the scholar's sweetheart 1

 Good morning on this solemn morning. My thoughts turn as they do on this day not just to our Lord, but to my young great-uncle, who was born on Good Friday 1900  and died on Good Friday ten years later of baker's lung, being his father's apprentice. It's relevant to this story in a way, which involves gypsies, as little Charley's mother used to give loaves to the gypsies at the end of the day, and they paid her with medicines for the poor little boy's cough and other things. I still use the recipes they gave her.  It wasn't properly understood, and his death certificate says 'consumption'; but it seems more obvious looking back. My great-grandfather had no idea that the disease of bakers could take a child so fast, and Charley was keen to learn, and had the 'touch'. 

 

Chapter 1

 

Cornelius Reckitt stared at the gypsy woman with shock and consternation, every word of his rehearsed speech robbed from his brain.

She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her hair was as sleek and black as a raven’s wing, her berry-brown skin as flawless as silk, and her eyes, dark, fathomless pools in which he could drown.

Cornelius was a scholar, a gentleman, and practised at negotiation, and had no words with which to negotiate.

He took refuge in the social amenities, and made a beautiful leg.

“Are you bowing to me?” she asked.

Even her voice was beautiful, like music, it put him in mind of a stream laughing over stones, softened with silt, like the light brown waters of woodland streams.

“Ma’am, uh, I’m Cornelius Reckitt, I work for the marquis,” said Cornelius. “I, uh, I’ve come to sort out if your people are comfortable here, and if you need anything.”

“Why, I have heard of you; my son has spoken of you,” she said.

Cornelius’s heart fell. She was married.

“Your son?” he asked. “Oh! You are Jasper’s mother?”

Cornelius had been acting tutor to his employer’s natural son, the half gypsy boy, Jasper.

“Yes, I’m Shuri,” she said. “He is impressed by your scholarship, and by the fact that you are prepared to admit if you do not know something, and will look it up.”

“No point dissembling about that,” said Cornelius. She wasn’t married! “I, uh, I’m supposed to liaise with you to make sure all is to your satisfaction whilst the family is on his lordship’s lands.”

“It’s a delightful field, and having a pump and horse trough makes it even better,” said Shuri. “Jasper passed on permission for us to take game; was that correct?”

“Yes, quite correct,” said Cornelius. “And of course, wood for fires.”

 

The Gypsy tribe had come to join in the celebrations of the marquis’s wedding to Miss Copley, or rather the marchioness, as the happy couple had run away to get married and planned a celebration for the village after. Cornelius Reckitt took charge, with Jasper’s aid, of making sure they had a field where they could camp, with water available, and for the want of a bailiff to give permission in the name of the marquis to take such birds and rabbits as they needed.

The death of Shuri’s father, the unspeakable Fowk, had left most of the locals better disposed towards the gypsies, since Fowk was a violent, foul-mouthed trouble-maker. The locals were also inclined to make much of the new marchioness for having run Fowk over, when he confronted her, meaning violence, on her way home from shopping for Evelyn, Lord Finchbury’s natural daughter, who was short of clothes. Imogen was just pleased not to be tarred with the same brush as Evelyn’s father, who would have happily ridden or driven down any peasant in his way.

The gypsies themselves took it philosophically, and considered it a family feud, settled to the satisfaction of all.

Except Fowk, and nobody cared that he might be dissatisfied.

 

“Uh... should I commiserate with you for the death of your father?” asked Cornelius.

“Not in the least,” said Shuri. “Her ladyship did me a favour, aye, and the rest of us, for we’re not so unwelcome now. Of course, your father doesn’t approve of us, nor your brother.”

Cornelius lifted a shoulder.

“Papa can be brought round; my brother Eusebius, I fear, is so steeped in piety that he has a mind like a midden. I blame it on being a choir master; my mother always used to say that original sin enters the church through the choir.”

Shuri laughed, and her laugh was like a peal of bells.

“Well, while we are settled here a-while, reckon we’ll be singing with the vicar’s choir, and no more original sin in us than in any giorgios. And we’ve instruments to play.”

“That will be very pleasant,” said Cornelius.  “And of course, if you wish to play at the fete, I am sure people will pay to dance. I haven’t organised music, I was hoping an impromptu band would form, I’m afraid, something I forgot.”

“Oh, then let us provide music as our contribution,” said Shuri. “And if any throw coins as well, even better.”

 

 

oOoOo

 

Cornelius called in at the vicarage, with the intention of telling his father that there would be an increased congregation, and discovered his brother, Eusebius there, his mouth primmed up in disapproval, something which had communicated itself to their father. Cornelius prayed hastily for wisdom and forbearance; Eusebius tended to bring out the worst moralising tendencies in the rector, who was normally a rigid moralist, but tolerant of mankind’s failings.

“Ah, Cornelius,” said the Reverend Reckitt, “Eusebius says he believes he saw you in a gypsy encampment, in conversation with a gypsy woman.”

“Well, naturally he would have seen me about my business,” said Cornelius. “Really, Eusebius! You are looking as sour about me carrying out the earl’s orders as if I had the bare-faced effrontery to tell Papa that I saw you training choir boys and were standing very close to one of them, as if I was accusing you of misbehaving with them.”

Eusebius spluttered.

“How dare you suggest such a thing!” he yelped.

“Well, well, have I come too close to home in using that example of showing what your comments about me doing my job is like if I commented on you doing yours?” said Cornelius. “Papa, the gypsies will be attending church, and some of them have instruments they would like to play, and there are some fine voices to add to the choir whilst they are here. If you can tell me ahead of time what hymns you are choosing, I can pass them on to Shuri.”

“What has the marquis asked you to do?” said the Rector, frowning at his oldest son’s spluttering.

“To sort out a field for the gypsies, and make sure they understand that they may take game so long as they are not greedy, and see to their comforts. Now that Fowk is dead, they hope to gain better relations with the locals.”

“And this woman?”

“Shuri is chieftess now Fowk is dead,” said Cornelius, hoping he was correct in this; the other gypsies seemed to accept her orders, in any case. “It’s appropriate, as she’s Jasper’s mother, and therefore counted as family by the marquis and marchioness.”

“That the marchioness accepts the woman and is on good terms with her makes me easier in my mind,” admitted the rector. “I have little doubt but that the poor girl may have been forced to sell her body by Fowk, who was an evil man. It is good that the marchioness is kind enough to extend her sympathy.”

“They are good friends, because both are interested in healing,” said Cornelius.

“You claim that the marquis makes you associate with trash like gypsies?” burst out Eusebius. “Why, even talking to gypsies is illegal, he has no right to make you break the law!”

“And our Lord associated with publicans and sinners, and cured women who were by law Untouchable, and gave us His word that all are equal before Almighty God,” said Cornelius. “You’re the one who took orders, why should I have to instruct you in theology, Seeby? You should look to your soul if you condemn people out of hand for their birth.”

“Don’t call me ‘Seeby!’ such a name may be acceptable in the nursery, but Eusebius is the dignified name of an adult, a man of letters!”

“Then act like an adult and have some dignity, you unchristian stuffed shirt,” said Cornelius.

“Cornelius, that was uncalled for,” said his father. “And Eusebius, Cornelius said it rudely, but his sentiments are correct; our Lord did not condemn anyone unheard, and then strove to return a straying member to the flock. Have you forgotten the tale of the good Samaritan? I have heard that this woman, Shuri, sells salves and draughts to the village folk for a quite nominal sum, which have been effective.”

“Doubtless for the suggestible,” said Eusebius. “There are now men of science who eschew folklore and so-called magic.”

“And some of them do nothing but the magical ritual of bleeding, regardless of the sickness,” said Cornelius. “I would rather trust my ailments to the ministrations of the marchioness, Mrs. Hudson, the housekeeper, or even Spalding, my lord’s man, and certainly those of Shuri, before going to the doctor. My lady grew up learning how to use herbs and simples at the hands of her mother, who learned from her mother, in time immemorial, and remember that the family is that of the Brandons of Darsham. Who claim gypsy relatives, and whose gypsy relatives are actually related to Shuri and her tribe. Fowk’s mother was the child of Adam Brandon’s grandsire, so she’s better born than we are.”

“Hardly,” said Eusebius, with a superior smile. “We were born in wedlock.”

“And if more men of the cloth recognised gypsies and were prepared to marry them in church, more would be born in wedlock,” snapped Cornelius. “Didn’t the marchioness once tell you to remove the plank from your own eye before complaining of the mote in that of others, when you were quivering with misplaced zeal to call her down as a scarlet woman? Oh, that would have been something, had you done so, having to live down, my brother, in a slander case against a Brandon of Darsham, and them enjoying law-suits. You wouldn’t keep your lucrative job with that against you, no more choir boys for you to enjoy whatever you do with them!”

 “I do not misbehave with the choir boys!” yelped Eusebius.

“Cornelius, don’t you think that went a little far?” said the rector.

“No, Papa, I don’t think I went far enough,” said Cornelius. “Eusebius is as full of piety as a reformed drunk after one day of sobriety, preaching to a bunch of convinced Wesleyans, and he gives the same impression to me that he would sneak off to accept a drink as soon as one was offered. Now if Eusebius is fighting personal demons, and managing to win, I honour and respect him for that, but just because he may have a daily fight against sin, does not give him the right to assume secret vices in everyone else.”

His father nodded.

“I understand,” he said. “Eusebius, if indeed you are fighting personal demons, know that I, too, honour you for keeping them at bay; but it is in the success of the fight in which righteousness lies, for only One Man has ever been without sin, and He is tolerant of our own failings.”

“I... but the marquis still asks too much of Cornelius.”

“Balderdash,” said Cornelius. “I enjoy working for him, and have had no trouble with the gypsies. If they have someone they can trust to whom to take their troubles, they are less likely to be lawless and unruly, for I can assure them of the marquis’s support if they are wrongly accused, and of his support in law if they have transgressed, as any man is entitled to council in court.”

“Very laudable,” said the rector. “And if they behave themselves in church, I will give character witnesses, and I would militate against anyone making false accusations based on assumption. Do I make myself clear, Eusebius?”

“I... yes, father,” said Eusebius.

“I have found your excess of self-righteousness somewhat disquieting,” went on Mr. Reckitt. “It is a form of pride, you know, and pride is one of the deadly sins. I find you also tend to lack Christian charity, and look upon innocent occurrences in such a way as to extract inner meaning of sinfulness from them.”

“It was not I who was looking on a gypsy wench, chieftess or no, with lust,” said Eusebius.

“You know what lust is, Eusebius? You surprise me,” said Cornelius. “I can’t say that the emotion had got that far, though. Admiration, certainly; she’s a beautiful woman. Desire? I am not sure. Possibly. One may look without touching, as you know. She is not married, or even promised to anyone, so finding her attractive is no crime, nor even immoral.  I was considering courting her,” he added.

The silence was long and very loud.

“You should get to know her much better,” said Mr. Reckitt. “Because she will have to be prepared to give up the travelling life to wed you, for you are not suited to becoming a gypsy, and I will militate strongly against you so doing.”

“I’d hate it,” said Cornelius. “But an added incentive for her would be in seeing more of Jasper.”

“You can’t be serious!” burst out Eusebius. “Court the leavings of the marquis as though she were an honest woman?”

Cornelius did not consider himself a sportsman, but he boxed with both Evelyn and Jasper, to be a sparring partner, and he hit Eusebius hard on the jaw. His older brother went down.

“Cornelius!” said the rector.

“I will not apologise, father,” said Cornelius. “He insulted the woman I believe I should like to make my wife, if she will have me. She and Evelyn were both very young, you know what sort of upbringing he had with that awful father, and she had Fowk... they made a mistake perhaps in comforting each other, but I cannot see it as such, for Jasper is a delightful boy, and seeing to his needs has been the making of Evelyn, as much as his marriage to Imogen. And yes, I am on first name terms with them.”

“I am not opposed to the match, though I might have hoped for you to choose a less controversial one,” sighed the rector. “Help me put your brother to bed; he is out cold. I do not like you boys fighting, but I accept that a man cannot take insults to a woman he considers his own. And sniping at you is a way of fighting too. I was sometimes unjust to you, as a boy, because Eusebius drove you to fisticuffs. I fear I have failed in the upbringing of my oldest son, and I feel guilty when people heap praise on him and on me for the position he has achieved.”

“He needs solid country love, father, and if you can persuade him to take a repairing lease in the country, staying with you, he can regain his roots, perhaps.”

“Thank you, Cornelius; and for your generosity in putting up with having him around. I will write to the dean and tell him that Eusebius is suffering from nervous prostration.” A thin smile touched his lips. “I shall not mention that the prostration was caused by impact to the nerves of the chin, rather than mental strain.”