Description

Left an orphan, five-year-old Rosie Harris is found and raised by Maria, a Romany gypsy. Life on the road is hard, but the little girl soon feels one of the tribe with the travellers.

As she grows older, Rosie realises she has ‘second sight’ and is able to read people’s palms and see into their futures. Needing to make a living of her own, she befriends the canal folk, known as the ‘cut-rats’ traversing the Black Country waterways with their cargo, and so offers readings to anyone who can pay.

Pursued by Jake Harding, a Romany bandolier who wants her for his wife, Rosie instead finds herself falling in love with a married man. And despite growing ominous signs that her future may be cursed, Rosie can’t quite break away from the dream of a happily ever after…

Lindsey Hutchinson is a master storyteller, and her Black Country sagas are heart-breaking, uplifting and truly addictive.

Extract…

Rosie Harris sat on the front doorstep of the tiny cottage sobbing her heart out.

Dribble and snot ran down her little fingers which were wedged in her mouth. Hair

like a raven’s wing fell around her small face as the tears poRosie Harris sat on the front doorstep of the tiny cottage sobbing her heart out.

Dribble and snot ran down her little fingers which were wedged in her mouth. Hair

like a raven’s wing fell around her small face as the tears poured from her dark eyes.

Her five-year-old mind couldn’t comprehend why her mummy was lying on the

kitchen floor and wouldn’t get up. Rosie had called out and shaken the prone woman,

having no idea her mother had died where she fell.

Hearing the sound of cart wheels rattle over the stony heath by the cottage, Rosie

looked up. A shudder ran through her small body as she saw the beautifully painted

gypsy caravan draw to a halt. A woman with hair which shone in the sunlight sat in

the driving seat, and Rosie heard her speak softly to the horse before watching her

jump deftly to the ground.

Rosie was afraid, she’d heard about the gypsies taking off with young children.

Grabbing the edge of her pinafore she tucked it into her mouth, her fearful sobs

sounding even louder. Staring up at the woman stood before her she heard the gentle

voice again.

‘Now then little one, what are all these tears for?’

Rosie looked up into the coal black eyes of the woman speaking to her and shook

her head. She’d had it drummed into her time and again by her mother to never talk to

strangers. The gypsy woman’s soft voice sounded again.

‘I know what you’ve been told, sweetheart, but it’s not true. We don’t steal other

people’s children. Now, won’t you tell me what’s wrong?’

‘My mummy won’t get up!’ Rosie blurted out before bursting into fresh tears.

‘Can I go in and see?’ the woman asked. With a nod from the child she stepped

into the cottage and a moment later saw what the little girl meant. Walking over to the

girl’s mother she felt for a pulse… nothing. The woman was dead. Shaking her head,

she went back to the sobbing child.

‘What is your name?’ she asked quietly.

‘Rosie Harris.’

‘Well, Rosie Harris, your mummy has gone to live with Jesus.’ Seeing the little

girl’s eyes widen she went on. ‘My name is Maria Valesco. Where is your daddy?’

‘I haven’t got a daddy,’ Rosie said looking even more forlorn.

ured from her dark eyes.

Her five-year-old mind couldn’t comprehend why her mummy was lying on the

kitchen floor and wouldn’t get up. Rosie had called out and shaken the prone woman,

having no idea her mother had died where she fell.

Hearing the sound of cart wheels rattle over the stony heath by the cottage, Rosie

looked up. A shudder ran through her small body as she saw the beautifully painted

gypsy caravan draw to a halt. A woman with hair which shone in the sunlight sat in

the driving seat, and Rosie heard her speak softly to the horse before watching her

jump deftly to the ground.

Rosie was afraid, she’d heard about the gypsies taking off with young children.

Grabbing the edge of her pinafore she tucked it into her mouth, her fearful sobs

sounding even louder. Staring up at the woman stood before her she heard the gentle

voice again.

‘Now then little one, what are all these tears for?’

Rosie looked up into the coal black eyes of the woman speaking to her and shook

her head. She’d had it drummed into her time and again by her mother to never talk to

strangers. The gypsy woman’s soft voice sounded again.

‘I know what you’ve been told, sweetheart, but it’s not true. We don’t steal other

people’s children. Now, won’t you tell me what’s wrong?’

‘My mummy won’t get up!’ Rosie blurted out before bursting into fresh tears.

‘Can I go in and see?’ the woman asked. With a nod from the child she stepped

into the cottage and a moment later saw what the little girl meant. Walking over to the

girl’s mother she felt for a pulse… nothing. The woman was dead. Shaking her head,

she went back to the sobbing child.

‘What is your name?’ she asked quietly.

‘Rosie Harris.’

‘Well, Rosie Harris, your mummy has gone to live with Jesus.’ Seeing the little

girl’s eyes widen she went on. ‘My name is Maria Valesco. Where is your daddy?’

‘I haven’t got a daddy,’ Rosie said looking even more forlorn.

Lindsey lives in Shropshire with her husband and dog. She loves to read and has recently discovered photography. Lindsey is the daughter of million-copy bestselling author Meg Hutchinson.

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