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me.’
    ‘Shenanigans?’ Effie had often heard the word, but she had only the faintest notion what it meant – except that it was something not-quite-nice that men and girls got up to now and then. ‘How could I be having shenanigans with him? I keep on telling you, I’d never seen or heard of him before.’
    She was relieved to see Pa actually smile. ‘And I believe you – even if your uncle won’t. Not a girl for lying – never were.’ He met her eyes. ‘But you can’t blame people for jumping to conclusions over this. It is peculiar, when you come to think. A perfect stranger turning up and wanting you.’
    ‘So you didn’t know him either? You’re quite sure of that?’
    Pa shook his head. ‘I can’t answer for your mother, naturally – but he wasn’t anyone that I could recognize. Not from round here either, by the look of it. They’ve found a faded label in his shirt which said it came from someplace in the London area, and they’re going to ask the police up there to make enquiries.’
    ‘But how can they make enquiries about a shirt? Must be thousands of them sold up in the capital. Hundreds of them, even in Penzance.’
    Her father gave her a sideways look. ‘But this one looks as if it was bespoke. Obviously made a little time ago, but it’s possible the shirt-maker might remember who he made it for.’
    Effie was positively goggling by now. Nobody that she knew had ever even owned a shop-made shirt, except for going to church, and as for made-to-measure! That sort of thing was just for gentle-folk. ‘But I thought he was a tramp?’
    ‘And probably he was. The police think it likely he was wearing hand-me-downs – everything was half worn-out and clearly made for someone twice as wide. No doubt given to him out of charity, but if the police can discover who used to own the things, maybe that person could tell them who he gave his cast-offs to.’
    ‘But would he remember?’
    ‘Very likely not. It’s only a faint hope. More likely there’ll be a missing person on the books, somewhere in the country, and they’ll match him up, much to the distress of his grieving family. If not, there isn’t much that they can do. It’s not a pressing matter – not as if the fellow met a violent death: they’ll keep him in the morgue a day or two, I expect, and give him a pauper’s burial if they can’t find out his name. Sad, of course, but don’t concern yourself. I was only worried, just in case there was anything you hadn’t told me of – I know it’s difficult sometimes and I’m not your Ma – but if he was nothing to you, I shan’t fret any more.’ He held up the top he had been working on. ‘Now, if you’ll pass me that little pot of varnish over there I’ll get this finished for Sam to take to school. He’s been longing for a whipping-top like all the other boys. I thought I’d make a couple for the feast. You coming home for that?’
    She shook her head. Penvarris Feast Monday was quite a festival – brass bands and fancy dress parades and dancing in the street. Special services and cream teas at the Vicarage for the churchgoers, and saffron buns and teacakes for the Methodists, followed by sports and races and fair booths in the street; it was the only day, apart from Christmas, when they shut down the mine and only a few men went underground, for safety’s sake. Any girl in service who could possibly be spared would try to come home Friday evening and stay the whole weekend – there was a special horsebus laid on Monday night, to take them back to town.
    But Effie Pengelly would not be one of them. Mrs Thatchell would never let her off – even if Effie had the nerve to ask. ‘Shan’t be able to. But you could save me a bit of ginger fairing, afterwards.’
    Pa said, ‘Course I will, my lover. And I’ll try to fetch you a bunch of flowers from the procession too, when the girls on the decorated carts start to throw them to the crowds.’ He gave her a wicked grin