I whispered to Amaryllis: “Look, there’s Dolly.”

And at that moment Romany Jake was beside her. He seized her hand and, drawing her along with him, began to dance.

“Dolly … dancing,” said Amaryllis. “How very strange.”

I followed them with my eyes for as long as I could. Once or twice as they came round the bonfire they were quite close to the carriage. Dolly looked ecstatic. He glanced my way. There was something I did not understand in his expression but I knew he was telling me how much he wanted me to be dancing with him round the bonfire.

I waited for them to come round again, but they did not. I continued to look for them but I did not see them again.

“This will go on through the night,” my mother said.

“Yes.” My father yawned. “David, take us home now. I think we have had enough. This sort of thing becomes monotonous.”

“It is a good thing that they all realize what dangers we have come through,” commented David. “There can’t be a man or woman in England tonight who is not proud to be English.”

“For tonight, yes,” said my mother. “Tomorrow may be another matter.”

“Lottie, my dear,” said my father, “you have become a cynic.”

“Crowds make me feel so,” she replied.

“Come along, David,” commanded my father, and David turned the horses.

So we rode the short distance back to the house through the lanes which were illuminated by the light from the bonfire. We could see other bonfires spread along the coast like jewels in a necklace.

“A night to remember,” said David.

What I would remember most was the sight of Romany

Jake standing there almost willing me to leave the carriage and go to him; and then hand in hand with Dolly he had disappeared.

A few days later there was trouble.

One of the gamekeepers came to see my father. He had caught two gypsies stealing pheasants in the wood. There was a definite boundary between those woods in which the gypsies were allowed to camp and those in which the pheasants were kept. There were notices in every conceivable spot warning that those who trespassed in the private woods would be prosecuted.

These two men had been seen by the gamekeeper with pheasants in their hands. He had given chase and although he had failed to catch them he had traced them back to the gypsy encampment.

As a result my father rode out there and warned the gypsies that if any more attempts were made to encroach on the land which was forbidden to them and if those stealing his pheasants were caught, they would be handed over to the law and suffer the consequences; and the gypsies would be moved on and never allowed to camp on his ground again.

He talked of them over dinner that evening.

“They are a proud race,” he said. “It’s a pity they don’t settle down and stop wandering over the face of the earth.”

“I think they like the life under the sun, moon and stars,” I said.

“Poetic, but uncomfortable,” said Claudine.

“I suppose,” added David, who always brought a philosophical turn to the conversation, “that if they did not prefer it they would not continue with it.”

“They’re lazy,” declared Dickon.

“I am not sure,” contradicted my mother. “They have been doing it for generations. It’s a way of life.”

“Begging … scrounging … making use of other people’s property!”

“I believe,” I put in, “that they have an idea that everything on earth is for the use of everybody in it.”

“A misguided philosophy,” said my father, “and only adhered to by those who want what others have got. Once they have it, they would endeavour to keep it to themselves with more vigour than any. That is nature and no philosophy on earth is going to change it. As for the gypsies, if they are caught in any more mischief, they’ll be out. They’re an insolent lot. There was one fellow… He was very different from the rest. He was sitting on the steps of one of the caravans playing a guitar of all things. I thought he might have got up and done a bit of work.”

“That would be Romany Jake,” I said.

“Who?” cried my father.

“He’s one of them. I’ve seen him about. In the kitchen they talk about him a great deal.”

“Colourful character,” said my father. “He was a sort of spokesman for them. He’s certainly not at a loss for words.”

“I saw him at the bonfire,” I added. “He was dancing.”

“He’d be good at that, I daresay. It would only be work he was shy of. I shall be glad when they’ve moved on. Thieves, vagabonds, most of them.”

Then he started to talk about what might happen on the Continent. Napoleon would be anxious for success in Europe. He had to restore the people’s faith in the invincible Emperor whose fleet had been crippled beyond redemption at Trafalgar.

It was a week or so after the bonfire. We were all at dinner when one of the servants came rushing in crying that the woods were on fire.

We left the table and as we came out into the open air we were aware of the smoke and the acrid smell of burning. My father soon had the servants rushing out with water. I went to the stables and mounting my horse galloped in the direction of the fire. I knew that it was in those woods where the gypsies had their encampment.

A scene of wild disorder met my eyes. The grass was on fire and the flames were running across it towards the trees, licking at their barks while I watched in horror.

My father was in the midst of the melee shouting orders; cottagers who lived nearby were running out with buckets of water.

“We have to stop it reaching the thicket,” cried my father.

“Thank God there’s hardly any wind,” said David.

I could see how the difficulty of getting water to the scene made us helpless. This went on for some time and the fire fighting method was most inadequate. I was sure that part of the woods could only be saved by a miracle.

And it came. The rain began to fall, a slight drizzle at first which soon changed to a downpour.

There was a shout of relief from everybody. We stood, faces uplifted, letting the precious rain fall on us.

“The woods are saved,” said my father. “No thanks to those plaguey gypsies.”

He noticed me and cried: “What are you doing here?”

“I had to come, of course,” I replied.

He did not answer. He was watching the flames being beaten out. Then he shouted to the gypsies: “You’ll be off my land tomorrow.”

He turned and started to ride away. I followed with David.

My father was up early next morning, and so was I. He was preparing to go out and I said to him: “What are you going to do about the gypsies?”

“Send them packing.”

“What? Now?”

“I’m riding out in a few minutes.”

“Are you going to blame them all because one or two were careless?”

He turned to me, his eyes narrowed. “What do you know about it? These people nearly burned down my woods. If it hadn’t rained how much timber do you think I would have lost? I won’t have them burning down my trees, stealing my pheasants. Thieves and vagabonds, the lot of them.”

“The woods weren’t burnt down. And I don’t suppose you’ll miss a pheasant or two.”

“What does all this mean? Why are you making excuses for a band of gypsies?”

“Well, they have to stay somewhere. If people won’t let them camp, where can they go?”

“Anywhere, but on my land.”

With that he strode out. I went to my room and hastily put on my riding habit. I ran down to the stables. There, they told me that my father had left a few minutes before.

I hurried out and caught up with him before he had reached the woods. He heard my approach and looking round pulled up sharply and stared at me in astonishment.

“What do you want?”

“You are going to see the gypsies,” I said. “I am coming with you.”

“You!”

“Yes,” I said. “I’m coming.”

“You’ll turn right around and ride straight home.”