Midsummer Night Read Online Free PDF Page A

began, but Marigold stepped in, lifting a warning finger to Alma.
    “We know better than that. The signs,” she said darkly.
    Alma darted an anxious smile at me as she dropped my hands. “The signs are not always clear,” she said, her soft voice apologetic.
    “But they were enough for Marigold to come along predicting gloom and despair, is that right?” Brisbane asked. River water still dripped from his black hair, and he looked like an angry riparian god.
    Marigold shrugged. “I only speak of what I have seen.”
    “Of what you wanted to see,” Brisbane fired back.
    They seemed at an impasse, both of them rooted to the spot, colour high and eyes snapping. I stepped forward to pour a little oil on the troubled waters, extending my hand to Alma.
    “You are quite correct. I am Julia. How do you know Brisbane? Are you a relation as well?”
    Her furrowed brow smoothed as she shook my hand. “Yes, my dear. I am his aunt. Marigold and I were born Youngs—his mother’s sisters.”
    “And Rosalie’s,” I remarked.
    Marigold’s complexion darkened further. “Do not speak her name. She has forsaken the travellers’ ways. As has the boy,” she said, jerking her chin at Brisbane.
    “For Christ’s sake, Marigold—” Brisbane began.
    “Language,” Alma and I said automatically. We caught each other’s eye and smiled.
    But there was no lightening the mood between aunt and nephew. Marigold lifted her hand and pointed directly at Brisbane. “You have chosen to marry outside your own people. It is a disgrace.”
    She spat on the ground as if to wash the taste of his dishonour out of her mouth. His mouth curved into a bitter smile.
    “What do you expect, Marigold? After all, I’m not a Young. Not really. I’m just a poshrat .”
    Although the Roma guarded their language fiercely, I had gleaned a few words, and poshrat was one of them. It meant half breed, a child born of a Gypsy union with a gorgio , accepted by neither.
    “You are Young enough to have the sight,” Marigold replied coldly. “That makes you one of us. And yet you scorn your gift to work with them,” she said, flicking her eyes to me. “And now you marry one. Well, I wish you luck of her, boy. You will need it.”
    With that final pronouncement of doom, she turned on her heel and strode through the meadow grass, making no sound as she went. Alma looked from one of us to the other, shrugging her shoulders by way of apology.
    “She will come ‘round,” she promised. “Give her time.”
    Brisbane gave her a kindly look, but shook his head. “You might as well wait for the sun to move around the earth, Alma. She will always hate me for being less of a Gypsy than she is.”
    Alma’s expression was pitying. “No, dear boy. She does not hate you for being less of a Gypsy than she is. She hates you for being more.”
    She gave me a quick nod before hurrying after her sister. I watched her go, the meadow grass parting before her nimble stride. I turned, but Brisbane was already out of the water, buttoning his trousers over his damp skin.
    “You’ll catch cold if you don’t dry yourself properly,” I told him.
    He scooped me into an embrace. His chest was warm from the sun and his skin smelled of the fresh river water. “Not even married and scolding already? I hear they make a bridle for that.”
    “Do you mean to subdue me?” I asked in mock horror.
    “The idea does offer some extremely diverting possibilities,” he murmured as his teeth grazed my ear.
    I gave him a little push. “We need to talk to them. You ought to make amends with your aunt.”
    He pulled back, his gaze cool. “Why?”
    “I would like them to come to the wedding.”
    He blinked rapidly. “You cannot be serious.”
    “As the grave,” I told him.
    “Julia, your entire family, no, the entire village of Blessingstoke will be filling St. Barnabas to the rafters tomorrow. Half of Debrett’s is invited and you want to add Gypsies to the mix?”
    I stared at him,