The Sweethearts Collection. Pam JenoffЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘Me too,’ she replied. Realizing she had no choice in the matter, she reached up and unfastened her necklace.
‘Please give this to Kitto with all my love,’ she murmured, fighting back the tears as she handed it to her mamm.
Through a mist of tears, Colenso watched her mamm disappear. Was she really in so much danger? Mara obviously thought so, for bangles jangling, she took up a pair of fancy handled scissors and slid elegantly into the seat Caja had vacated.
‘Best get you disguised before someone comes knocking on my door. Lovely hair you’ve got,’ she sighed, taking a handful and cutting it off somewhere near Colenso’s ear. ‘By the time it grows back we’ll be on the other side of the county. Still, it’s a small thing compared with the ordeal you’ve suffered. Lucky for you the crystal ball never lies,’ she added as she snipped with quick efficiency. ‘Right, now let’s get you changed. I’ve scavenged some old clothes from one of the tinkers but first we need to bind your chest.’
‘What?’ Colenso spluttered.
‘Well, you’ve got a fine bosom – too fine for a lad,’ the woman laughed, wrapping a band of material so tightly around Colenso she could hardly breathe.
By the time Colenso had squeezed into the boy’s shirt and trousers, she was exhausted, but as she went to lie back down again Mara shook her head.
‘Can’t risk you being discovered. Make yourself comfortable in here,’ she said, jumping up and lifting a hinged lid on the seat she’d just vacated. Colenso shivered as she remembered the dark tunnels, and stared dubiously down at the confined space.
‘Will I have to stay in there for long?’ she asked nervously.
‘By the time you wake we’ll be well on the road,’ Mara told her. Still in a daze, Colenso did as she was bid. ‘Whatever happens, don’t climb out until I tell you it’s safe, though judging by the look of you, you’ll have the sleep of the angels.’ Mara chuckled, her black curls bobbing as she bent over to cover Colenso with a blanket.
✳
Colenso woke with a start. Where was she? Why was someone banging on her head with a hammer? Why was her chest so tight? And why was she being rocked from side to side? As she screwed up her eyes trying to remember, she became aware of the clip-clopping of hooves and the metallic trundle of wheels. In the dappled light filtering through a gap in the wooden slats, she could make out the outline of trees and hedges passing by, feel the cool breeze on her cheeks. She went to sit up but banged her head and everything went black again.
When next she surfaced, so did her memory. She was in a van travelling to who knew where, dressed as a boy. As her hand went to ease the band at her chest, the roof above her was raised and the cheery face of Madam Mara smiled down at her.
‘Foretold you’d sleep well, didn’t I?’ she grinned through carmine lips. ‘Still, better dead to the world than dead full stop,’ she muttered. ‘Blood runs cold every time I think of what that father of yours did. Still, he’ll get his comeuppance. What goes around comes around.’ Colenso smiled at the woman’s avowal, for hadn’t Mammwynn always said the same. A thud followed by a dragging noise came from outside, making her jump.
‘Only the kumpania setting up camp for the night. Best stay where you are for now,’ Mara added, as Colenso made to climb out. ‘How does supper in bed sound?’
‘Supper?’ Colenso frowned. ‘But I’ve only been asleep a little while.’ Mara chuckled again.
‘You’ve slept through the moon, stars and rise of the sun, dearie. Now it’s sinking beyond the sea like a pink orange ball. How are you feeling?’
‘My head’s all muzzy and itches like mad,’ she replied, lifting off the woollen cap she’d covered her cropped hair with.
‘Best keep that on, dearie, in case anyone comes. This hedgerow tea will soon clear your noddle.’
‘Thank you.’ Colenso took the proffered cup and drank gratefully, for her throat was dry as dust.
‘Now for the bokoli. It’s one of the few dishes that tastes better when Queenie cooks it,’ Mara smiled, gesturing to the corner. Puzzled, Colenso looked over to see who this Queenie was, but there was only the cast-iron stove upon which Mara placed a skillet. ‘Usually I’d be broiling on the chitties over the yag with the others, but not tonight,’ she explained.
Bokoli, chitties, yag? It was like another language, Colenso mused, her head spinning, but the tea was comforting and she sat back and savoured its unusual flower-like taste. Soon an appetizing aroma filled the little van, making her stomach rumble.
‘Here we are, dearie,’ Mara said, handing her a tin plate then sitting on the seat opposite. So bokoli must be a pancake, Colenso thought, tucking in ravenously. The batter was light as a feather and filled with a mixture of bacon trimmings and cheese sprinkled with some spice she didn’t recognize.
‘Thank you, that was lovely,’ she said, handing Mara her empty plate.
‘I’ll have to do a lot of dukkering if you’re going to eat like that,’ Mara chuckled. ‘That’s fortune-telling to you,’ she added as, bangles jingling, she got to her feet and peered through the drawn curtain. ‘The others are still eating so if you want the privy, best go now.’ Colenso stared around the tiny wagon. ‘Not here, outside. I’ll wash the dishes further downstream while you do what you need in the bushes.’
Cramped and stiff, it took Colenso a few moments to extricate herself from the wooden box before struggling into the coarse jacket she’d been given to complete her disguise. Following Mara out of the little door, she just had time to take in the group of people sitting around a crackling fire over which a blackened pot was swinging from a crook. Beyond was a circle of wagons, a huddle of trailers and horses munching the grass to one side. The woman gestured towards a row of trees then, with plates clattering, took herself off in the other direction.
‘Not joining us, Mara?’ a man called.
‘Not tonight, Jimbo, I need to make more tisanes and teas for the next fair.’
‘Still got a few days for all that …’ But Colenso had reached cover and the rest of the conversation was lost to her.
Back in the van, feeling much better for her rinse in the flowing water, she went to climb back into her box, but Mara shook her head.
‘Don’t worry, dearie, the others will soon be making merry. They’ll not bother us tonight, though they’ll be up at break of dawn to strike camp. Come and tell me about yourself,’ she said, patting the seat beside her.
‘There’s not much to tell, really,’ Colenso shrugged. But as she sat in the dying light, heat from the stove warming her chilled body, she found herself opening up. ‘One minute I was happily arranging my handfasting to Kitto, the next that Mr Fenton arrived at the works. For some reason he decided he wanted to marry me, and Father encouraged it.’
‘Hmm, your mother explained about that. Got to know her quite well when she came to treat young Domo’s leg. He’d been carried in here and between us we fixed him up. When she returned later in the day, we shared a brew and got chatting. Right worried about you, she was, yet couldn’t explain why.’
‘But she was as bad as Father for encouraging me to wed Fenton. They were going to sell me, can you believe?’ Colenso cried indignantly.
‘Avarice,’ Mara tutted. ‘It can turn a person’s head.’ She shook her head so that the golden hoops at her ears flashed in the glow from the stove. ‘Can’t understand this obsession with material things myself. Give me the open road, the wind on my face and my little home any day.’
‘So, what do you actually do?’ Colenso asked, intrigued by the striking woman and her funny way of speaking.