and I don’t wonder at it!” Jenny said. “Settin’ you up with a man old enough to be your papa, and marryin’ you off all havey-cavey, without even time to buy bride clothes! You go on, Miss Gwen. A ride will do your spirits good, and I’ll get Hopkins movin’ on the preparations.”
“Oh, and Parry will not be joining us for dinner. I told him I’d bring him a tray later…and I—I think I shall stay out late, helping him with the animals. I shall not be able to do so much longer, after all.”
“Bless me, Miss Gwen, whatever is to become of that poor boy with you gone? I worry about it, I do!”
“You know I would never allow anyone to harm Parry—no matter what I must do to prevent it. I shall think of something, Jenny.”
“You bein’ so clever and all, I suppose you will. Now, get you off ridin’, and leave the rest to Jenny.”
Gwennor gave one last hug to the woman who’d been more mother than servant to her for the last ten years. “Thank you, Jenny. You’re an angel!”
“If’n I was, I’d be spreadin’ out my wings and carryin’ you off to London,” the maid declared, still shaking her head in disapproval as she walked away.
Gwennor picked up her pace and sped to the stables. She must complete her mission and return with enough time to rifle the strongbox before cousin Nigel rose to dress for dinner.
Firefly, her ginger mare, whinnied a greeting as she approached the hay-fragrant stall, and Gwen felt a pang of regret and anger. Another dear friend, along with her home, she’d soon be forced to abandon.
Sending the stable boy back to his other chores, she saddled the mare and headed off at a trot, letting the horse stretch her legs in a gallop once they reached the open fields near the Home Woods, and then continuing on at a canter to the far south meadow.
“Please,” she prayed. “Let them still be there.”
When at last she saw the gaily-painted wagons beside the stream that formed the border of Southford land, she let out a gusty breath of relief.
Slowing Firefly to a walk, she proceeded to the end wagon. Before she’d even dismounted, a dark-eyed urchin with a thatch of black hair ran over to catch her bridle.
“A copper for you if you’ll take her to drink at the stream—but not too much water, now!”
Gwennor smiled as the lad trotted off, Firefly in tow, and turned to the old woman who sat by her campfire regarding her gravely.
“So, you come to have your fortune read, now that the Evil One descends upon your home?”
“No, Jacquinita. I’m afraid I know what you’d find in my palm,” Gwen replied with a grimace, not at all surprised the most revered of the gypsy soothsayers already knew of her cousin’s arrival. “I came to ask a favor.”
With a jangle of her many bracelets, the gypsy motioned her to sit. “What favor?”
“Parry and I must leave Southford immediately, but we must depart in a way that my cousin cannot trace. I want to ask Remolo to allow us to travel in your train, disguised as Rom. I will pay in coin and in jewels for this boon. Will you plead my case for me?”
The woman fingered a pleat of her full red skirt. “He means to harm you, your cousin, yes?”
“He wishes to marry me to his friend, but that is not why we flee. He intends to lock Parry in the attics and not allow him to roam free. The Rom, of all people, should understand what this would do to my brother.”
The old woman nodded. “He has the gift, your brother. Such a spirit should not be caged. Your father was a good man, for a gadjo. Every year he allowed us to camp in his fields. That one—” she spat in the direction of Southford Manor, then made a sign of protection against the evil eye “—will call the magistrates on us soon, so have I warned the people. Therefore we leave at dusk. I will speak with Remolo.”
“Dusk!” Gwennor cried with alarm. “If I am to depart undetected, I cannot leave the manor until near on midnight. Please, tell Remolo I will pay him well if he will wait and take us!”
The old woman stood, adjusting her full skirts and the multicolored head scarf. “I will tell him. You follow.”
Gwennor removed the small leather pouch and held it out. “Take him this. ’Tis a token and pledge. Tell him I will bring twenty more gold pieces when we come tonight.”
The old woman snatched the leather pouch from her fingers. “So will I say.”
Gwennor followed as instructed, praying a merciful God would intercede with the gypsy overlord. Swarthy, handsome, mercurial and unquestioned master over his band, Remolo’s decision—like her cousin’s, she thought with irony—would be final and irrevocable.
As she had only a very basic knowledge of the Romany language, Gwennor could not follow much of the conversation that ensued. The old woman offered the money pouch, which the gypsy lord accepted with a short bow in her direction. But after Jacquinita spoke for several minutes, with gestures and dark looks toward Southford Manor, Remolo’s face creased in a frown and he shook his head in vehement negative.
Though it would avail her little to beg, Gwennor was on the point of throwing herself at the gypsy’s knees when, after another rapid-fire speech by the soothsayer, Remolo paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face, and then gave a slight nod. After an elaborate curtsey, the old woman returned to Gwennor.
“He will take us?” Gwennor demanded.
The old woman smiled. “For your small gold, he thanks you. But he did not wish to bring along so heavy a burden. I told him you would work for us, playing cards and telling fortunes for the gadjo who come to the wagons where we stop. He said we have women and children enough for those things. Then I reminded him that Parry had cured his stallion—and that his favorite mare is due to foal soon. So, he will let you come for the sake of your brother’s skill and the money you promise—but he will not wait until midnight.”
Gwen’s initial exhilaration faded rapidly. “We cannot go before then! Or rather, I cannot.” A heart-wrenching choice that really was no choice confronted her. Deciding rapidly, she said, “Parry can. If I pay Remolo as promised, will he take Parry? And will you watch over my brother and keep him s-safe?” Her voice broke at the awful thought of sending Parry away alone.
The old woman came over to touch Gwen’s face. “Child of my soul, you know I will. But you would send your brother from harm and not yourself?”
Gwennor nodded. “For myself I do not care, I will figure out something. But I cannot protect Parry from Nigel if he stays.”
“You have the heart of the wildcat, my child,” the woman said approvingly. “So have you been since I met you as a little girl—brave, strong and fierce. Ah, if you had been Rom, I would have made you my mulkini, that you might carry on after me. Do not think I, Jacquinita, drabarni of the Remali Rom, will leave you to that Evil One. Come to the clearing at midnight. My grandson Davi—” she nodded toward the boy holding Firefly by the stream “—will wait for you and lead you to us. Go in the spirit, child.”
Gwennor threw her arms around the old woman’s neck. “Thank you, dya!”
Jacquinita released her, chuckling softly. “We will dress you in skirts and the kishti, with bracelets and earrings and a scarf in that dark hair. Ah, leibling, what a gypsy you will make!”
Chapter Three
Three weeks later, Gwennor dropped the last load of firewood beside Jacquinita’s wagon and brushed off her hands. With a now-expert eye, she calculated she had another half hour’s daylight to return to the stream, draw water and wash.
She flexed her tired shoulders as she trotted back to the small river near which Remolo had ordered them to make camp this afternoon. Jacquinita had promised the gypsy lord that Gwen and her brother would work, and