The Bonbon Girl. Linda Finlay
in front of her face. ‘It’s your mother’s fault for not being strict enough, so disobey again and she’ll get it too, understand?’
Hearing a squeak and seeing her mamm’s frightened face peering down the stairs, Colenso knew she had little choice.
✳
That Sunday, having suffered the agony of sleeping with her hair in rags, Colenso was made to follow the same bathing ritual as before. Then, feeling the need for as much protection from Fenton’s leers as possible, she let the curls tumble around her shoulders. However, her mamm, anxious to keep her husband happy, was having none of it.
‘Come here, Colenso. A lady doesn’t wear her hair down,’ Caja tutted, grabbing the brush and coiling her tresses artfully into a knot at the nape of her neck. ‘Now, go and get changed. It won’t do to keep Mr Fenton waiting.’
Reluctantly, Colenso went upstairs and donned her new top, smoothing it down over her everyday skirt for there was no way she could afford a new one. Still, she doubted Ferret Fenton would look low enough to notice. Checking her appearance in the fly-spotted mirror, she saw luminous dark eyes staring back from a white, pinched face. The teal of the top suited her colouring and at any other time she’d have been thrilled to be wearing it. However, the prospect of having to spend the afternoon with a fusty old ferret made her stomach turn. But neither did she relish the idea of being thrown in gaol, she thought, throwing on the shawl she’d smuggled upstairs earlier.
‘Hurry up, maid. Mr Fenton’ll be here d’reckly,’ her father bellowed, but Colenso waited until she heard the trap pull up outside before descending the stairs.
‘Oh, Colenso, you can’t wear that old thing,’ Caja cried, tugging the shawl from her shoulders. There was a stunned silence as her parents stared at her in dismay.
‘What the ’ell you done with that top? You can’t see them …’ her father finally spluttered, waving his hand in front of her.
‘A lady should never reveal too much flesh, Father,’ Colenso replied sweetly. How clever it had been of Emily to suggest adding an overlay of spider-gauze edged with lace to the silk bodice. ‘Now, if you give me back my shawl, I’ll be on my way. You don’t want me catching a chill, do you?’ she asked. Reluctantly her mamm handed back the shabby garment, sighing loudly as Colenso knotted it tightly round her neck. Then, heedless of the fancy hairstyle, Colenso rammed her bonnet on her head and strode out of the door. If she had to go through with this farce, she’d at least be closeted in as many clothes as possible.
‘Colenso, my dear,’ Fenton smiled, his eyes lighting up when he saw her. ‘Allow me,’ he added, holding out his hand to help her up.
‘The church is only over there so we can walk,’ she told him, gesturing to her right. He frowned, then shook his head.
‘No need to muddy our shoes, my dear. Come along.’ Reluctantly she took his proffered hand, grateful he was wearing buckskin gloves so that she didn’t have to actually touch him. Smartly dressed in a dark greatcoat and top hat, with black leather brogues to match, he looked out of place amongst the villagers who were eyeing them curiously. ‘I’m looking forward to our little outing,’ he said before shouting to the driver to take them to Ruan.
‘But you won’t find a better example of serpentine workmanship than that of Grade lectern, Mr Fenton …’ she began.
‘Leave the detail to me, my dear. And do call me Henry,’ he smiled, patting her knee. ‘I would have preferred to use the carriage but Dobson said he wouldn’t risk driving it down these rutted tracks. ‘Now, tell me something about this, er, hamlet you live in. Cadgwith is an unusual name, is it not?’ Resigned to her fate, she nodded.
‘Cadgwith – or Porthcaswyth as it used to be called – means cove or landing place of the thicket. I think that’s quite fitting really, don’t you?’ she said, making a sweeping gesture from the sea below, where the fishing boats were pulled up on the beach, to the trees above from where the calls of warblers and chiffchaffs sounded. ‘The view is quite beautiful.’
‘Indeed, it is,’ he murmured, staring at her and not the scenery.
‘And it’s a friendly place. Everyone helping each other, you know? Of course, we all have to work hard,’ she gabbled, feeling more disconcerted by the moment.
‘Quite,’ he nodded, his gaze seeming to devour her. Just when she thought she’d scream with frustration, his attention was caught by a cottage they were passing. ‘Good heavens, whatever is that door doing up in the air?’ he asked, frowning up at the entrance beneath the eaves of the roof. Several feet above the ground, it had no steps leading up to it.
‘That’s what they used in the old days to empty out the gazunders,’ she said, trying not to laugh when he cringed. Of course, it would never do to reveal that it was as an escape route for when press gangs descended upon the village. Luckily, before he could ask any more questions they’d left the village behind and were passing Mammwynn’s resting place. Colenso silently promised to visit her soon and then they turned the corner and Ruan church loomed before them. Jumping down, she pointed to the stonework of the tower.
‘Good serpentine blocks, eh, Mr Fenton?’ He gave a nod and followed her inside.
To Colenso’s relief, even though it was between services, the church bustled with visitors. Fenton clicked his teeth in annoyance and after a cursory glance at the font, he took Colenso’s arm and ushered her back outside.
‘Very good, but I had no idea it would be so busy,’ he frowned, handing her up into the trap.
‘The carved bench ends are quite magnificent too,’ Colenso told him, moving as close to the edge of the seat as she dared as he sat down right beside her. He nodded then instructed his driver to take them straight to Mullinsa.
‘It’s too cold a day to be roaming the countryside,’ he murmured by way of explanation. ‘The establishment I’ve been recommended has a roaring fire and does splendid refreshments,’ he added, turning to face her again. Then the trap lurched and his gaze lowered to her front, eyes widening like saucers as her bosoms were rocked from side to side.
‘I’m sure Mamm would make us some,’ Colenso said quickly, grabbing the side and willing her body to stay still.
‘Very kind, I’m sure, but we don’t want to put her to any trouble, do we?’ he replied, regaining his composure. Then, to her relief, his attention was distracted by the scattered mounds of spoil from the small quarries along the cliffs.
She relaxed back in her seat, her thoughts turning to Kitto. She wondered what he was doing. How she longed to be with him instead of this creepy works manager with his oily smile and fancy way of speaking. Why, he didn’t even notice the Cornish Heath that only grew on the serpentine or the mauve heather, golden gorse, purple betony, or creamy primroses that were blooming in the hedgerows. Kitto would have stopped and picked her a posy to take home. Kitto! If she ate her tea quickly, perhaps she’d be home in time to call and see him.
Even as her spirits rose, she knew it was a futile thought, for dusk fell quickly this time of year. Besides, it was rumoured a smuggling run was due in and no sensible person ventured out after dark then. Although the preventatives were vigilant, the seasoned smugglers who fiercely believed in their right to free trade went to great lengths to ensure nobody came between them and their booty. The village and caves were a veritable warren of secret tunnels and cellars where contraband was hidden until it could be safely moved on.
As they traversed the breadth of the flat peninsula, she remembered the story of old Mrs Arthur who, having a fondness for brandy, refused to move from her chair when the customs officers descended to search her cottage. Apparently, she’d clutched her chest and groaned until – afraid she was having a heart attack – they’d fled. Then, with a grin, she’d got to her feet, removed the rug covering the hatch and calmly climbed down her cellar steps to celebrate with a fresh bottle.
‘Well, here we are, my dear.’ She jumped as she felt a hand on her arm then realized they’d