The Shoemaker's Daughter (24 page)
She had nursed Emily back to full health and it seemed that the two women had their business back in full operation.
Craig had his hands full looking after Spencer. He had been sick for some weeks but had at last shaken off the fever. However it had left him weakened and irritable.
Mrs Grenfell had made up her mind that when he left hospital, Spencer would stay at Summer Lodge with Craig until he made a complete recovery; it seemed she wanted little to do with her youngest son.
By the time Craig was able to deal with business matters once more, he found that Hari had more than paid him back for taking the monopoly on the French calf. She was doing nicely with Welsh leather, thank you very much.
Hari had advertised the home-made products as more patriotic as well as more desirable than foreign goods. Now, a great many people were taking her at her word and Craig could see the day when in Swansea at least the Welsh leather would be more popular than ever the French had been.
As her trademark, Hari tooled into her products a tiny exquisitely formed daffodil making it her own symbol of Welsh products. He closed his book with a snap of finality, it was time he was going home.
He locked up the warehouse, breathing in the tang of the sea and the ever-present smells of tar and hemp and dreaded the thought of returning to Summer Lodge, with its sparse, barely furnished rooms and the brother who never ceased to whine.
He must pick up some food for Spencer, something to tempt his brother to eat for the yellow fever had left its mark. Spencer was thin and drawn and his skin still retained a faint yellowish tinge and worst of all his temper, at the best of times uncertain, was like a fire ready to flare at the least provocation.
A dark-haired young woman was walking briskly along the other side of the street; her skirts swinging and, for a moment, she looked so much like Hari that he actually paused before realizing she was a stranger.
Hari, she had been so soft in his arms, so responsive one moment and the next cool as ice. Women, they were unpredictable creatures at the best of times.
But Hari had an inner strength that Craig admired, he admired too the way she had nursed Emily back to health with her own unorthodox remedies so successfully that it was hard to believe Emily had been sick at all.
Perhaps he should talk to Hari about his brother, it would do no harm to give Spencer something that might at least put some spirit into him. And it would give him an excuse to see Hari again.
And yet many would consider him a fool, it was Emily he should be pursuing. He should have married Emily by now. As soon as her father had died, he should have made her his wife. But then he’d had nothing to offer her, his own business in debt, his fortunes at the lowest ebb, how could he have afforded a wife?
And now it was too late, he had lost Emily for good, she would not even offer him her friendship. He had lost her to the business and that Emily was proving a businesswoman to the tips of her fingers was in no doubt.
The emporium was booming. Not even the outbreak of yellow fever had prevented the townsfolk from patronizing the shop except for a few of the worse weeks.
Craig heard quick footsteps behind him and, looking over his shoulder, he smiled.
‘Edward, just the man I wanted to see. Come for a pint of ale in the Burrows? I’ve got a thirst that could drink the sea dry.’
Edward inclined his head in agreement. ‘Not working today?’
‘Nothing to do, I’ve laid off most of my men,’ Craig replied. ‘If there’s no leather to load, why have the labourers in?’
‘Give in,’ Edward said. ‘Go back to buying Welsh or English calf, anything’s better than sitting around selling nothing.’
‘You could be right,’ Craig stopped outside the door of the Burrows public house and the aroma of ale rose tantalizingly from the barrels behind the bar, ‘but I built up my stock and advertised it as French calf and I’m stuck with it.’
‘Well, take it up to England then, sell it in Bristol or Manchester, get off your backside and think, man, it’s not like you to sit around and mope.’
‘Thank you for your plain talking,’ Craig said with a glint of humour in his eyes, ‘and it doesn’t come any plainer than that.’
Suddenly Craig felt charged with energy, Edward was right, he was sitting down under what he saw as his defeat when he should be up and fighting. Was he going to let a little Welsh girl beat him?
‘Come on, Eddie,’ he said, ‘let’s forget that drink, I’ve got work to do.’
Emily sat in the window staring out into the Strand below. She was still very weak but, to her relief, the yellow staining on her skin was diminishing, even the whites of her eyes were returning to their natural clarity.
She thought of Hari, working hard at the business and guilt racked her. If it wasn’t for Hari’s careful nursing she would not be here now and hanging over her like a great weight was the knowledge that she had tricked Hari into working with her by arranging the calling in of her debt.
She wondered for the hundredth time if she should come clean with Hari, tell her everything and yet, they had become so close, would the relationship be shattered for ever if Hari knew the truth?
Emily heard footsteps on the stairs and she pulled herself up and made her way shakily into the kitchen. Throughout the afternoon, she had been slowly preparing a meal of stewed lamb and vegetables, sitting frequently in a chair to regain her strength, every small effort a mountainous achievement. But now the aroma of the stew rose tantalizingly, emanating from the black iron pot, making Emily’s mouth water.
‘
Duw
, there’s a lovely smell, what have you been up to, Emily?’
Duw
, there’s a lovely smell, what have you been up to, Emily?’
Hari looked tired, her dark hair was escaping from the satin ribbon and there were shadows beneath her eyes.
‘I thought I’d surprise you.’ Emily smiled wanly. ‘I won’t serve the stew though if you don’t mind, I don’t think I could stand for long enough to fill the bowls.’
‘Sit down you, doing too much you are, we really must get somebody in to cook for us, you are not fit and I’m too busy to waste my time in the kitchen.’
‘You’re right,’ Emily sank gratefully into a chair, ‘why don’t you put a notice in the window? Someone is sure to see it.’
‘Good idea.’ Hari busied herself with the meal, cutting inelegant slices of bread and putting out three bowls.
‘Will!’ she called, ‘come on up here and have your supper.’
She returned to the fire; her face flushed with the heat she looked so pretty and so very dear that Emily felt weak tears rise to her eyes. Hari was like the sister Emily had always longed for and never had. What a far cry from the days when she had looked upon the shoemaker’s daughter as a mere underling, what a snob she had been.
‘Thank you, Hari,’ she said softly and Hari glanced at her with surprise.
‘For what?’ she asked, her eyebrows raised.
‘Just for – everything.’ Emily stopped speaking as the sound of Will’s footsteps echoed on the stairs.
‘You are daft sometimes!’ Hari said but her tone was warm. ‘Who would have thought that you and me would become such good friends? You were such a toff in the old days, Emily, looking down your nose at the cobbler’s daughter.’
‘I know,’ Emily said humbly, ‘I was just thinking that myself and I’m sorry for all the things I did, so very sorry.’ If only Hari knew how sorry, Emily thought guiltily.
‘Here, Will,’ Hari said briskly as the boy entered the kitchen, ‘Emily has made us some lovely nourishing stew and we could both do with it, worked ourselves to death today we have but not complaining, mind.’ Hari smiled.
‘It seems our Welsh leather is putting Craig’s nose out of joint, more and more people are asking for the shoes with the little daffodil on them, a mark of excellence one customer called it.’
‘Your work is excellent,’ Emily said, ‘I only wish I was well enough to pull my weight.’
‘You will be,’ Hari said sitting at the table, ‘be patient, you were at death’s door, mind.’
Emily fell quiet, she realized how close she had come to dying, especially when she heard the news about Letty, poor Letty had been the unfortunate one.
Sixteen people in the town had died and many more fallen sick with the fever. ‘If it wasn’t for you . . .’ Emily’s words trailed away and Hari smiled.
‘Come on now, it’s not like you to be sentimental. Eat up your supper, I want to discuss some patterns with you later on.’
‘Right, miss,’ Emily said smiling. But she was happy that Hari was including her in the business even in such a small way.
Emily was impatient now to be well, to be back in harness, organizing and running the business although it seemed that Hari had done very well without her.
She glanced at William, he was growing up, there was an air of solemnity about the boy that belied his years. He was still beardless, his smooth young chin innocent even of a baby growth of hair, but his eyes were sad and the frown of concentration would have sat better on the face of a mature man rather than a young boy.
As though sensing her scrutiny, Will looked up and his eyes met Emily’s. She was suddenly aware of the hostility in William’s face. She drew back a little as though she had been slapped and then he turned away and she wondered if she had imagined it.
‘This stew is lovely,’ Hari said warmly, ‘don’t you think so, Will?’
‘Lovely,’ he repeated but there was no warmth in his voice. She hadn’t imagined it, Emily thought, for some reason Will was wary of her, she would go so far as to say he disliked her. Why?
Later when Hari went to the workshop to fetch her pattern book, Emily faced the boy squarely.
‘What’s wrong, William?’ she asked evenly. He glanced at her sullenly.
‘Nothin’,’ he said defensively. He moved toward the door.
‘Wait, are you afraid to face me with whatever is on your mind?’
Goaded, he turned on her. ‘I know what you did to Hari,’ he said. ‘When she sent me to the bank the other day, the manager was talking about the business, I heard him telling another man about how you asked him to call in Hari’s loan putting her in a corner.
‘A shrewd move, the bank man called it, I call it sneaky and underhand and cheating on Hari.’
Emily felt her face flush as she faced Will’s accusing eyes. She sank down into a chair.
‘I agree with you, William,’ she said softly, ‘I didn’t know Hari then, I didn’t realize how fond I would become of her.’
William’s mouth fell open in surprise at her lack of denial.
‘I’ve wondered many times if I should tell her the truth,’ Emily continued. ‘But I don’t know if it would only hurt her more than it’s worth to ease my own conscience. What would you do, Will?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’ know. You shouldn’t have done it in the first place then you wouldn’t be in a pickle, would you?’
Life was so clear cut to a child, Emily mused, no grey areas, only black and white.
‘You are right, of course.’ She glanced towards the door, and, hearing Hari’s footsteps on the stairs, she took a deep breath. ‘I’ll leave it up to you, Will,’ Emily said, ‘if you feel you must speak then so be it.’
‘Oh, no!’ Will said emphatically. ‘You don’t get me to do your dirty work, you must be the one to make up your own mind, right?’
Hari returned to the room and placed the pattern book on the table. ‘Look, how about a pair of riding boots with buckles for decoration, do you think that would be a good idea?’
‘I don’t know.’ Emily found it difficult to concentrate, ‘Perhaps the buckles would hurt the animal, what do you think?’
‘Well, no, I’d put them on the outside of the boot, they wouldn’t touch the horse.’
Emily shook her head. ‘No, it’s not a good idea, if the rider were to fall the buckles might cause some damage.’
Hari sighed. ‘Yes, good point. What if I just tool some patterns across the instep then, make our boots a bit different to everyone else’s?’
‘That sounds just right,’ Emily said, ‘why don’t you inscribe the words “Welsh leather” on the boots.’
‘Hmm.’ Hari considered the matter. ‘A bit too abrupt, what about the initials of our three names, E, W, H?’
William smiled, ‘My name on a pair of boots,
duw
, that would be real good, I’d be famous, mind.’
duw
, that would be real good, I’d be famous, mind.’
‘Well, it would only be your initial, Will, but I’ll do it.’
She looked down at her pattern. ‘And what if I emboss the initials of the owner of the boots on the other side in larger script, do you think they’d like that?’
‘Well,’ Emily said, ‘if Will’s reaction is anything to go by, I’d say they’d be delighted.’
Hari worked on the drawings for a moment in silence. Emily glanced at William but he avoided her gaze.
‘I’m making a pair of boots for Charlie from the theatre at the moment,’ Hari said abstractedly, ‘should I put his title do you think or is that going a bit far?’
‘Hari,’ Emily said suddenly, ‘I must speak to you, privately, it’s very important.’
Hari looked up in surprise and immediately Will rose to his feet.
‘I got something I want to do downstairs anyway,’ he said quickly and vanished from the room.
‘What is it? Are you sick?’ Hari sounded anxious and Emily moistened her lips nervously.
‘No, I’ve got a confession to make, no, don’t stop me, I’ve got to tell you the truth.’
Hari gave Emily her full attention. ‘The truth about what?’ she asked in a small voice.
‘I tricked you into coming into the business with me,’ Emily spoke in a rush, ‘I asked a friend of mine in London to pressure the bank about the debt you owed for leather, I forced you into doing what I wanted.’
Hari rose to her feet and moved to the window, staring out into the darkness, though Emily was sure she couldn’t see anything except perhaps the lights from the other buildings around.
‘But it was for the best, wasn’t it? You have enjoyed being in the business with me, we’ve made a marvellous success of things.’
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