Pengelly's Daughter by Nicola Pryce Page B

cotton – though, of course, if it were French , that would be different. Check through all the roll, not just what you can see on the surface – they have a habit of putting good quality on the surface and poor quality underneath. They will try to trick you – especially when they see you are so young.’
    â€˜I won’t let anyone trick me, Madame Merrick.’
    â€˜No, I do not believe you will – that’s why I am prepared to trust you. And remember, I will not pay more than ten shillings a roll. They agreed eight, but no doubt they will try and sell it to you for more. Start with an offer of seven and six and act as if the cotton is not worth more. Do not let them cheat you, Miss Pengelly.’
    â€˜I won’t.’
    Madame Merrick opened her silk purse and counted out thirty-ve shillings. Putting the coins back in the purse, she held it out to me, ‘Hide it well, Miss Pengelly…no, not in the basket – put it down your bodice.’ I stuffed the silk purse down my bosom and she nodded in approval.
    We were still waiting for Ben. I was worried he had forgotten, or had gone into one of his trances. People were spiteful where Ben was concerned, saying he was mazed and with the pixies most of the time, which was nonsense of course. But it was true he was not like other boys. He lived in his own world – a simple world. Some actually called him simple, some said he was soft in the head and many of the boys were cruel to him, taunting him and goading him until he cried. Cruelty sickens me and ever since I found him crying in a pigpen, his feet tied together, I have tried my best to shield him.
    A wagon came clattering across the courtyard and I looked up. Ben was dressed in his Sunday best, his face and boots polished to a shine. He was clearly pleased to see me, beaming his wonky half-smile, his teeth jutting from out of his crowded mouth, a bit of spittle glistening on his chin. I stared at the wagon. It was so beautiful, every inch of the painted red cart festooned with owers. I rushed down the steps clapping my hands. ‘Oh, Ben! It’s so beautiful – I’ve never seen anything so lovely.’
    Garlands of bindweed, honeysuckle and dog roses hung over the yellow wheels. Huge bunches of owers cascaded over the sides of the cart. It was breath-taking. Ben steadied the old nag and jumped down, his smile lling his face. He handed me a bouquet of wild owers smelling of sage and thyme. ‘Fff…for yer, Miss Rose’annon,’ he said shyly.
    â€˜Ben – they’re beautiful.’
    I was so delighted I almost forgot the time – it was a quarter to eight. I threw the basket of provisions onto the cart and swung myself onto the bench. Ben climbed next to me while Madame Merrick and Mother stood watching. ‘It’s like a bridal cart,’ I heard Mother say. ‘…that boy adores her.’
    â€˜Then he should be warned,’ came the quick retort. ‘Rosehannon would eat him alive.’
    â€˜Oh no,’ replied Mother, ‘She’s devoted to Ben. Ever since they were bairns, she’s looked after him. Honest to God, I’ve watched her see off some of the biggest bullies just by crossing her arms and glaring at them – you know, the boys were that scared of her! They knew she was a force to be reckoned with.’
    Madame Merrick was staring at me. ‘She still is, Eva,’ I heard her say.

    With all the owers and my red dress matching the cart, we made a colourful spectacle pushing our way through the crowd. We were certainly drawing our share of attention, but somehow I did not care what people thought. Ben’s obvious delight was catching and now we were on our way, I began to relax slightly. It was such a rare chance to get away from Fosse and I was longing to see the moor again. Besides, we were only going to be a distraction – Jim had promised we would