Eliza’s Daughter by Joan Aiken Read Free Book Online

overhead – the same moon that had looked on me kindly so much earlier in the day.
    Mr Sam would like that moon, I thought. Mr Sam would give his endorsement to my quest.
    Hoby was very patient. He walked quietly beside me. He did not complain.
    And at last we found the gypsies.
    They had made themselves an untidy camp, with their wagons in a circle and a few shabby tents. A fire burned in the centre. Pale-coloured lurcher dogs glided about, and nimble tabby cats.
    A noble smell of cooking came from the pot on the fire. Rabbit stew.
    â€˜What do you want, gadscho children?’ asked a dark-haired woman, seeing us hesitate at the edge of the circle of firelight. She gave us a sour, dismissing glance.
    I thought of Mr Sam; thought how he would comport himself at such a moment. ‘If you please, ma’am, I wish to see the – the main person. The head person here.’
    She looked at me frowningly. And, I suppose, I extended my hands in appeal.
    From that moment, all changed. The woman seemed immeasurably different. She nodded. She led us to a wagon that was somewhat larger than the rest. Here, on the steps, sat a man not old but thin and weathered, sharp-featured with a hooked nose and very bright eyes, gold rings in his ears. A shock of grey hair.
    â€˜â€™Tis the same cove as I saw Biddy a-colloguing with,’ Hob whispered in my ear.
    â€˜What is it, then, gadscho children?’
    â€˜Sir,’ I said – I thought it best to be very respectful, as if he were a magistrate or a parson – ‘is there – did a woman leave a child with you today? A very pale-haired little child – like an elf-child?’
    â€˜What is her name?’ he said, looking at me very intently.
    â€˜Her name is Thérèse.’
    Upon impulse then, I called aloud – in a high shrill voice that I hardly ever made use of, except very occasionally to call home the cattle or pigs – most people had never heard it.
    Triz had, though; sometimes I would do it to make her laugh.
    â€˜ Triz? Ohee, Triz? Are you here? Can you hear me?’
    In a moment she came bundling out of another wagon, flung herself tumbling down the steps, hurled herself across the firelit circle and into my arms.
    â€˜ Alize! Alize! ’
    â€˜There was a mistake made,’ I told the earringed man. ‘She was handed over to you by mistake. You can see that, can’t you?’
    â€˜And the money that passed?’ he demanded, rather grimly. ‘Can you pay it back?’
    I spread out my hands. ‘I don’t know anything about money. We have no money.’
    Hoby helpfully turned his ragged pockets inside out.
    But the earringed man, like the dark-haired woman, was staring at my hands.
    He murmured something to her rapidly, in a foreign tongue. And they both made a gesture, as if to ward off the Evil Eye.
    â€˜And you can sing?’ he said to me.
    â€˜ Sing ? I don’t know. Why?’
    â€˜Sing after me.’
    He sang a queer spread of notes; almost a tune. It began very low, and ended very high. ‘Sing that now,’ he said. So I sang it.
    â€˜Again.’ I sang it again.
    â€˜Very well,’ he said. ‘We forget about the money. You are a –’ And again that foreign word.
    He took hold of my hands (Triz was terribly unwilling to let go of the one she clung to) – and held them for a moment between his own, which were rough, greasy, gnarled like the bark of trees, but surprisingly warm and kindly.
    â€˜Go in peace then, gadscho children. You have a long walk home.’
    ***

    It was indeed a long walk. My feet ached more and more. The moon became ginger-coloured and trailed down the sky. We took turns carrying Triz, who weighed amazingly heavy, considering her fairylike stature.
    And when we did get home, what a rumpus!
    Hoby had been perfectly right in his forebodings.
    Biddy had remained in Hannah’s house, and a kind of wake was being conducted. They