shawl around her shoulders. Garren had assured her she wouldn’t be disturbed and she’d thought him genuine, but then he was a man. Recalling the degrading sights of the day before, she shuddered. There came another, more insistent knocking. Well, if he thought she was that kind of woman, he could think again.
Jumping out of bed, she opened the door a tiny crack.
‘Oh,’ she cried when she saw the old man standing there, a bundle in his hands.
‘I’m sorry to bother you, my dear, but I can’t help thinking I was rather rude earlier,’ he said, smiling ruefully.
‘No, you were quite right, Mr Goss. I can’t serve customers looking like a scarecrow. Luckily Garren has offered to loan me an apron,’ she told him.
‘Well, I can do better than that,’ he said, grinning widely as he held out his offering. ‘I bought this for my Meggie’s birthday but she died before … I thought perhaps you could use it,’ he said, thrusting the parcel into her arms before shuffling away.
‘Thank you, Mr Goss,’ she called but he’d already disappeared into the darkness.
Impatient to see what he’d given her, she lit the candle. Pulling back the brown paper she saw a length of material, its vibrant pink reminding her of the thrift that garlanded the cliffs back home. Running her fingers over the soft cloth, she could visualize the dress she would make. Then she remembered the red shoes and delving into her basket brought them out and held them next to the material. They toned perfectly, the bright colours reflecting her excitement. ‘Oh Mara, if you could see me now,’ she whispered. Of course, it could have been coincidence that made the flame flicker, but she knew in her heart that it wasn’t.
Colenso was up bright and early the next morning and, covering her stained clothes with the big white apron, let herself out of her little room. Hearing pans and spoons clattering in the workshop, she let herself straight into the shop. Humming happily, she filled the jars with the sweets, marvelling at all the different types and inhaling their aromas. As well as the bullseyes, barley twists, Nelson’s buttons and the rose rock she was familiar with, there were also confections smelling of acid, peppermint and aniseed, reminding her of the herb Mammwynn used to make a tisane when she’d had a cough. Others were little jewel-like confections, their multi-coloured hues like the stained-glass windows in a church. Taking the filled jars over to the little bay windows on either side of the door, she set about arranging them in a way she hoped would catch the attention of passers-by. She was standing outside, trying to judge the effect, when a smartly dressed woman came out of the adjoining shop.
‘I hope you’re going to clean your frontage,’ she said haughtily. ‘We pride ourselves on keeping our facades pristine, and frankly yours lowers the tone of the place.’ Nodding curtly, she disappeared back inside. And good morning to you too, Colenso thought. Staring down at the ground in front of her, she saw that it was covered in mud and mess. Remembering she’d seen a besom in the yard the previous day, she hurried to retrieve it, and had just finished sweeping the muck into the gutter when Garren appeared in the doorway.
‘I don’t expect you to do that,’ he told her, taking the broom from her. ‘Goodness, that’s a fine display,’ he added, spotting the jars through the window. ‘Looks just like a rainbow. If that doesn’t draw in the customers then I don’t know what will.’
‘Glad you approve,’ she replied,
‘I came to tell you I’ve just made breakfast, so let’s go and eat.’ Before she could reply, he was heading down the side passage and she had no choice other than to follow. Inside the workshop-cum-kitchen the aroma of toast mingling with the smell of oranges and lemons made her mouth water.
‘Got to keep up supplies,’ Garren said, gesturing to the sweets he’d just made. ‘I call them St Clements Drops,’ he added. ‘My speciality is stuffed dates. Popular with the genteel ladies but time-consuming as they need making up every day. Still, got to keep everyone happy. Now, help yourself to toast.’
‘Is your father not joining us?’ Colenso asked, taking a seat at the little table. He handed her a mug of tea then shook his head.
‘Said he had a late night and needed to rest his eyes. I heard him moving about his room, pulling out drawers and muttering to himself long after I’d retired. Goodness knows what he was doing.’
‘I think he might have been looking for the material he brought me. He suggested I make something to wear in the shop.’
‘Don’t tell me he visited your room?’ Garren groaned.
‘Well yes, he said he was worried he might have been a bit rude earlier.’
‘A bit,’ Garren exclaimed then shook his head. ‘I’ll have to have a word with my father about propriety.’
‘Please don’t, he was merely being kind. And he was right, I do need to look decent, although I shall have to wait until I can purchase cotton and scissors. I didn’t bring anything with me.’
‘No, I noticed you were travelling light,’ he grinned. ‘Leave it with me and I’ll see what I can do, although I’m not in a position to advance you any wages.’
‘Good, because I’m not in a position to accept charity,’ she retorted.
‘Father was right, you do have Mother’s bite,’ he grinned. ‘Now, if you’ve finished eating, I think it’s time we opened up,’ he added, getting to his feet. Scooping the sweets he’d made earlier into a jar, he led the way through to the shop.
Although Colenso knew she should be grateful for his generosity, she was fed up with taking things from other people. She couldn’t wait to receive her wages and start paying her way.
‘This is where we keep the cash,’ he said, taking out a little tin box from a drawer under the counter. ‘We start with a £2 float so that we can give change to anyone who requires some. All the prices are written on the labels, as you’ve probably already seen. Now to the scales.’ He picked up one of the little brass weights and set it down on one side, then using a serving scoop, dropped some of the orange and lemon sweets onto the other until they balanced. He then tipped them onto a square of paper, brought up the corners and twisted them together at the top.
‘On the Panam, we used to pop sweets into a cone so that they were all ready to hand over.’
‘I’m sure that was all right for a fair, but you’ll find the customers here like to see their sweets being weighed in front of them. Protocol, I think it’s called. Of course, barley-sugar twists and rock sticks you can sell individually.’
‘Of course,’ she replied, but he had turned away and was frowning at the wall behind the counter.
‘Good grief,’ he murmured, snatching down a black cloth. Immediately the room was flooded with light reflected from the windows. ‘We covered that mirror out of respect when Mother passed, and completely forgot about it. Now, if you’d like to turn the sign around to open, I’ll go and make more sweets.’
‘More?’ she gasped, staring at all the full jars.
‘Got to keep supplies up. Nothing worse than a sweetshop without sweets,’ he grinned. ‘I’ll leave you to it. Call me if you need any help.’
Colenso turned the sign then, with a final check that all the jars were neatly aligned, took herself back behind the counter. As
