The Greek Maiden and the Lord - Chapter3

CHAPTER 3

The next morning, Lily rose just before daybreak. In the dark, she grabbed the ceramic basin and slipped through the woods, scampering down the hill to the nearby creek to wash. Cleanliness was instilled in her from a very young age by her grandmother.
    Today was a turning point in her life. She was going to a place she would call home, to stay forever, and to leave the gypsy way of life forever. She had glimpses of the new life from her grandmother last night. It was enticing to hear about living in a large mansion with nothing to do because the servants did everything, including dress and feed her. All she had to do was make polite conversation and embroider. 
    After washing, Lily filled the basin with clean water from the creek. This time, she walked alongside the creek, skirting the woods, intent on finding the apple orchard nearby. A few minutes later, she was plucking the fruit off the branches and stuffing them in her pockets. A dog barked in the distance. Lily fled into the sheltering cover of the woods.
    Before entering the tent, she visited Tsingana. The black horse with the white spot on its forehead bobbed her head up and down, and playfully nipped her wet curls.
      Lily laughed. “Oh, no! My hair is off limits. There is nothing left to bite. Here, have this instead.” She fed her an apple. Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning. Lily finished tending to the horse and went inside the tent to prepare breakfast.
    “Kalimera,” Mirela greeted her in Greek, feebly from the bed. “I feel a little weak this morning.”
    Lily was not surprised at her grandmother’s state. This had happened often before, when she would be drained from her fortune telling. “I have told you many times, yia-yia, to not work too hard with the fortune-telling!” she scolded. She placed the apples on the table.
    “You washed already down at the creek?”
    Lily’s fingers nervously ran through her wet crop of curls as she nodded.
    Mirela managed a weak laugh. “You did not want anyone to see your short hair, so you went early. You are unsure of yourself, just like a little bird learning how to fly. Are you excited about the dance today? I know you have been looking forward to it for awhile.”
    Lily smiled wanly. Last week Sultana informed her that she could dance with the other girls at the festival. Lily had dreamt about being part of the dance group for a long time, and was excited about the opportunity, but the thrill was promptly replaced last night by her grandmother’s news. “It is not so important. What matters now, is for me to find my real parents.”
    “In the small trunk are the black wig and clothes to wear for the dance.”
      The wig engulfed Lily’s head. “I can just picture you singing with this on,” she sang out in a falsetto voice. After she finished on an absurdly high note, she curtsied with her head low. The wig slipped off her head and plopped onto the ground.
    “You silly girl. I am going to miss you.” Mirela chuckled weakly. “The scarf with the gold trinkets should help it from falling off your head.”
    Lily tied the wine-colored headscarf tightly around her head. Minutes later, she was dressed in a bright yellow blouse and wide blue skirt with three layers of colorful skirts underneath. An orange sash was tied around her slim waist. She pranced around the tent, humming, her gold trinkets changing rhythmically.
    “I can smell the coffee. Babushka must be up. Go and get some for us before it is gone. Ante.”
    Lily grabbed two cups and flew outside. By now, the camp was bustling with people as they prepared for the festival; goods were being stuffed into the cart wagons, while the musicians practiced their music. Babushka’s heavy body sat placidly at the campfire preparing coffee and stirring the morning porridge. “You are already dressed for the dance. Good. Is that a new hair piece?” Babushka asked, her eyes squinting curiously at Lily.
    Lily’s hand flew up to the wig. Even with her poor eyesight, Babushka never missed a thing. “Yes. Tsingana chewed holes in the other one.”
    Babushka laughed, her big belly jiggling. “That horse will eat anything! I caught her yesterday at the fair, chewing on a lady’s hat!” She stirred the concoction in the large pot, then lifted the spoon. “Will you have some?”
    Lily eyed the gray porridge with distaste. It was a fact that Babushka’s eyesight was poor and so was her cooking. The last time Lily ate Babushka’s famous fish soup, she almost choked on a small chicken bone that had mysteriously found its way into the soup. “Grandmother is not feeling well and I just came to fetch coffee.” She handed the mugs to Babushka. “Are the girls up yet?”
    Babushka chuckled. “When did you ever see Sultana and Fifi up before eight?”
    “Count Igor said we should be dressed and ready to leave by eight so we can get an early spot before the others claim it,” Lily announced.
    “Don’t you worry! He always says that, and no one is ever ready by then, not even him.” Babushka chuckled as she handed her the mugs filled with coffee. “Here, take some hot coffee to your grandmother to wake her old bones. I made it strong.”
    Lily hurried back to the tent. They drank their coffee and munched on apples. 
    “Today you are to ride Tsingana down to the square. You will not go with the other girls in the wagon. After the dancing, you will not help with the selling of trinkets, but will excuse yourself. Tell Count Igor I am too weak this morning and need your help. From there, we will proceed with the plan.”

                                                           * * *
 
    It was late morning when Edward met his cousin, Sir Douglas Charleton, in the hotel dining area. Sir Douglas was like a brother to him. After Aunt Dorothy, the youngest sister of Lord Peterborough passed away along with her husband Sir Douglas from typhoid, their ten-year old son Douglas came to live with them. Edward was two years younger than his cousin and had grown up with him, attending the same schools and college.
    The French food on the table was plentiful and Sir Douglas was helping himself to the hearty breakfast. “Partake of this scrumptious feast, cousin,” he said to Edward.
    Edward helped himself to crusty bread, eggs, and crisp bacon. A waiter promptly arrived and served hot coffee. “Where is Gertrude? Is she not joining us for breakfast?”
    “My dear wife sends her apologies. She is a late riser and will probably eat something in her room. By the way, I wanted to thank you for picking her up last night at the fortune-teller’s. I did not finish with my transaction until really late.”
    “So you bought the stallion after all?”
    “Yes, and what a price! But he is worth it. He is truly of high caliber and in excellent condition. I cannot wait to race him.” Sir Douglas stopped chewing and stared at him. “Really, Edward, what happened to your clothes? They look positively…”
    Edward winced. “They are not mine, but Herman’s. The only good suit I had was damaged from the smoke last night.” He munched his bread.
    “What smoke?”
    “Some poor gypsy girl caught fire to her hair, and I used my coat to put it out. Everything else has been shipped to England.”
    “Always the chivalrous gentleman.” Sir Douglas resumed his eating. “Sorry I could not offer you any of mine to wear. You always were taller and thinner than I am. Mine would be too big for you.”
    “Thank you for your offer, but we will be in London soon and everything will be back to normal.”
    After breakfast, they strolled outside. There were crowds of people everywhere. The festivities had continued for one more day. Distant strains of violin music, accompanied by shouts, could be heard in the distance.
    Edward was attracted to the music, a reminder of the gypsy girl he encountered the night before. “Sounds like the gypsies. Let us attend.”
    They left the hotel and strolled towards the town square.

                                       * * *

      At that moment, Count Igor’s bass voice crooned out a French love song, while the violin wailed and whined and the dulcimer provided the necessary rhythmic chords. Lily and the other gypsy girls swayed and danced to the soulful tune, waving their arms, while their flamboyant skirts swirled around them provocatively. Once the song finished, Count Igor, his band, and the girls all bowed to their audience.
    “Encore! Encore!” The crowd whistled and clapped loudly.
    Lily and the other girls retrieved their tambourines, positioning themselves around Sultana. This next song was a mixture of contradictions, beginning with a yearning, mournful slow rhythm and ending with a happier, lively theme. The girls tapped and jiggled their tambourines, swaying around Sultana as she performed her famous solo dance. The pace quickened, and the girls became a vivid blur of colors as they twirled and danced passionately. At some point, Lily sensed her scarf loosening, and slowed down. Her hand flew up to her wig to steady it, trying to keep everything in place. Her hand stayed there for the rest of the dance, causing Count Igor to stare at her with consternation. The pace picked up and they twirled faster and faster, reaching an impossible frenzy. Just when Lily thought she would drop from exhaustion, the music ended. Sultana laughed exultantly as she bowed to the sound of wild clapping.
    After a brief break, Sultana and Count Igor returned to the dance floor. Soon, the violin and dulcimer began the seductive melody. The handsome couple moved sensuously, circling each other, their faces almost touching. Their arms entwined around each other as they twirled slowly, moving effortlessly as one.Towards the end, Count Igor picked up Sultana and swung her around, her dress billowing out. The audience clapped and whistled with enthusiasm when they finished.
    After the dance, the gypsy girls dispersed themselves into the crowd, going in different directions, collecting coins in their tambourines. Lily adjusted her scarf, then went into the crowd, tapping her tambourine and saying “Merci Monsier,” as she had been taught to say. There was something unpleasant about this action that made her feel awkward. She did not like asking for money.
    Weaving through the crowd, receiving donations, Lily approached two English speaking men. The stocky one had brown hair and wore a well-tailored suit with white cravat and hat, suggesting he was nobility, while the taller one was dressed in ill-fitting clothing, suggesting that he was the man’s servant.
    She jiggled her tambourine at the well-dressed man. “Merci Monsieur,” she said. 
    “Look what we have here,” Sir Douglas drawled. He took his glass monocle from his pocket and peered from under it, his brown eye appearing hugely swollen. He turned to Edward. “This dancer came here to be compensated for her dancing. She has the audacity to thank me before I give her money. Do you think she deserves to be rewarded?”
    Lily was jolted back into reality by this man’s questions. Up until now, people would toss a coin in her tambourine and she would be off. Her shoulders squared, her chin jutted out. She turned her gaze defiantly at the servant. She blinked, for he was exceptionally handsome. He had black hair, broad shoulders and slim hips. His brilliant dark eyes gazed curiously back at her.   
    “I am afraid my knowledge in such matters is very limited… although I do think they all danced well enough,” Edward replied.
    Sir Douglas Charleton cocked an arrogant eyebrow. “I am surprised they allowed her to dance with Sultana’s superb group. She is too thin, has no grace, and no style.”
    Lily stepped back, feeling agitated at the man’s words. He must surely think she did not know English to be insulting her so blatantly. She was about to move on when someone pushed into her from behind. She lurched forward, ramming her head into something hard. It was a man’s solid chest.
    “Oof,” Lily muttered thickly, ready to cry, feeling the heat of embarrassment creep up to her face. Strong arms grabbed her, helping her steady herself. She looked up, but could only see black. Her hairpiece had rotated on her head. Laughter burst forth around her as she stepped back, muttering and guiding her wig into its place. The handsome servant was staring at her in a mystified manner.
    Lily turned on her heels and sped away from the crowd. At least she still had the other coins. Her eyes dipped down to the tambourine for assurance. She stopped abruptly in her tracks at what she saw. The tambourine was empty. The coins must have fallen when she was pushed from behind. How was she going to go back into that crowd and find that money? How was she going to face Count Igor? This was Lily’s first time dancing with the girls and she had failed. Her shoulders slumped forward.
    Just then someone tapped her on the shoulder. Lily whirled around. It was the English servant.
    “Pour vous, mademoiselle,” he said, dropping several coins in her tambourine.
    Amazed at the kind gesture, Lily looked up, about to thank him, but he had already disappeared into the crowd. Maybe the rich man repented what he had said about her and sent his servant to pay her.
    Feeling much better, Lily hurried towards the other gypsy girls who were already in line handing their coins to Count Igor. He nodded at her earnings and dropped a coin in her palm. He held her hand. “You have done well for your first time, although you must tell Mirela to get you another wig.” His voice was low, and his dark gaze was intent. “It is important that I speak to you.”
    Lily blushed, remembering what her grandmother had said about him. Even worse, Sultana was close enough to hear, and she was warily watching them. Lily hastily withdrew her hand, dropping the coin inside her skirt. “I cannot stay, for Grandmother is ailing and needs me. She said it is important that I go to her right after the dancing.”
    Count Igor nodded, appearing skeptical. “Tonight, then.”
    Lily rode Tsingana swiftly towards the camp. When she arrived, the camp was eerily quiet, as everyone had gone to the fair. She found her grandmother lying in bed. Her eyes were reddened, and Lily wondered if she had been crying. English dresses lay on Lily’s cot.
    “How did everything go with the dancing?” Mirela asked, sitting up.
    “Fine,” Lily said, staring at the dresses on her bed. The reality of what she was about to do was finally sinking in. She was going to leave today. With great resolve not to cry, she turned her focus back to her grandmother’s conversation. “Count Igor gave me a coin for my efforts…and he wanted to talk to me, but I told him I had to come to you. I think he wanted to talk…about marriage.” She sat down on the bed.
    “By the time he returns from the fair tonight, you will be far away,” Mirela said soothingly. “Come, we must get you ready for your trip. This morning I stitched two dresses for you, one gray and the other brown, so they will fit you better. They are a little outdated, but no one will notice.”
    As Lily slipped into the gray muslin dress, she was beginning to feel miserable.
    Mirela, sensing Lily’s mood, began talking about the trip and what to expect and how to behave. “I almost forgot to tell you that Lady Charleton knows you by a fictitious name, a Miss Judith Montefrey. This way, no one will be able to trace you back to us.” 
    Lily listened in amazement at her grandmother’s suggestion, her own feelings temporarily forgotten. To be called another name besides Lily disturbed her. “I have always been called Lily…but I suppose it is better that way. Miss Judith Montefrey,” she said slowly, rolling the name carefully over her tongue.
    “Just pretend that you are in the theatre, acting,” Mirela said, flashing her a smile. “Also, you are to act sick. That way people will not want to start a conversation with you.”
    Lily stared at her, blinking back the tears. “You have always been clever. I will miss you so.” 
    “Now do not start that,” Mirela said, her lips trembling as she quickly wiped a tear from her eye. “This is the best path for you to take. I just know it is.”
    Lily prepared her satchel for the trip.
    Mirela retrieved a small jar from the trunk. “This is a special white paint, given to me by a rich patron. Your skin must be pale white if you are to act sick. Besides, ladies never have tans.”
    Lily watched in dismay as the mysterious white paste was spread lavishly on her face.

                                                 * * *

    Much later that afternoon, Gertrude and Sir Douglas descended the staircase of the French hotel, talking in raised voices. Behind them walked Gertrude’s personal maid, Mariette, keeping a discreet distance.
    “Are you sure this girl is not deathly ill?” Sir Douglas asked.
    “Dear, I only promised I would chaperone her to the attorney’s office,” Gertrude insisted. “Her family is supposed to pick her up from there.”
    They stepped into the hotel lobby.
      Edward was already there, with his liveried valet, Herman. Edward was intrigued by the conversation he had just heard. This was the first time he learned that a girl would be traveling with them. It seemed as if Gertrude had sprung this on Sir Douglas at the last minute. When they saw him, their conversation died down.
    “The carriage is ready,” Edward announced. “Shall we go then?” 
    “Yes, but there is one other person coming with us,” Gertrude declared.
    Edward raised his eyebrows, too polite to say that he overheard them talking about the girl. “Yes?”
    “I promised…a…friend that I would chaperone her cousin’s daughter to London. She is very ill.”
    “Why does her family not come for her?” Edward asked.
    “It is not that easy. You see, this girl, Miss Montefrey, was studying at a French girl’s boarding school when a few days ago she contracted this mysterious illness. The doctors here do not know what she has and have not been able to help her. Time is of essence, they say. Since her family lives in York, it would take too long for them to come pick her up. They plan to meet her in London. Hopefully, our doctors can help her.”
    “That is commendable of you,” Edward told Gertrude, smiling benevolently at her. He always liked to see acts of kindness towards others.
    Gertrude smiled back. “She is probably outside this very minute, waiting for me. Mariette, please go have a look.”
    Mariette, her maid, peered outside, then returned, shaking her head. “She is not here, my lady.”
    “I feel very uncomfortable traveling with a sick girl,” Sir Douglas muttered, loosening his cravat nervously. “If the doctors here cannot help her, what makes you think ours can? It will probably be necessary to use a handkerchief to protect yourself.”
    Gertrude appeared flustered. “Indeed, I had not thought about it. Do you think it is that bad?”
    “Just a precaution, my dear, just a precaution.”
    “Mariette, are you sure she has not arrived?” Gertrude fretted.
    Mariette stuck her head outside once more, then returned, shaking her head firmly.
    “Oh, well. A promise is a promise. Dear, you go on ahead with Edward,” Gertrude said, sighing. She took out a handkerchief from her purse and held it to her nose, preparing to meet the girl. “She might not feel well enough to travel with all of us, either.”
    “I hope she shows up soon. I do not want us to be late,” Sir Douglas grumbled as he left with Edward, heading for the packet ship.