Read Online The Random Gentleman by Elizabeth Chater - Free Book Online

afternoon sun was westering through the trees, filling the air with a golden haze. Suddenly a new quality about the low-voiced murmurings of the women struck the Duke’s ear, and he was alerted to a change in the situation. He became aware of two men, dressed in the gaiters of gamekeepers, coming cautiously along the lane the caravans had followed to get to this clearing. Each man had a shotgun unobtrusively ready over one arm. They were peering cautiously around the encampment, trying to discover its strength before they announced their presence.
    One of the older women came forward to meet them, asking them civilly enough what they wished.
    “Where’s all the Roms, Mother?” asked one of the keepers, while the other, gun at the ready, was busy scanning the environs.
    “Gone to the village to buy food,” said the woman, smiling toothlessly.
    “That’ll be the day,” answered the gamekeeper. “Come on, old woman, we know they’re poaching in milord’s woods! You’d better start packin’ yer gear. If yer not out o’ here in an hour, we’ve orders to set fire to yer wagons.”
    “We have always had permission to stay one night in Lord Denison’s woods,” retorted the old woman.
    “That was the old lord,” sneered the keeper. “He’s dead this six months, an’ his nevvie’s given orders we’re to roust you out. Seems he can’t abide dirty, stinkin’ gypsies!” the man laughed loudly.
    His companion had discovered the Duke, seated under the drooping branches of the huge tree. He stepped closer to his fellow and said something under his breath. The first keeper swung quickly around and raised the shotgun.
    The Duke, sprawled very much at his ease, raised an arrogant eyebrow.
    “Wot’re you doin’ over there?” snarled the keeper.
    “Waiting for my supper,” replied the Duke calmly.
    “There ain’t gonna be no supper for the likes o’ you! Help the woman to break camp!”
    Beyond the clearing, a hint of movement caught the Duke’s eye. He thought he recognized the brown velvet. He got lazily to his feet. “We are not going to break camp,” he announced. “I have decided I like it here.”
    “’Tain’t what you likes as makes any differences,” the keeper advised him, his face turning brick red under the amused glances of the women. He made a threatening gesture with the shotgun. “Move, gallow’s-bait, or I’ll pepper yer hide wi’ this!”
    The Duke’s head lifted contemptuously. In a sharp voice he said, “This nonsense has gone far enough! I see I shall have to inform you rustics of my name and style—although I had intended to wait until after dark to visit your master and make myself known. I am Major Romsdale of his Majesty’s Fifty-Second. I am on special assignment to this area.”
    This statement made both gamekeepers laugh heartily, and their eyes flicked scornfully over the short green velvet coat and the stained buckskins. “That’s a large one, that is! You ain’t gonna gammon us yer with the Preventives—”
    There was a sudden, arrested quiet among the listening women at the name of that hated group. Ignoring this, the Duke drew himself up into the unmistakable stance of a seasoned officer. “No, I am not, clod-pole. I am representing His Majesty on a secret mission which has nothing to do with the petty smuggling which takes place in this area—supported, as I am well aware, by the local petty aristocracy!” He interrupted himself, sure at last of the identity of the lurker at the edge of the woods. “Sergeant Axebreak!” he snapped. “Front and center!”
    “Sir!” Quebracho snapped back, his military response secretly tickling the Duke’s risibilities.
    The old gypsy, delighted to take part in any charade which purported to fool the Gorgios, marched into the clearing with a fine pseudomilitary bearing. He halted in front of the Duke, quite ignoring the gamekeepers, and saluted smartly.
    “Sir?”
    “Have the scouts reported back to you?” barked