The Ribbon Weaver (14 page)

Things were looking up, Amy decided. It had been a difficult year in some ways, yet wonderful in others. Through it all, Molly remained Amy’s mainstay, the port in the storm where she could take shelter. And on this wonderful early-spring morning, as she hurried along the leafy Warwickshire lanes, Amy’s hopes were high. Mr Forrester and his wife had returned from their London townhouse almost three weeks before, and today he would be visiting the factory.

Amy had worked hard whilst the master had been gone and was looking forward to showing him some of the designs she had created while he had been away. She didn’t have to wait too long, for at ten o’clock Samuel Forrester strode into the factory, and after spending some time in his office, he then made his way to the design room. After speaking for some time to the other women present, he eventually went over to Amy and gave her a friendly smile. Amy thought he looked tired. His hair was peppered with grey and his face lined; yet for all that Samuel Forrester was still a fine-looking man.

Amy smiled back at him as he bent his head to look at the drawing board. His eyes also took in the pile of sketches on her desk.

‘It looks like you’ve been busy.’

Amy nodded. ‘I have, sir, though I must admit I’ve been spending quite some time on designs for gentlemen, and I have one that I’d particularly like you and Master Adam to look at.’

As she spoke she drew a sketch from the bottom of the pile and placed it before him. She had drawn three different sketches of this particular hat, all from different angles, and Samuel Forrester stroked his chin thoughtfully as he studied it.

She then ventured, ‘As you know, the menfolk – that is, the working class – tend to wear Billycocks for work and flat caps for high days and holidays. I thought this might be a nice alternative – you know, for them to wear for church and suchlike?’

He gazed at the hat intently. It was a jaunty little creation and it appealed to him. It wasn’t quite as dressy as the bowler hats and top hats favoured by the gentry, but eyecatching all the same. It had a narrow brim, a deeply indented crown and a pinch at the front.

‘I’ve already spoken to Mr Paggett and the dyers,’ she hurried on, her eyes brimming with excitement, ‘and they’ve both assured me that it would not be difficult or too expensive to produce. Oh! And I’ve got some samples of material that I thought might be suitable for the hat coverings. Rabbit-hair felt would be perfect, but we could also make them in tweed or wool.’

Quickly withdrawing the materials from a drawer, she laid them out side by side next to the sketch. Samuel nodded slowly, his mind racing. The lass had a very valid point. The working-class men of the town were very restricted as to their choice of headgear and it would be nice to offer them an inexpensive option to the customary flat caps, particularly as hats were luckily becoming more and more of a status symbol.

Amy held her breath as she waited for his reaction and when it finally came she let out a sigh of relief.

‘I like it.’ He turned his head this way and that as he studied the sketches from different angles. ‘In fact, I think you may have come up with an excellent idea. As you know, Adam tends to deal with the men’s design side of the business but I’m sure he would be interested in this.’

She blushed at his praise, delighted.

‘I’d like you to bring this sketch and the samples of material to Forrester’s Folly to show to Adam and Mrs Forrester senior, and of course bring the other sketches you’ve done whilst I’ve been away and we’ll spend some time looking at those too. Be there in the morning at, say … eleven o’clock?’

Amy beamed, and nodding, Samuel Forrester turned on his heel and strode from the room.

Before leaving the factory he spent a further half-hour closeted in his office with Mrs Barradell, the head of the design department. Mrs Barradell had been in his employ for many, many years now. She herself was responsible for most of their more popular designs and he valued her opinion highly. She, like him, knew everything there was to know about their trade and now he asked her bluntly, ‘So – how is Amy doing?’

Without hesitation she answered, ‘She’s doing extremely well. To tell you the truth, sir, some of her designs far outshine the other designers’. She’s young and not afraid to try out different styles. On top of that, she seems to have a flair for choosing the right material for the right design. I’ve trained many a designer in my time, as well you know, but I’ll tell you now I would have to say that Amy is better than the lot of ’em. She soaks up everything you tell her like a sponge, and added to that she’s a hard worker. She often stays behind unasked, long after I’ve gone home, not content to finish a piece of work until she feels it’s just right.’

Samuel nodded. The woman before him, now beginning to stoop with age, had become almost his right hand over the years, and he was pleased that she felt about Amy as he did.

‘Thank you, Meg.’

She smiled and left him and Samuel sat for some time longer at his desk, quietly contemplating an idea that was forming in his mind.

That evening, Amy paced restlessly up and down the stone-flagged kitchen floor as Molly grinned at Toby who was seated at the table.

‘Will yer
please
sit down an’ take the weight off yer legs, lass?’ she implored. ‘You’re struttin’ up an’ down like a caged animal an’ wearin’ out me good floor.’

Amy’s face was animated. ‘I can’t help it, Gran, I’m just so excited! Mr Forrester really liked my new design, I’m
sure
he did. I’m going to talk to Adam about it tomorrow because he has more to do with the men’s designs than Mr Forrester.’

Toby looked at her fondly. She had grown into a beautiful young woman and he knew that she could have had her pick of almost any young man she wanted from the cottages hereabouts. But luckily up to now, Amy seemed totally disinterested in anything but her career.

It was getting harder lately to keep the love he felt for her from showing in his eyes when he looked at her. Unknown to him though, both Molly and Bessie were more than aware of his feelings and had been for some time.

Often, her tired old bones aching, Molly would lie in bed at night praying that Amy would open her eyes and see him for the fine young man he had become. But up until now her prayers had gone unanswered and more and more, Molly worried about what would become of her precious girl, should anything happen to her.

As the night wore on, Molly rose and stretched stiffly. Amy and Toby were sitting together now, their heads bent across a book. Amy was reading to him and Molly’s heart swelled with pride. Many of the young people from the town could neither read nor write. Instead they would sign their name with a cross, but Amy could read and write as good as the next. Molly knew that a lot of that was due to Toby. Amy had also attended Sunday school for years as a child. That was the only form of education that was open to the children hereabouts unless they were lucky enough to have parents who could afford to pay for a tutor or for them to attend the tiny village school for a paltry few hours a week. That, plus Toby’s many patient hours of coaxing, had made Amy into the learned young lady she was today.

‘I’m off to me bed, it’s callin’ me.’ Molly yawned as Amy hurried over to plant a kiss on her cheek.

‘Night, Gran,’ she smiled, and Toby yawned and rose too.

‘Happen it’s time I should be away as well,’ he grinned, but Amy made to stop him.

‘Oh, don’t go yet, Toby, stay a while longer. I’m so excited about tomorrow; I’ll never sleep if I go to bed just yet. Let’s just read a bit more, eh?’ she implored.

Willingly, Toby sank back into his seat and as Molly slowly climbed the stairs she sighed. Why couldn’t Amy see that he loved her? And the answer came.
There are none so blind as those who do not wish to see
.

Chapter Nine

Samuel Forrester swirled the brandy in his glass. He was sitting to one side of a roaring fire in the sumptuous drawing room of Forrester’s Folly. His mother, who sat to the other side of the hearth, sipped at her nightcap and watched him from hooded eyes. Josephine, as was her custom lately, had retired to her room following dinner, and the old woman’s eyes crinkled in concern. Her son was obviously very worried about his wife, as indeed was she.

‘She’ll come out of it, Sammy,’ she tried to comfort him. ‘She can’t go on grieving forever.’

Samuel wasn’t so sure. ‘But she’s
not
getting any better, Mother, and well you know it. If anything, she’s getting worse. Why, only last night she was wandering about the grounds in her nightshirt like a waif. All these years and yet still she expects Jessica to walk in through the door at any minute.’ His chin sank to his chest. ‘If I hadn’t found her last night, it would be the talk of the servants’ quarters by now – that is, of course, if it isn’t already. They don’t miss much, as you know. I really thought that our time in London would do her good, but it doesn’t seem to have helped at all.’

The old woman chewed on her lip. Beneath her crusty exterior beat a heart that was as soft as butter and she hated to see her only son so distressed. Josephine had been the love of his life since the moment he had clapped eyes on her, and his adoration had not diminished with the years.

He looked up at her from tortured eyes. ‘I’ll never forgive myself if I live to be a hundred. A thousand times I’ve gone over in my mind the day I ordered Jessica from the house. How
could
I have been so cruel?’ His voice held such anguish that the old woman’s heart went out to him.

Reaching over, she gently squeezed his hand with her ring-bedecked bony claw. ‘There’s no sense in whipping yerself, son. We none of us can turn back the clock.’ Slamming his cut-glass brandy schooner on to the polished table at the side of his chair, Samuel put his head into his hands.

‘I’ve no need for you to tell me that, Mother. I live with the consequences of my foolish actions every waking moment, and I can only pray that God will forgive me. For there’s nothing so sure that, as long as I live, I shall never forgive myself.’

And as the old woman looked on helplessly, tears of regret began to course down his cheeks.

The four of them had been closeted in Samuel’s study for almost two hours, when suddenly rapping her silver-capped cane on the floor, the old woman stretched her neck stiffly.

‘Samuel, ring the bell an’ order some tea, would you, dear? I’m as dry as a bone.’

He rose without question to do as he was told, while from her high-backed brocade chair, the old woman studied Amy closely. The girl she had last met over a year ago had turned into a very beautiful young woman, and her personality and nature seemed to match her looks. Over the last two hours as she explained the different sketches she had brought to them, her enthusiasm had deeply impressed the old woman. There was a freshness about her designs that set them apart. Some of the sketches were extremely plain, yet stunningly elegant in their simplicity. The old woman had put some of her particular favourites to one side, and as Lily wheeled in the tea-trolley it was of these that she spoke.

Ushering the maid away impatiently with a flap of her hand she ordered brusquely, ‘Pour the tea, girl.’

Trembling, Amy did as she was told, her hand shaking beneath the weight of the ornate silver teapot. Once or twice a few drops of tea splashed on to the fine bone china saucers and she prayed that the master and the old mistress wouldn’t notice. If they did, thankfully they didn’t comment, and when they had been served she sat back uncomfortably, her own cup and saucer rattling in her hand as Adam grinned at her. She had never seen a tea service the like of this before in her whole life. Not even in the china-shop window in the town. Painted on it were delicate red and white roses, and it was so fine that she could see her hand through it. She suddenly wished with all her heart that Molly could see it too, for her gran was partial to a nice bit of china. Although her whole collection only amounted to a few plates, nowhere near as fine as this, she displayed them on her oak dresser in the kitchen with pride.

The old mistress’s voice pulled Amy’s thoughts sharply back to the present and she started. She was addressing her son, and Adam and Amy listened quietly.

‘If you go on my advice, Sammy,’ she stated, ‘you’ll have a good number o’ the designs I’ve put to one side made up and sent off to London as soon as possible. I reckon that they’ll sell well.’

This was praise indeed from old Mrs Forrester, and furthermore, the man’s hat design was amongst the ones she had singled out; it was one of Amy’s own particular favourites too.

‘And
you
, young lady.’ She turned to Amy now, her voice stern but her eyes kindly. ‘The very first time I met you I ’ad a feeling – call it intuition if you like – that you would do well. I’m a great one, always ’ave been, for trusting to instincts, and all my instincts tell me that you’ll go far. Though I don’t want this bit of praise going to your head, mind.’

Amy couldn’t help but giggle and it must have been infectious, for soon they were all laughing.

‘I agree, Grandmama,’ Adam told her with a wide smile as he looked at Amy. ‘And I’m especially excited about the new design for the men’s hats.’

‘Then, Mother, if that is your advice, I shall take it, you have never been wrong before,’ Samuel grinned, and it was in a merry mood that Amy eventually set off to tell her gran the good news.

The following weeks passed in a blur. Amy worked from early in the morning until late at night overseeing the making of her designs as they slowly took shape She fretted over every minute detail until she was quite satisfied that they were perfect, each and every one. But then at last they were ready and after being individually packed into large cardboard hat boxes, they were then placed into great wooden crates and loaded on to the horse and cart that would take them on the first leg of their journey to the train station.

Mr Forrester himself personally travelled with them on the train to London, and Amy could barely contain her excitement. It was hard to believe that in just five hours’ time her hats would be in London. Before the coming of the train it would have taken at least a full day’s journey by horse and cart. But tomorrow her very own designs would be displayed in Mr Forrester’s smart London shop. It was like a dream come true, and now all she could do was wait to see how the public responded to them.