plucking at her brighdy coloured skirt. The bracelets tinkled and jangled, but she stared straight ahead, her beautiful face scratched, her lips puffy and bruised. She was calm now, her eyes impassive and distant. Evelyne supported herself on the wooden frame of the wagon as it jolted and swayed. She tried to remember what she had in her handbag, maybe the return ticket was on the dressing table at Mrs Pugh’s, but she knew in her heart that it wasn’t. How much money? The more she tried to remember the more she felt like weeping. Her lovely hat, oh God, fifteen shillings gone. She sat as far from the fighter as possible, aware that he kept staring at her. She felt no fear, she wasn’t afraid of them, just extremely worried about her purse and the waste of money, bag, hat and shoes. She bit her lip to force back the tears, then felt disgusted with herself — that poor girl raped and all she was worried about was her outfit.
At long last the wagon stopped, and Jesse opened the fiap. They helped Rawnie down, she wouldn’t be lifted but stepped down, her head high, even her dark eyes were proud, her face a mask. Caravans and wagons formed a semicircle with large tents and the site was lit up by a huge, blazing fire in the centre. Women sat on caravan steps, while cooking pots on stands around the fire sizzled and boiled.
The gypsies had done well that night and they were celebrating. Four girls danced around, flashing their skirts. In the firelight they glittered with gold and their red underskirts flashed as they clicked their heels. A fiddler started to play and an old woman beat her fists against a ribboned tambourine. As Freedom stepped down from the wagon, they cheered and a group of small children clustered around him. Jesse took Rawnie’s hand and led her towards a painted wooden caravan, its shafts laid flat on the grass.
Evelyne hovered at the door of the wagon, and felt the whole camp grow still and silent as they all stared towards her, their expressionless eyes taking her in, then turning to Freedom for an answer. Freedom guided Evelyne into the glare of the fire, and she was very conscious of her appearance. She knew she must look very strange to the gathered people. Her hair was loose, her skirt filthy, she wore no stockings and her jacket had only one and a half sleeves. On top of that she was covered in mud and blood, even her face was streaked with dirt.
Freedom held her hand, guiding her firmly forward, and spoke sharply to two old women who whispered to each other. Evelyne couldn’t understand him, he spoke in his strange language. Whatever he said made one of the old women step towards Evelyne and take her hand, tugging at her to follow. Evelyne was a little afraid to let go of Freedom’s strong hand, but he nodded that it would be all right and to go with the old crone.
She was let into a rounded tent. Inside she could see the carved willow hoops that supported the canvas, shaped like a ribcage. The tent was large, and inside were four cot-like beds. Cooking utensils and household equipment were stacked in one corner and the floor was strewn with rushes. The tent was warm and cosy, and the old woman tugged at Evelyne’s sleeve for her to follow. Opening a wooden box, the woman chatted away, although Evelyne couldn’t understand a word. Out of the box came a cardigan, an old skirt and a white petticoat. Again the woman plucked at Evelyne’s sleeve, gesturing for her to take off her skirt. There was a strange, musky smell to the clothes, but at least they were dry, and she began to feel a little warmer.
Evelyne could see the women scrubbing her clothes and she sighed; they looked as if they were trying to get the oil stain out, but she knew they were rubbing too hard. They should have used vinegar and brown paper, but she didn’t like to move out of the tent, in fact she wasn’t too sure exactly what she should do. She had no idea of the time or where she was.
Jesse was all for driving into town and finding the boys. He constantly flicked his knife, it was razor sharp and his intentions were obvious. Freedom strove to keep the peace.
‘Jesse, I know, mun, what was done to her, but for us all to ride into town is madness.’
Jesse hurled the knife at a tree. It whizzed through the air.
‘I’ll not move out of camp until I take revenge, you saw nothin’ — you did not see what they done. It scarred her mind, not just her body, mun.’
‘Jesse, the men will pay for what they done.’
‘Oh, yeah, you tell me how much? Go on, an’ tell me how? By us going to the police when you know what they would do, clap every one of us into jail so much as look at us. We all go in now. We ride in, take them bastards one by one and then we ride out.’
‘You go in tonight, Jesse, and they will arrest you.’
Jesse put up his fists and struck out at Freedom. He was crazy with rage.
‘It’s you, mush, they want you, the law want you for tonight’s fight.’
The other men stepped in and held Jesse back. Their prince, their great warrior, made them more money than Jesse, they needed him and they needed his fights.
‘He’s our fighter, mush, so listen to what he says. It was fair, no fault of his if that bastard dies.’
Freedom gripped the furious, blazing Jesse. ‘Trust me, mush, we’ll get each one.’
Jesse wanted to weep, always they turned against him in favour of Freedom. He removed his knife from the tree.
‘So be it, but I want each man dead, I want their hearts.’
Mr Beshaley rode up on his sweating horse. He shouted to the men to collect their winnings, and make it fast.
‘Hammer’s still alive, but the law want to question one and all, so pack up and get out, move fast, we’ve made good money … head for Scotland.’
Never one to ride with them, Beshaley heeled his horse and galloped away. He looked back once to Freedom and shouted that he would arrange a fight come next month, then he was gone.
The men occupied themselves with counting their winnings, and Rawnie’s plight was forgotten for the moment. Freedom took Jesse aside and told him to get everyone prepared to move out by morning. Everyone except himself and Jesse who would repay the men who had raped Rawnie.
‘How will ye do it, man, punch every miner we cross?’
Freedom smiled, and took out the wallet he had taken from one of the boys. Find one and they could get the names of the others. Jesse was so eager to use his knife — he would soon have the opportunity.
Jesse seethed inside. It was as if Freedom was always one step ahead of him, but he had to concede that it made sense. Already the men were preparing to move out, quietly taking down the tents and bringing the horses from the fields.
Freedom went to the tent where Evelyne was and stood at the opening. He could see Evelyne fast asleep, her mass of hair sprayed out across the pillow. Her white skin seemed translucent, and the soft violet shade of her eyelids fascinated him. He moved closer to the bed, and stood for a while looking down into the strange, beautiful face. He touched her hair gently — golden hair, it felt soft to his touch, and then he looked again. There was something in the back of his mind, a long-forgotten memory. Evelyne woke to see his face looming above her, and started. As she sat up he smiled at her and said she had no need to fear him.
Her clothes were dry but wrinkled, and when she was left alone to change she discovered that they had shrunk. So much for expensive French labels! She went to the tent flap and opened it a fraction. Freedom was waiting, as if on guard, outside.
‘I can’t get into my skirt, it’s shrunk.’
He turned and looked at her and then laughed, said for her to keep what she had been given. Wearing the petticoat and brown sack skirt, with her own blouse and the jacket that now had only one sleeve, she opened the tent flap. There was a blackened area where the fire had been, and all the tents had been packed away. Most of the camp had already moved on, there were just a few caravans left in line with the horses being backed into the shafts.
The last caravan in the line, with red curtains, was brightly painted, and the blues, reds and greens merged into a strange pattern all over the wagon itself.
‘Rawnie wants to see you, then we will take you back to town.’
Evelyne was led over to the caravan, and she mounted the steps and tapped on the door. Jesse opened it, and with a curt nod jumped down and gestured for her to go inside.
Jesse joined Freedom, who was dismantling the tent Evelyne had used. He jerked his head in the direction of Rawnie’s caravan.
‘By God she’s a big’un, you see the way she fought, like a wildcat…’
Freedom made no reply but continued to pull down the canvas.
The caravan inside was as bright as the outside, full of colours and wonderful paintings. Each panel bore a
