Novella

John Shaw stretched, yawned, and stretched again. Trying to get more comfortable on the steam train from London was always a difficult task, but today it seemed even more uncomfortable than ever. Checking his pocket watch for what seemed like the hundredth time this hour, John picked up his medical journal and continued reading the notes he’d made after yesterday’s lecture at the Cambridge School of Medicine.

A widower for three years, John had immersed himself in his work as a doctor since the loss of Gabrielle, intent on making medicine available to everyone, not just the rich, which meant regular trips to London by steam train. Instead of returning home, however, this time John was on his way to see his best friend, Lawrence Robertson, a wealthy landowner, to try and garner his financial support for a new cottage hospital in Chichester. An hour later he was met at the station by Lawrence’s groom and gratefully settled into the front seat of the trap.

Shortly into the journey, however, disaster struck. The two men had just crossed a narrow wooden bridge at when head-on they were met with four highly decorative gypsy caravans coming from the opposite direction. As one started crossing the bridge there was a compelling cracking sound and, quite suddenly, half of the bridge fell away into the swollen stream below, taking one of the gypsy caravans with it. Chaos broke out with horses breaking free, women and children screaming and panic setting in. John jumped down from the trap and hurried back to the bank. “Can I help? I am a doctor” he yelled across. Someone replied “No thank you, sir, we’ll be fine,” but John could hear a small child wailing frantically.

Peering down the bank, John could see two men working furiously to release the frantic horse from its harness and the overturned caravan. Then he noticed a small boy trying to push against a large wheel, beneath which a figure lay trapped. John raced down the muddy embankment towards the stream and immediately saw that the person trapped was a young gypsy girl who was in urgent need of help. The small boy was squeezing her while crying “wake up, wake up!”

As John knelt beside the waif boy, three more men arrived and managed to the right the caravan back onto its wheels, allowing John to take a closer look at the girl and ascertain the extent of her injuries. Although hurt, he was confident that she had not sustained any wounds which were life-threatening. While he was making the young girl comfortable there was a commotion on the bank and, the next minute, an old lady came barging over, elbowing him out of the way and grasping the boy in her embrace. “What’s ‘happened, Stefan?” she asked, trying to comfort him “Where’s yer sister, Tara?” “Er-hum” John managed to gain her attention “She’s been quite badly hurt but, from what I can see, it’s nothing too serious. I will take her up to my friend’s house where I’m staying so I can make her comfortable and see to her injuries. Please tell everyone they are welcome to come and set up their caravans on the village green and, once she’s settled, I will come and let you know how she is doing”.

Later that evening after John had finished tending to the gypsy girl, he went to check on the rest of the gypsies. When he had finished, he went over to the caravan where the old lady sat with the boy who was lying with his head in her lap, fast asleep in front of their fire. “How are you both?” John asked.”A little shaken, sir, but alright now” she answered “This is me the grandson, Stefan. I’m looking after them now cos their ma and pa are away travelling at the moment. I feel right awful that this’s ‘appened. ‘Ow’s she doing?”
”She’s sleeping now. Your granddaughter sustained a broken arm and a lot of bruising to her arms although I am fairly certain it was the impact of the fall and she just needs some rest. I have put her arm in a special sling and will keep an eye on her for the next few days. If there is anything I can do for you, or you would like to visit her then please, do come up to Mr. ‘s house… Mrs?” he asked, politely. “Loveridge” she answered with a sudden grin, showing a mouth almost entirely devoid of teeth “Lavinia Loveridge – clairvoyant and palmist at your service. Shall I tell yer future? I can do it just by looking at that bit of ‘orse dung yer stood in.” And with that, she picked up some dung and, with a twinkle in her eye said “My way of thanking yer for all yer ‘elp.”
“Err – no, umm, thank you, if that’s alright with you?” answered John, not sure which was worse, the smell drifting up from his feet or the fact that this woman was now holding a steaming lump of horse dung in her hands. “Good night to you both” and, with that, John hurried away from the gypsy campsite. The next morning, as John was eating his breakfast, there was a knock on the door followed quickly by the door opening by Lawrence’s housekeeper. “Yes, Mrs. Brown?”
“There’s a very grubby looking old woman with a small child in tow at the kitchen door. She wants to speak with you” Mrs. Brown sniffed, disapprovingly “What should I do with her”?
“Oh, send her straight through. She was part of the gypsy tribe that was caught up in that dreadful accident yesterday – that little boy is our patient’s brother.”

Minutes later, Lavinia Loveridge and the young Stefan were ushered into the breakfast room. She started speaking straight away. “Mr. Shaw, you were very kind and ‘elpful yesterday, and I wanted to come and fank yer while ‘Stefan sees ‘ow ‘is sister’s doin’. I also wanted to tell yer about a dream I ‘ad – it’s imperative. ‘Stefan, you get back to the kitchen, see if you can’t persuade ‘em to feed you while we’re ‘ere! Now, Mr. Turner, do a white ostrich feather mean anything to you?”
“Err… No. Why?” “Would yer mind if I ‘eld your ‘ands a minute?”…