Golden Hope Read Online Free PDF Page A

and the chatter of women cooking breakfast over their own small campfires urged Clytie out of bed. She rummaged for the comfortable articles of boys’clothing she wore on the road to save wear and tear on the sole town dress she was fast outgrowing.
    She poured water from the jug into the basin and stripped naked to wash herself from head to toe. No matter how grubby she became at her assigned tasks, polishing the wagon and oiling the wheels with axle grease, it was Mama’s unwritten law that Clytie began and ended the day scrupulously clean – the first rule of good health.
    Standing naked in front of the mirror, she brushed and plaited her wavy dark hair into a single braid as thick as a man’s arm. She suddenly felt acutely conscious of how her body had begun to blossom. The buds of her breasts had seemed to sprout overnight, the nipples rosy in colour – more like the breasts of a woman, than the child’s body she was familiar with. She tentatively touched her breasts. The sight both pleased and discomforted her. I’m growing out of my own body. Better get used to the idea.
    It was then she glimpsed the reflection at the edge of the mirror. She instantly grabbed a towel to shield herself, her mouth dry, her heart beating fast.
    Vlad stood leaning against the doorway, his arms folded across his chest.
    â€˜Not Little Clytie anymore. Not by a long shot.’
    â€˜Piss off, Vlad!’ Her voice pitched high with anxiety. ‘I locked that door!’
    â€˜Broken. Anyway, there’s no lock can keep me out if I have a mind to enter.’
    She stammered out the words. ‘Knock before you enter our place.’
    â€˜Your place?’ he mocked. ‘You don’t own the shoes you stand in, girlie. Wagons, horses, your show ponies – everything is in my name. Dolores signed them all over to me.’
    The shock of his words silenced her.
    Vlad played his winning hand, taunting her. ‘No need to flash yourself for my benefit. Dolores is safe, just as long as she keeps sober and does what I tell her.’
    He turned and sauntered off in the direction of Boss Gourlay’s wagon.
    Clytie found herself trembling, her nails biting into the shield of her towel, overcome by the sheer injustice of the whole scene.
    Dolores must have been out of her right mind to sign everything over to him.
    The answer came to her in an instant. No doubt that blackguard’s fists did the talking.
    Seething with rage, she flung on her shirt and overalls, and thrust her plait inside the Scottish tartan cap that concealed her hair. She downed a tumbler of water, thrust a stale bread roll and an apple into her pocket then strode off towards the communal wagons that held the forage and toolboxes.
    She halted when her name was called by Madame Zaza. Her mother’s friend since childhood, Zaza had once been a star performer. Now her crystal ball enticed the gullible to her booth before every show to have their future foretold. The old Romani woman was busily engaged in sewing costumes, her secondary role as self-styled Wardrobe Mistress.
    Clytie grabbed the chance to get to the bottom of the threat of mutiny.
    â€˜Good morning, Zaza. I hear trouble’s brewing about the future of the circus – and Gourlay’s plans for us.’
    â€˜Who could blame them? We didn’t even break even in Ballarat and Bendigo. And other places cancelled out on us – rotten welshers.’
    â€˜So what happens next?’
    â€˜You asking me? Or my crystal ball?’ Zaza gave a grim laugh. ‘No point in asking Boss Gourlay. He changes his mind like a weathervane.’
    Zaza looked up from the sequins she was sewing in clusters onto a fancy pink costume and gave Clytie a knowing look.
    â€˜Stand warned. It’s bad luck scrying in a crystal ball or asking the cards about your own fate. But I’ve taught Dolores all I know about the Tarot – so ask her about your future.’