different scene, and the wooden ceiling was dark blue with moons and stars, and lanterns dangling. The brass was sparkling, polished like mirrors. Bright skirts and blouses were strewn around, and the heavy, sweet smell of musk was everywhere. A side table attached to the wall of the caravan was crammed with pots of cream and rouge. Hanging on hooks were bracelets and bangles and hundreds of beaded necklaces, mostly of bright red beads mixed with gold coins. There were boxes of gold earrings, hair slides, strange, diamond-cut stones, and amber, quaint and oriental. There was malachite and silver, and wonderful, rich, matte yellow gold, a treasure-chest of coral and jet. Evelyne gasped: there were so many colours and sparkling ornaments, it took her completely by surprise.
Rawnie sat curled up on a couch. She was dressed in a bright red skirt with layers and layers of ribboned petticoats. Her hair glistened with oils, her arms covered with bracelets, and she wore a shawl with embroidered roses. She gestured for Evelyne to sit, and seemed pleased with the effect her home had on the strange girl with the funny hair.
Evelyne had to bend slightly, the ceiling was so low, and she sat down next to Rawnie. The girl took Evelyne’s hand and kissed her palm, then she removed her heavy gold earrings and handed them to Evelyne.
‘No, no, I can’t, please, you don’t have to … take them back.’
Rawnie frowned, took back the earrings and reached for some beads. She held them out, and Evelyne again shook her head.
‘You don’t like them? What is it you want?’
Evelyne smiled and said she wanted nothing.
Rawnie’s eyes filled with tears. She lowered her head, and her voice was so soft Evelyne could only just hear.
‘Will you take him when you go?’
Evelyne did not understand. She looked puzzled and reached for Rawnie’s hand, but Rawnie cowered back against the cushions.
‘What is it, Rawnie? That’s your name, isn’t it? Are you afraid of me? I am ashamed for what happened to you, and I will help you in any way … if you want the police informed …’
Rawnie grasped Evelyne’s arm and shook her head, said there were to be no police, they had their own ways of taking care of their people. She had to give her thanks, and Evelyne had refused her gifts; was she ashamed to take them? They were not stolen, they had been handed down to Rawnie from her mother … Evelyne accepted a tiny pair of hooped earrings, and as she bent to kiss Rawnie again, the girl shrank away. There seemed nothing more to say and Evelyne prepared to leave. She could hear the men moving, putting a horse between the shafts of the caravan.
She was aware of Rawnie’s dark eyes staring at her, as if she could see inside her head. Then Rawnie took Evelyne’s hand, her own in comparison were dark-skinned, tiny. The girl’s touch was delicate, as she slowly traced the head line, the life line, her dark eyes seeming even darker as the feather-light touch traced the heart line. Three times she traced the heart line and murmured, ‘Mercury, Apollo, Saturn, Jupiter … venus, venus, venus … the venus.’ She reached over for a lighted candle, brought it closer, and as Evelyne tried to withdraw her hand, her grip tightened. She began to drip the wax slowly into Evelyne’s upturned palm until it was covered in the warm wax. Her black eyes held Evelyne as she began to spread her hand down, pressing hard, palm to palm.
Freedom looked in at the caravan door, glanced at the two women and closed the door again. Rawnie was distant, her eyes expressionless, dark pools. They held Evelyne’s like a snake and then Rawnie lifted her hand away together with the imprint of Evelyne’s in the wax, like a shell. She held it up against the candle flames and stared at the strange, delicate imprint.
The sides of the wagon were banged and Jesse’s voice called out that they must be on their way. Evelyne stood up, nearly knocking her head on the ceiling but remembering just in time. Rawnie still held the paper-thin waxen palm to the candle flame. Evelyne was opening the door to go outside when Rawnie spoke, her low, husky voice as hypnotic as her eyes, ‘He will give you two sons, strong, healthy sons, and you will lose him when the sky is full of black … dark birds. They fill the sky. Beware of the big dark birds, my friend …’
Rawnie was crying soundlessly, tears streaming down her face. She could not read her own destiny, but the faces of the palefaced woman’s two sons mirrored Freedom’s. She might not know it now, but one day he would be the paleface’s rommando: she would have his heart, she already had his soul.
Evelyne turned back, but Rawnie did not look up. She was melting the wax palm in the candle flame, the tears on her cheeks like wax drops, clear, heavy drops.
Chapter 9
THE CARAVANS moved out. As the dukkerin, Rawnie travelled last. Roped to the wagon shafts was their herd of wild ponies. Rawnie stood at the door of her wagon and heard from up front the boy yelping and clicking his tongue to move her horse forward over the field.
In the distance she could still see Freedom, Jesse and the paleface woman sitting on top of the rag-and- bone cart. She sighed, so be it, she would marry Jesse, the Black Prince, if he would have her. She closed the door and flicked open the knife Jesse had given her, similar to his own. He had carved her name on the shaft. She ran her finger along the blade, then opened her palm and slit the mound beneath her thumb. The blood oozed out, became a fine trickle. Although the wagon rocked and jolted, she was able to stand still as if by magic, unaware of the movement … suddenly she opened her eyes wide and screamed, cursing like a witch, and the blade sang through the air to land poised in the wood of her caravan wall, twanging.
Sitting on top of the cart, Evelyne clung on for dear life. Jesse led the donkey, pulling on the reins and glowering, muttering to himself. Freedom walked casually alongside, occasionally looking up at her and smiling. Twice she had almost slipped off, but each time he had been there, hand out to help her regain her balance. He had a way, this fighter, of always being there.
Jesse hit the donkey with a stick and the beast veered to the right, tipping Evelyne over. Freedom made Jesse stop the cart for a moment and got up beside her. Jesse flipped him the rein and walked on, swishing the hedges with his stick. Casually, Freedom slipped an arm loosely around Evelyne’s waist and clicked his tongue for the donkey to move on. She sniffed, there was a musky, sweet smell, and at first she thought it came from the hedgerow, maybe a flower, but as she turned her head she realized it came from Freedom, that he must be using a perfume on his hair, or oil. He caught her looking at him and smiled, showing his perfect white teeth.
As soon as they entered town Evelyne jumped down, insisting she would be all right. Without a word Jesse hopped up on to the cart and took the reins again, flipped them and whacked the donkey with his stick at the same time. The cart rattled off.
‘Rags, bones … bring out yer rags …’
As Jesse shouted, Freedom turned back to stare at Evelyne. He gave her a small wave and then turned to face ahead.
Not having the slightest idea where she was, Evelyne kept walking. She had not a penny to her name, and wondered if there might be a post office, then remembered it was Sunday. She sighed, no train ticket home, no handbag, and what did she look like? She was filthy, her skirt was wrinkled, her blouse torn, beautiful suit completely ruined. She walked on until her feet ached, heading towards the centre of town.
Miss Freda stepped out of her shop, neat as ever and wearing one of her hats. She alwats walked past the Grand Hotel on a Sunday, showing off her creations as a means of advertising.
‘Miss Freda, oh, Miss Freda…I’ve found you.’
She squinted in a shortsighted fashion and looked in the direction of the voice, then her mouth dropped open.
‘Oh, oh, what happened to you, child?’
‘Could I possibly borrow my bus fare, it’s a threepenny ride from the terminal, only I lost my bag and …’
To Freda’s horror Evelyne burst into tears. She looked around to see if anyone was watching, ashamed to be seen with the girl, and hustled her towards a shop doorway. Wiping her nose on Miss Freda’s little lace handkerchief, Evelyne promised to come to the shop next day and repay the three pennies. Freda opened her purse
