‘I can go by myself,’ Colenso assured him.
‘Pah, you’re female,’ he spat. ‘What would Fenton make of that? Managers deal man to man,’ he added, squaring his shoulders.
‘Yes, Father,’ she replied, hefting her heavy basket onto the other arm as they picked their way carefully towards the office.
To her father’s annoyance, rather than be shown inside, they were told the manager was busy and they should wait.
‘Who the hell was that?’ he asked, frowning at the dapper little man who, after imparting his message, scuttled back inside leaving them shivering in the freezing cold of the early morning.
‘Costing me money, this is, Colenso,’ her father snapped, staring at the work going on around them. They’d been waiting outside for ages and Colenso’s hands were red with cold while her ears rang with the constant noise of sawing and banging. ‘I’ll dock it from your allowance,’ he growled, clamping his mouth on his pipe.
‘My what?’ she exclaimed, staring at him incredulously. But footsteps crunched on the stones behind them and he’d already turned away.
The funny little man reappeared and beckoned them into the office, almost bowing to the manager before scurrying away. As the door closed behind him, Peder’s scowl turned to a syrupy smile.
‘Good morning, Mr Fenton, sir. I have brought my dear daughter Colenso to meet you, like you asked,’ he gushed.
Henry Fenton looked up from the papers he’d been studying, a gleam sparking momentarily as his eyes drew level with Colenso’s chest. Gripping her basket tighter, she quickly looked away and stared around the room, which seemingly overnight had turned from a dingy dumping ground to a neat and tidy office. Even the windows had been wiped, although they wouldn’t stay clean for long with all the dust and grime that was constantly blown around.
‘Correction, Carne, I ordered you to bring her to see me,’ Fenton pompously pointed out, bringing her back to the present. Picking up a pen with his soft, white hands, he sat and studied them. Evidently he didn’t intend doing any manual work, Colenso thought, taking in the cut of his charcoal suit and matching silk kerchief in his top pocket. And his manners were sorely lacking too for, despite there being two other chairs, he didn’t invite them to sit.
‘I hope you are settling in …’ her father began.
‘I didn’t ask you here to talk about my well-being, rather to discuss the matter of theft from my premises,’ Fenton replied crisply.
‘I’ll have you know I am not a thief,’ Colenso cried. ‘I only took the cuttings I was told I could have.’
‘Quiet, girl,’ Peder ordered.
‘Quite, Carne. Now,’ he said turning to Colenso. ‘I’m in charge here and do not recollect giving you permission to remove anything from the premises.’ The eyes that surveyed her were as grey and forbidding as the granite cliffs. Clearly grey was his colour, she thought and would have laughed if her stomach wasn’t tying itself into knots. ‘The first thing I did when I arrived was to have all the materials checked, and it would appear there are quantities unaccounted for. Now, empty out your basket,’ he ordered, gesturing to the space in front of him. Colenso looked at her father, who shrugged. Slowly she placed the small sack of cuttings she’d collected on Saturday, plus brooches and buttons she’d recently fashioned, on the desk before him.
‘As you can see, there are only a few offcuts and trinkets …’ her father began.
‘You can go about your work now, Carne,’ Fenton cut in. ‘An important order needs shipping out tonight so you’d better look sharp. You don’t want your wages docked more than necessary, I’m sure.’
‘Yes, sir. No, sir,’ Peder stuttered. Three bags full, sir, Colenso thought as he hurried from the room like a schoolboy anxious to please his teacher.
Once the door had closed behind him, Henry Fenton sat back in his seat and studied Colenso thoughtfully.
‘Tell me a bit about yourself, my dear,’ he said, his voice softer now. Colenso frowned, suspicious at the change in his demeanour.
‘Do you have any brothers and sisters?’ he asked.
‘Um, five, sir.’
‘Five?’ he repeated incredulously.
‘Well, two brothers living and three sisters in the churchyard.’
‘Your sisters live in the churchyard?’ he asked, his brows rising.
‘Yes, sir, two were born dead and one lived for six months.’
‘Oh, I see. And you live at home with your parents and brothers?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, wondering where this was leading.
‘How old are you, Miss Carne?’
‘Seventeen but I don’t think …’ she began, but he continued speaking.
‘I expect a handsome young lady like yourself has many followers?’ he asked, nose twitching as he looked her over like she was a prize filly. Buxom she might be but handsome? Was he having a laugh at her expense? But that gleam sparked in his eyes again, making her shiver.
‘Only the one,’ she mumbled.
‘Goodness, the young men around here must be blind,’ he exclaimed, leaning forward and picking up one of the trinkets she’d fashioned. As he did so, she noticed a shiny spot on the top of his head. Why, he was going bald, she thought, stifling a giggle.
‘You find all this amusing, Miss Carne?’ he asked brusquely, his eyes turning hard again.
‘No, sir, I’m just feeling a bit faint, having been stood outside in the cold for so long.’
Impatiently he gestured for her to take a seat. Her eyes widened in surprise but she did as he bade.
‘I see some of these have been turned – and expertly too,’ he said, studying a rounded stone fashioned into a brooch. ‘Tell me, are you a marble turner perchance?’ His lips curled into one of his sneers and she knew he was mocking her.
‘No, sir, but you …’
‘So presumably you have help from one,’ he cut in. ‘And presumably that person is employed here at the works?’ He turned his penetrating gaze upon Colenso but determined not to give anything away, she didn’t reply.
‘I see,’ he replied. ‘Well, Miss Carne, you should be aware that as manager, I will make it my business to find out everything about the people employed here. In the meantime, perhaps you’d tell me what you do with these, er, trinkets,’ Fenton asked.
‘Sell them to the tourists,’ she murmured.
‘Indeed. And do these tourists pay well?’ he asked, sitting back in his chair and eyeing her speculatively.
‘Quite well, sir,’ Colenso replied, not sure where this new line of questioning was leading.
‘And tell me, Miss Carne, how much of the sale price you receive do you give back to the works?’
‘Give back?’ she murmured. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Well, it stands to reason that if you sell property belonging to Poltesco then any profit should be given back, should it not?’
‘But they are only odd cuttings you would otherwise dispose of,’ she sputtered, her