The Sweethearts Collection. Pam Jenoff
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what about Kitto?’
‘I’ll let Mrs Rowse know you’ll be busy on Sunday. You really have no choice, Colenso. Besides, once you’ve visited Mr Fenton he might decide you’re not for him after all.’
‘Well, he’s certainly not for me. He’s old with a balding head, and the way he gawks gives me the creeps,’ Colenso shuddered.
‘You saw how determined your father was,’ Caja sighed. ‘Still, it’ll only be for an hour or so and we’ll stay with you. Now, I think there’s a pot of your grandmother’s calendula salve in here somewhere,’ she said, rummaging in the drawer.
‘Mammwynn wouldn’t insist on me going to Fenton’s house,’ Colenso cried.
‘No, but she didn’t have to live with your father, did she?’ Caja replied bleakly.
✳
Sunday, the day Colenso had been dreading, arrived seemingly in the blink of an eye. At her father’s insistence, she’d spent the past few days trying to improve her appearance. She’d been confined to the cottage and forbidden to fashion any trinkets from the rough offcuts of stone in case she scratched herself. Her hands had been slathered in thick salve and covered in cotton gloves to give it the best chance of sinking in. This had made sewing cumbersome, but when she’d complained her mamm had shrugged and said this was her opportunity, reminding her to brush her hair a hundred times and rub her teeth with the powder she’d mixed from bark, salt and liquorice root to whiten them. Then this morning she’d been made to bathe in water infused with the magnesium from ground-down serpentine to freshen her skin, and gargle with a tincture of clove to freshen her breath.
She’d pleated one of the squares Emily had given her and sewn it into the front of her best blouse, secreting the others away to make a quilt for when she and Kitto set up home together. Now she had to suffer the humiliation of standing in front of her father as he cast a critical eye over her appearance.
‘Shame she couldn’t have lost a bit of that podge, Mother, and why isn’t that top showing a bit more …’ he muttered, gesturing to her front.
‘I am not some prize filly,’ Colenso snapped, thoroughly disgruntled by the whole charade.
‘That you’re not, maid,’ he snorted. ‘Can’t turn pigskin into silk, can you? And I thought I told you to take that stupid curtain ring off.’ As Colenso opened her mouth to protest, they heard the sound of hooves outside. ‘Do it now, Colenso,’ he ordered. Seeing the set of his chin, Colenso reluctantly removed the ring and placed it in her pocket. ‘Let me escort you to our transport, Mother,’ he added grandly.
He led them outside to the waiting pony trap, where the driver, stiff-backed and straight-faced, touched his hat in deference.
‘See, maid, this is the life we could have if you acts right,’ her father grinned, climbing grandly up as though it was the finest carriage in Cornwall. Then, as they made their way down the lane, neighbours staring in surprise, he proceeded to nod and tip his cap like a country squire.
‘I hope you’ve got some good conversation ready, Colenso. Mr Fenton’ll expect some witty repartee, won’t he, Mother?’ Repartee? Since when had her father used fancy words, Colenso thought.
‘That he will, Father, but our Colenso’s a clever girl and won’t let us down,’ Caja told him. Dressed in her Sunday best with a new ribbon trimming her bonnet, she looked livelier than she had for a long time. ‘And this breeze will have added colour to her cheeks by the time we arrive.’
Colenso hardly heard them, for her stomach was churning like it was making butter. She was missing Kitto and couldn’t help wondering how he’d be spending the afternoon. They should be curled up together on Mammwynn’s bench, making plans for their future. Instead here she was, being bowled through the country lanes, past her grandmother’s final resting place and the church and cottages of Ruan, with her father crowing like a cockerel while Mamm simpered beside him. If Mr Fenton was expecting lively conversation then she’d make sure he got it, she vowed, remembering how Kitto had told her about the weathering of serpentine on the grand buildings of London.
‘The stone may be hard but for centuries it’s been exposed to blasts and storms. It is used to rain, fog and sunshine. Maritime climate exempts the area from extreme cold and there is serious question over its durability in the frosty conditions that prevail in the towns up country.’ Remembering how he’d become quite emotional about the action of a hard frost on thin slices of serpentine, she smiled. That should knock the sneer off the Ferret’s face.
As the cottages were replaced by stunted trees, the lane turned rougher and the trap began rocking alarmingly. She gripped the sides, wishing she was on foot, for this little conveyance would surely never make it down the steep track to Poltesco. However, before they reached the turning to the works, the driver veered sharply right. Tucked into the sheltered side of the valley was what looked like a huddle of cottages. As they drew to a halt, Colenso could see it was actually one large angular single-storey building, constructed mainly from dressed serpentine. Rows of square windows suggested numerous rooms inside, and plumes of smoke curling from each of the three tall chimneys hinted at grand fireplaces. It was a far cry from their humble home and, feeling somewhat overwhelmed as well as apprehensive, she clambered down, shivering as the wind blew in from the sea. The waves thudding on the rocks below echoed the pounding of her heart and once again she wished she was with Kitto, his hand holding hers as they made plans for their future.
Her musing was interrupted by her father digging her in the ribs as the door was opened by a tight-lipped housekeeper. Disapproval oozed from every pore as she looked them up and down with a sniff.
‘Do you want me to hang them, er, shawls on the stand?’ she asked, looking relieved when Colenso shook her head. Whether it was correct or not, she intended keeping herself as covered as possible. The housekeeper led them quickly down a hallway bereft of any pictures or ornamentation, and into the sparsely furnished front parlour. A fire crackled in the grate, lending cheer to an otherwise dreary room.
‘Your, er, visitors,’ she announced disdainfully then, with another sniff and rustle of starched petticoats, withdrew.
‘Ah, Mr and Mrs Carne, welcome,’ Henry Fenton said, putting down his newspaper and rising to his feet. ‘And you have brought your charming daughter, I see.’ His nose twitched, his eyes glittering as they greeted the swell of her chest. ‘Would you like to divest yourself of your wrap?’ Again, Colenso shook her head and was gratified to see a flash of disappointment before he smiled again.
‘Good of you to invite us Mr Fenton, sir,’ Peder said. ‘This is Caja, my wife.’
‘What a delightful name,’ he smiled.
‘’Tis the Cornish for daisy, Mr Fenton, and I’m pleased to meet you, sir,’ Caja beamed, bobbing a little curtsey.
‘And Colenso you have already met, of course,’ Peder said, giving her a nudge towards him.
‘Indeed. And what does your name stand for, my dear?’ he asked, giving her a wide smile. It was as if their previous exchange had never taken place.
‘It means “from the dark pool”,’ Colenso replied.
‘Very appropriate for your exotic colouring, my dear,’ he smiled, that gleam sparking in his eyes once more. Exotic? What did that mean, Colenso mused, returning his smile through gritted teeth. And as for names, with his twitching nose and piercing eyes, ‘Ferret Fenton’ was certainly appropriate.
‘Do take a seat. My housekeeper, Mrs Grim, will return with a tray in fifteen minutes,’ he told them. ‘Now, Caja – I may call you that?’ he asked.
‘Why yes, sir, of course,’ she simpered, settling herself daintily on the edge of a chair beside the fire. ‘What a charming home you have here.’
‘Thank you, although as you will see from the furnishings, or rather lack of, it sorely needs attention. Now, do forgive me if I discuss Poltesco matters with your