I wish Ann would defend herself, tell Cecily what a toad she is. But she doesn’t. Instead, she slows her steps, falling farther behind.
“Ann,” I say, holding out a hand. But she won’t look at me, won’t answer. She makes it clear that I’m one of them now. It’s weeks yet until we part but she’s already pushing me away.
Fine. Let her. I walk down the path to join the others. The trees wear their new greenery awkwardly still. Through the sparse leaves I spy the East Wing’s progress. The turret is striking. I find I cannot help looking at it, as if it were a magnet pulling me in.
Loud shouts and threats erupt from the site and we rush to see what they are about. A group of men stand on the lawn, fists at the ready. When I draw closer, I see they’re not the workers; they’re Gypsy men. The Gypsies have returned! I search their faces, hoping to catch sight of Kartik. He’s traveled with them before. But he’s not among their number today, and my heart sinks.
The workers form a line behind their foreman, Mr. Miller. They outnumber the Gypsies two to one, but they keep their hammers close.
“Here now, what is all this fuss? Mr. Miller, why have your men stopped work?” Mrs. Nightwing demands.
“It’s these Gypsies, missus,” Mr. Miller sneers. “Causin’ trouble.”
A tall Gypsy with fair hair and a knowing smile steps forward. Ithal is his name. He is the Gypsy Felicity kissed behind the boathouse. Felicity sees him too. Her face goes pale. Hat in hand, he approaches Mrs. Nightwing. “We look for work. We are carpenters. We are building for many people.”
“Shove off, mate,” Mr. Miller says in a low, tight voice. “This is our job.”
“We could work together.” Ithal offers his hand. Mr. Miller doesn’t take it.
“Oi. These are decent ladies. They don’t need no dirty, thieving Gypsies here.”
Mrs. Nightwing steps in. “We have had the Gypsies on our land for years. We’ve had no trouble from them.”
Mr. Miller’s eyes flash. “I can see yer a fine, charitable lady, mum. But if you show them kindness, they’ll never leave. They should go back to their own country.”
Ithal holds tight to his hat, bending the brim. “If we go back, they will kill us.”
Mr. Miller smiles broadly. “See? Their own country don’t even want ’em. You don’t want to hire them Gypsies, missus. They’ll rob you blind.” He lowers his voice. “And what with young ladies present, mum…What could happen, well, I shouldn’t like to say.”