it frightened him. ‘Oh, God, Freedom, what have we done?’ She wanted to scream, she covered her own mouth with her hands, afraid she would cry out and wake the child … she bit her hand so hard he could see her teeth sinking into the flesh, her whole body trembling. When he pulled her hand away her sobs shook her, and she tried to push him away from her.

Holding him at arm’s length she finished his story for him; her voice harsh, each word bringing her pain. She told him of his mother, how she had stood at the pithead and waited for her ‘lion’, how the man had laughed and she had cursed him. It was Freedom’s turn to freeze, how did she know - how was she able to tell something he had never told another soul?

‘Oh, don’t you see, don’t you understand …’ Whatever reaction she anticipated, something akin to her own horror, never came. Instead Freedom lay back and started to laugh, a deep, throaty laugh. She stood up, stark naked, and kicked him, shouting. How could he laugh, how could he? He caught her foot and brought her crashing down beside him. She tried to fight him off, but he was so strong it was useless. He rolled on top of her, grasping her wrists above her head, holding them tightly, ‘Tell me everything about him. Let me know everything. Am I like him? Tell me, tell me.’ ‘Are you not afraid - that we have the same blood?’ He released her arms, caught her to him so tightly she could hardly breathe, ‘Blood to blood, Evie, we are closer, closer, do you not see that?’

His acceptance of the fact that they were even closer, bonded by blood, was at first frightening to Evelyne. Then his mood caught her, and to her amazement she found herself laughing with him.

‘No one must know, Evie, they’d not understand.’ He had no need to tell her that, she knew it, and even her fears for the child of such close blood were dispersed. They picked up their sleeping baby son and held him between them, and he opened his eyes and stared up into the two adoring faces.

‘Our son is near pure Tatchey. He’ll have the powers, Evie, and look at his strong body.’

To their delight, Edward gurgled and laughed up at them, and at that moment there was magic in the night, the red flames from the fire flickering on their naked bodies.

Later, while Evelyne slept, Freedom took out a hunting knife and made a cut on his forefinger. He squeezed it until the blood formed a heavy drop, then crept to the baby’s cradle. He let the blood drip slowly on to the sleeping child’s forehead. The stain spread, forming a cross, and Freedom’s voice was a whisper as he buried the curse his mother, the clan’s dukkerin, had laid on Hugh Jones.

Life moved at a fast pace after that Christmas at The Grange. Freedom was still the undefeated British Heavyweight Champion, and British Empire Heavyweight Champion … he fought in Liverpool, Birmingham, Porthcawl, Edinburgh, and Manchester. Evelyne did not accompany him on these travels, but stayed at home in the East End. Freedom was a celebrity, money was not short, and Evelyne kept a close watch on the purse strings. Their house was well furnished, and some items had been passed on to Ed and Miss Freda, even Ed’s brother and sister-in-law Billy and Mary Meadows. The neighbours watched with avid interest as number twelve even had carpet laid all down the stairs. There was no jealousy, they were proud, and welcomed the distinction of having a champion living in their street.

Edward was almost two years old, a handsome child, tall for his age. He was very strong, and never still, so that it took all Evelyne’s time to keep an eye on him. He had a terrible temper, and threw such tantrums that their neighbours would say, ‘There goes that little bugger again.’ But they would smile, as everyone knew how the little lad adored his father. As soon as he saw his dad coming down the road, Edward would run out, arms outstretched and shouting with delight. Proud as Punch, Freedom would swing the lad up on to his shoulders.

Sir Charles kept a close but discreet watch over Freedom’s successful career. He was determined that ‘The Gypsy’ would try for the world championship. It was only a matter of time until a fight was arranged in America.

They were getting close when the news came that the great Dempsey, the man known as the ‘Manassa Mauler’, had lost his title to Gene Tunney. Sir Charles was delighted. Tunney now reigned as World Heavyweight Champion, and his reputation was on a par with Dempsey’s at his peak. The new champion appeared invincible and was taking on all challengers.

Ed Meadows arrived at number twelve, his face alight with excitement. ‘Where is he … Freedom!’

The moment Freedom looked up from the table he was building and saw Ed, he knew something big was on, ‘Is it America, Ed?’

Unable to speak, Ed clasped Freedom in his arms, and the two men danced around the kitchen.

Evelyne returned from shopping to find Freedom out and a dozen bottles of champagne on the table. When she took a quick look at the price, she had to sit down. She had to watch his spending all the time. When he went abroad, he always brought back lavish gifts and wouldn’t hear a word from Evelyne about the cost. Neither did he discuss the fights themselves with her, avoiding her questions with shrugs and laughs. His face was still ummarked so Evelyne never really knew what it took for him to get into the ring or, for that matter, what punishment he had taken.

Freedom came back with his arms full of turkeys and fruit.

‘Lord, man, what on earth have you been doing? I’ve already been to the shops.’

Putting everything down he caught her in his arms. ‘Ah, well, this is a farewell dinner, for the street, then you’d best pack your things. We leave for America and this time you’ll be with me, it’ll be the trip of a lifetime.’

Evelyne hugged him, ‘Is it the world championship?’

He swung her round, lifted her in the air, ‘Aye, it is, and I’m going to take it from Tunney.’

‘Well, you’d best put me down. Any more of this tossing me in the air and you’ll hurt the baby.’

Freedom lowered her gently and cupped her face in his hands. ‘We’ll take Edward with us, and I’ll take great care of thee …’ Suddenly what she had just said dawned on him … he yelped with joy. ‘Are you sure?’

Evelyne laughed and said she was more than sure, she was three months gone.

The excitement of packing and arranging for their departure made the weeks pass so fast Evelyne could hardly believe it when they arrived at Southampton Docks with Freda, Ed and a pile of luggage. There was their ship, their home for the next three weeks, looming so large it took everyone’s breath away. RMS Aquitania was majestic, dwarfing the small group at the dockside. It wasn’t a ship, it was a floating city.

A steward led them to their cabins, pointing out various features along the way. The restaurant, with an oak-beamed ceiling and leaded windowpanes, seated seven hundred people. A long gallery led to what could only be described as a high street, with shops that included ladies’ and gentlemen’s outfitters displaying all the latest fashions in lighted window displays. There was a huge main lounge at the end of the gallery - a glorious, stunning room, as large as a concert hall, thickly carpeted and with a magnificent domed ceiling. All the chairs and settees were upholstered in the finest fabrics. There was even a post and telegraph office, unlike any the bemused group had ever seen. Adjoining it was the library, a big, square room with hundreds of books, and there was no charge for borrowing them.