fiddle with one big hand, while the thick fingers of the other played the keys. His family’s orchard keeper had an instrument like it, and Alex had always enjoyed the music, created by a rosined wheel rubbing against the strings. The wheel functioned much like a violin bow, and the sound was similar as well.
When Jago played the final notes with a flourish, Alex and Laura clapped, and Miss Chegwin beamed from her chair.
“Well done, my friend,” Alex praised. “How did you learn to play?”
“An old neighbor taught me.”
Miss Chegwin nodded. “Poor Mr. Methyr. I nursed him through his many illnesses. He left that hurdy-gurdy to Jago in his will. Very kind of him.”
Alex smiled from her to the young man and said, “He would be pleased to hear you play it. I know I am.”
“Come back tomorrow night, and you’ll hear more,” Miss Chegwin promised. “It’s our annual Allantide party. I do hope’ee will join us.”
Laura answered for them both. “We would not miss it.”
The ancient custom of providing children with a large apple on Allhallows-eve is still observed. [They] would deem it a great misfortune to go to bed on Allan-night without the time-honored Allan apple to hide beneath their pillows.
—ROBERT HUNT, POPULAR ROMANCES OF THE WEST OF ENGLAND
Chapter 6
Sparks rose like darts of bright orange light against the darkening sky. The bonfire was an inviting beacon, drawing neighbors to Brea Cottage. Such a large blaze was a luxury. An extravagance. A sure sign of celebration. As people arrived, they added their contributions to the pile nearby: scrap boards, wreck timbers, and fallen branches to keep the fire roaring—and the party as well.
If the bonfire was the invitation, music was the warm welcome.
Jago sat playing his hurdy-gurdy. A neighboring farmer, Mr. Trenean, accompanied him on a flute while one of the man’s grown sons played a serpent and another kept time on a small drum.
People sat on rickety chairs dragged outside and a bench made from a plank suspended on two tree stumps. On the makeshift tables sat jack-o’-lanterns carved from large turnips, light from candle stubs within flickering from their ghoulish faces.
Miss Chegwin had made fish pie and rabbit pasties with leeks and turnips. At Uncle Matthew’s request, Wenna had contributed an apple cake as big as a barrel head, with a warm sweet glaze. Laura knew Uncle Matthew attended the party out of neighborliness but thought Mrs. Bray and Eseld attended mostly in hopes of seeing Treeve Kent.
There was bee wine, home-brewed ale, and cider sipped from a mismatched assortment of chipped teacups, jars, and tin tankards. It was a harvest dinner and Allan-night all rolled into one.
Bee wine tickling her tummy, Laura was keenly aware of Alex’s masculine shoulder against hers as they sat side by side on the bench, reminding her of the night she lay beside him in bed to ease his shivering. She leaned near his ear to be heard over the music. “Do you celebrate Allantide on Jersey, Mr. Lucas?”
“Not that I recall.”
Mr. Dyer and his family mingled with the crowd, and Newlyn came over from Fern Haven to join them. She remained near her parents, but Laura noticed the girl’s gaze linger with curious interest on Jago as he drew such sweet music from his instrument.
Uncle Matthew called, “How about a song, Miss Chegwin?”
“Hear, hear!” the others cheered.
Mary Chegwin set aside her cup and rose to oblige, her voice reedy but true. What she lacked in volume, she more than made up for in expression, her arms lifted and hands gesturing with the words.
“We tread upon the golden sand, when the waves are rolling in,
The porpoise he comes near to land, and to leap he doth begin,
Snorting to the fishy air: prepare, (I say) prepare,
Good housewives, keep your fires bright,
For your mates come home tonight.”
And everyone echoed, “For your mates come home tonight.”
The company clapped along as she sang the next verse. Soon an elderly couple rose and began dancing a jig, and a few younger people joined in.
Perran and Treeve Kent arrived on horseback, and Jago momentarily set aside his hurdy-gurdy to take their horses to the lean-to. Miss Chegwin had invited them as thanks for Perry’s recent help with their patient.
Eseld brightened at the Kent brothers’ arrival, as did Mrs. Bray.
The newcomers were quickly furnished with tankards and generous slices of fish pie. While they’d brought no wood, Treeve untied a jug of rum from his saddle and set it on the table with the other libations, the