Golden Hope by Johanna Nicholls Page A

Questions and answers ricocheted between them about each other’s lives. Hers were truthful, but on guard against an outsider’s misconceptions about the circus and its moral code.Rom’s stories were so colourful and extraordinary that she was tempted to believe some were second-hand adventures in which he had cast himself as hero.
    â€˜Were you born here in one of the Colonies or in the Old Country?’
    â€˜Whose Old Country is that? Not just Mother England. People came here from all over the globe during the Gold Rush. Californians, Germans, Italians, Chinamen, Frogs – you name it.’
    â€˜I know that. Circus performers also hail from different countries. I meant you. Delaney is Irish, isn’t it?’
    Rom darted a look to gauge her response. ‘My name was drawn out of a hat. I was found in a clothes basket on the doorstep of a Roman Catholic seminary. I reckon some poor girl trusted the priests to find a home for me to hide her shame. Or else she dumped me back on some priest who fathered me.’
    If he intended to shock her, he failed. But he had gained her full attention. ‘I was about a week old. Stark naked except for a pair of men’s bootlaces tied to my leg.’
    Clytie stopped in her tracks, delighted by the discovery. ‘Madam Zaza told me bootlaces are a symbol of good luck to gypsies. Maybe Rom is short for Romani – there’s a bit of gypsy in every one of us, they say.’
    â€˜Who knows? I was christened “Roman”. I had to work like the devil for my keep. But the priests did teach me to read and write. When I was twelve I got fed up with all the prayers – and beatings. I hit the road, travelling with an Irish swagman who knew my dead mother. He suspected he was my father. We split up every time he got fighting drunk and ended up in the nick.’
    Clytie held her breath when he brushed a loose curl back from her face.
    â€˜Enough about me. I want to know everything about the girl I plan to marry.’
    â€˜You’ve said that line so often before, it’s got holes in it!’
    Her laugh was so infectious that Rom laughed at himself.
    â€˜All right, you win. Church first. Bush tucker second. I promise I’ll get you back in plenty of time for the matinee. On condition that after tonight’s performance we can talk about the future.’
    Clytie allowed him to drape his arm around her shoulders, but at the sight of a matron hobbling towards them with a hessian sackslung over her back, she pulled away from him, instinctively recognising the breed of town gossip.
    Rom doffed his hat to the woman. ‘Morning, Mrs Mintner. I hear your lad’s gone off to volunteer. Those Boers better watch out. Your Jack’s a great shot.’
    The woman scowled. ‘Enough of your blarney, Delaney. Our Jack’s a good lad, knows his duty, he does.’
    â€˜Don’t worry. It’ll all be over in a few months,’ Rom said with confidence the words that people wanted to believe.
    â€˜Humph! That’s what they said about that war in the Crimea. Dead wrong, they were. Killed me brother, it did,’ she said morosely and continued without breaking her stride.
    Rom called after her. ‘That sack’s heavy. Let me carry it home for you.’
    â€˜What for? I’m as strong as a horse. Have to be with an invalid hubby.’
    Clytie watched her. ‘She must be eighty if she’s a day.’
    â€˜Not by a long shot. But she’s had a rough life. She was a diggeress back in the old gold days. They don’t breed them like her anymore.’
    Clytie noticed they had veered from the direct track to the churches on the hill.
    â€˜Hey, where exactly are you taking me?’
    â€˜Anywhere in the world you want to go. The moon?’ he asked, pointing to the faded disc that hung suspended, lingering by day in the bluest of skies.
    That old woman was right. Rom sure has a touch of the