don’t employ vagrants here,’ a woman said, appearing from a door behind.
‘But I’m not …’ Colenso began.
‘Be off. Scat,’ she said, shooing her away with her cloth.
Vagrant indeed, Colenso fumed as she made her way further up the street. Hearing the sound of hooves, she turned to see a man driving a donkey cart laden with a milk churn, ladle clanking on the sides. Her mouth watered and she raised her arm to hail him before remembering she had no money.
Realizing she needed to concentrate on getting a position, she crossed the road to the raised pavement where the better shops were. As she stood on the granite paving deciding which way to go, her nose twitched. There was an acrid smell coming from the premises in front of her. She tried the handle then, when it didn’t turn, peered through the window but couldn’t see anyone, only rows of jars lined up along a counter.
With the smell of burning growing ever stronger, she hurried down the side passage where smoke was pouring out from an open door. Rushing inside, she blinked in the steam-filled room then spotted a huge copper pot, its contents boiling over and spilling onto the range. Snatching up a cloth, she carefully removed the pan from the heat and set it in the sink, where it sizzled and spluttered as the seething mass began to settle. Whatever it had been was black and beyond saving.
A snort followed by a snore made her jump, and spinning round she noticed an old man asleep in a chair in the corner of the room. As the smoke cleared, she saw he had a long white beard that rested on his chest. He looked so peaceful she didn’t like to wake him. Instead she walked around, taking in the huge cone of sugar on the cupboard, funny long thin tables that appeared to be made of tin, a strange-looking roller. Shelving housed different moulds and rows of little bottles, some brown others clear. Utensils hung from nails, and two large hooks were set incongruously on one wall.
‘Can I help you?’ a voice asked as a man appeared in the doorway. He was carrying a sack over his shoulder, which he dumped unceremoniously on the floor as his hazel eyes surveyed her. He was sporting a white apron over his twill shirt and looked to be in his late twenties.
‘I smelt burning and saw a cloud of smoke but couldn’t find anyone,’ Colenso told him. ‘Whatever was in that pot was boiling over.’ She gestured to the sink. ‘I’m afraid it’s made a dreadful mess of your stove.’ At another snore from the corner, the younger man sighed.
‘That was sugar syrup and you have clearly saved us from disaster, Miss …?’
‘Carne, sir. Colenso Carne.’
‘Well, Miss Colenso Carne, you have my undying gratitude. I am Garren Goss and the man asleep at his post is my father, the proprietor here. We were making rock and ran out of supplies. He was meant to be watching the mixture while I went out to the store cupboard, but obviously he had to rest his eyes as he calls it. Probably be asleep for a while now.’ Although he stood shaking his head, Colenso could see he was clearly fond of his aged parent.
‘Glad to have been of help. I gather you run a confectioner’s here then,’ she added, remembering the jars on the counter in the front of the shop. He nodded.
‘Father and Mother ran it quite successfully until she was taken ill.’ His eyes clouded with painful memories.
‘I’m sorry. You’re clearly busy so I’ll leave you to it,’ she said, picking up her basket and heading for the door.
‘I was about to make some tea and toast,’ he said, shaking himself back to the present. ‘Would you care to join me, Miss Carne? It’s the least I can do under the circumstances.’ The mention of food set her stomach growling and she grinned ruefully.
‘Thank you, it’s quite a while since I last ate,’ she explained. His eyes lit up, gold flecks turning his eyes jade, but as he stood looking at her his smile turned to a frown.
‘Perhaps you would like to clean up while I prepare everything. You’ll find the, er, outhouse and pump in the yard.’ How rude, she thought, then following his gaze saw her skirt was stained and crumpled, her boots coated in mud and goodness knows what else. No wonder the woman at the bakery had thought her a vagrant.
‘Thank you, yes,’ she said quickly. Ashamed to be seen in such a state, she hurried outside.
The yard was enclosed by a limewashed stone wall, a wooden structure which was clearly the privy at the bottom, while a pump stood on a slab of granite nearby. She set about making herself as respectable as possible before, feeling refreshed and ravenous, she went back indoors. The smell of toasting bread greeted her, setting her stomach rumbling again.
‘Do take a seat,’ he invited, setting down a plate piled high with slices of browned bread. There was no tablecloth but the little round table was now set with china and cutlery. As she sat down, he began pouring tea from a brown pot. ‘Forgive the basic ware, Miss Carne. Mother would have had her best china laid out, but regrettably she was laid out herself earlier in the year.’
‘Sorry for your loss,’ she murmured.
‘Mercifully she went quickly, and life has to go on. Although Father hasn’t really recovered from the shock. Anyway, here’s your tea,’ he said. ‘Help yourself to milk and sugar.’ Colenso stared at the steaming earthenware mug and thought she’d never seen anything so wonderful in all her life. She was so hungry, she finished her toast in minutes and eagerly accepted another slice. It was only when they’d eaten and had drained the pot dry that Garren turned to her.
‘Your accent tells me you’re Cornish but not from Penzance, so what brings you to these parts?’
‘It’s a long story,’ she sighed. ‘Suffice to say I find myself without a roof over my head and no job with which to buy food. I am indebted to your kindness, sir.’
‘Garren, please,’ he corrected. A loud snort emanated from the corner. ‘Father’s well away,’ he smiled, looking towards the old man. ‘He’s really too old to be helping in the shop. Since Mother died he’s lost all interest, losing himself in sleep. Still, at least I can keep an eye on him – when I’m not replenishing stocks, that is,’ he grinned. ‘Mind you, it’s taking me ten times longer to do even the most basic chores. I can’t be in here making the sweets and serving in the shop at the same time.’
‘So this is a workshop as well as a kitchen, then,’ she said, the strange tin tables and equipment now making sense. ‘And now you’ll have to make more syrup for the rock,’ she said, nodding towards the big pan in the sink. He stared at her in surprise.
‘You know about such things?’ he asked, his eyes widening.
‘I spent the summer working on the Panam at the fair. Jago, the journeyman, sometimes took me with him to collect supplies and I saw how rock and lollipops were made,’ she smiled, remembering her time with Karla.
‘And judging by your expression you clearly enjoyed it, but you spoke in the past tense, so what happened?’
‘The woman I lived with died then the fair disbanded for the winter,’ she sighed. He sat looking at her for a long moment.
‘Well, Miss Carne, I need an assistant who knows how to make sweets and you are in need of a job so perhaps we can help each other. I can’t pay much but there is a little box room next to the workshop, which you’d be welcome to use. Father and I live upstairs so you wouldn’t be disturbed.’
