The Sweethearts Collection. Pam Jenoff
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sure, for she was feeling woozy once more. Then she was tossed in the air, landing with a thump on a hard surface and everything went black.
‘Wake up, you good-for-nothing wench.’ Her father’s voice sounded as if it was coming from far away. She blinked, the light hurting her eyes as she felt herself being dragged off the back of the cart and falling to the ground. ‘On your feet,’ he growled. He grabbed her arm and she felt herself being frogmarched along a dark tunnel towards a speck of light. There was the smell of damp and she heard the crashing of waves, distant at first but growing ever nearer. Then she was squinting in the daylight, could feel fresh air on her face, smell the tang of salt.
As he started to untie the leather belt from her hands, she felt a glimmer of hope that was dashed when, with a manic laugh, her father thrust her arms behind her back and she felt them being tied again with ropes. Although she wasn’t fully conscious, the necklace began digging into her chest and she knew she was in danger.
‘Nothing like a dose of dread to concentrate the mind,’ her father hooted, thrusting his florid face in front of hers. ‘Now, I’ll leave you to have a good think. Be back for your answer when the tides turns. You’d better make sure it’s the right one or …’ he shrugged and gestured to the crashing waves. ‘Your life depends on it, Colenso, as does our future.’ With a mocking wave, he turned and walked away. Moments later he’d disappeared back into the tunnel, which she vaguely recognized as part of the underground warrens that ran from Grade down to this trig. Once used for collecting limpets at low tide, the caves were now commandeered by smugglers for storing their booty.
It was all too much, and her eyes closed as she began to feel faint from fear and the effects of the sedative. Her legs buckled and she slumped forward, stopped from falling only by the ropes lashed to the rock face.
✳
The noise of the rising tide advancing towards the Devil’s Frying Pan jolted her back to consciousness. She shivered as she saw the turbulence created by rough seas surging through its entrance. Her father had chosen his spot well. Desperately she tugged at the ropes binding her hands, only to wince as the damp hemp tightened, cutting deeper into her flesh.
As white-tipped waves swirled ever closer to her feet, she shuddered. In the distance she could hear the sounds of the organ from the travelling fair. Loud and brash, its purpose was to attract the crowds and, judging from the shrieks of laughter coming from the villagers on the green, it was doing its job. Nobody would hear her screams and Kitto, dear unsuspecting Kitto, would be waiting for her.
The light was fading now, the wind rising, bringing with it a thick bank of rolling mist. She licked her salt-coated lips. The crescendo from the waves pounding the tidal cave and reverberating around the serpentine rock was deafening now, blotting out all sound of the fair. Her father had promised to return for her decision before the tide was in full spate but, intent on his mission and wishing her scared witless, she knew he was deliberately cutting it fine. He’d have a wasted journey though, for she had no intention of changing her mind. Nothing on this earth would induce her to marry that odious Ferret with his grasping paws and suggestive sneers. Her heart belonged to Kitto, and without him her life would have no purpose. She would take her love to the grave if need be. And if it was deemed to be a watery one then so be it, she thought, as spray from the advancing swell covered her feet before receding to allow her respite, albeit momentarily.
She gave a laugh that came out as a high-pitched shriek. How ironic that her name Colenso should mean ‘from the dark pool’, for now it looked as if she would be returning to it much sooner than she’d thought.
‘Colenso.’ Yes, that’s my name. ‘Colenso.’ She must be dreaming now. Do you dream before you die, she wondered? Then she heard the crunch of shingle. ‘Oh, dear God, what has he done to you?’
‘Mamm,’ she whispered, for she had no strength left to talk.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll save you.’ More crunching, another figure hovering above her. She felt someone hacking at the ropes behind her back. Her hands were suddenly free, but her limbs were too numb to move. She felt rubbing on her arms and legs, the warmth of a blanket around her shoulders. With arms supporting her, she let herself be led back along the dark tunnels. Then everything went black once again.
When she came to, she was lying on a soft bed, her mother stroking her hair and talking softly to her.
‘You’re awake,’ Caja cried. ‘Mara, she’s awake.’ Eyes black as coal peered down at her, carmine lips smiling.
‘My, you gave us a fright,’ the woman said. ‘Your poor mamm’s been out of her mind with worry. Drink this, it’ll warm your blood.’ She eased Colenso into a sitting position then held out a silver goblet. The liquid was sweet on her tongue but as it hit the back of her throat, she began to cough and splutter. ‘That’s better, your colour’s returning. You’ll be all right, now.’
‘How do you feel now?’ her mamm asked.
‘My throat’s sore and it feels like someone’s banging my head with a hammer, but other than that, I’m fine,’ she smiled, hoping to reassure her mamm, who was looking whiter than the sheet covering her.
‘When I returned home and saw all your clothes on the floor, well, I didn’t know what to think. I found Peder in the alehouse but couldn’t get any sense out of him. He kept muttering about you coming to your senses before the tide turned. Worried me sick, he did. If it hadn’t been for Mara doing one of her readings and consulting her crystal ball … well, I don’t know how we’d have found you.’
‘Here, girl, eat this,’ the black-eyed woman said, bustling back with a bowl of fragrant-smelling broth. ‘Got lucky with a chicken this morning,’ she winked.
It was some time later, when Colenso had finished her soup and felt the strength returning to her body, that she was able to take in her surroundings.
‘Where am I?’ she asked, looking around the wagon-like interior. It was like a miniature home with a stove, its chimney seeming to disappear out of the roof, utensils hanging from the walls, tiny cupboards, brightly coloured cushions on the bench-like seat opposite on which her mamm was sitting.
‘This is Madam Mara’s travelling van,’ Caja told her. ‘She’s a fortune teller with the fair.’ Colenso stared at the woman properly for the first time, taking in the shiny dark curls spilling from her headscarf to her carmine lips and the brightly coloured bracelets that jangled from her wrists.
‘The problem is, what are we going to do with you, dearie? You can’t go back to that monster of a father, it would be criminal, and from what your mother’s told me the man he proposes you wed ain’t much better.’ Colenso stared at her mamm in surprise, for until now the Ferret could do no wrong in her eyes.
‘I learnt things in the alehouse, terrible things about what he did to his first wife. He used to beat her but one day he went too far and …’ she shook her head and shuddered. ‘You’ve got to get away from here, and fast. Mara has offered you a ride in her van.’
‘You’ll have to stay hidden, though, cos Big Al don’t allow no hitchers along, especially young female ones. Like I told your mother, you’d have to pretend to be a boy in case you was spotted.’
Colenso shook her head but the thought of facing either her father or Fenton again sent shudders shivering down her spine.
‘I must see Kitto first,’ she said.
‘No time,’ Mara replied. ‘We leave at first light.’
‘I’ll tell him what’s happened,’ Caja said. ‘Where are you headed?’ she asked Mara.
‘Best you don’t know, then nobody can get it out of you. We don’t want her father getting wind and following. Colenso can send you a card further down the line when things have cooled down.’
‘But …’ Colenso began.
‘’Tis for your safety, dearie.’
‘Mara’s