Colenso watched as the rising tide advanced towards the Devil’s Frying Pan. The turbulence created by rough seas surging through its entrance was legendary. Her father had chosen his spot well. Desperately she tugged at the ropes binding her hands, only to wince as the damp hemp tightened, cutting deeper into her flesh.
As white-tipped waves swirled ever closer to her feet she shuddered. In the distance she could hear the sounds of the organ from the travelling fair. Loud and brash, its purpose was to attract the crowds, and judging from the shrieks of laughter coming from the villagers on the green it was doing its job. Nobody would hear her screams and Kitto, dear unsuspecting Kitto, would be waiting for her.
The light was fading, the wind rising, bringing with it a thick bank of rolling mist. She licked her salt-coated lips. The crescendo from the waves pounding the tidal cave and reverberating around the serpentine rock was deafening now, blotting out all sound of the fair. Her father had promised to return for her decision before the tide was in full spate but, intent on his mission and wishing her scared witless, she knew he was deliberately cutting it fine. He’d have a wasted journey though, for she had no intention of changing her mind. Her heart belonged to Kitto, and without him her life would serve no purpose. She would take her love to the grave if need be. And if it was deemed to be a watery one then so be it.
Spray from the advancing swell covered her feet before receding to allow her respite, albeit momentarily, and she gave a laugh that came out as a high-pitched shriek. How ironic that her name Colenso should mean ‘from the dark pool’ for now it looked as if she would be returning to it much sooner than she’d thought.
Cadgwith, The Lizard, Cornwall
‘An’ it harm none, do what thou will’
Wiccan Rede
With these words ringing in her ear, Colenso put the bread to bake then set about making the pastry for her pasties. Today was a special day and she had a plan. Excitement bubbled up as she mixed swede, potato and onion with the scraps of meat old Buller the butcher had given her in exchange for helping him earlier that morning.
‘Don’t forget the herbs, Colenso. Marjoram for love, rosemary to stimulate the heart, sage for wishes, and best put in a pinch of parsley for lust.’
‘Really Mammwynn,’ Colenso chided, colour flooding her cheeks. Her grandmother believed her beloved herbs were the answer to everything, nurturing varieties that by rights shouldn’t even grow let alone flourish on this wild peninsula. Then she remembered and looked up with a start. Sure enough, the room was empty for her beloved Mammwynn had passed on at Samhain last October. Being the festival that marked both the end and beginning of their year and a time of celebration for those who’d gone before, Mammwynn would have thought it perfect timing. But Colenso had loved her grandmother dearly and still felt her loss keenly.
‘Oh Mammwynn, I do miss you so,’ she murmured, dashing a tear from her eye. ‘The weather’s been bitterly cold this winter and many of your plants are lying dormant so I’ll have to use the ones I’ve dried.’ As she reached up to take a handful from the clothes pulley above her head, she felt the slightest of touches on her shoulder and knew her grandmother approved. Crumbling them into the mixture, she finished making the pasties adding a decorative finish to the biggest with a flourish. She hoped Kitto, her beloved, would appreciate it.
As the aroma of baked dough filled the air, she removed the loaves to cool, added the pasties to the tin and slid it back into the hot recess of the Cornish stove that was her mamm’s pride and joy. It had been her father’s wedding present to her and about the only thing he’d ever bought her, she thought, staring around the room with its hand-me-down dresser and rickety table and chairs. The tiny window let in very little light even on the brightest day and there wasn’t enough space to swing a rat. Imagine the luxury of living somewhere with room to put her things, not that she had many, Colenso sighed, as she set about tidying up. Mamm worked on call as the Sick Nurse and after sitting in with old Mrs Janes would appreciate returning to a clean room with their evening meal prepared. Her Father and elder brother, Tomas, laboured long hours at the works and were forever hungry.
She wondered how her younger brother William was faring. How she missed him. With only thirteen months between them, they’d always been close until the dreadful night he’d taken their father to task for squandering his entire weekly wage on drink. The fight that had ensued still made Colenso shudder and she didn’t blame Will for running off to make a better life for himself. Tomas was hardly home these days either.
Pushing the door of their tumbledown cottage closed, Colenso shivered and pulled her bonnet down tighter as a gust of February wind threatened to send it spinning down the lane. Checking the cloth was still covering the pasty, she hefted her basket over her arm and made her way down the rutted track and on past the huddle of thatched cottages. Their thick serpentine, stone and cob walls were designed to keep out the worst of the squalls and misty weather that frequently swept over The Lizard. The shoemaker’s shop with its array of boots, rang with the sound of scutes and nails being hammered into heavy leather soles. She stepped over the wooden bridge that spanned the stream and across the Todden, which divided Little Cove from Fishing Cove. It was a fair walk to Poltesco and the serpentine factory where Kitto was employed as a trainee marble turner, but if she hurried she should be in time to join him for his noontime break. She’d have to dodge her father though, for he disapproved of their association, wanting better things for his daughter. However, she had an excuse for visiting the works as she’d been told there was a new batch of cuttings waiting to be collected. Extra money to eke out the family budget was always welcome, and with Kitto’s help she would fashion them into buttons and souvenirs ready to sell to the visitors that swarmed to the area in the summer months.
Since Queen Victoria and Prince Albert had purchased items of serpentine for their Osborne House home on the Isle of Wight, the local stone, which displayed the brightest colours of green and red when polished, had proved popular.
Waves pounded the shore and she wrinkled her nose at the oppressive odour of fish and bait emanating from the cellars below. Gulls screeched as they circled the few fishing boats bobbing in the bay, their nets cast wide. Thankfully it was too early in the year for the pilchards to arrive. She far preferred working the Lizardite, as the rock was known locally, to salting and pressing the silver fish that, whilst providing the necessary food and oil for lighting, tainted her hands and clothes.
‘Morning, maid. ’Tis a fine day for it.’ Colenso jumped as the West Country burr broke into her thoughts.
‘Good morning, Mr Carter, Mr Paul,’ she replied, stepping to one side to let the two fishermen pass carrying their gulley laden with nets and baskets. Dressed in their customary blue ganseys and flat caps, they eyed her quizzically.
‘Taking your young man something nice, I ’spect, this being a special day an’ all,’ the second man grinned, sniffing her basket appreciatively.
‘Really, Mr Paul, I’m not sure what you mean,’ she demurred, feeling her cheeks colouring. The two men gave her a knowing look.
‘Listen to ’em birds, maid,’ Mr Carter called. ‘They be choosing their mates too.’
‘Wish I were a youngster again. Give him a good run for his money for a beautiful maid like thee, I would.’ As their guffaws of laughter rang around the cove, Colenso felt her cheeks growing hotter.
‘If you’ll excuse me, I must get on,’ she muttered,