Chapter 10
Jasper believed in being thorough. Shuri moved out of her tent that night, and went to share with Mother Lementina. In point of fact, Lementina was Shuri’s grandmother, but had had most of the raising of her, and had taught her herb lore. Shuri was happy to share with her. Jasper dressed in a skirt and wig, and managed to mimic his mother’s mannerisms very well, just in case there were any unfriendly eyes watching. There were woods where a skilled woodsman might lurk, after all.
“I’m not sure it isn’t a waste of time,” said Woodlock. “Heron had his answer, and he knows we have the support of the landowner. He’d be a fool to try anything.”
“Woodlock,” said Cornelius, “If you were in his shoes, had been believing that he was to inherit the tribe as well as Shuri’s beauty, being the arrogant bastard he is, having been shamed in front of his people by being knocked down by a Giorgio who also claims her, would you slink away?”
“No. And I’m not as full of shit and the need for a... a... I don’t know how to put it into words. It’s a gypsy man’s sense of being a man and presenting a figure that proves his manhood. I think it’s what Italians call ‘bella figura,’” said Woodlock.
“Virility?” asked Cornelius.
“Yes... no, it’s more than that,” said Woodlock. “You, you don’t feel a need to show your own sense of self worth, you wear it quietly and with a confidence so complete, as the marquis does, that you have no need to strut and show it off. And so it comes as more of a shock to people like Crowy Heron, when you just knock him down almost casually, without any display. We gypsies, we display, we strut, we try to intimidate to avoid getting into fights, as we tend to fight with knives, and there aren’t really enough of us to afford losing someone in a fight, so we use words, and gestures, and attitude instead.”
Cornelius nodded.
“I understand that,” he said. “So, he is thrice humiliated; once in being beaten; once in it being a Giorgio; and once by someone he sees as weak in not posturing at him.”
“Exactly,” said Woodlock. “I withdraw my reservations; he has to try to seize Shuri or he is shamed in front of his people, and will never have their respect as a leader again. No matter if he gets people killed to do it, he has to keep trying or lose his stature in the eyes of those he brought.”
The next night was quiet, and many of the villagers went home, not expecting anything more to happen. Cornelius conducted lessons in the camp, and did not turn away any other gypsy children who came to listen. He tailored his lessons more to stories about history. It seemed popular enough. Some of the adults stopped to hear tales of the past as well. Cornelius mentally shrugged. It was no skin off his nose. He loved imparting knowledge, and he knew he was good at it, and that adults enjoyed the way Cornelius.
Two nights passed without alarums.
“I’m going to sleep in my own bed tonight,” said Cornelius. “I am hoping the tribe elders have talked sense into him.”
“Stay one more night, brother,” said Woodlock. “I think he may be lulling us into a false sense of security. My nose smells treachery.”
“I will believe your nose,” said Cornelius. “I can smell boys making excuses for shoddy work so I won’t disbelieve your ability to smell trouble.”
Woodlock shrugged.
“Some say we have the Sight. Personally, I think that much of what is called The Sight is being aware of one’s surroundings, and letting that lead to decision making. I’ve had an itchy feeling between my shoulder blades all day which tells me we are being watched, and just because I haven’t seen a watcher doesn’t make me disbelieve my shoulder blades. Are you laughing?”
“Not in the least. My brother in the army has said something similar, and swears that ducking because of such a feeling has saved his life,” said Cornelius.
“I’m glad you understand, my brother,” said Woodlock.
It was Cornelius’s nose which aroused him with the smell of smoke.
“Fire!” he cried, leaping up.
It was easy to see what had happened; a makeshift javelin bound with straw and set alight had been thrown into Mother Lementina’s tent, and had transfixed the doorflap to the ground. There were female screams from within, and the green-painted canvas was well alight. A knife was cutting through from the inside, and Cornelius thrust the swordstick he had borrowed from Evelyn into the canvas to cut back the other way. Shuri’s face appeared in the gap, her hair afire, and her face burned. Both eyes were open, however, with a staring look of horror which Cornelius was sure he would never forget. But the word she murmured was, “Lementina!” and Cornelius understood what she was asking of him.
“Woodlock! Help Shuri!” cried Cornelius, diving into the tent for Lementina, trapped under burning canvas. He lifted the old woman away from the flames, and rolled her on the ground to put them out, using the blanket he had pulled from his own bedroll for this purpose. Woodlock smothered Shuri’s burning hair in his coat. Cornelius grabbed a bucket of water from a nearby gypsy and soused Lementina’s burned shift with water, then wrapped the old woman in the blanket. “Shuri! Can you walk to the hall?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Shuri, who was sobbing in pain and shivering from shock and the cold water Woodlock had thrown on her. Cornelius fairly ran to the hall carrying Lementina’s frail light body, pulling frantically on the doorbell. George answered it.
“Gawdelpus!” said George.
“His ineffable presence will do no harm, George, my lad, but I need Mrs. Hudson and her stillroom skills,” said Cornelius. “And there will be more.”
“Bring her to Mrs. Hudson’s room,” said George. “She’ll likely give up her bed for wounded.”
Mrs. Hudson was abroad to such a peremptory summons as the door bell mistreated into such a cacophony, and gasped to see how badly burned Lementina was.
“Lay her down on my bed, here, take this towel and put her on it, and wet all my upper sheet at the pump, and cool your hands at the same time,” said Mrs. Hudson. “I’ll have to strip the bed down when we’ve cooled it so she doesn’t take a chill.... put the wet sheet on her arm and side, and thank God above that’s all it is.”
“The bastard set fire to the tent and trapped her and Shuri in it,” said Cornelius. “He meant them to burn to death... I suppose he thought if he could not have Shuri, nobody else should.”
“You go and help your lady, Mr. Corny, I’ll see to poor Mother Lementina,” said Mrs. Hudson. “A fine herb wife she is, and I don’t deny I learned much from her. George, you useless lump, go and fetch one of the big pots off the patio what has house leeks in it; the spiky green things that grow in spirals,” she added, seeing his look of incomprehension.
“Hen-and-chickens,” supplied Cornelius. “Also known as Thor’s beard for its supposed protection against lightning.”
“Oh! Why didn’t you say so, Mrs. Hudson! I knows Hen-and-chickens,” said George, running off, as Woodlock escorted Shuri in, following Cornelius’s voice.
Several other gypsies with burns straggled in.
“Ma, she’s my ma, is she going to live?” asked one middle aged man, Cornelius thought his name was Tasso.
“I’m using all my prepared burn salve on her,” said Mrs. Hudson. “She got her arm up and protected her head, but there are burns on her ribs that side too. I can’t say yet if she’ll live, but the Lementina I know isn’t going to lie down and die. And here’s that dratted trainee butler looking untidy; put the pot of house leeks down over there, boy, and go and organise makeshift beds in the servants’ common room, and be sure the fire is lit. I need someone to pluck the larger segments of the house leeks and pound them up with my pestle and mortar, and slather onto lesser burns. Not you, Shuri Lovell, you’ll sit there and I’ll see to you next. Mr. Cornelius, you’re hiding burned hands, and so is Woodlock, Tasso, what about you?”
“I know what to do, Ma’s showed me,” said Tasso.
“You grind it proper,” said Lementina, in a faint voice. “Willow bark, mint, and comfrey.”
“Aye, and they are all in this salve,” said Mrs. Hudson. “Oh, Mary! You can help atone for your silliness, go get the mint sauce that was to be for his lordship’s mutton chops for dinner tomorrow, you can make some more. Put it in with that mess o’ houseleeks, the vinegar will help cleanse, and there’s some lavender oil and comfrey oil on my shelf, put three drops of the first and five of the second in it. There’s a jar of willowbark tea, you can put half of that in. Then you people with small burns you can help yourself and stir it all together as you do so.”
The gypsies with burns worked swiftly and with a will to ease their own burns as Mrs. Hudson put dressings on Lementina’s terrible burns, and Shuri’s face. Her hair was all burned off one side, and Mrs. Hudson ruthlessly cut away the rest.
“I’m a hag!” cried Shuri.
“You’re beautiful and brave,” said Cornelius. “And if you are scarred, it means nothing to either Woodlock nor me, save for the pain it gives you, for it is you we love.”
“Aye; what he said,” said Woodlock, whose palms were burned. Cornelius had lost some of his hair and was burned on his back and up his arms for going under the burning canvas, where the tar to make it waterproof had clung to him as he lifted Lementina clear.
“And the both of you will bed down in the servants’ hall where I can keep an eye on you, and anyone else I say is too badly burned to go back to the camp,” said Mrs. Hudson, arms akimbo, staring down the room full of gypsies.
“They took the worst of it, Woodlock and Corny,” said Tasso. “They got there first, and got the women out.”
“We’ll bring the whole tribe into the hall; we’ll put beds in the ballroom,” said Evelyn, striding in. “I’ve been down to the camp to issue those orders, I ran down when I saw fire. It’s under control, and only two other tents lost, from sparks, but, thank God! After those in them had roused and come out. Shuri, was Crowy Heron trying to kill you?”
“I... I was supposed to be hiding in with Lementina,” said Shuri. “I kept my head covered at all times. He may have recognised the way I walked, I suppose, if he wanted to kill me. I... the tent flap would not open, and with it on fire, it was hard to escape under the skirts of it.”
“He’d thrown a javelin into the flap to pierce through and into the ground, to trap you in,” said Woodlock, grimly. “It was a deliberate act to cause death, or at least, serious injury.”
“Damn near succeeded if I hadn’t noticed smoke,” said Cornelius.
“Aye, and bless your Giorgio nose; we have a fire going and I did not put it down to anything but that until you leaped up,” said Woodlock. “Eh, your nightgown burned away; Shuri had at least a bit of an advance display to know what was on offer. Good job that didn’t get singed.”
“Oh my!” said Cornelius, glancing down, and going red as he realised he might as well be naked.
“Ain’t that nice, he can blush like a maiden, and you can see where it goes all the way down,” said Woodlock. “I am truly glad you aren’t burned there, brother,” he added, more seriously.
“Me too,” said Shuri. “I’m not unimpressed.”
“I need something to wear,” said Cornelius.
“You need to go into my hospital and I’ll have a new nightgown brought for you, Mr. Cornelius,” said Mrs. Hudson. “Anyone would think none of us have ever seen wedding tackle before; it’s nothing to get excited about.”
“There goes my ego,” said Cornelius.
“Your ego isn’t burned, now let me see to your hands,” said Mrs. Hudson. “Good, your palms aren’t too bad.”
“I beat at the flames with a blanket,” said Cornelius. “But the burning tent came down on my forearms and back, and I held it up off Lementina until I could pick her up, and wrap her to get out. I’m glad I was wearing my nightcap though.”
“It’s saved your guinea-gold curls, you vain creature,” said Mrs. Hudson. “Oh! Or maybe not,” she took his cap off and half of Cornelius’s hair came with it, and he screamed as some of his scalp came away with it too.
“Just as well you were wearing a nightcap,” said Mrs. Hudson, shocked. “You were being the tentpole for that burning tent and I wager your back is almost as bad.”
“No, I had a banyan on,” said Cornelius. “Well, damn! It seems to have burned away.”
“You’re lucky,” said Mrs. Hudson, slathering cooling cream onto his scalp and onto the reddened skin of his back. “You’ll be right as rain in a day or two. Next banyan you buy, get a good woollen one, not some cotton print off of the East India company. ”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Cornelius, meekly.
Evelyn, meanwhile, was seeing the line of frightened gypsies into his ballroom, whilst their horses were led to the meadow next to the stable block by hastily roused stablehands.
“You can have the long windowed doors onto the terrace open, if it makes you feel more comfortable,” he said. “You can cook on the terrace, and I’ll have screens brought in so you can have private family places.”
“Thank you, milord,” said one of the women. “You’ve done good by us accout o’ Shuri and Jasper.”
“Well, most of you were kindly to me when I was a boy,” said Evelyn. He added, more sharply, “Where is Jasper? He wasn’t with those who were burned, which surprised me.”
“He wasn’t with those of us who stayed to defend the women, milord,” said one of the men.
Evergreen went pale, and bolted back out of the door, and down to the gypsy camp ground. It was a shambles, with three burned tents, some belongings scattered as the rest of the gypsies grabbed bundles to come up to the hall. Evergreen went to where Shuri’s tent had stood, and where there were now a few of her possessions, and a couple of scars where the tent pegs had been pulled up roughly; but of the tent and of Jasper there was no sign.
