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Lizzie paused a moment before shutting the door again and hurrying to dress. She washed her face in the bowl of cold water, hurriedly donned her navy dress, and brushed her mussed up hair which she had not even braided before bed the previous evening, instead shoving it under her lacy nightcap. As such, it had a few tangles. She had only just managed to roll and pin it to her nape when a scraggy arm banged on the door again.

“Come on, girl! We ain’t got all day!”

Lizzie swung the door open and noticed it struck against a small package left on the step. Stooping down, she found it was a flaky pastry in a twist of paper and a bottle of lemonade. Had her husband returned with something for her to eat and found her still sleeping? The thought warmed her, and she had to give herself a stern talking as she replied to his grandmother. “I just need to don my bonnet and cloak and I’ll be ready.”

“Don’t bother,” Ma told her curtly. “I’ve got one for you. ’Ere,” she said. “Put this on.” She passed Lizzie a hugely enveloping black cloak with a large pointed hood lined in red silk.

“What is it?”

“It’s a cloak, what’s it look like?” was the retort.

Lizzie climbed down from the step and took it from her. “And what am I to do with it, pray?”

“Put it on, didn’t I say so?” asked the older woman sharply.

“Why?” Lizzie asked. “It’s not raining, and I have my own cloak.”

“You needs a costume, if you’re to tell fortunes.”

Lizzie’s eyes widened. “I have never told a fortune in my life. I wouldn’t know where to start,” she spluttered in horror.

“Listen,” Ma snarled, thrusting her withered face close to Lizzie’s. “If yer a part o’ this family you’d best be prepared to earn your way or you’ll be out on yer ear faster’n you can wink an eye!”

Lizzie stared back at her. She had been over-generous in her appraisals of Benedict’s grandmother’s character the night before, partly, she knew, because the old woman had lumped her in with Benedict’s mother and sister-in-law as being useless but pretty.

No one had ever said so much about Lizzie’s rather plain face before. She knew the old woman had meant it as a scathing indictment, but she could not help but be perversely flattered. She knew she was not pretty, but perhaps not being constantly contrasted to her cousin would mean she would no longer suffer from such comparisons.

“I shall certainly speak to my husband about this!” Lizzie said aloud as the old woman continued to glare at her ferociously.

“You do that!” Ma cackled. “But I think you’ll find this preferable to prancin’ around in yer knickers advertising the booth.”

Lizzie stared at her. Prancing about in her knickers? “I don’t know anything about that!” she gasped. “Benedict certainly never asked me to do any such thing!”

“Not yet, he hasn’t,” Ma muttered direly. “But you just wait. If you’ve got any sense, you’ll find another way to earn a penny and sharpish.”

Lizzie swallowed. Was the old woman telling her that her husband would eventually prostitute her out? She stood speechless a moment before swinging the old cloak about her shoulders. Ma Toomes nodded her head in satisfaction.

“There’s buttons on the inside, fasten it tight so it covers you neck to toe,” she was instructed. Lizzie hastily complied. “Now put these gloves on and this headscarf, see?”

Ma Toomes passed her a red silk headscarf edged in small gold discs like coins. When Lizzie fumbled with it inexpertly, it was whipped out of her hands with a muffled curse. “Not like that, you little fool!” the terrible old woman scolded. She wound it about Lizzie’s head like a turban so it covered her pale hair completely and left only her face uncovered. “Yer face looks too young,” she grumbled. “But it will have to do for now.”

Lizzie dragged the fingerless mittens on over her hands. They looked a bit grubby to her and like they could do with a wash. Glancing at Ma’s black fingernails, she shuddered. “Well?” she asked with a slight edge to her voice. “Anything else I can do for you?”

Ma Toomes surveyed her a moment. “It’s a good thing yer not easily cowed,” she said mildly. “But we’ll see if yer still as feisty in six months’ time, my fine young lady.” She gave an evil cackle. “Now you follow me and do everything I tells you, got it?”

Lizzie gave a reluctant nod before remembering her breakfast. “One moment,” she said, hopping back up onto the step and retrieving the pastry and bottle. She offered half to the old woman who pulled a disgusted face and turned abruptly on her in a sprightly march toward the main field. Lizzie trailed along behind her with severe misgivings.

The pastry at least was buttery and delicious and filled with flaked almonds. If she hadn’t been wearing the horrible mittens, she would have licked her fingers. Another coating of grease would hardly affect them, she told herself, uncorking the lemonade and drinking it thirstily. The camping field was now a hive of activity with people bustling about and children running hither and thither.

After they climbed over the stile, Lizzie saw a procession of folk trickling in from the opposite direction. These people weren’t dressed in working clothes but in their Sunday best. She saw frills and flounces and hats covered in flowers as well as pinstripe suits and watch chains and polished leather boots. When the groups of two and three started coming thicker and faster, the trickle of arrivals becoming more of a deluge, Ma seized her arm.

“We stay on the edges for our turn,” she said hanging back. “Ain’t no point us going into the throng. There’s precious little takings there unless yer a pickpocket. Not when you needs to use yer tongue to make yer money.” Instead of proceeding into the field of stalls and booths, Ma drew her to one side. “Over there, see, where they’re taking a breather.”

Lizzie glanced across to see some day-trippers were congregating around a picturesque knot of trees. Ma nodded at two couples who were lingering at the edge of an ornamental pond. Lizzie pursed her lips, for she didn’t like the look of them.

Both girls were giggling, and one was tugging the handkerchief out of her beaux’s top pocket, while he tried to catch her about the waist. The young men had too much pomade in their hair. They looked rather like shopkeeper’s assistants on their day off.

Ma was already headed resolutely toward them, so Lizzie pocketed her empty bottle and hurried after her. “Care to have your fortune told, my dearies,” Ma wheedled in a sickly-sweet voice.