Jurij Korybut, space cadet

 So, I've been properly story-boarding my pics from Night Cafe, and improving on them, there and as post work, to make a proper graphic novel.

Thoughts? 

 

the scholar's sweetheart 20

 

Chapter 20

 

“My lady, my people ought to be moving back to the campsite,” said Woodlock, nervously to Imogen. “We have trespassed on your hospitality...”

“Nonsense,” said Imogen. “It was a most unpleasant upset, and moreover, it has been wet for days. We must have a covered hall associated with the cottages for old folk so you can camp there under a roof if need be.”

“We don’t need to be coddled,” said Woodlock.

“I look at your people and see a young mother who went into labour prematurely over the shock of the fire. I’ve had to get in a wet nurse from the village to help her feed her baby as her milk is insufficient. She birthed in a hurry and bled a lot because of it. I would have liked to have had her in the temporary hospital with Lementina, but her father bullied her into staying here in the ballroom with her husband, calling her weak for needing attention; and if he or you could manage to give birth, there would be no more generations because men could not handle the pain and stress of childbirth, and would refuse to have any more after the first so do not,” Imogen poked a finger into Woodlock’s waistcoat, “Talk about being coddled. You men can go and camp outside if you like but I have taken the responsibility for the women and children, and I will have constables arrest anyone who tries to take any of my patients away and that means you, too, Tobias Petulengro, you big bully, you can leave Million and her baby alone.”

“No woman speaks to me like that!” roared Tobias Petulengro, advancing on Imogen, his soot-encrusted, ham-like hands bunched.

“Toby! Have some sense!” cried Woodlock, well aware that attacking a pregnant noblewoman would get his smith hanged.

Imogen dropped down to grab him around the knees and pulled. Unable to get a grip on the polished floor, he went down on his back.

“This woman does,” said Imogen, setting her foot on his privates. “You’re an idiot, Petulengro, because I know how to keep your daughter and grandson alive, and you don’t, but you think that by intimidating me, you get to do what you please. Well, she isn’t in your tent any more; she’s in Jonah Grey’s tent as his wife, and he has some say, and in my house, so does she. So back off, and be a man not a beef-witted cauliflower-brained thumping machine.”

“And so help me, if I catch you even talking to the marchioness again, I will kill you,” snarled Woodlock. “Because if I kill you, maybe the marquis, who is a noted pugilist, shot, and swordsman, will maybe leave the rest of the men of the tribe alive. Believe me, if you touch Evelyn Finch’s wife, he will rage with the Finch rage which will only be assuaged by blood.”

“He’s right,” said Imogen. “My husband has the devil’s own temper if his own are touched, which is why Crowy Heron, if not already dead, is a walking dead man. I know you don’t like being cooped up here, but some of your tribe have suffered burns, and getting dirt into burns kills. And in the wet, avoiding mud is impossible. Those who feel ready to resume the camp are welcome to do so...” she broke off as Silas limped in.

“There’s some fat man down at the camp stabbing the tents with a big knife and swearing to kill all the gypsies and cut off the Finches root and branch. Who are the Finches?”

Imogen paled.

“That’s my husband’s family name,” she said. “Sit down, Silas, and get your head between your knees and get your breath back. Woodlock, find George, and tell him to get everyone inside, and lock all the doors. Get those ballroom doors shut, and close all of the shutters which are there to conserve heat. If that is who I fear, seeing you will inflame him to fury.”

“I’ll sort him out, lady,” said Petulengro, more co-operative in the face of a common threat.

“Good, I’ll need volunteers to take him in charge, but I don’t want to kill him if we can avoid it, but I want my maids and your womenfolk protected,” said Imogen. “Go with Woodlock, and anyone else prepared to fight, saving only the married men with children who will defend the tribe here.”

Imogen left the ballroom and went into the gun room. She used the key on her chatelaine to unlock a gun cabinet and removed two shotguns and a Baker rifle. She gave the shotguns to George and Woodlock, and took the rifle to the landing window over the front door.

She saw Eusebius Reckitt weaving his way almost as if drunk towards the front door, and opened the window, waiting for him to be within shouting range.

“Eusebius!” she called. “Stop right there! You need help, and you need to turn yourself in! Put your hands on your head and kneel and wait to be taken in charge!”

He did not do so, of course, and Imogen had never really expected him to do so. She recalled a soldier in the hospital her father had set up, who had had a bullet removed from where it had lodged in his skull, who had gone insane, and tried to kill all the other soldiers and nurses. He had been shot by a wounded officer, which had shocked Imogen, but she remembered the young officer’s words. A crazy man, like a mad dog, could not be reasoned with, and there came a point when stopping him being a danger to others was more important than caring for him.

Eusebius pointed a finger at her.

“You! You’re nothing but a whore and I’m going to kill you and your unborn brat and Finchbury and his bastards!” he cried. Imogen took aim but continued speaking.

“Did not our Lord say that whoever placed a stumbling block in the way of a child should be cast into the ocean with a millstone tied around his neck?” she asked, mildly, seeking for a shot to wound, not kill.

“They are not children! They are demons! Gypsy demons!” howled Eusebius.

There was, indeed, no reasoning with him.  Imogen took aim and fired at his upraised pointing hand.

She took him in the forearm, and Eusebius fell over in shock.  George and Woodlock ran out of the front door, but somehow, Eusebius stumbled to his feet and ran off.

“Don’t pursue, he is completely unhinged, and dangerous, do not approach him,” she ordered. “Get back in the house and lock the door.”

“There’s only one of him...” started Woodlock.

“With a madman’s cunning and hysteric strength,” said Imogen. “Get someone with sharp eyes onto the top of the old tower to keep a watch out,”

 

oOoOo

 

“We’ll go up the back to reach the house,” said Evelyn. “Past the church; Cornelius, do you want to stop and warn your father?”

“Not when we have Shuri and the boys with us, no,” said Cornelius. “It would be like Eusebius to hold Papa and make me give myself up, and he won’t stop with me. In fact, I suggest we all get down low on the floor as we come up the drive.”

“It sounds overly cautious, but... very well,” said Evelyn. He rapped on the sliding door to the coachman. “Drive in the back and go fast,” he said. “Keep your blunderbuss with you, and if you are threatened, for pity’s sake use it, don’t throw it down and jump down like a lamb to the slaughter.”

“Yes, my lord,” said the coachman, chastened since his pusillanimous behaviour before Fowk.

The passengers got down on the floor as the carriage swept through the village, to the surprise of Bess and Stumpy. Bess licked Evergreen’s face and Stumpy wagged his stumpy tail at this new game.

They were to be glad they had done so; as the coach swung into the back drive, there was a loud shout, and shortly after the report of some firearm, and the rattle of shot on the coach body. One of the windows broke and Jasper flinched as a piece of glass cut his cheek. The coach bowled on, and came round and into the stable yard, and came to a halt.

“Get the gate shut!” shouted Evelyn, jumping out. “Anyone hurt?”

“Not badly,” said Jasper. “Diw! Though if that piece had gone straight down into my head, I’d have been dead,” he added, soberly, picking up the offending shard of glass, which was some five inches long with a pointed end.

“Right, that’s it, every able bodied man in the house and grounds can consider himself deputised as a constable, and let Eusebius Reckitt be brought in dead or alive,” said Evelyn. “Check over our riding horses, he was shooting with a shotgun, check he didn’t hit either.” He ordered the stable hands, and then led the passengers in through the stable door, coming face to face with George and Woodlock with shotguns.

“You heard, then,” said Evelyn. “You’re both constables, everyone is a constable, and whatever it takes it takes.”

“Silas saw him stabbing the tents,” said Woodlock. “Silas is on the tower with a musket, your lady wife is at the front overporch window with a rifle, and we’ve closed the place to protect the women.”

“There’s no telling what the fellow will do,” said Evelyn. “But I want every bucket and tub filled with water, and spare blankets soaked as I have every expectation that he will attempt to burn us out. The rooms off the terrace are vulnerable so we’ll be posting guards there.  We could chase him around for hours, and not get anywhere, because he is not acting rationally.”

“A couple of Rom trackers...” suggested Woodlock.

“Do you track mad dogs?” asked Evelyn.

“If a threat to our families? If we must,” said Woodlock.

A pair of small missiles hurtled in.

“Papa! Jasper!” cried Phebe.

“Ah, good, take Stumpy somewhere where you can nurse him, he has been kicked,” said Evelyn, dumping Stumpy’s basket in her arms. Phebe was best deflected with something to do.

“With your permission, I’ll take some of the lads and set up sundry snares,” said Woodlock. “If we ain’t tracking him, we know he’ll head back here, and we might as well make use of that to capture him.”

“So long as you remember that those big man-traps we have somewhere are not legal any more,” said Evelyn. Woodlock snorted.

“We’ll be a lot more subtle than that,” he said.

“Evelyn? Is that you?” Imogen’s voice called from upstairs.

“Yes, love, all back safely, and Corny gave us a lift,” called Evelyn.

It has to be said that Imogen sat down hard, and put her head between her knees. All back safely included Jasper; and indeed, Jasper found her thus when he ran upstairs looking for her, and gave her a fierce hug.

“Oh, Jasper! I am so glad to see you,” said Imogen.

“Crowy and two cousins of his are dead,” said Jasper. “I... I burned the house they were in.”

“Fitting enough considering they tried to do the same to Lementina,” said Imogen.

Jasper relaxed. He had been dreading telling her.

“Stay with me a while and help me keep watch,” said Imogen.

“Gladly,” agreed Jasper. 

Mrs. Hudson found them both asleep, and tutted. On the tower, Silas, Hesilla, and Evergreen were taking turns to watch, which made more sense, so Mrs. Hudson covered the sleepers with quilts and slipped pillows under their heads and demanded that Evelyn find some people able to use ‘that dratted rifle’ to take their place. Evelyn joined his wife and son with the taciturn Toby Petulengro, who had decided that any woman who could best him was worthy of respect and needed his support. Not knowing of the contretemps, Evelyn merely welcomed someone not overcome with the fatigue of being active for days on end, as he said.

“Rest. I watch,” said Petulengro. He did not say that he also respected a man who would kill Crowy Heron and his cousins; whatever the official story, the Lovell tribe believed that Evelyn had killed them. He would have no more trouble at all from this tribe.

Evelyn did as he was bid. He came awake like a cat as Petulengro blew in his ear. It was dark.

“Heard gravel,” Petulengro murmured right by his ear.

Evelyn was alert immediately, peering out into the night. There was no light on the landing, of course, in order to preserve their night sight. Imogen and Jasper also came awake as if sensing the tension. All heard a foot crunching and strove to see out into the cloudy night.

 

oOoOo

 

Eusebius had been nicked by the rifle bullet when Imogen fired, and he briefly came to his senses appalled by what he was doing, as the pain interrupted his crazed intent; unfortunately it was not enough, and he retreated, determined to pay back pain for pain, to wipe out the family who had stolen and corrupted his little brother, had even corrupted his father, and turned everyone against him. He had almost saved the soul of the girl, Mary, but the devils had corrupted her too. The Finch family were the embodiment of the devil and his demon spawn and must be excised, and the demons disguised as gypsies too. Had Eusebius been familiar with the works of Lord Byron, he would have recognised a line from ‘The Corsair’ in Evelyn, ‘There was a laughing devil in his sneer,’ but for Eusebius this was not a figure of speech but absolutely literal. Somehow, Evelyn had, in Eusebius’s mind, even infiltrated the church so that the Ecclesiastical Court unfrocked him, and sent him to a retreat with an alienist, a man who claimed to understand him, but plainly did not. Eusebius had suddenly realised that he was the only man in the world who could see clearly, and recognise the demons amongst them.

He had to arm himself.

He took himself to the rectory.

“Eusebius! My boy, what are you doing here?” his father, the traitor, who had turned on him. Eusebius snarled, and manhandled the rector into his study, where he proceeded to tie the rector to his chair, and took the key to his gun cabinet from the drawer. Augustus Reckitt had a fowling piece, which Eusebius thought scarcely adequate but it would have to do.

He also bandaged his hand, driving out the little maid with language so foul she fled in real terror and went to take refuge with Widow Hodges and her goats.

Hearing a carriage’s wheels, Eusebius burst out of the door in time to see the emblazoned carriage turn into the gates of the hall, and he fired, without expecting to do much harm, but hoping to frighten whoever was within.

Then he went to make himself a meal in the kitchen, with no thought for his father, tied up in the study, and to wait until dark. 

 

 

 

The scholar's sweetheart 19

 

Chapter 19

 

“For the information of any busy-bodies,” said Evelyn, icily, including in his address the groggy Sam, who was returning to signs of life, “I am Evelyn Finch, Marquis Finchbury, and with the help of the youngster here and his excellent dog, I have been rescuing my son, who is a lad of some twelve years old, who was kidnapped by Crowy Heron, who was a gypsy of whom any man should be wary; he is now dead along with two of his cousins.  My young friend is of the Lovell tribe who will deal fairly with anyone who will deal fairly with them. I pass on to you that they can be trusted to do a fair day’s work for a fair day’s pay. They help me with my harvests. There are gypsies and gypsies.”

Sam had sat up and was fingering his jaw, tenderly.

“You means, you ain’t a gypsy?” he burst out. “Why didn’t you say?”

“You didn’t give me time to do so, you big ox,” said Evelyn. “Moreover, the gypsy boy here is in my care, and under my protection, so I am bound to fight to protect him since you’re more than twice his size, and I call shame on any man of your size who would hit a child at all.”

“Go home, Sam,” said Harris. “You ain’t in any condition to drink or work, an’ in a week you can boast that you stood up against a real marquis and lost to the better man.”

“I still don’t like gypsies,” grumbled Sam.

“Nobody’s asking you to,” said Harris.

At that moment, the door opened, and Cornelius walked in, followed by Shuri, though Evelyn almost did not recognise her for a moment, with her aureole of curls.

“Corny!” said Evelyn.

Cornelius looked stricken.

“No Jasper?” he whispered.

“He’s upstairs, asleep,” said Evelyn.

Cornelius was in time to catch Shuri as she fainted.

“Let’s be having your parlour again, Harris, my friend,” said Evelyn. “The lady, though not my wife, is my son’s mother. I have an interesting family tree,” he added. “Tea, please.”

“Aye, well, that proves you’re an aristo,” said Harris. “Not just complex, but you takes it calmly.”

“I’ll go and see if he’s awake,” said Evergreen, sliding off up to see if he could rouse his friend and tell him his mother was there.

 

Jasper sat up when Evergreen touched him, ready to fight until he recognised his friend.

“Your mother’s here,” said Evergreen.

“Here?” said Jasper. “What do you mean, here?”

“Here at the inn, looking like a great lady, with Mr. Reckitt. Your – our- tutor.”

“What are they doing here?”

“Looking for us, but mostly for you,” said Evergreen. “Come on; she’s been wound like a watch, I think for she fainted.”

“Mother? She never faints,” said Jasper.

“Well, she did, when your da said you was upstairs,” said Evergreen. “He asked me to call him ‘Evelyn.’ I ain’t sure I’m comfortable.”

“Why not call him ‘Uncle Evelyn?’” suggested Jasper.

“Well, maybe I could live with that,” said Evergreen.

Jasper washed his face and followed Evergreen to the parlour. He was half afraid that he was dreaming, the way he had on that awful journey wrapped in the tent, and then in half-sleep in his hideout under the tree. Dreams where his mother survived, though he did not really believe that she had.

He came into the room and looked at the daybed where she reclined, sitting up now.

“Shuri? Mother?” he said.

“Jasper! Chavo!” she held out her arms, and Jasper stumbled into them.

“He said he’d killed Lementina for sure, and you were with her,” he sobbed. “Oh, I can’t stop crying!”

“It’s all right, my little boy, I’m here. I’m here. Lementina is still alive and fighting. We’re here.”

“Well!” said Evelyn. “How did you get here?”

“Carriage,” said Cornelius. “And to my mind we might as well all go home in it right away, because it’s only a little over an hour and I want to go back to my bed and sleep.”

“You never drove!” Evelyn was horrified.

“Of course I didn’t! You keep a competent stable of grooms and coachmen,” said Cornelius. “If you and I share one seat, and Shuri and the boys share the other, it will be fine, and your horses tethered behind.”

“And the mule,” said Evelyn. “And Bess and Stumpy on the floor of the carriage.”

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” said Cornelius. “Whenever you are ready.”

“Whenever your good lady is ready,” said Evelyn.

 

They were largely ready to leave after another half an hour, once Shuri, Jasper, and Evergreen had poured out their own stories. Evelyn returned to the bar, and peeled off several high denomination notes for Harris.

“I can’t take this, my lord, I’ve not done anything...”

“You were a haven in need, both going and returning, and what’s more you stood up for us to that bully-boy and the constable,” said Evelyn. “And any time you need anything, it’s yours.”

“Well, I don’t say I couldn’t use it to build an extension so I can offer more accommodation,” said Harris. “It’s my own place, not owned by a brewery so I can do as I please.”

“Well, let me know if you want an investor,” said Evelyn. “Would that mule be useful to you?”

“Well, to be honest, yes,” said Harris. “Poor thing needs feeding up and a bit of tender care.”

“I’ll leave it in your hands then,” said Evelyn. “I’m not sure it would be kind to make the poor beast keep up with a coach.” 

 

“It suits you, mother,” said Jasper. “You look very well as a lady. Are you going to marry Corny?”

“Yes,” said Shuri. “But you need to poke him into asking me properly and in front of the tribe with a proper proposal.”

“I can bring him up to snuff,” said Jasper.

“I didn’t mean to choose until we were all back home and had settled down to proper routines again,” said Shuri. “But... well, he’s always there for me. He caught me when I came over all unnecessary, when I heard you were alive, just as I was thinking that as you were not with Evelyn and Evergreen...” it was her turn to cry in Jasper’s arms.

“Diw! We are a pair,” said Jasper. “It’s all right, mam cariad.”

“You funny boy,” said Shuri. “Enid has always treated me with kindness, so I can see why you wanted to learn Welsh for her.”

“It feels right in my mouth,” said Jasper. “I will act as your go-between and tell Corny that he must make a good offer for you. I value my mother highly.”

“Don’t overdo it; he is not that well off,” said Shuri.

“Oh, I will negotiate more cleverly than that,” said Jasper. “He is to be sure that you have at least two new gowns a month and four bonnets a year, a library subscription, and the freedom to go off on your own when you feel a need.”

“Jasper! I do not need so much!”

“Of course you do, Ma. That’s a meagre amount compared to what Imogen expects, but is reasonable for a country lady. You can always have some as fabric to make up for yourself.”

“I prefer fewer gowns and have them off the peg,” said Shuri.

“No, no, no, you do not value yourself highly enough; made up for you by a seamstress, even if not by a modiste,” said Jasper. “You could pay Imogen’s sewing girl; she will be glad of more work.”

“I will leave it to you,” laughed Shuri.

“Good,” said Jasper. “Oh, I feel so much more the thing now I know you are alive. Pa said he thought you would live, but even he did not know, not when he left.”

“It looked worse than it is,” said Shuri. “I have had half my hair burned off, and Imogen is having a switch made with what was cut off on the good side, which she assures me can be added to my own hair as it grows and arranged, if I wish it, over something called a ‘rat,’ which is apparently padding to make hair look bigger.”

“Oh, I do not interfere in the affairs of women and their beauty products,” said Jasper. “I don’t believe in witchcraft and I eschew such cantrips and spells.”

“You would do well to learn something of them, dear one, to know what is real and what is artifice,” said Shuri. “My pretty curls are borrowed from the wig of some pirate, I believe.”

“What, old Prosper Finch? Famous!” said Jasper. “How anyone so mean-looking could be named Prosper I don’t know, unless he prospered by miserliness. He has the ugliest nose in the whole gallery, and his whiskers make him look like a villain, the way they stick out without a single softening curl.”

“You like having family, even those you can disparage, don’t you?” said Shuri.

“Yes, ma, I do,” said Jasper. “It’s good to have roots; I was born to be a Giorgio, really. I would not want to go back to the tribe, though sometimes I feel constrained, but Pa gives me a lot of freedom.”

“And if Cornelius can let me wander at times, and I would not mind if he came with me, I should not, I think, miss it,” said Shuri. “If he will tramp with me for two or three days at a time and sleep in a tent under the stars in good weather, and I’d be content for that to be on your father’s lands.”

Jasper nodded.

“I will see to discussing it,” he said.

 

The horses were happy to set off again, having rested, and they all got into the coach, Stumpy being carried.

“I’ve never longed so much to be going home,” said Evelyn. “It has become home, with Imogen, and with my children.”

“I think it is a pleasant region in which to live,” said Shuri, glancing at Cornelius.

“Could I build a little cottage on your land, rather than live in as tutor?” asked Cornelius. “I have pledged to care for Lementina as if she was my own mother, but my father would not, I think, accept her at the rectory, and if we have Eusebius spending any time....”

“Of course,” said Evelyn. “There’s the old gate keeper’s cottage before the new entrance was built, if you don’t think it too small. It has three rooms upstairs and three downstairs.”

“That seems quite suitable,” said Cornelius. “I have no need of a large cottage. I would make one of the downstairs rooms over for Lementina; am I correct in thinking that there is a small kitchen, a parlour in front, and a long room with plenty of windows overlooking the old way in, with a door into each of the other rooms, and the stairs up from the kitchen?”

“Yes, I believe that was how it was laid out,” said Evelyn.

“I will have one of the windows made into a French window, and a patio outside with one of those Italian conceits over, whaddya call it, a loggia, so she can sit outside even in inclement weather, if she chooses, and maybe build a fourth room upstairs on the loggia for any extra children... if I should be getting married.”

“You are, and I’m the go-between and you will have to listen to my demands,” said Jasper “But back home.”

“I am? Oh, Shuri!”

“No, we do not talk, you work with my go-between,” said Shuri. “If you want to do it, do it properly.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Cornelius. “Why are we stopping? We cannot be there yet.”

The panel to the coachman opened.

“Beg pardon, my lord, we’ve been flagged down, a proper flag, and he looks respectable.”

“The devil we have!” said Evelyn. He helped himself to a pistol from the pocket on the door of the coach and got out of the coach on the near side. Cornelius took the other pistol, and slid out of the coach on the off side, to back up his friend against any more footpads, should there be any.

The man who had flagged them down wore Ecclesiastical black.

“My lord! It is you in the coach with your crest. I have to warn you, Eusebius Reckitt escaped from the custody of the alienist to whom he was confided, and he left a journal which made little sense save that he stated his intention to kill his brother, and the Finch family, ‘Grubbed out root and branch,’ is how he put it, and burn out the gypsies in their camp; and I fear he will set an ambush for you.”

“The hell!” said Evelyn. “Well, I have to walk into it; if he’s heading for the hall, my wife and any child she carries, and my daughter are there. I thank you for the warning. Tell the bishop that I cannot be held accountable for any man who threatens my family.”

 

the scholar's sweetheart 18

 

Chapter 18

 

Evergreen rode easily on the crupper behind Jasper.

“After all, you’re the young master, you ought to be riding the horse,” he had said. Jasper had hesitated briefly, but agreed. He could still fancy he tasted smoke with its added load of burning human, and he felt sick. He was not sure he could manage to ride the crupper, which took more work than just staying in the saddle. They rode several miles.

“Papa... I feel most unwell,” said Jasper, unwillingly.

“Can you manage another mile and a half?” asked Evelyn.

“I... yes,” said Jasper.

“We’ll put in at the inn where they were so obliging before,” said Evelyn.

Evergreen grunted agreement. They had been civil enough to him, too.

 

Jasper got off his horse and swayed. Evelyn caught him, and lifted him.

“I’ll help the stable hand, my lord,” said Evergreen.

“Thanks, lad,” said Evelyn. He went into the inn.

“My lord! You found your son? Is he injured?” cried the landlord, running forward.

“Fortunately nothing serious, but he’s been suffocated, starved, left without water, and escaped out into the wood with nothing but the gypsy clothes he found,” said Evelyn. “He’s twelve years old, and it’s all been rather a lot for him.”

“Crowy Heron is a real problem,” said the innkeeper.

“Not any more,” said Evelyn, grimly. “The man liked to play with fire, and he and his two insane cousins were, as Shakespeare says, ‘Hoist by their own petard;’ or in other words, they managed to trap themselves in their hideout and burned it down. My boy rescued their mule and dog, but wasn’t about to risk himself for them!”

Jasper grunted but Evelyn ignored him. He had no intention of letting the official story be anything but that Jasper escaped and that Crowy and his cohorts accidentally burned themselves to death in attempting to kill Jasper.

“I don’t know what to do about accommodation,”  said the innkeeper. This time, Evelyn noticed that the name ‘John Harris’ appeared over the door.

“Can you put a truckle or a mattress in the same room for my lad’s friend?” asked Evelyn. “The bed is wide enough to share with my son. There’s room for another bed or mattress.”

“Yes, my lord, I can do that, thank you for being so accommodating.”

“It’s not your fault, Harris,” said Evelyn. “I appreciate that you do what you can. I’m not unreasonable, unless someone decides to put my back up.”

Harris managed a smirk.

“You mean, if I’d decided to take offence at your gypsy friend?”

“Well, yes,” said Evelyn. “I have a good relationship with the Lovells.”

“Well, I’ll remember that, if they pass through,” said Harris.

The bedroom was unchanged from when Evelyn had left it, and he deposited Jasper on the bed.

“Sleep it off,” he said. “Nobody is going to get you now. I love you. Your mother loves you, and so does Imogen.”

“Oh, papa, I love you,” said Jasper. “I don’t want you to claim any responsibility for killing them, it was my fault.”

“Hush, I’m going to put about the story that they thought they had you trapped and meant to burn you to death, and trapped themselves.”

“Oh, Papa, is... shouldn’t I own up to it?”

“No,” said Evelyn. “There will be those who would blame you, without knowing all the facts, or realising that you had good reason to fear Crowy and his cousins, or fearing what he might do to your mother if he found out he had taken you by mistake.”

“I thought Ma was dead,” said Jasper. “Crowy swore that he had certainly killed Lementina, and as Ma was in with her, what was I to think?”

“Lementina would be dead had not Cornelius taken some nasty burns to rescue her,” said Evelyn.  “He respected your mother to be able to get out by herself once he helped cut the tent, and indeed she did, with a bit of aid by Woodlock.”

Jasper digested this.

“Ma would know that Cornelius did what she would expect him to do,” he said. “I do like Woodlock, but not as a spare father. He’s more an uncle or an elder brother.”

“I can’t dictate who Shuri chooses,” said Evelyn. “But I hope it impressed her enough to incline her choice towards Cornelius.”

 

The stay at the inn for as long as it took for Jasper to rest would have passed well enough, had not a big ploughboy come in for his nooning, and his eyes fell on Evelyn and Evergreen. Evergreen dressed as what he was, a gypsy boy, with trousers rather than breeches, workman’s boots, a loose waistcoat, and a coloured neckcloth at his throat, knotted casually. It was little different from a labourer’s costume save that most labourers favoured neutral-coloured or dark waistcoat. Evergreen’s waistcoat had once been bottle green, but now sported a number of gay patches where it had worn, and a gay stripe down each side where Shuri had made over the garment when Evergreen had grown, and added strips at the bottom of it in plain linen, which Evergreen had added to with bright colours.

As the boy was plainly with Evelyn, and dodged behind him, the ploughboy came up to Evelyn, who was a trifle more rumpled than his usual immaculate self.

“I don’t like gypsies,” he said.

“Well, don’t eat any, then,” said Evelyn, calmly.

“Wot?”

“You said you don’t like gypsies,” said Evelyn. “I don’t like Brussels sprouts, so I don’t eat them.”

“Sam, back off,” said Harris.

It is doubtful that Sam, the ploughboy, even heard him. He went for Evelyn.

Evelyn was known to box with Gentleman Jackson, and swayed out of the way of the roundhouse swing, using the momentum of his sway to roll his buttocks off the bar stool, and got to his feet. He was easily as tall as the big ploughboy, if not as broad.

“You poncy little gyppo, I’ll pound you!” growled Sam.

“Sam, he ain’t a gypsy!” warned Harris.

“Harris, he’s spoiling for a fight.  And as Crowy managed to get himself killed and I didn’t have the pleasure of sinking my fist through his mandibular developments, I shall take great joy in doing so with this volunteer for my dental rearrangement,” said Evelyn, in an even, pleasant voice, swaying to avoid pile-driving blows, and assessing the reach and speed of his opponent.  He jabbed once in a feint, and as Sam went to swat his hand away contemptuously, by which piece of underestimation Evelyn felt a forearm bone crack under his feinting hand, he then drove his left fist hard into Sam’s unlovely mouth full of blackened stumps.

Sam went down, spitting out teeth. He had a broken forearm, was dizzy, and had a mouthful of blood, but he got up, roaring, his fists windmilling. Evelyn hit him once in the solar plexus, and caught his chin with an uppercut. Sam lifted right off his toes and fell, as if poleaxed.

“Well, that’s it, you’re under arrest,” said another man.

“For defending myself? That’s hardly a crime,” said Evelyn, examining his bloody knuckles, cut on Sam’s teeth. “If a man attacks me, and I happen to be a more effective proponent of the noble art of pugilism, that’s hardly my fault.”

“I don’t understand Romany words, but jus’ you come along o’ me, I’m the constable, I am,” said the man.

Harris ran out from behind the bar, and put his hands on his hips.

“Did your ma drop you on your head when you was a baby, Will Stubbins?” he demanded. “You look at his lordship’s linen and see if it ain’t finer nor any collar you’ll ever feel, you slubberdegullion! My missus washed it when he was on his way out after that Crowy Heron, an’ now he’s back with his son rescued, an’ hurt an’ frightened, an’ you make as much a fool of yourself as Sam Willard, who has less brains than God gave a pigeon.”

“Well, what for is he talkin’ in the gyppo heathen language?” asked Will Stubbins.

“Gawd help you, you idiot, he’s talkin’ upper class, and me, I knows it account o’ how the swells come in here for a heavy wet when Sam’s takin’ on pets o’ the fancy at the fair,” said Harris. “He’s grown up with jaw-crack words, you fool! Mandibibles, that’s a fancy word for the jaw an’ teeth, ’n’ pugilism, that’s boxing. I can’t help it that you’re too stupid to talk the king’s English.”

“He might say he’s a milord, but anyone can say that,” said Stubbins.

“You’re an arse,” said Harris. “Look at the cut of his coat! That wasn’t made in Salisbury by some half-arsed tailor an’ if it cost less than a  couple of ponies I’ll be surprised.”

“Please, I never wear coats that cheap,” said Evelyn. “What Harris can see, and you plainly cannot, Stubbins, which does not look good in a constable, is that my coat is Bath coating and is made up for me by Weston in London. My linen is fine, and my neclcloth, whilst not starched as highly as I normally expect, is arranged in the Trone d’amour style because it’s one I can tie well and quickly without wasting a dozen or so. You have surely at some point marked the style of speech of your local magistrate, you might notice that I keep my hands manicured, and if you had asked me, I could have given you a calling card and shown you a letter from both my bank and from my tailor which I had on me when I left precipitately, on learning that my son had been kidnapped.”

“Well, that oughta be a job for the constables, so why didn’t you ask them, hmm?” said Stubbins, hooking his thumbs into his waistcoat armpits and rocking back on his heels.

“Because we travelled over several magisterial bailiwicks of course, you fool,” said Evelyn. “I do not have the time or the inclination for your idiocy. Go away, or I’ll lodge a complaint with your local magistrate, whoever that is, and I will make my displeasure known. Be glad I am a more temperate man than my sire was; he would have horsewhipped you.”

It was perhaps the contemptuous tone which meant more to Stubbins than Evelyn’s linen, coat, or vocabulary; but being threatened with being horsewhipped, as Stubbins read it, was the clincher; this really was an aristocrat.

And Evelyn sighed that it took being offensive to prove it.

 

oOoOo

 

“Mr. Reckitt,” said Shuri, tartly, “I am not made of fine bone china, and I am not a china marchioness on a shelf, so please stop behaving as if I were Evelyn’s Great-Aunt Uppitytypa.”

Cornelius laughed.

“I’m sorry, Miss Lovell, you look rather fragile,” he said. “And I know you must be in some pain, too.”

“Because you are? Yes, I am, but like you, I’m trying to ignore it, because we both worry about our errant family,” said Shuri.  “And you called me ‘Shuri’ very nicely before.”

“I do answer to ‘Cornelius,’” said Cornelius.

“I am a little nervous of using your first name,” said Shuri. “I am used to people using mine, and being ‘Miss Lovell’ seems... odd. But if I use your name, it... it feels as if I have made a decision.”

“I see,” said Cornelius. “That is the way it generally works, but it seemed wrong not to be prepared to be as informal as your folk. But I will respect your wishes to remain aloof, in which case, I should also do you the courtesy of calling you ‘Miss Lovell.’”

“I suppose so,” said Shuri. “I... I do feel drawn to you, but I want to be totally sure, and, moreover, to make a decision when we are not thrown together in the throes of high emotion as we have been over... over all this.”

“I do understand,” said Cornelius. “I want to put my arms around you, and assure you I will be ready to look after you and Jasper; and part of that means letting both of you be yourselves as you can look after yourselves.”

“I like that you understand me well enough to see to Lementina, not me,” said Shuri. “I like that you listen to me and respect my wishes, and do not try to tell me that I am wrong and need to be told how to feel.  I like that you acknowledge that I am in pain but do not fuss over me for it. I think I will think favourably on your suit, but I want to think about it and imagine life without you, and imagine life on the other hand without wandering at will. Which is what I have to weigh up.”

“Not life without Woodlock?”

“If I chose to remain a gypsy, I would marry Woodlock because I like him, and respect him, and I would be a good and faithful wife, because it would be good for the tribe. It is the lifestyle I would regret more than Woodlock, whom I love, but not.... Cornelius, you mix me up inside because I feel like a young girl who has found her womanhood for the first time.”

“Then, Miss Lovell, I suspect you have chosen; but I will not insist on you acting upon it until you are ready, and part of that will be able to consider embraces that do not hurt.”

Shuri pulled a wry smile.

“You know, that is indeed a considerable part of wanting to wait.”

She blushed as she almost blurted out that she wanted to run her fingers through his golden curls; it would not do to even think of such things. And of course, his hair might not grow back, as hers might not. But that was the way of things, and there was no point dwelling upon such matters.