Born to Trouble (28 page)

The sleet had turned to snow when Oswald and Nathaniel walked in an hour later. Christopher awoke with a start to see his mother offering her cheek to his brother, who then strode over and clasped him warmly as he stood up. ‘Chris, Chris, how are you?’ Nathanial asked, clapping him gently on the back.

‘Much better.’

‘He is not.’ Clarissa’s voice cut like a knife. ‘Signor Rotondo was most unhappy about our undertaking such a long journey, but your brother would not listen to reason.’

It was on the tip of Christopher’s tongue to say that if he could survive the journey out – of which he had no recollection save moments of excruciating pain – the return one was a piece of cake, but he did not. Looking across to his father who had just given Clarissa a perfunctory kiss on the cheek before plonking himself down in the chair nearest the fire, he said quietly, ‘Hello, Father.’

If Oswald had but known it, his feelings regarding his younger son resembled those of his wife at this moment. Nathaniel had shown him the letters Christopher had written, and it was clear the gypsy trollop was still in his blood. Oswald’s countenance was dark, his lips drawn in tight against his teeth and his bullet-hard eyes unblinking. ‘Is that all you have to say for yourself? You drag your poor mother back from a much-needed sojourn in the sun and half kill yourself in the process, and all you can say is “Hello, Father”? Hell, man, take a look at yourself. You’re a walking skeleton and as grey as clay. You’re determined to break your mother’s heart by going to an early grave, is that it?’

His father’s words didn’t fool Christopher. He’d had his twenty-second birthday while in Italy, but as he stood silently surveying his father he appeared much older to the three people watching him. It was as though the incident which had nearly taken his life had aged him a decade.

‘I have no intention of going to an early grave, Father,’ he said, after some moments had ticked by. ‘None at all. And Mother was bored stiff in Florence – too much culture and not enough bridge parties.’

‘And why do you think she went there in the first place, you ungrateful young cur, you? It wasn’t for her health.’

‘Nor mine,’ Christopher shot back. ‘Signor Rotondo himself said it was amazing I’d survived the journey. We all know why I was taken abroad, so don’t let’s play games.’

His father glared at him, then muttered thickly, ‘Games, is it? You, to talk of playing games when your tussles with a gypsy wench could have ruined our good name.’

‘Good name?’ Christopher’s upper lip curled, but before he could say anything more, Nathaniel took his arm.

‘Don’t say anything you’ll regret, Chris,’ he said, his voice low and urgent. ‘You’re ill, and no wonder. That journey would have taken it out of someone in rude health, let alone you. Come and have a rest before dinner.’

‘I don’t want to rest. I’ve done nothing else but rest.’

‘Then come and tell me about Florence and I’ll tell you what’s been happening here.’ Nathaniel was urging his brother across the room as he spoke. ‘Oxford have written to say they’ve given you a year’s leave in view of the accident – did Mother tell you? They’ve been very decent about it, so all’s not lost there. And Rowena’s mother is expecting a baby. Can you imagine, at her age? The scandal’s rocked the county.’

He was still talking as he ushered Christopher out of the room, turning in the doorway to give his father a swift warning glance before he shut the door, leaving Oswald and Clarissa alone.

Oswald sprang to his feet, assuming his favourite stance with his back to the fire and his coat-tails held up as he roasted his buttocks. His voice a growl, he said, ‘I’m not going to be able to stand this kid-glove treatment. Just setting eyes on the young fool makes my blood boil.’

‘I thought we all agreed to tread carefully? I told you in my letters how he’s reacted to me, Oswald. Nothing will be gained by behaving as you’ve just done.’

‘This is my house and I’ll behave as I want, woman.’

‘Ignore him if you can’t be civil. At least that way you’re not inflaming him.’

‘Inflaming him? By, I’d like to inflame him all right! The Catholics’ idea of souls in purgatory being forced to sit on burning-hot gridirons would do a certain part of his anatomy the world of good.’

‘Oswald, please.’

‘A trollop like that pert little piece . . . after all we’ve done for him! It’ll make Rowena’s mother’s lapse seem like nothing at all if it gets out.’

‘Well, it won’t get out, will it. You said the gypsies are gone. And it’s been months, Oswald. Girls of that kind aren’t without a man for long.’ Clarissa didn’t believe what she was saying, but for the moment she felt nothing would be gained by Oswald losing his temper. Besides, she hadn’t heard the news about Henrietta Baxter. She couldn’t believe Oswald hadn’t mentioned it when he’d written to her, but that was men for you. Rowena’s mother must be over forty – and to find herself in a delicate condition at that age! It was dreadful, quite dreadful. Poor woman.

Her voice holding a throb of delight she couldn’t quite hide, Clarissa said, ‘Anyway, enough about Christopher for now. We’ll discuss it tomorrow when you’re feeling calmer. Tell me about Henrietta. Who knows – everyone? What did the Steffords say?’

‘Tollett doesn’t know where they’ve gone, Chris. I had a word with him like you asked me to, but he couldn’t help.’

Christopher sighed heavily. They were standing in the sitting room in Nathaniel’s bedroom suite and his brother was busy pouring two glasses of brandy. ‘I thought he might have some idea.’

‘Well, he hasn’t.’ Nathaniel handed him a glass, saying, ‘Sit down. You look ready to drop.’

‘I have to find her.’

The hell you do
. If Tollett had known where the Romanies had gone, Nathaniel had been prepared to buy his silence. As it was, he’d saved himself a few pounds. Now he shook his head. ‘Chris, you know I’m for you. Always have been, always will be, but—’

‘What?’

‘She’s a gypsy, man. All right, she might not have been born one if you believe what she said, but she’s one of them now and they don’t let their own marry outside their tribe. Tollett told me that himself. Tight knit, they are. Tighter than nobility. If you found her, they might turn nasty and do her harm. Have you thought of that? Look at what happened to you. You could put her in harm’s way and you don’t want that, do you?’

Christopher downed his brandy in one. ‘I have to find her,’ he repeated obstinately.

‘What if she doesn’t want to be found?’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Look, I don’t want to upset you, but have you wondered why, if she thought as much of you as she said she did, she didn’t come to the house to see if you were alive or dead after that maniac had attacked you?’

‘They wouldn’t let her.’

‘But she managed to slip out and meet you each night, didn’t she?’

‘That was different. They didn’t know about us then.’

Nathaniel poured them both another drink. ‘If you persist in looking for her I’ll come with you. There’s no way you’re going near those devils alone, all right? Promise me.’

‘I promise, but I’m going to find her, Nat.’

‘All right, all right, you’re going to find her.’ Nathaniel had seen how the muscles of his brother’s face had tightened. Their father was right, Chris was nothing but skin and bone and all because of that little madam who’d had her eye on the main chance. She’d nearly had him killed, playing fast and loose with this gypsy lover of hers, but Chris just couldn’t see it.
Wouldn’t
see it. He hoped to blazes the gypsies had covered their tracks so they wouldn’t be found, but if he and Chris did find them, and if she still fluttered her eyelashes at him, he’d be at his brother’s side this time. And no matter what it took, no matter who he had to buy, that little whore wasn’t having him.

It was another week before Christopher was sufficiently strong enough to begin the search, a week of snowstorms and thaws and more snowstorms. But then the weather turned bright and dry, although bitterly cold, and with Nathaniel at his side Christopher rode out of the claustrophobic confines of the estate.

Nathaniel had primed his parents to make no objection and let matters take their course, assuring them he’d see to it events played out as they would wish. Clarissa had suggested they take the carriage, but when Christopher had said he preferred to travel on horseback she hadn’t argued. The less the servants knew of this latest venture the better, and the use of the carriage would have necessitated the services of Briggs, the coachman.

As it happened, it wasn’t difficult to track down the gypsy encampment for the simple reason the gypsies had made no effort to conceal their whereabouts. Within two days and an overnight stay in an inn, the brothers saw the thin blue smoke of the campfires late one afternoon on the outskirts of Carlisle. They had travelled slowly, since Christopher had needed to rest often, but he hadn’t once considered turning back.

‘It must be them. That farmer in Talkin was right.’

Nathaniel nodded but said nothing. He was worried about his brother. This had been too much for him. If he saw the girl, he’d have a job to keep from wringing her neck.

The camp was situated at the end of a narrow lane and the horses stepped carefully on the big ridges of frozen mud. Long before the camp itself came into view the brothers could hear it – shouts and calls and laughter, children crying and dogs barking. Nathaniel was feeling distinctly uneasy now the moment had come, not so much about the danger they were in – although bearing in mind the events of the last two or three months, that could be considerable – but how he could persuade the girl to leave his brother alone. He was carrying a large sum of money sewn into the lining of his coat, but she might think she could obtain more by hanging on to Chris. If so, he would have to convince her otherwise. He had already determined to tell her that an association with her would mean his brother being cut off without a penny, and this was not altogether fiction. His parents were angry enough to do just that. But it would be getting the girl alone which would be the problem. He’d just have to play it by ear.

His heart thumping, he let Christopher lead the way, and as they came to the end of the lane and the campsite stretched out in front of them, he could see tents and caravans and horses and amid it all men, women and children. He bent down and undid the saddlebag as the horse clipclopped on and a hush fell over the site. Unbeknownst to Christopher, Nathaniel was carrying a loaded gun in the bag and he wouldn’t hesitate to use it, should it become necessary.

Halimena was sitting at the entrance to the tent as usual, and she recognised Christopher immediately, her keen eyesight which was as good now as it was eighty years ago picking him out across the field.
Him
. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the figure on horseback stop to speak to a group of children who pointed her way. She was aware of Corinda leaving a group of women she had been talking to and hurrying towards her, clearly agitated. As her daughter-in-law reached her, she said softly, ‘Calm, child. Calm.’

‘What do you think he wants?’ Corinda’s voice was shaking. ‘For this to happen when our menfolk are in town.’

‘Mebbe it’s just as well,’ Halimena said quietly. Mackensie was missing his eldest son more each day, so who knew what he might do if confronted with the reason Byron had had to leave them. ‘You leave the talking to me, you hear? Whatever they want, I’ll deal with it.’

A few months ago Corinda would have argued with this, but now the stuffing had been knocked out of her. She had a constant fear on her that Byron would be sought by the police and locked up, and that would kill him. To be unable to go where he wanted, live under the stars with nature about him, he’d die. She knew it.

Halimena stood up as the riders approached and she saw a flash of recognition in Christopher’s eyes as he saw her. So, he remembered her, did he? As well he might.

She watched both men dismount but she didn’t speak, her lined, tawny face inscrutable. The last time she had seen the gorgie’s lover he had been lying on the ground with his clothes covered in blood, looking as though he would breathe his last. But he hadn’t died. He was obviously tougher than he looked.

‘I’m sure you remember me?’

She still didn’t speak, merely inclining her head as she kept her eyes fixed on him. He had glanced at Corinda too but her daughter-in-law had her head down, looking at the ground. The old woman could smell the fear coming off her.

‘I’m not here to cause trouble, believe me on that. What is done is done, and I bear no one ill-will. I – I’m looking for Pearl. I have to see her.’

So that was it. She’d got under his skin, had she, the gorgie? But then, those whom the guardians protect had powers to equal her own, she knew that. She’d heard it said they could tell the guardians to send a man mad, and this one looked well on the way. Aye, the girl had put her poison in this one, sure enough. He’d never be rid of the need of her till the day he died; it’d shrivel him up inside.

‘Can I speak to her?’

Halimena looked at the ill young face. He was sick, grieving in his soul, and without the girl, he’d remain that way. He might take up the threads of life again, but nothing would be the same. Her thin lips moved in a terrible smile. ‘Not you nor no one else,’ she said softly. ‘She’s dead, drowned many a long day. Went wandering off by herself once too often and fell in the river when it was in flood.’

She watched as his brother – it had to be his brother, they were so alike – reached out and took the sick man’s arm as he swayed. Huskily, Christopher said, ‘I don’t believe you.’

But he did believe her. It was his worst nightmare come true.

‘Search every inch if you like.’ She waved her hand to encompass the campsite. ‘But you won’t find hide nor hair of her. Found her body with her hair all spread out about her head like a veil, we did. Cold and lifeless. There’s nothing for you here.’