don’t you require a character?’
‘I think I’m a good judge of character, Miss Carne, and you look good to me,’ he grinned. ‘Why don’t we give it a trial of one month? If either of us isn’t happy during that time we can revise the situation.’ He held out his hand and, unable to believe her good fortune, she shook it firmly. There was another snort from the corner followed by gentle snoring, making them both laugh.
‘I think Father will be asleep for quite a while yet, so why don’t I show you around?’
‘Oh, yes please,’ she replied, a quiver of excitement tingling her spine.
She followed him past a staircase and through a little arched door that led into the shop itself. The walls were lined with wooden shelves with drawers beneath them, their golden handles gleaming in the gloomy interior. On the counter was a set of brass scales, tiny weights in a tin alongside and the empty jars she’d seen earlier. On the shelf behind were trays of glistening sweets waiting to be decanted into them.
‘These will go in the windows when they’re filled, but luckily we haven’t been that busy of late,’ he explained, pointing from the jars to the bays with their tiny panes of glass. Luckily? What a strange thing to say, Colenso thought. Seeing her puzzled look, he grimaced.
‘I mean obviously I want more custom, but with Father the way he is … well, those that have the money to buy confectionery expect prompt service and …’ he shrugged. Colenso nodded and stared around the room, gathering an overall impression. Everywhere was clean but clinical, and the dim interior was hardly conducive to tempting people through the door. She could see how a woman’s touch could make it look more inviting, but guessed everything had changed when Mrs Goss had died.
‘How do you serve the sweets?’ she asked.
‘Why, in twists of these,’ Garren replied, holding up a pile of thin, plain paper. ‘Although Mother used to tie ribbon around if it were purchased as a gift. Now, I think I can hear Father moving about so let’s go back through and I’ll introduce you.’
Colenso followed him back through to the kitchen.
‘Father, this is Miss Colenso Carne. She has kindly agreed to come and work for us. My father, Edwin Goss,’ Garren said.
‘Didn’t hear you arrive, where did you spring from?’ he frowned, staring at her from under his white bushy brows.
‘You fell asleep whilst the syrup was boiling, Father. Luckily Colenso here smelt it burning or we could have had a nasty fire in here,’ Garren explained.
‘Only rested my eyes for a few minutes. I am old, you know,’ the man muttered defensively.
‘I do know, Father, and now Colenso can take over some of your duties,’ Garren told him. The man scratched his head, and it was evident he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to relinquish any.
‘Of course, I’ll appreciate any advice you can give me,’ she told him. Immediately the man’s eyes brightened.
‘Taken me years to learn everything, it has,’ he told her. ‘Make everything proper here. None of that bulking out the others do. Everything is pure, well, apart from those colours,’ he said, pointing to the little bottles. ‘Some come from coal tar waste, they do, and can be toxic for those who don’t know what they’re doing.’
‘Quite,’ Garren said quickly. ‘That’s why I thought I’d make the confections while Colenso takes care of the shop. Now, where are your things?’ he asked, turning back to her.
‘Here,’ she said reaching for her basket.
‘That all you got?’ the old man asked. ‘Where are all your clothes?’
‘These are the only ones I possess,’ Colenso told him.
‘Well, you’d best get on and make some new ones. We get a good class of person in here and they expect to be served by someone looking neat and tidy at the very least. I ain’t having you serving in my confectionary looking like a scarecrow.’
‘Father, really.’
‘No, it’s all right, Garren. Mr Goss does have a point,’ she sighed. ‘No one will want to be served by me looking like this,’ she said, gesturing to her tattered green attire. Then, hefting the basket over her arm, she made for the door. She was about to step outside when she heard the old man chuckle.
‘Come back and sit yourself down. Likes a bit of spirit in a girl, I do, livens up the day. My Meggie were like a frosted fruit too. Sweet on the outside but with bite in the centre,’ he sighed, the light going out of his eyes. Not wishing to upset him, Colenso let herself be led back to the chair she’d been sitting on earlier.
‘Good, that’s decided. You’re staying,’ Garren said, looking relieved. ‘Now I’ll show you to your room.’
‘Not so fast, son. Don’t suppose you thought to test her capabilities.’ The man turned to Colenso. ‘If you really want to work then you can begin now,’ he said, staring Colenso straight in the eye. ‘That pot isn’t going to wash itself and look at the state of the stove.’ Knowing he was throwing down the gauntlet, she set down her basket and went over to the sink.
‘It’s a good job I’m not wearing my best clothes or they’d be ruined,’ she quipped, snatching up the cloth.
‘She’ll do, son,’ the old man chuckled. ‘Mind you, I’d hate to see standards slip, my Meggie always looked fresh as a daisy when she served in the confectioner’s.’
Tired but happy, Colenso sank onto the little daybed, pulling the blanket over her. The room had been used as a store but, after clearing sacks and jars out of the way, Garren had apologized for the lack of furnishings and left her to settle in. It must have been fate that led her here, for hadn’t Mammwynn always declared that destiny dictated?
She yawned and stretched out, running her fingers through her hair and was gratified to find it now almost reached her neck. After the dramas of the previous night, this seemed like paradise, and she could hardly believe her good fortune as she thought back over the day.
After the old man had gone upstairs to rest his eyes, Garren had set about making more sugar syrup while telling her about his plans for building the business up again. She’d helped by washing down the sides of the pan with the brush, then winced as he’d put his finger in to test the boiling concoction.
‘They’ve got sugar thermometers in America but regrettably they’re very expensive. Still, who knows? One day,’ he grinned. ‘Now, let’s get this poured.’ She watched as he tipped the mixture out on the tin tables, which he explained were called cooling tables.
Then, by the light of the lantern, they worked together colouring, flavouring and kneading the mixture before cutting it into lengths. When she’d told him how Karla had formed them into crooks, he’d agreed they looked more decorative but explained that straight sticks could be packed into jars.
‘However, it’s good that you take an interest in what you’re doing. I can see you are going to be a real asset to the business, Colenso,’ he told her.
Now, with his
