The Bonbon Girl. Linda Finlay

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 husband. I’d like to dispense with business before we partake of refreshment.’ Without waiting for her to answer, he turned to Peder. ‘You were telling me about your ambitions, Carne.’

      ‘Yes, Mr Fenton, sir. I have been labouring at the quarry for many years now – my undying loyalty, your works have. Long hours I labour shifting them heavy blocks, even saw and rough-shape when time is pressing, I do. It’s down to me spurring your men on that Poltesco orders are met.’

      ‘Indeed, Carne?’ Fenton replied with the merest quirk to his brow. ‘Well, such loyalty certainly deserves recognition. And you, my dear,’ he said, turning his gaze on Colenso. ‘Tell me how you spend your time, when you’re not fashioning my offcuts, that is,’ he laughed.

      ‘First of all, Mr Fenton, I’d like to make it quite clear that I am no thief. Any bits of serpentine I have used for my trinkets have been given to me.’ He studied her for a long moment then grinned.

      ‘Bravo, well said, my dear. I like a woman who stands up for herself. As I have already intimated to your father, I’m a reasonable man and sure I can be persuaded to overlook the matter in return for …’ He stopped as the grandfather clock in the corner of the room struck the quarter-hour and the door opened.

      The housekeeper strode into the room carrying a tray of crockery along with a plate of saffron buns, followed by a young girl of about six, staggering under the weight of a huge teapot. Deftly, she placed the things on the table then turned the full force of her glare on the girl, who flustered and tripped, spilling dark liquid on the rug. As her eyes widened in fright, Colenso jumped to her feet and took the pot from her trembling hands.

      ‘Lady guests don’t help,’ Mrs Grim snapped, her voice laden with reproach. ‘Do you wish me to pour, Mr Fenton?’ she asked.

      ‘As I’m holding the pot, I might as well,’ Colenso replied before he could answer. The woman’s lips pursed in disapproval as she looked uncertainly at her boss.

      ‘Thank you, Mrs Grim, that will be all,’ he replied. With a brisk nod, the housekeeper marched from the room. As the little girl scuttled after her, Colenso winked, gratified to see her smile back. It was only when her father glared that she realized she was still standing in the middle of the room, pot in hand.

      Quickly she poured the tea and handed it round.

      ‘Idiot,’ her father hissed as he took his cup from her.

      ‘Remember your place,’ Mamm whispered. However, judging from the way Ferret Fenton’s lips were twitching, it appeared he found the situation amusing.

      ‘Delicious buns, Mr Fenton, sir,’ Peder said, helping himself then spraying crumbs over his lap. ‘Our Colenso here is a dab hand at cooking and baking. She made the revels for both the Grade and Ruan Church feast days,’ he boasted.

      ‘Revels?’ the manager frowned.

      ‘They’re the same as those, really,’ Colenso said, pointing to the buns. ‘But with saffron so expensive, we only bake them for high days and holidays.’

      ‘Indeed?