some surprise.
“Perhaps I had better explain our business here,” said my father. “I have come to do what I can for this gypsy. It appears that he killed a man who was attempting to rape one of the girls on the encampment. Unfortunately the man who was murdered was the nephew of Squire Hassett who is quite a power round here.”
The Barringtons exchanged glances.
“He is not a very popular man,” said Edward. “He drinks to excess, neglects his estate and leads rather a disreputable life.”
“And what of the nephew who was killed?” asked my father.
“A chip off the old block.”
“Dissolute … drinking … a frequenter of brothels?” went on my father.
“That would be an accurate description.”
My father nodded. “You see, the gypsies encamped on my land. I met the fellow who is accused. He seemed a decent sort for a gypsy and his story is that this nephew was trying to rape the girl.”
“It’s very likely,” put in Mr. Barrington.
“Oh! Could I get some information about him? Perhaps from people who have suffered at his hands?”
“I think that might be possible. There was one family up at Martin’s Lane. They were very distressed about one of their girls.”
“Wronged by this charming fellow, I suppose,” said my father.
“No doubt of it. And there were others.”
“Perhaps I could prevail on you to give me the names of these people.”
“We shall be delighted to help.”
I was getting excited. I believed that fate had led us to the Barringtons who were going to prove of inestimable value to us.
It was in a state of euphoria that we said goodnight to the Barringtons and rode back to the inn.
“What a charming family!” said my mother. “I wish they would find a house near us. I should like to see more of them. I thought Mr. and Mrs. Barrington so pleasant, Edward and Irene too. The girl Clare was so quiet. I would say Edward is a very forceful young man.”
“He would have to be if he is running a factory,” said my father.
“Clare was like a poor relation,” I said.
“Poor relations can be a little tiresome because they find it hard to forget it,” added my mother. “Everyone else is prepared to but they seem to get a certain satisfaction in remembering.”
And so we reached the inn, talking of our pleasant evening. Mr. Barrington’s ill fortune on the road had turned out to be very diverting for us.
The next day we all went to the gypsy encampment. I could smell the fires before we reached it, and a savoury smell came from a pot which one of the women was stirring. Other women sat about splitting withy sticks to make into clothes pegs. The caravans were drawn up on a patch of land and the horses tethered to the bushes.
“Is there a Penfold Smith there?” called my father.
A man came out of one of the caravans. He was middle-aged and swarthy; he walked towards us with the panther grace of the gypsy.
“I am Penfold Smith,” he said.
“You know me,” replied my father. “You camped on my land. I have heard that a friend of yours is in trouble and I have come to help.”
“He was betrayed … near your land.”
“No, no!” I cried. “He was not betrayed. I did not know …”
“My daughter wanted to help him. It was not her fault that she was followed. I am here to do what I can for this man. If you will help me we may get somewhere.”
“What could we do … against the squire and his sort? He owns the land here. He’s a powerful man and we are only gypsies.”
“I have some evidence which may prove useful. I can prove that the victim was a man of disreputable character. It is your daughter, is it not, who was attacked by him?”
“It was.”
“May I see her?”
Penfold Smith hesitated. “She has been very upset.”
“She wants to save Romany Jake, doesn’t she?”
“Yes, indeed, she does.”
“Then she must help us.”
“Wicked things are said against her.”
“That is why we must do all we can to prove them
“Perhaps I had better explain our business here,” said my father. “I have come to do what I can for this gypsy. It appears that he killed a man who was attempting to rape one of the girls on the encampment. Unfortunately the man who was murdered was the nephew of Squire Hassett who is quite a power round here.”
The Barringtons exchanged glances.
“He is not a very popular man,” said Edward. “He drinks to excess, neglects his estate and leads rather a disreputable life.”
“And what of the nephew who was killed?” asked my father.
“A chip off the old block.”
“Dissolute … drinking … a frequenter of brothels?” went on my father.
“That would be an accurate description.”
My father nodded. “You see, the gypsies encamped on my land. I met the fellow who is accused. He seemed a decent sort for a gypsy and his story is that this nephew was trying to rape the girl.”
“It’s very likely,” put in Mr. Barrington.
“Oh! Could I get some information about him? Perhaps from people who have suffered at his hands?”
“I think that might be possible. There was one family up at Martin’s Lane. They were very distressed about one of their girls.”
“Wronged by this charming fellow, I suppose,” said my father.
“No doubt of it. And there were others.”
“Perhaps I could prevail on you to give me the names of these people.”
“We shall be delighted to help.”
I was getting excited. I believed that fate had led us to the Barringtons who were going to prove of inestimable value to us.
It was in a state of euphoria that we said goodnight to the Barringtons and rode back to the inn.
“What a charming family!” said my mother. “I wish they would find a house near us. I should like to see more of them. I thought Mr. and Mrs. Barrington so pleasant, Edward and Irene too. The girl Clare was so quiet. I would say Edward is a very forceful young man.”
“He would have to be if he is running a factory,” said my father.
“Clare was like a poor relation,” I said.
“Poor relations can be a little tiresome because they find it hard to forget it,” added my mother. “Everyone else is prepared to but they seem to get a certain satisfaction in remembering.”
And so we reached the inn, talking of our pleasant evening. Mr. Barrington’s ill fortune on the road had turned out to be very diverting for us.
The next day we all went to the gypsy encampment. I could smell the fires before we reached it, and a savoury smell came from a pot which one of the women was stirring. Other women sat about splitting withy sticks to make into clothes pegs. The caravans were drawn up on a patch of land and the horses tethered to the bushes.
“Is there a Penfold Smith there?” called my father.
A man came out of one of the caravans. He was middle-aged and swarthy; he walked towards us with the panther grace of the gypsy.
“I am Penfold Smith,” he said.
“You know me,” replied my father. “You camped on my land. I have heard that a friend of yours is in trouble and I have come to help.”
“He was betrayed … near your land.”
“No, no!” I cried. “He was not betrayed. I did not know …”
“My daughter wanted to help him. It was not her fault that she was followed. I am here to do what I can for this man. If you will help me we may get somewhere.”
“What could we do … against the squire and his sort? He owns the land here. He’s a powerful man and we are only gypsies.”
“I have some evidence which may prove useful. I can prove that the victim was a man of disreputable character. It is your daughter, is it not, who was attacked by him?”
“It was.”
“May I see her?”
Penfold Smith hesitated. “She has been very upset.”
“She wants to save Romany Jake, doesn’t she?”
“Yes, indeed, she does.”
“Then she must help us.”
“Wicked things are said against her.”
“That is why we must do all we can to prove them
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