Hidden Currents Page 4

  Elsie clamped her lips together and refused to say anything for the next few minutes. It was a situation that was too peaceful to last, and if anything, it gave Carrie too much time to think. The thought churning in her mind was that she would have dearly liked to be counted as one of John Travis’s friends. She would have so liked to be as free and easy with him as those others seemed to be.

  But she couldn’t even pretend with him now. He knew her exactly for what she was. He’d seen the house she lived in, and knew she had a humble background … she hated herself for the way her thoughts were going. She should be satisfied with her lot, but somehow today her thoughts were all at sixes and sevens. In a fit of unreasonable anger, she wished she’d never seen Miss Helen Barclay’s bedroom, because then she’d never have compared it with the virtual cupboard she shared with Billy … but she might as well wish for the moon, for it was just as unattainable.

  ‘Hello again. I thought it was you two enjoying the sunshine.’

  Carrie felt as if she turned her head in slow motion as the voice she remembered spoke alongside her. She squinted up at him as he smiled down at her. His dark head was haloed against the light, and for a brief moment she was reminded of a god in one of her old Sunday-school picture-books … and then he moved, and the illusion was gone.

  ‘Why don’t you sit down beside us, so I don’t have to keep on craning my neck?’ she said, a mite ungraciously. He seated himself easily on the grass.

  ‘I just wanted to say thank-you again for what you did earlier. It would have taken me ages to get through the crowds to Bedminster and back again in dry clothes if you hadn’t come to my rescue.’

  ‘Is that where you live?’ Elsie said. He nodded, but Carrie ignored the information for the moment, embarrassed by the civility of the young man after her own bad manners.

  ‘I’m the one who should be thanking you,’ she said quickly. ‘We might not have had our Billy any more if you hadn’t acted so fast.’

  ‘It just happened to be me who fished him out of the water,’ he said, as if it was an everyday occurrence to haul foolish children out of the river. ‘Somebody else would have done it if I hadn’t got there first.’

  Carrie shivered. He might take it casually, but the river had been so churned up, with so many boats vying for space, and so many crowds, that a small boy could easily have been drowned and hardly noticed, and they both knew it. Her eyes met his in a frank stare.

  ‘All the same, I owe you his life, Mr Travis, and I won’t forget it.’

  ‘Then if you’re so indebted to me, you can at least call me John,’ he said with a smile. ‘And if you permit it, I’ll dispense with the formality and call you Carrie. It’s a very pretty name.’

  ‘It’s really Caroline, but that’s too fussy for me,’ she said, even more confused now. It was the first time a young man had paid her a compliment, apart from her brothers, and the compliments she got from them were usually made tongue-in-cheek.

  For a fleeting moment she wished she was still wearing gloves to cover her wash-tub hands. She wished she had the style of Miss Helen Barclay, so that she could speak to a boy without blushing, or the feeling that the whole world was laughing at her diffidence. She even wished she had Elsie’s brash self-confidence.

  ‘So what does John Travis do?’ Elsie said pushily now, evidently thinking she had been silent for long enough.

  ‘I thought you knew. My uncle owns the paddle-boat you saw us in earlier, and I work for him. Mostly we do ferrying work, but the pleasure trips are becoming more profitable now. The boat will be mine one day, but before that day comes I hope to buy a bigger boat of my own, and concentrate on pleasure trips for folk willing to pay for them. That’s going to be the big thing of the future.’

  ‘I know some boys who come across from Wales in the trows for the markets. Is it one of those you’re wanting?’ Elsie asked, airing her knowledge.

  John laughed. ‘Good God, no, begging your pardon. I’m after bigger fish than a sailing barge.’

  ‘You’ve got ambitions then,’ Carrie said, feeling as if everything he said put him farther out of reach.

  His mouth was still curved in a wide smile as he looked her steadily in the eyes, and she felt her heart skip a beat. Dreams … ambitions … they were one and the same. They were something that Elsie considered of little value, but they were clearly something she and John Travis shared. The thought made her bolder and she smiled back.

  ‘Of course. A man without ambition might as well be dead,’ he said.

  She was still caught up in the notion that she might have found a kindred spirit, despite the fact that he was a cut above herself, when the group of people he had been with earlier, appeared again.

  ‘Come on, John. We’re all waiting for you,’ one of the young ladies called out.

  He stood up at once, brushing the grass off his trousers.

  ‘Time to go,’ he said. ‘But I’ll be seeing you again, Carrie. I’ve asked the woman who does our washing to get your brother’s clothes presentable as quickly as possible, then I’ll return them to you.’

  ‘Oh, but I told you not to bother —’

  He wasn’t listening. He waved his hand and strode off to rejoin the others. Seconds later he was lost in the crowd, and Carrie felt as if she’d been hit in the pit of her stomach.

  ‘There you are,’ Elsie said triumphantly. ‘Didn’t I tell you he was goggle-eyed for you?’

  ‘Oh yes, I’m sure he is. I’m such a bloody great catch, aren’t I?’

  ‘What’s up now?’ Elsie said. Even she couldn’t fail to recognise the misery in Carrie’s voice.

  ‘You wouldn’t see it, would you? He pays somebody to do his washing.’

  ‘So what? It’s an honest job, isn’t it? You always said it was.’ She stopped abruptly.

  ‘Hooray. You’ve seen daylight,’ Carrie said, bitterly aware of a great inner hurt that had no logical reason behind it, but was nonetheless needle-sharp.

  ‘You mean that just because you and your Ma do the washing for the toffs, and your John Travis pays somebody else to do his, he’ll think you’re beneath him, is that it?’

  ‘Of course that’s it,’ Carrie said angrily. She must be the world’s biggest fool to look down on the work she and Ma did, just because a boy had smiled at her with a certain light in his eyes, but she was suddenly unable to avoid the shame of it all. Washing other folks’ clothes was hardly the work of an artiste or a craftsman. And who would want to be seen walking out with such a person?

  She gave a sudden laugh. When had there ever been any suggestion of John Travis wanting to walk out with her, anyway? She was making her usual mountains out of anthills. Seeing hidden meanings in things that didn’t exist. Shooting at rainbows, as per bloody usual … she made an effort to sound quite unconcerned.

  ‘I wish you could see your face,’ she told Elsie. ‘Do you really think I care what he thinks of me?’

  ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Carrie said, with a carelessness she didn’t feel, but needing to save face all the same.

  Elsie gave her a mischievous grin. ‘Maybe there’s room for me then. If you don’t fancy him, I just might.’

  ‘I never said I didn’t fancy him —’ but she felt her face go hot, knowing she was caught out, and Elsie’s chortle told her she knew it too.

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t queer your pitch,’ she said, already tiring of the game. ‘Anyway, I’d trade him for your Wilf any time.’

  ‘Elsie, I’ve told you before — our Wilf thinks you’re too young for him,’ Carrie said, treading carefully, since she knew very well Wilf didn’t give a thought for her friend. ‘Frank likes you though.’

  ‘So you keep telling me. Oh, to blazes with them all,’ she said. ‘Look over there, Carrie. Let’s go and get our fortune told.’

  Elsie pointed to where a gypsy fortune-teller’s tent was set up some distance away from them. The aged woman seemed to have no customers for the moment.
She sat outside her small canvas tent, ablaze with spangles and glitter, her skin so swarthy and dark as to suggest she was a true Romany.

  As if aware that she was being watched, she turned her head slowly, her black eyes mesmerising, even from a distance. She didn’t smile or wave, yet it was as though some special aura about her was drawing the girls to her. Carrie shivered.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Oh, come on. It’ll be a lark. You don’t have to believe any of her nonsense, do you? Not unless she told you that John Travis was destined to be your own true love.’

  ‘I’d rather leave the fairy-tales for our Billy,’ Carrie snapped, wondering if Elsie had seen right inside her head at that moment.

  Because just for the very briefest of moments, she had let herself dream that that was exactly what Madame gypsy-whoever-she-was was about to tell her … and nobody in their right minds would dare to dispute what a gypsy told them. Even her no-nonsense Ma always bought a sprig of lucky heather with a bundle of new clothes pegs, from any gypsy who knocked at the door, and never refused to cross the palm with a coin, even if it was rarely a silver one.

  ‘Come on then,’ Elsie challenged.

  ‘Oh, all right. Perhaps she’ll tell us we’re destined to marry rich men and live the life of luxury and never have to dirty our hands again.’

  They linked arms, suddenly euphoric at the very notion, and ran laughing across the grass towards the gypsy fortune-teller.

  Chapter 3

  John Travis wasn’t sure what the pretty girls he’d met earlier were thinking as he strode off to rejoin his party, but he knew that to this mixed university group, down from Oxford for a few days, he was merely a temporary employee. They were to be his paying customers for a pleasure cruise around the Great Britain tomorrow, and somehow they’d cajoled him into giving them a guided walking tour of the city this afternoon.

  His city, he amended, with a swell of pride. He loved every stick and stone and unsavoury stink of it, although up here on the elegant Clifton Downs, and across the river towards Bedmister Hill where he lived, it was easy enough to forget the raggle-taggle life that also existed in it. But he didn’t deny that the ant-like workers who slaved away at the docks and markets, the warehouses and glassworks, were its heart and soul. He sometimes had extravagant dreams of sailing away to explore the world, yet he cheerfully doubted that it would ever happen. And just as surely, he knew that if it did, he would always return. The city was in his bones.

  He cleared his throat as the emotive thoughts threatened to invade the prosaic descriptions of the city he was telling these paying customers. He’d already had to grit his teeth as he’d been informed by one of them that he had an enchantingly poetic turn of phrase. It sounded altogether too pretty a term to describe a lusty young fellow, and certainly wasn’t the way he’d want the mates on the waterfront to hear him described.

  ‘Is is true that there are caves beneath these cliffs, John?’ one of the young ladies said, using the free and easy familiarity of university students.

  ‘It’s quite true. If you’ll look over there, you’ll see a tower near the abutments for Mr Brunel’s bridge that’s to be built over the river. An artist called Mr West lives in the tower, and he’s erected a camera obscura in the summit with which to spy on the surrounding countryside.’

  ‘I think my sister is more interested in caves and tunnels, than spying, sir. Isn’t that right, Susannah?’ one of the male students put in. She nodded.

  ‘I was coming to that,’ John said. ‘It just so happens that a passage leads down from the inside of the tower through the cliffs to a cave, hundreds of feet below. But that’s only one of the many caverns and tunnels to be found in the Avon Gorge. For many years they’ve been dug out to provide sandstone for the glass industry. Have you seen the conical towers of the glass works near the river in Hotwells?’

  ‘We had them pointed out to us. I must say you’re a very knowledgeable person for a boatman, John,’ the young lady said admiringly.

  He just managed not to sound mocking. ‘Oh, even boatmen are capable of reading and writing and taking in knowledge, miss. The city has always been home to me, and I believe you should get to know your own city as intimately as, well, as a wife, I suppose.’

  He had never intended saying any such thing, but the words came out as soon as they entered his head. He was instantly embarrassed by them, but these intellectuals didn’t seem to find anything odd about the simile.

  ‘That’s a very astute observation, if I may say so, sir. But what of the city passages? We’ve heard something about them as well,’ the young man said.

  John nodded. ‘There’s a great network of underground passages beneath the city. There was a time, not so very long distant, when the evil press gangs were very prevalent in Bristol. There was many a reluctant sailor who escaped their clutches through the maze of tunnels connecting the old taverns hereabouts.’

  ‘How fascinating,’ Susannah said, her eyes shining. She was soft and young, and would probably stir plenty of men’s hearts before she was done, but John was already intrigued by someone else he had met that day. A girl with red-gold hair and the bluest eyes, and he didn’t give a damn whether or not she came from a humble background.

  ‘Oh, there’s a fortune-teller’s tent,’ one of the other girls in the group said excitedly. ‘Do we dare go in?’

  ‘We do not,’ Susannah’s brother said sternly. ‘The true Romanies never shy from telling you things you’d probably rather not hear, and the rest are charlatans who will tell you anything to get their sixpences out of you.’

  ‘Rupert’s right,’ Susannah said quickly. ‘Let’s get away from here anyway. I want to hear more about these underground passages. Is there a tea-room somewhere, John, where we can sit comfortably?’

  ‘Not around here. We’ll have to go back to the city, and I doubt that you’d get inside one today even if they’re staying open, with all the excitement going on.’

  ‘Then we must go back to our hotel, and you can take tea with us there,’ Susannah declared at once. ‘Rupert’s quite right about the fortunetellers, Amy. Let’s get away from here before she comes out of the tent and puts her evil eye on us.’

  She gathered up her flounced skirts and walked quickly across the Downs with the rest of them. John followed, his eyes glinting with amusement at their presumption. He’d rubbed shoulders with many a gypsy at a country fair or in a smoke-filled tavern, and enjoyed their company.

  This group thought themselves highly educated, but any fool knew that a gypsy with the second sight could forecast the future with deadly accuracy. And a true Romany would never tell a client any more than he wished to know.

  * * *

  The inside of the gypsy tent was cloying and hot, and Carrie had a job not to pinch her nostrils together as she and Elsie squeezed inside it and were bidden to sit down. There was only a narrow bench that was hardly big enough for the two of them, but it was comforting to sit close and try not to be overawed or terrified by the impressive figure of the fortune-teller.

  Inside the tent, she seemed to dominate the space on the far side of the small cloth-covered table, on which a pack of cards lay face-down.

  ‘Now then, my pretties,’ she said in a hoarse voice. ‘Which of you wants to be the first to know what destiny has in store for you?’

  Carrie’s mouth was so dry she could hardly speak, but Elsie gave a laugh that was full of bravado.

  ‘I’ll go first if you like. We don’t have much money, mind, so it’ll have to be a very short consultation.’

  She stumbled over the word, knowing it was the right one to use, and the gypsy’s eyes flickered.

  ‘Madame Zara is well aware that you don’t have much money, girl, and that you didn’t choose to come here of your own will. Madame Zara chose you, my dears, not the other way around.’

  Carrie swallowed. ‘I don’t like this,’ she muttered beneath her breath. ‘I don’t want to hear anything —’<
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  Madame Zara suddenly banged her hand on the table, making them both jump.

  ‘You’ve nothing to fear, my young one. You’ve a lucky aura, and the fates will always favour you, just as they did earlier this day, when the water threatened you.’

  Carrie felt her heart leap. She wasn’t the one who’d been in danger from the river, but if Billy had drowned, she and her whole family would have been devastated. But there was no way this crone could possibly have known about that.

  ‘She’s guessing,’ Elsie hissed in her ear. ‘Anybody in the crowd today was in danger of being pushed into the river.’

  The gypsy fixed her gaze on Elsie’s face. ‘So we have a disbeliever, but it’s no matter. Fate takes no account of such things, and what’s to come to you will come. Shuffle the pack and divide it into three piles,’ she instructed.

  Without thinking, Elsie did as she was told. Madame Zara turned over the top card on the first pile. It was the four of hearts.

  ‘Do you have any troubles, girl?’ she said.

  Elsie snorted. ‘The same as most people, I daresay. Not enough money, and me poor old granpa getting worse by the day. Why? Is this a bad card?’

  ‘Not if you’ve no real worries,’ the crone said ambiguously. ‘If you do, you’ll be set free of any troubles within half a year.’

  Elsie glanced at Carrie, her expression saying what a pack of rubbish she believed she was hearing. The crone turned over the second card, the eight of diamonds.

  ‘You can be a bit devious at times, can’t you? You need to learn that you’ll only prosper by telling the truth.’

  ‘Well, that’s a fine thing to say to anybody,’ Elsie said, full of indignation. But the woman was already turning over the last card, and Elsie stopped talking as soon as she saw it.

  ‘Don’t they call that the death card?’ she said thickly, seeing the black mass of the ace of spades.

  ‘It can be,’ Madame Zara said, her voice crisper now. ‘But the interpretation of the fortune depends on the combination of the three cards.’