Bruar's Rest

light up,’ said Ruth.
    Anna laughed and added, ‘A fortune awaits them all.’
    Lucy said she could only go a short part of the way, as she had to meet someone, but would join up with them on their return journey.
    Megan, excited by her invitation, hurriedly skinned the rabbits. Then, while eager hounds fought over the innards, she filled water cans, wolfed down some breakfast and was soon waving goodbye to the old woman, skipping off with the three gypsy girls for a day’s hawking.
    The quarry edge soon faded behind them. As she looked back, Megan felt that if she’d not been part of the gypsy circle it would be hard to believe anyone lived there at all. Only a faint smell of cooking and a spiral of light smoke marked the presence of a bustling encampment, full of families.
    After a short while a fork in the road appeared. ‘This is where I leave you,’ said Lucy.
    Megan asked where she was going.
    ‘Not your business,’ was the only answer she received.
    ‘She’s off to see her man,’ said Anna.
    ‘Ain’t hers to see,’ added Ruth.
    ‘You two better keep it shut, or the eyes will be coming out of your heads, I swear! Now be gone.’
    Up till then Lucy had been friendly and kind to Megan, but something about this man she was meeting changed her. She was edgy, even slightly afraid. However, as a newcomer to this secretive band, Megan thought it best not to interfere, and walked off down the path. Anna and Ruth, who’d parted from Lucy with a few choice words, soon caught up with her.
    ‘Better not mention this to Mother Foy,’ warned Ruth, and then added, ‘Lucy has got entangled in a match not made in heaven. If it’s discovered she’ll be sent out of the camp. We don’t know, having never set an eye on him, but she goes the way of Burnstall Hall, and that be the home of Mr Newton, his honour.’ Ruth went on to disclose the fact that ‘his honour’ owned all the land for miles around, including the quarry they lived in. He allowed the gypsies freedom to roam all over. He employed the men in his fields with harvest work and also used them as beaters during the shooting season. ‘He’s as good a gent as the likes of us will ever come by, but he’s a failing like most men—he can’t resist a pretty gypsy girl. She’s never said, but we think our Lucy has taken more than a fancy for him.’
    Megan listened intently. After a mile or so, she asked if Mr Newton was married.
    ‘Aye, that he is, to a damned nice woman too,’ barked Anna. ‘Two children they have into the bargain. That’s why Lucy would be forced away. Not many give us folks such freedom and work. Every one of us stands to suffer if word of that affair ever gets out. Anyway, it’s not right to be with a married man. We told you that, didn’t we, Megan?’
    ‘Yes, you did, but I’m the wife of the honourable Bruar Stewart, and nothing that breathes could prise me from my vows. I’d chase the Devil back to hell if he so much as spat near my man.’
    The gypsy girls were amazed by her fierce loyalty, which prompted Ruth to comment, ‘he be the luckiest of men, this Bruar of yours, that’s all I can say.’
    ‘I’m the lucky one,’ was her answer, as her thoughts drew her back into the once-familiar world from which she came. ‘But tell me, and I promise not a word will go back in way of gossip, why does she fornicate with a married man? I would have taken Lucy to be more of a decent lassie?’
    ‘Why, indeed? Who can say why we walk a blind path when a clearer, more happy one, lies ahead of us?’ Ruth spoke wisely. This prompted Megan to enquire how old she was and whether she had a man? Anna was asked the same question.
    Anna told her she’d a boyfriend called Tate Boswell. When the horse sales came round they had planned to meet at Appleby, where gypsies gathered annually.
    Ruth wasn’t so forthcoming, though, and refused to comment on her love life, instead saying they had best make tracks for Scropet.
    The village of Scropet stood out like a beacon at the top of Bleak Fell. Sparsely populated, like most villages in the Dales, it offered little but the merest pennies from hardy folks who were eking a living from the soil. Half of the young who weren’t casualties of war had deserted for city life, leaving a few elderly relatives pottering in small gardens, watching the world go by. It was always a treat for them to hear the gypsies come singing and calling on them. Doors opened and a welcome waited. There