by Linda Finlay
With a shudder, she thought of the Ferret, recalling what her mamm had heard about his first wife. Would he really try and find her? He would have been furious at having had a wasted journey to their cottage. But no doubt her father would have made up some story to cover his tracks. However, there was no getting away from the fact that, without her accepting his proposal, there would be no promotion for her father or new cottage for her mamm. Her father wasn’t one to let an opportunity like that slip through his fingers, so perhaps Mara was right and he would come after her.
She shivered in the dying light. As shadows crept slowly round the little van, the extent of the danger she could be in finally sank home and she vowed to lie low until they reached this place called Zennor, wherever that might be.
Chapter 16
‘Sorry, dearie, but you’ll have to get out and walk. Ears can’t manage these hills with you in the van.’ Colenso looked up in surprise to see Mara peering down at her.
‘Is it safe?’ she asked nervously, her dreams having been haunted by images of the Ferret and her father coming after her.
‘Put your cap on and keep your head down,’ she ordered. ‘Come on, look sharp or we’ll never make it to Zennor in time.’ Colenso looked at Mara with her red scarf tied elegantly round her head then glared at the itchy, woollen hat she’d come to hate. Still, it was worth suffering the discomfort if it meant she could be outside, she thought, ramming it on top of the tufts of her hair.
Used to the confines of her little hidey-hole now, she climbed up quickly and put her head out of the top part of the little stable door. Blinking in the bright light, she jumped down the step, wincing as the stones pierced the thin soles of her boots. Ahead of them, the other vans were continuing their journey, ponies blowing and snorting as they laboured their loads up the long incline. Men and women walked alongside while children and dogs darted in and out of the golden gorse, setting its coconut scent wafting on the early-morning breeze. Birds swooped low, gathering food for their hungry chicks while in the distance she could see the sweep of the moors with the tall chimneys and gaunt engine houses of tin mines dotted around the landscape. Colenso stretched, glad to be out in the fresh air again, then hurried to join Mara who was leading Ears along the dusty lane.
‘I didn’t realize you were making such an early start,’ she said, staring in wonder at the crimson sun rising above the hills, bathing them in its rosy glow.
‘We have a full day’s travelling ahead of us for the Feast of St Senara, which is where they reckon the name of Zennor comes from, by the way. Starts on Sunday.’
‘St Senara?’ Colenso frowned. ‘Can’t say I’ve heard of him.’
‘Well, you wouldn’t because Senara was a woman – a Breton queen, no less,’ Mara grinned. ‘According to legend she was thrust into a barrel and thrown into the sea by a jealous husband. Whilst there she gave birth to a son who went on to become St Budoc, another famous Cornish saint. Anyhow, Senara created the church and by all accounts was a popular saint, worshipped by the men who fished the dangerous waters near the village.’
‘Even so, it’s a long way to travel just for one day, isn’t it?’ Colenso asked.
‘Except the feast lasts for a whole week. Families who’ve left the village return home, and people visit from miles around. There’s all manner of celebrations so it’s well worth setting up the fair. There’ll be other attractions too, as long as they can get their wagons along the narrow lane to the church.’
‘And I can manage to walk on all these stones,’ Colenso cried as another sharp stone cut into her foot.
‘What’s wrong?’ Mara asked, stopping and frowning as she was shown the holes in Colenso’s boots. ‘Hardly appropriate for walking any distance, are they?’ Before Colenso could answer, the woman put two fingers to her mouth and gave a sharp whistle.
‘Hey, Tinks,’ she shouted. A thin man weighed down under the weight of various bags with shoes and boots dangling from his shoulders, turned to look at them. ‘Got a suitable pair of boots for Col here?’ He nodded then began rummaging through his motley stock while he waited for them to catch up.
‘How about these?’ he asked, holding up a pair of scuffed but serviceable boots as they pulled up alongside. ‘Could let you have them for a shillin’.’
‘A shilling,’ Mara cried. ‘You old reprobate. And after I let you have some of my rabbit stew last week. You can swap them for Col’s old ones here and a bottle of my sloe gin as long as she hasn’t got any blisters when we arrive,’ she told him. The tinker grinned.
‘Done deal,’ he said, spitting on his hand then holding it out. As Mara shook it, Colenso took off her old boots and donned the new ones. They were a bit big but the soles had plenty of wear left in them.
‘Better?’ Mara asked, handing her old ones to the tinker when she nodded. As the tinker went on his way, Colenso turned to Mara.
‘But I’ve already got blisters.’
‘Shame. Old Tinks likes his gin,’ Mara winked. Colenso laughed, for the woman really was incorrigible. ‘I suppose your father intended buying you new ones?’ Recalling how he’d ignored her discomfort on the journey to the works, she muttered something noncommittal but Mara shot her a knowing look.
They spent the next few hours traversing the undulating hills, passing through tiny hamlets and farmland criss-crossed with hedgerows until they reached the saltings at Hayle, where they stopped for a break.
‘Oh, this is much better,’ Colenso cried, breathing in the sea air as she perched on a rock and watched the gulls wheeling over the gently lapping waves. ‘The countryside is pretty but it does feel hemmed in.’
‘Well, make the most of it for we’ve a fair few miles of country to pass through yet,’ Mara told her. ‘Mind you, I can’t say travelling the open road has ever made me feel hemmed in as you put it. Come on, finish your bread, the others are preparing to move on.’
Having made their way through winding lanes with blackthorn and bracken high on either side of them, passed through Halsetown and skirted around St Ives, they started to climb a steep hill. The vista of the sea opened up as the land fell away sharply to their right, while rock-strewn, bracken-covered moorland towered above them on the left. After the procession had struggled up the tortuous tracks, it was late afternoon when they finally reached their destination. Zennor was set in a deep valley with a cluster of granite cottages, sprawling farms, and a magnificent church beyond which the moors rose like a battlement. Thinking they would be taking a break, Colenso offered to fill the kettle from the stream then make them some tea. To her surprise, Mara hooted with laughter, setting the hoops at her ears dancing.
‘Take a rest?’ she spluttered. ‘We’ve to help set up the fair before we can even think of taking a rest.’ Colenso peered around, wondering how she could have missed the frenzied activity that was now taking place. Rides were being manhandled into position by burly men with tattoos decorating their muscular arms, stalls already erected were having their contents artistically displayed, while the big wagons carrying their heavy equipment were being directed onto the field. Villagers stood avidly watching whilst their children, hopeful of earning a few pence or free rides, were clamouring to help.
‘I’ve never seen so many people in one place before,’ she cried.
‘Well, you were hidden in the van at Helston. Just you wait until tomorrow. Won’t be able to move for bodies,’ Mara replied, setting Ears free from the wooden shafts. Bending down, she then began pulling poles and bags out from the racks under the van.
‘Well, don’t just stand there with arms the same length – grab hold of these and help me carry them over there,’ Mara said, thrusting the poles at her while trying to point towards the church at the same time. ‘If we don’t get a move on, the best places will be taken. Jostling past others, all with the same intent, Mara headed towards a vacant spot near the graveyard. ‘Adds to the atmosphere,’ she winked.
Much later, when her little round tent had been er
ected and the folding table and chairs set out to her satisfaction on the hessian rug, Mara turned to Colenso.
‘How’s your feet?’ she asked.
‘Tired but these boots are much better, thank you.’
‘Good. Well, I don’t know about you but I’m ready for supper,’ she said, pointing to a fire that was blazing in one corner of the green before striding towards the kumpania she travelled with. As Colenso followed, she could smell woodsmoke mingling with the appetizing aroma of stew. She guessed it was coming from the huge iron pot that was swinging from the chitties spiked into the ground alongside the yag, which she now knew was what they called the campfire. She sat down on the ground beside Mara, who began introducing her to her companions.
‘This is Col who’s helping Jago whilst Karla is indisposed,’ she explained. At first, Colenso was wary but they welcomed her cordially, asking no personal questions, and she guessed Mara had already briefed them about her situation. By the time a plate of rabbit swimming in rich gravy was passed to her, she felt relaxed enough to enjoy her meal.
The sun was sinking behind the hills and she watched as the sky darkened to inky black and the first stars twinkled their nightly appearance. Excitement bubbled up inside her. Although she was exhausted and her legs ached, tomorrow she was to help Jago at the Panam and she couldn’t wait. Surely now she could shed these horrible, itchy garments and wear her own clothes again.
✳
‘Oh good, you’ve come bearing gifts,’ Jago greeted Colenso when she arrived at the Panam stall weighed down with the cones she’d spent the morning making. ‘I see you’re still in disguise,’ he added. ‘Shame, a pretty girl always draws the punters.’ Colenso sighed and stared down at her coarse attire.
‘Mara insisted. Ears woke Mara in the night with his whickering and she was convinced someone was prowling around outside.’ She didn’t add that the woman had wanted her to stay in the van and had only relented when she’d insisted she couldn’t let Jago down.
‘Well, Mara will know who to speak to about that. Now, let me show you my little emporium,’ he quipped, gesturing round the compact stall, its red and white bunting flapping merrily in the light breeze. Cones already filled with sweets were attractively displayed alongside containers of assorted coloured confections. Setting down her latest batch of cones, she walked round the Panam, trying to take in the vast array of goods.
‘There’s always a good choice at the beginning of the fair,’ Jago explained. ‘Though, of course, I’ll be pleased if there’s little left by the end. Now, let me explain the different varieties. Feel free to try any,’ he offered, raising his voice to be heard above the peal of church bells.
‘These are striped bullseyes flavoured with lemon, Nelson’s buttons, barley-sugar twists, fruit drops, humbugs, striped lollipops, assorted flavoured rock, which as you can see are shaped like walking canes, and of course no Panam would be complete without gingerbread,’ he said, his fingers running along the various confections. ‘Naturally, it varies over the year depending on what’s available – nuts and apples in autumn, spiced confections in the winter.’
‘These are just wonderful,’ Colenso exclaimed, bending to inhale the various heady scents. ‘This rock gleams like polished serpentine.’
‘You sound an authority on the subject,’ he said, looking at her in surprise.
‘I used to fashion it into trinkets for the tourists.’
‘Did you now? And loved your work, by the sound of it. I’m sure Karla would show you how all of this is made. We’ll be stopping off at Truro next month and I’ll need to pick up more supplies. Hopefully her hand will have healed by then.’
‘That would be wonderful,’ she cried.
‘Right, better get ready for the rush,’ he said, rubbing his hands together as the organ started up to herald the opening of the fair.
The noise was deafening as it competed with the ringing of the church bells but nobody seemed to mind as they swarmed onto the field, laughing and jostling to be first on the rides. Colenso was kept so busy filling the cones to customers’ requirements she didn’t notice someone watching her from the shadows.
‘What’s your name, boy?’ Colenso jumped as a tall man leant over the stall and studied her closely. He was more formally dressed than the other customers, his hair slicked back under his topper. As his eyes lowered to her chest, she felt a prickle of unease. His look reminded her of the Ferret except, instead of leering, the man was frowning.
‘Is something wrong?’ Jago asked. Although his voice was casual, Colenso could tell from his eyes that he hadn’t taken to the man either.
‘What’s the matter, can’t the boy speak for himself?’ the man asked, emphasizing the word boy.
‘I pay him to work, not stand here talking,’ Jago replied. ‘Get to it, boy, those cones won’t fill themselves and there’s customers waiting,’ he grunted, pretending to cuff Colenso’s head but pushing her cap down lower in the process. ‘Now, sir, if there’s nothing you want, perhaps I could ask you to move, the people behind are waiting to make their selections.’
With a grunt of irritation, the man turned away and Colenso watched as he was swallowed up by the crowds.
‘Didn’t like the look of him,’ Jago muttered. ‘Let me know if you see him hanging around again.’
Although Colenso tried not to let the incident mar her afternoon, there was no getting away from the fact the man had unsettled her. As the sun began to sink behind the hill and the lamps were lit, she found herself jumping at the slightest movement, which didn’t go unnoticed by Jago.
‘Look, we’ve nearly used up all the cones. Go back and make some more for tomorrow, eh?’ he suggested, patting her shoulder.
‘I will,’ she replied, nodding gratefully. ‘I can come again tomorrow?’ she asked.
‘Same place, same time,’ he grinned.
As Colenso began making her way behind the stalls, a man stepped out of the shadows. With his blonde hair and muscular physique, he looked like a giant haystack. She quickened her pace but he reached out to detain her. She opened her mouth to scream but he smiled and shook his head.
‘I mean you no harm, miss,’ he said, his gentle voice belying his looks. ‘I work for Big Al and he’s sent me to escort you back to your trailer. Can’t be too careful round here.’
‘Oh, well, that’s kind of him,’ she murmured, reassured by his presence.
To her surprise, Mara was waiting when she entered the van. The stove was lit, emanating a welcoming warmth, and Colenso felt her spirits lift.
‘Titan see you back, did he?’ she asked.
‘Is that his name?’ Colenso replied, sinking onto one of Mara’s brightly embroidered cushions.
‘Heard you’d had an unwelcome visitor at the Panam,’ the woman continued, shooting Colenso a penetrating look.
‘Gracious, this place is worse than Cadgwith,’ she exclaimed. ‘But yes, there was this strange man.’
‘Top hat, slicked-back hair, smartly dressed.’ Colenso stared at her in surprise. ‘I spread the word for people to keep an eye out. You didn’t recognize him then?’
‘No, although the way he was looking at my, er, chest was strangely familiar. Except he seemed puzzled, disappointed almost.’ To her surprise, Mara hooted with laughter.
‘I’m sure he was. Comes looking for a female with nice womanly assets only to find a boy flat as the proverbial pancake. So what does that tell you, girl?’
‘That he’s a friend of the Ferret?’ she asked, the penny dropping.
‘More likely someone employed by him to find you. Don’t worry,’ she added as Colenso’s eyes widened in horror. ‘Old Titan’s a champion at Cornish wrasslin’ and he saw to him good and proper. Don’t think old nosey-nocks will be snooping round here again.’ As the kettle began to whistle and Mara went to make the tea, Colenso felt relief wash over her.
‘Mind you, that Ferret, as you call him, must be awfully keen on you to go to all this bother, so best b
e vigilant.’
Chapter 17
With Titan assigned to escort her to and from the Panam, Colenso’s days fell into a comfortable pattern. In the mornings she helped Mara prepare their simple breakfast and then, whilst the woman went out to wash the dishes, she tidied the little van.
‘It’s a good job there’s always a stream next to the camp, isn’t it?’ she said when Mara returned carrying a kettle full of water.
‘Oh yes, the villagers always lay one on for us,’ Mara replied, her face deadpan. ‘Now young lady, although it’s three days since old nasty-nocks paid a visit, I don’t want you taking any chances,’ she told her, gesturing to the cap on the seat beside her. ‘So no going out without that.’
‘But surely it’s safe to wear my own clothes now?’ Colenso protested, reaching under the shirt to ease the band around her chest.
‘Big Al reckons if we’ve not seen hide nor hair of the man by the time we reach Bodmin, then you can resume being a girl.’
‘But these clothes are so scratchy,’ Colenso sighed, running her fingers under the collar of the coarse shirt, ‘and my chest feels tight.’
‘Well, if you can still feel then you know you’re alive,’ Mara pointed out briskly. ‘Now, I’ve people to see, readings to do and you’ve plenty more cones to make. Jago’s pleased with you, says you’re a natural with the children, but then I guess it’s not long since you were one yourself.’
‘It’s like another lifetime away,’ Colenso sighed.
‘So why not live in the present and enjoy life on the road?’ Mara suggested. Then, giving one of her customary winks, she snatched up the tools of her trade and left. As Colenso picked up the first sheets of paper, she thought about what Mara had said. There was no denying she enjoyed helping the customers make their selection, and Jago was easy to work for. He was also vigilant in keeping a look-out for anyone suspicious prowling around. And hadn’t he promised to take her to meet his sister, Karla? The thought of seeing how the rock and sweets were produced made her fizzle with excitement.