The Ribbon Weaver

Chapter Fourteen



As Nancy closed the lid of Amy’s case and snapped down the clasp, she sniffed noisily. ‘I’m really going to miss yer.’ The words were said from the heart and Amy hurried over and placed her arm about her friend’s shoulders.

‘I shall be coming back,’ Amy promised. ‘Mr Forrester says that I’ll need to be staying here regularly once the new Bridal Shop is open. I’ll be back before you’ve even had time to realise I’ve gone, you’ll see.’

She was wearing the flattering day gown that Mrs Forrester had bought her on their shopping trip, and a jaunty little hat was perched on top of her head. Her hair had been swept up and she looked every inch the sophisticated young woman. It was hard to believe that she was the same girl who had arrived with her hair loose about her shoulders in her country clothes just four weeks ago. There was now a quiet air of confidence about her, yet her gentle nature remained unchanged, and although their friendship was still only blossoming, Nancy knew somehow that it never would. They hugged each other before beginning to cart Amy’s now considerable luggage down the stairs. In no time at all they were off and Nancy waved from the steps of the house until the carriage turned a corner and Amy was lost to sight.

Once they were on the train the journey home passed quickly. Old Mrs Forrester dozed for most of the way, whilst Josephine sat quietly enjoying the views from the carriage window. Amy and Samuel, meanwhile, spent most of the journey discussing different styles and materials. Samuel had already made discreet enquiries about a vacant shop in an exclusive area in Knightsbridge that he felt would suit their needs very well, and he had left the negotiations on it in Mr Harvey’s capable hands, content that the man would secure a favourable deal. He had also employed, on the recommendation of a colleague, two very experienced seamstresses who, even now as the train chugged towards Nuneaton, were working on the first two sample bridal gowns of Amy’s designs. All in all it had proved to be a very worthwhile visit. He was also pleased to note that his wife looked more relaxed than he had seen her for years, and if his new venture succeeded as he felt sure it would, then who could know where it might lead?

When they arrived back at Trent Valley railway station, the Forresters’ carriage was waiting for them. Samuel insisted on dropping Amy off right outside her gran’s cottage door. He was amused to note that the curtains of the neighbouring cottages were twitching as if they had been caught in a strong breeze when the carriage drew to a halt, but was too much of a gentleman to comment on it as he helped Amy alight before lifting her luggage down for her.

Molly had been like a cat on hot bricks all day, endlessly checking the lane for a sign of her beloved girl, and now she hastily drew back into the shadows of the kitchen, reluctant to run out and greet Amy until the fancy carriage had gone. It was early evening by now and she watched Mr Forrester speaking to Amy before picking up her valise and carrying it personally to the door for her. Amy looked wonderful, yet somehow different, more grown-up and elegant. Just for a moment, Molly was apprehensive but then as the carriage rolled away, the door suddenly burst open and Amy spilled into the room and straight into her waiting arms.

‘Oh, Gran, I’ve missed you so much!’ Amy was laughing and crying all at the same time and as her smooth cheek pressed against Molly’s old wrinkled one, their tears mingled and fell together. She gazed at her gran as if she could never see enough of her, noting with alarm that Molly seemed to have lost weight.

‘Have you been eating properly?’ she questioned sternly.

Flapping her hands at her, Molly smiled through her tears. ‘O’ course I have. But I don’t want to talk about me. I want to hear about everythin’ you’ve done an’ seen. And that means everythin’, mind!’

Hands joined, they crossed to the fire and Molly pointed at the neat stack of letters that Amy had written to her and that were piled on one side of the mantelshelf.

‘Poor Toby, I’ve made him read every last one of ’em to me time after time. The poor lad must know ’em all off by heart by now.’ She chuckled as she pressed Amy down into the chair at the side of the hearth. ‘Now I’ve got some nice hot soup all ready fer you, an’ when you’ve had it yer can start to tell me about all you’ve been up to. Toby’s due home any minute an’ happen he’ll want to hear all your news an’ all. He’s been like a bear with a sore head while you’ve been gone, so he has.’

Amy smiled indulgently and while Molly pottered about getting the soup she carefully removed her hatpin and placed her hat on the table, gazing affectionately about the little room. Every single thing was just as she had left it, spick and span as a new pin. When she had felt homesick in London, all she had needed to do was close her eyes and she could see in her mind every single detail. The range black-leaded and polished until it shone; the kettle swinging on its hook above a cheery fire, and the copper pans gleaming where they hung above the hearth. She knew now that neither of Mr Forrester’s grand residences could ever mean to her what this little cottage did. This was her home, and as Molly was fond of saying, ‘Be it ever so humble there’s no place like home.’ Now she understood exactly what her gran meant and she was truly happy to be back.

She had so much to tell that she barely knew where to begin, but once Toby had joined them she prattled on merrily, holding them both enthralled as they listened to her adventure. Halfway through the evening she suddenly remembered the presents in her valise and she skipped away to fetch them, as excited as a child.

She gave Molly her shawl first and the old woman was thrilled with it.

‘Lord above! This must have cost an arm an’ a leg. Yer shouldn’t have gone spendin’ yer money on me, lass,’ she scolded, but her pleasure was plain to see.

Next, Amy presented Toby with the smoothly bound leather atlas. It was by far the most expensive book he had ever owned, and although he was delighted with Amy’s gift he also felt that it somehow emphasised the distance that was appearing like a chasm between them. As he looked across at her it struck him like a blow that she looked every inch the capable young businesswoman. Her eyes were shining and her hair was gleaming like burnished copper in the glow from the fire, but the girl he had known and adored for so long was gone. Everything about her seemed different now. Her back was upright, her chin firm, and there was a quiet dignity about her that he had never noticed before. He felt in that instant that he had lost her forever, and it was almost more than he could bear. The urge came on him to cry as he had never cried since he was a child, but instead he rose brusquely and dragged his eyes away from hers in case she should see the pain there.

‘Thanks, Amy, I shall treasure this always.’ He nodded to Molly, then to their amazement he turned and strode to the door without so much as another word.

Once inside the privacy of his own home he crossed to the scrubbed oak table in the middle of the room and throwing the book on to its well-worn surface he gripped the edge of it until his knuckles turned white. A solitary candle burning bright and the low embers of the banked-down fire were the only light in the room and he thought himself to be alone, but suddenly his mother’s voice came to him from the depths of a chair to the side of the hearth.

‘What’s wrong, lad?’ Like many others she had seen Amy arrive home that evening and she had known, as only a mother could, that tonight her lad might have need of her.

For a moment he remained silent then, as she quietly approached him in her cotton nightgown with a shawl pulled tight about her shoulders, he looked at her from tortured eyes.

‘I … I’ve lost her, Mam.’ His voice was broken and she quickly did what she had never done since he was a child, she gathered him into her arms and held him close to her heart.

‘There, there, lad,’ she soothed as sobs wracked his body. He was crying as if his heart would break and she, who had known of his deep love for Amy, cried inside for him.

‘Let it all out now. That’s it … then leave it in the lap o’ the angels, for what will be will be, an’ there ain’t nowt neither you nor I can do about it.’