The Greek Maiden and the Lord - Chapter2

       


CHAPTER 2

The tent seemed suddenly too small for Lily. She had been raised up to believe that gadjos were foreign to them, untouchable, and to be avoided except for business only. She stood up with the urgent need to rush out into the night and breath deeply, anything to get away from this terrible feeling she was experiencing, but she held her ground, her hands clenched, trembling with emotion. “How can this be?”
    “Your mother was Greek and your father English.” Mirela’s deceptively calm tone had returned; used to subduing countless emotional customers, it seemed to soften Lily’s mood, and she sank back down in her seat.
    “I do not believe it!”
    “It is true! We found you ten years ago,” Mirela insisted. “It was March, and we were staying on the outskirts of the Greek City of Patras.” She looked out into the distance, her eyes looking sad. “The night before, I had a disturbing dream about the city. A prophetic dream.”
    Lily knew about her grandmother’s dreams. They always came true. She shot up once more, unable to sit still. “How did you find me?” She paced the small tent, feeling agitated.
    Mirela told her how Sultana and her sister had taken her doll and how she had chased them into the woods. “They confessed what they did, and my Petroff and the men searched in the woods and brought you back.”
      “Why was I not taken back to my parents?” Lily demanded.
    “The Turks had already set fire to Patras, and the town had lit up like one big flame. We had to leave right away. The smoke had gone up to the hills.” She shook her head emphatically. “It is good that we left quickly from that area, for we learned later that there was fierce fighting between the Greeks and the Turks. It marked the beginning of the war. We also learned of the atrocities of the Turks and how they took the children and women as slaves.”
    “Is that why you always spoke to me in Greek? Is that why I was always afraid of fire?” Lily whispered. She wondered numbly what happened to her parents, and if they had perished in the fire.
    “I remember them carrying you back to the camp. You were beautiful, just like your doll… with your large, beautiful eyes, blond curls and pink dress. You said your name was Lily. So that is what we called you. Petroff entrusted you in my care.” There was a far-away look on her face. “We had just lost our own daughter to an illness, and there was a huge void. I loved her dearly.” She turned towards Lily. “You came into my life just at the right time.” She squeezed Lily’s hand fondly.
    “How did you know who my parents were?”
    “You wore a locket around your neck and carried a purse in your pocket that revealed your true identity.” Mirela’s hand slipped into her pocket. She pulled out a green silk purse. “Count Igor got a hold of this after my Petroff passed away. Today I took it, while he was at the festival. He does not know I have it. It has important items in it and they belong to you.” She opened the purse removing a folded paper, then a gold locket, handing it to her. “Open it.”
    As Lily struggled with the latch, a discomforting feeling tugged inside of her. This simple act reminded her of something buried deep into the past. A cry of joy escaped her lips when she finally succeeded. It revealed the miniature portraits of her parents. Her mother was exotically beautiful and dark, and her father was blonde-haired and blue-eyed. He had a distinguished air about him. Lily shut her eyes, trying to conjure up any images from her youth, but nothing could be salvaged from the past.
    “Quickly, read this. We do not have much time. Count Igor will be here soon,” Mirela said, shoving the paper into her hand.
    The paper identified her as Judith Evangelia Montgomery, daughter of Frederick C. Montgomery and Penelope S. Mavroditis. She was born in London, England on March 23, 1815.  It stated that if she were lost, she was to be taken to the Clemence and Hartford law office in London, where this document was to be submitted. The lawyer would take the appropriate action to secure her place. The signature on the paper was that of Frederick Montgomery, her father. Lily wept silently.
    “Lily, please do not cry,” Mirela pleaded. “If we returned you to Patras, the Turks would probably have taken you as a slave. If we took you to England, they would have thought we stole you and would have put us in prison. Each year that passed, the thought of returning you to England became more painful to me. When I became a widow, you became even more important in my life. I did not want to part with you. I wanted you for myself. I wanted to teach you fortune-telling, to make you follow my foot-steps…but that is not to be.” Mirela’s shoulders sagged.
    Lily felt mixed emotions. On the one hand, she felt sad for the loss of her real parents, and at the same time, guilty. How ungrateful she must appear to her grandmother! She stood up, clutching the paper. “Why should I go after all these years? No one came for me. No one cared to find me!” She paced the small tent, flailing her thin arms around. “How do I know my real parents are alive? What if no one is there to take me?”
    “There is another reason I want you to leave. Now that you are sixteen, of marriageable age, Count Igor plans to take you as his wife so he could claim your inheritance from your English relatives.”
    Lily recoiled from the news. Count Igor was the leader of the gypsy caravan and much older. She had known him ever since she was a child. “Are you sure about this? I do not want to marry him! Sultana wants him!”
    “Why do you think he never married?” Mirela hissed. “He should have been married by now, with a family. Instead, he has been waiting all these years for you to grow up. He plans to leave for Germany as soon as the festival ends.”
    “Germany?”
    “There, he will meet up with his cousin’s caravan and the two caravans will become as one, leaving Count Igor to be free to take you to England and marry you there. After your marriage, he wants to take you to the attorney’s office and claim your inheritance. I cannot allow this to happen.”
    “How can that be?” Lily cried. “When a gypsy man is to marry, does he not offer money to the father of the bride?”
    “You have no father to protect your interests. I have seen the future. You are not meant to marry Count Igor. There is someone else for you. But I cannot say more.” She stopped, breathing heavily. After she calmed down, she spoke. “I will deal with Count Igor when the time comes. He will listen to me.”
    Lily’s whole world was crumbling before her. She stared miserably at her feet, a tight feeling forming in her chest. She did not want to leave. What was she to do?
    Mirela stood up, her arms outstretched. “Ela etho. Come here.” Lily ran into her open arms. “Things will be all right, my dear, you will see,” Mirela crooned, stroking Lily’s head.  “I will help you. I have already made plans for you to leave…to go to your true family. It is your destiny.”
    “What if Count Igor finds out about the locket and paper?” Lily asked, sniffling.
    “I will take care of him. Sshh, I hear them now. Hide these quickly! Do not let anyone know you have these!”
    The sound of the men’s voices outside was loud and boisterous. Count Igor and his band of musicians apparently had a few rounds of drinks before coming here.
    Mirela scrambled up, grabbing her lit candle. “Stay here.” She hurried outside.
    Lily stuffed the purse hastily into her skirt pocket, then wiped her face with her skirt. The wig was thrown on her head next. She did not want anyone asking questions about her singed hair. She pushed the front flap to the side, peeking out into the breezy night. Mirela was handing Count Igor a pouch of coins. 
      “Where is Lily?” Count Igor asked Mirela. He glanced at the tent.
      Lily dropped the flap and withdrew back into the safety of the tent, feeling guilty at eavesdropping.
      “She is inside, getting things ready.”
    Lily busied herself with preparations. Soon, Emilian and Iakov, members of his band, entered the tent, greeting Lily cheerfully. They transported the furniture to the cart. Within minutes, they were dismantling the tent. No one seemed to notice her pensive face. They were too happy. After everything was carried to the wagon, Lily joined her grandmother in the back of the wagon, thankful for the wig that covered her singed hair as they rode back to the camp.
    “It was a wonderful day,” Emilian said proudly. “Everyone made good money. Eh, Count Igor?”
    Lily learned that Count Igor had sold his black stallion, Night Dust. He had made a bundle.
    The men sang gustily along the way. Lily was unusually quiet, reflecting on the past and thinking about her future. It was not long before strains of violin music greeted their ears as they entered the gypsy camp. Several gypsies danced exuberantly around the campfire, accompanied by whooping sounds and clapping. It was a festive occasion. People were eating, drinking, and talking animatedly. Even the children were still up, playing and running. It seemed that everyone was too excited to sleep.
    Babushka sat in the middle of the campfire stirring the large pot, which fed everyone. She had easily settled into the task of the cook a year ago, replacing Katrina who left to marry an Italian carpenter. This was where the group shared stories, meals, gossip, song, and dance. The gypsies were one big family.
    “There is plenty of stew left!” Babushka called out stridently when she saw them.
      Mirela excused herself, feigning tiredness, and Lily did the same. She swiftly followed her grandmother’s footsteps down the path, away from the group, and into the dark, safe haven of their round tent. She did not feel like eating or conversing with any of her friends. There was too much turmoil weighing her heart down.
    With a determination that was to help her later in life, Lily lit a candle, then retrieved the knife. “Come, yia-yia. Help me cut off the burnt edges of my hair.”
    Mirela worked steadily, slicing chunks of the burnt hair. Lily sadly watched her long, wavy tresses succumb to their fate, falling to the ground. As each long strand fell, she felt as if she were relinquishing her innocence, her naïve existence, and allowing a new life to begin.
    “This is the best I can do. There is still an area that was burned higher than the rest, behind your right ear, but it will grow back,” Mirela remarked.
    With a solemn air unbecoming her, Lily bent down and took a lock of her silky flaxen hair from the small heap on the floor. She stroked it absentmindedly, then gave it to her grandmother. “Please take this to remember me.” She smiled wistfully as her grandmother carefully slipped it into her pocket.     
    “Here, dig a hole, there behind the black trunk and bury your hair in it. We must not leave any evidence behind.”
    Lily did as she was told, then sat on the trunk, wiping her dirty hands. She felt so dirty and grimy, but there were more important issues that took priority. “What do I need to do for the trip, yia-yia?”
    Mirela informed her that Lady Charleton was to chaperone her to England. Tomorrow, she was to go to the dance in the morning, then return and get ready for the trip. She was to meet Lady Charleton tomorrow afternoon at a certain hotel in Caen. From there, Lady Charleton agreed to take her to the packet ship leaving for Portsmouth. Lady Charleton was to see that she ultimately arrived at the attorney’s office in London.
    “Now, take a look in that black trunk that you’re sitting on. It holds all the clothes that Lady Evermore gave me. I kept them all these years, thinking somehow that they would be needed one day.”
    Lily opened the chest and stared solemnly at the layers of folded, dark dresses. A nagging feeling that something was not right bothered her. Where did her grandmother get all these clothes? “How did you meet this Mrs. Evermore?” she asked suspiciously.
    “Do you think I was always a gypsy?” Mirela asked with a doleful shake of her head. “I was born in England a long time ago, to a squire.” She ignored the surprised look that Lily shot her. “I was the oldest of five children, and we led a simple life. My mother taught us to read and write, to sing and dance. When I was seventeen, my father died, and there weren’t enough funds to support the family. We looked for employment. A friend found me a job as a maid in a nearby gentleman’s house, a Mr. Evermore it was. Two years later, I moved up the ranks and became the misses’ personal maid, and that is when Petroff and his caravan arrived. I met him at the town fair, where he was singing and dancing with his group. He was so dark and handsome. We fell in love, and once we married, I became a gypsy.”
    Lily was bemused. She had always assumed that her grandmother was born a gypsy.
    “I know what you are thinking.” Mirela tittered. “You are probably wondering why I did not tell you sooner.” She shook her head. “There was no reason for me to tell you this story…not until now.”
      “How was it like…becoming a gypsy?”
    “At first, it was wild and beautiful, and free…so different from English life, but soon I noticed there were problems. Wherever we went, I was dismayed at how poorly we were treated by each country. There was no respect for us. There was a bad stigma attached to the gypsies, even though we made an honest living. It made no difference to them,” Mirela said. She was silent.
    Lily cleaned up using the water in the basin, then chose a gray muslin dress from the trunk to wear. It was somewhat large on her. She smoothed the wrinkled fabric with her fingers, picturing Mrs. Evermore wearing it. “I wonder what happened to Mrs. Evermore.”
    “She is resting,” Mirela said cryptically.
    “Oh.” Lily’s eyes flew open. She knew what that meant. Whenever her grandmother referred to someone resting, it meant they met their maker.
    “There should be shoes and stockings at the bottom of the trunk. Have a look.”
    Lily rummaged around, pulling out a pair of black shoes. She slipped her feet into them. “Ow!” She winced and made faces as she tried walking in them. “I think these are a little too tight.”
    Mirela sighed. “It is not surprising. Mrs. Evermore had small feet. I could not wear these either.”
    Lily took them off and tossed them to the side. She wiggled her bare toes. “Then I will not wear them. I will just go bare….”
    “No you do not!” Mirela scolded. “You must not attract attention that you are a gypsy! There are rules of society you will need to abide by in order to fit in. For instance, never take your shoes off in public. It is a disgrace for your feet to be seen. I will give you money to buy new ones in London, but until then, you must wear these.”
    “I do not like all these changes,” Lily said, sighing. “What else do I need to know?”
    “Do not speak unless spoken to, and never shout or swear. It is unladylike.” Mirela paused as if thinking. “Never be in a room alone with a man or speak to him alone, unless you are engaged or married to him. Or else you will be labeled as a loose woman. Always have a chaperone with you.”
    Lily’s eyes flew open. “What silly rules! Why is it a crime to speak to a man?” she sputtered.
    “It just is. Oh, and do not wear any of your gold bracelets. They jingle too much and call attention to you. Keep them hidden in your bag. They can be exchanged for money.”
      Lily was thankful that it was so late and that no one had come by to interrupt them, including her friends who were too busy enjoying the festivities. They would have been shocked to see English ladies’ clothes strewn all over the cots. After digging through the trunk, she finally chose the gray dress and a simple brown dress along with a few accessories.
    “Here, I almost forgot. Take these with you. You must use these at all times to eat while in public,” Mirella said, pulling out a silver spoon and knife from the trunk and handing them to her. “Do not use your fingers to eat, because that will definitely give you away as a gypsy.”
    Lily fingered them reverently. “They must have cost you quite a bit.”
    “I did not pay for them. Grateful clients have made these possible,” Mirella said, smiling knowingly. She spoke some more about genteel life. “You will dress in elegant clothes and live among respectable people. It is your destiny. Now finish your packing. We must get ready for bed. You have a big day tomorrow.”

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