The Sweethearts Collection. Pam JenoffЧитать онлайн книгу.
each other though, him with his hearing and me with my sight.’
‘What can I do while you’re out?’ Colenso asked. Having just finished a hearty breakfast of pancakes laced with some kind of fortifying cordial, she was eager to help.
‘Lie low,’ the woman replied, setting the little chintz curtain back in place. ‘It’ll be pandemonium while they set up the stalls and rides so nobody should come knocking. I’ll try and nip back later but can’t promise as it’s always hectic on opening day,’ she added, tying a red scarf around her hair and rubbing liquid from a little glass phial over her lips until they were the same bright colour. Then, gathering up the velvet bag with its crystal ball and the carved casket, she disappeared outside.
With a sinking feeling, Colenso watched her go. How was she going to get through another long day with nothing to do? Then she remembered the other book and settled down to read it. This one was written in beautiful copperplate and illustrated with colourful drawings of sweetmeats and other wonderful confections she’d never seen before. Eagerly, she turned the pages, enthralled to read recipes for preserving fruits and nuts with sugar, candied orange slices, clotted-cream fudge. Although Mammwynn had taught her to make a tablet concocted from flowers, this was entirely different. Fascinated, she lost all sense of time and had just reached the page detailing bullseyes and rose rock when Mara returned, closing the door quickly behind her.
‘Just got time for a brew before the fair opens,’ she announced, scuttling over to stoke the stove and place the kettle to heat. ‘Fair parched, I am,’ she added, grinning at her pun as she collapsed onto the brightly coloured cushions which turned into her bed at night. ‘Find that interesting, do you?’ she asked, pointing to the book.
‘I had no idea you made such things,’ Colenso told her.
‘I don’t,’ Mara laughed. ‘Jago the Journeyman does, or rather his mother and sister do. He left his grandmother’s journal here last year. You might get to meet him, though not until we’re well clear of here. Still too close to home for you yet.’
‘Let me make it,’ Colenso offered, jumping up as the little kettle whistled.
‘Save the leaves in the jar with the rest for brewing again,’ Mara told her. ‘There’s always those who want a reading.’ Colenso stared at the woman in admiration. Was there no end to her talents?
‘Got the gift passed down from my grandmother,’ Mara said as if seeing into her mind. ‘Didn’t understand what it was at first. Thought everyone saw the things I did.’
‘What do you mean? What did you see?’ Colenso frowned.
‘Spirits of people who’d passed over. First happened with my dear Grandma. Loved her so much and was devastated when she died. Anyhow one day our dog Benjie started barking excitedly and there she was beside us. I was chatting away to her, telling her everything that had happened, when Mother came into the room and asked who I was talking to. Thought I was making it all up cos she couldn’t see Grandmother herself. It happened a few times but I learned to keep it to myself. Not many have the gift, you see.’
‘Mammwynn used to say her pentacle foretold things,’ Colenso told her.
‘The one you gave to your mother,’ Mara nodded.
‘Which I hope she remembers to give to Kitto with my message,’ she sighed.
‘If it’s written in the stars then it’ll happen,’ Mara told her, patting her hand. ‘For now, let’s enjoy our drink.’
After Mara had left, Colenso settled back to her reading. However, it wasn’t long before the tea made its inevitable journey. Knowing she couldn’t wait any longer, Colenso dragged on the jacket, pulled her cap right down over her face then stole outside. The organ was churning out its brash music while the field rang with an assortment of strange noises and laughter. Certain she wouldn’t be spotted amongst the melee, she hurried towards the edge of the field. However, when she emerged a few minutes later, she heard a man yell.
‘You boy, over here.’ She broke into a run but the man followed and moments later caught her firmly by the arm.
‘Think you can disobey me? Well, think again. We don’t carry no shirkers here,’ the swarthy man with greying hair roared, pushing her roughly towards a queue. ‘These people are waiting for the overboats, so look sharp and start turning that handle.’
‘I can’t …’ Colenso began, but he’d already turned away.
‘Right folks, two at a time please, two at a time,’ he told them, taking their money and slipping the coins into a leather pouch at his side.
‘Well, get to it, we ain’t got all day,’ he snapped as the lads seated in the boats stared at her expectantly. Grabbing the handle, she began turning. ‘You’ll have to go faster than that or they’ll be wanting their money back,’ the man shouted.
As the fair organ with its brass trumpets emulated the sound of a military band and people milled around, laughing and shouting, Colenso lost all track of time. She could hear the shot of rifles, the crack of balls against the coconut shies, the cries of delight when people won. Conscious of people watching the ride, she tried to pull the cap down further over her face.
‘Put your back into it, boy,’ the man cried, taking fares from yet more punters. The smell of frying onions wafted on the breeze, making her stomach churn as she turned and turned the handle. Her arms were aching and the band across her chest constrained her breathing, inhibiting her movements. But there was no respite, for no sooner did one ride finish than the boats were refilled with yet more people eager to experience the thrill of being swung into the air.
Finally, her arms went dead and, unable to carry on any longer, the handle slipped from her grasp. As the punters voiced their disapproval, the swarthy man turned on her.
‘What the hell you playing at?’ he roared, grabbing her by the shoulders. Then he stared at her closer. ‘Why, you ain’t no boy.’ As people stopped and stared, wondering what all the fuss was about, Colenso saw Mara pushing her way through the crowd.
‘Leave her alone, Al,’ she called.
‘What’s going on, Mara?’ he growled. ‘You know my rules, no hitchers.’
‘Not here. Come to my van and I’ll explain.’
‘Flippin’ ’eck, I got a show to run,’ he huffed, hands on hips.
‘All the more reason to get this sorted without making one, don’t you think?’ she asked. Then linking her arm through Colenso’s, she began walking towards her van. He swore under his breath before, calling to a straw-haired youth to see to the ride, he followed her.
‘This had better be good,’ he growled as Mara shut the door behind them.
‘Regrettably, Al, it’s not good at all. In fact, it’s the most despicable story you ever heard. Sit down and I’ll get us all a stiff drink.’
With a glare at Colenso, he sank onto the cushions while Mara poured rose-coloured liquid into tiny glasses. She handed them round and Colenso sniffed hers tentatively.
‘Get it down you, it’ll do you good,’ she encouraged before turning to Al. His face remained stern but he listened without interrupting until Mara had finished telling him how Colenso had come to be here.
‘I should throw you out of the fair, Mara,’ he grunted. ‘You know the rules.’
‘But you won’t because, for all your bluff and bluster, you hate bullying. Besides, I’m one of your biggest draws.’ The man gave a sharp intake of breath and as he ran a rough hand through his thatch, Colenso was certain Mara had gone too far. To her surprise though, he raised his glass, the hint of a smile on his lips.
‘Touché, Madam Mara. But if the girl’s to stay she must earn her keep. Obviously she’s too weak to be of any use on the rides, so what do you suggest?’
‘Colenso’s