The Ribbon Weaver

Chapter Fifteen



The client twirled in front of the full-length mirror as she surveyed her bridal gown from every angle. Amy stood respectfully with her hands clasped tightly at her waist until eventually the young woman turned to her and smiled.

‘It’s perfect,’ she breathed, unable to conceal her delight.

It was all Amy could do to stop herself from sighing with relief. This was the final fitting, and most definitely one of the most elaborate gowns that she had ever designed, but as she looked at the end result she felt that all her efforts had been well worth it. The bride-tobe was from a very upper-class family – in fact, Mr Harvey had hinted that she was distantly related to royalty – so the cost of the gown had been irrelevant. She looked absolutely stunning in Amy’s creation and on her wedding day she would have the satisfaction of knowing that nowhere else was there another gown like it.

Amy reminded herself that she must congratulate the seamstresses. They had followed her instructions to the letter and she knew that the embroidery detail on the bodice and the train must have taken them hours and hours of painstaking work. The bonnet that would match the dress had been finished weeks ago and lay ready in an elaborate hatbox designed exclusively for the bridal shop. And now all that remained was to make a few very minor alterations to the length of the gown, and then it would be carefully wrapped and delivered to the family home in readiness for the wedding.

Amy’s reputation was spreading and she was becoming very much in demand. Molly complained that she seemed to be constantly rushing between the shop in Nuneaton, Forrester’s Bridal Wear in London and The Folly.

The success of the new bridal range had far exceeded any of their wildest dreams and showed no signs of waning. On the contrary, it was going from strength to strength, and although it was only just over a year since the shop had opened, Samuel Forrester had already had to employ two more seamstresses to meet the growing demand for the gowns. Now, once the manageress, Miss Jane Mellor, had seen the latest satisfied customer from the shop, Amy looked around her little empire with satisfaction.

Although much larger than the hat shop that Miss Drake managed in Kensington, it had been very similarly decorated; the walls and carpets were in shades of ivory and cream that complemented the colour of the gowns. All around were mannequins displaying wedding dresses of all styles, from very simple satins to heavily embroidered taffetas, each and every one of them Amy’s own designs. The majority of the brides-to-be who frequented the shop with their mamas would choose one of the gowns on display and a copy of it would then be made to fit their own measurements. But if, like the bride who had just left the premises, someone came in requesting an individual design, Amy would be sent for and she would make one of her now frequent visits to London, to meet the client and discuss her needs. The brides were usually happy to follow Amy’s advice, for she seemed to have a knack for knowing what sort of style would suit them and what sort of bonnet or veil would best go with their final choice.

Now she made her way upstairs to the room above the shop where the seamstresses were hard at work, and after speaking to them for some minutes about various gowns that were in the process of being made, she then donned her bonnet and warm woollen coat. Bidding Jane Mellor goodbye, she went out on to the fashionable Knightsbridge street and hailed a passing carriage. She would be staying at the Forresters’ abode as she always did, and as the carriage rolled across the cobbles she sank back in the seat looking forward to seeing Nancy. The girls were firm friends by now and enjoyed nothing more than their nightly get-together which still took place whenever Amy stayed at the smart townhouse.

When the carriage pulled up, Amy saw Nancy peeping out of the hall window, and within seconds she was on the steps with a broad smile on her face.

‘The kettle’s on,’ she chirped brightly as she ushered Amy into the hall and helped her off with her coat. ‘An’ Cook says to go straight through to the kitchen. She’s made yer one o’ yer favourite fruitcakes, an’ seein’ as Mrs Wilcox is out fer the day the ’ouse is empty except fer us so we can ’ave a chat an’ a nice cup of rosie lee together.’

Amy almost felt as if she was coming home, and the two girls continued to chatter as they hurried through to the kitchen where Cook gave Amy a hug and a welcoming kiss. In no time at all they were all sitting at the table with a good hot cup of tea and a wedge of Cook’s famous fruitcake in front of them.

Cook had a big soft spot for Amy – always had, in fact – although she was also just a little in awe of her. It was common knowledge that Amy was becoming extremely well-known in London society, for women would go to her with vague ideas of how they would like a gown to be made and Amy, with her gift for design and a few strokes of a pencil, would make their ideas become a reality. She had long since learned the gift of patience from Mr Harvey, and how to deal with customer needs, and all this, plus her stunning good looks and the fact that she was not yet even twenty-one years old, made her a remarkable young woman in Cook’s eyes.

The lovely girl they had known when she first came to them had now matured into an even lovelier young woman, but her gentle, bubbly personality remained unchanged and she was still quite content to chatter away to the others for hours about her beloved gran and her home town.

Nancy had also changed over the last year. She was now walking out with a young man. His name was Billy and he worked on one of the numerous wharfs that were studded along the banks of the River Thames. Whenever she spoke of him, which was increasingly often, her face would soften and she would become all starry-eyed. Cook teased her unmercifully about him but Nancy took it all good-naturedly and Amy had high hopes of a romantic wedding for her friend in the not-too-distant future.

‘So how’s your gran doin’ then, luv?’ Cook now asked conversationally as she slurped at her tea.

A small frown creased Amy’s brow. ‘She’s not too bad,’ she confided, ‘although this cold weather plays havoc with her poor hands.’

Cook tutted sympathetically. She knew that Amy had been concerned about her gran’s arthritis for some time, which was why, when she came to London, she rarely stayed longer than one or two nights at a time unless it was absolutely essential.

‘You’ll be off home in the mornin’ then?’ she said.

Amy nodded. ‘Yes, I’ll be up bright and early. I need to go and see Master Adam at his shop and talk to him about the men’s hats I designed. Apparently they’re going like hot cakes and he wants to discuss another material he has in mind for them, to vary the look. He and his father have decided to call them Forrester hats, which I’m really pleased about. But then I hope to be catching the ten o’ clock train, so I’ll be home by teatime.’

‘In that case I’ll make sure as your breakfast is on the table fer seven o’clock sharp,’ Cook promised and Amy smiled at her gratefully.

Nancy sipped her tea. ‘It must be nice to see blokes walkin’ about in hats you’ve designed yerself,’ she commented and then, laughing, she went on, ‘An’ it’s so much nicer ’ere since Master Adam an’ that snotty-nosed wife o’ his got their own place in Holland Park, even though it’s a bit too close for comfort. She used to have me runnin’ around after ’er like a mad thing, an’ even then nothin’ I did fer her was ever right, silly mare.’

Cook nodded in agreement. ‘Yer right there, luv. All I can say is, God help the poor buggers she’s got workin’ fer her now. I doubt she’ll keep staff fer long, the way she carries on.’

‘I feel sorry fer Master Adam,’ Nancy said. ‘They reckon she’s spendin’ money on their house left right an’ centre. It’ll be a smaller version o’ Buck Palace at the rate she’s goin’ on.’

‘Then happen it’s time Adam put his foot down wi’ her,’ Cook said wisely, but none of them really thought that would happen, knowing Eugenie as they did.

That evening, when they had retired to bed, Amy and Nancy had their usual late-night chat.

Amy no longer shared the top landing with Nancy but at the old mistress’s insistence now had a room on the second floor, which was kept ready for her frequent visits at all times. For the past hour she had been listening with amusement to Nancy going on about Billy’s seemingly endless virtues, and now she was feeling comfortably sleepy and warm. The fire in the ornately tiled grate was burning brightly as the two young women chattered on, content in each other’s company.

‘When will yer be comin’ back again?’ Nancy asked eventually when they had caught up on all their gossip and she had run out of things to say about Billy.

‘Next week. The seamstresses have almost completed that new design I was telling you about and I have to come back for the client to have her final fitting. That’s why I’m calling into the shop on my way home tomorrow.’ She chuckled as she went on, ‘To be honest, I think the seamstresses will be glad when this one is finished. They’ve spent hours and hours working on it. Up to now they’ve stitched on five thousand pearls and sequins. I reckon the gown will be worthy of Queen Victoria herself, by the time it’s done.’

Nancy sighed dreamily as a picture of the beautiful dress Amy had described floated in front of her eyes.

‘If I ever ’ad a dress like that I don’t think I’d ever want to take it off,’ she stated, and the two girls then fell together laughing as they pictured Nancy cleaning out the grates and doing her household chores in it.

Amy was up with the lark the next morning and after eating one of Cook’s hearty breakfasts she kissed Cook and Nancy soundly and stepped out into the foggy London streets. As she climbed into the waiting carriage, she shuddered and pulled her coat more closely about her. For weeks, Molly had been saying that snow was on the way, and Amy could well believe it.

After her visits to the two shops she made it to Euston station in good time and settled comfortably into the train carriage, tucking her hands into the pretty fur muff that matched her bonnet. She had promised to visit the Forresters that evening, but first she wanted to go home and see her gran.

When she alighted at Trent Valley, Amy called into the grocer shop in the town to buy some treats for Molly for her tea then set off on her chilly walk home. It was almost four o’clock in the afternoon by now, and already the brightness had gone from the day. Frost was forming on the grass and little tufts of it stood erect like tiny sentinels as her feet crunched across it. Her breath was hanging on the air in front of her and by the time she entered the warmth of the cosy little kitchen her nose was red and her cheeks rosy.

‘My goodness, you look frozen through,’ Molly fussed as she heaved herself out of her old rocking chair. ‘Come over here and warm yourself by the fire while I get you a dish o’ nice hot stew. I’ve been waitin’ for you to get back afore I had mine. There ain’t much fun in eatin’ alone.’

After shrugging her arms out of her coat, Amy did as she was told and held her hands out to the welcoming blaze of the fire. Once she was warmed through, they sat together at the table to eat their meal while Amy told her gran all about her latest trip. Molly listened with interest; she was very proud of Amy but she also worried that the girl was doing too much. She seemed to be constantly flitting from Forrester’s Folly to London, and when she wasn’t doing that her nose was always stuck in a sketchpad. To Molly’s mind it wasn’t healthy at all. Amy was only a young woman and she should be out having fun in her free time like other girls her age, instead of working all the while. Not that Amy seemed to mind hard work – in fact, she seemed to be thriving on it – and when Molly aired her concerns she would just laugh them off and tell her that she was perfectly content with her life just the way it was.

Once the meal was out of the way, Molly carried the dirty dishes to the deep stone sink as Amy watched her with concern.

‘Are your legs hurting you again, Gran?’ she asked.

Studiously avoiding her eyes, Molly shrugged. ‘No more than usual. They’re always worse in cold weather, as well you know. Come the summer they’ll ease off again, so don’t get frettin’.’

Amy sighed as she looked at her gran’s gnarled old hands. Her days of ribbon weaving were long since over, and the loom had not been used for years now, but stood idle gathering dust. Amy had begged Molly to let her and Toby move it into one of the small outbuildings, but it had been her beloved husband’s loom and Molly was adamant that it should stay where it was. This had posed a problem for Amy, although she could understand how her gran felt. Molly had been struggling with the stairs and the small room under the eaves she slept in for some time and so Amy came up with a solution.

‘Very well, if you won’t let me move the loom then you and I can exchange rooms,’ she told Molly sensibly. ‘My room is much bigger than yours and I don’t need much space. You’d be so much more comfortable in my room.’

‘I’ll do no such thing,’ Molly had protested, but on this point Amy would not be swayed and so she and Toby had spent the whole of one Sunday transferring Molly’s bed and possessions into Amy’s room. Amy then made sure that her gran’s new bedroom was warm and comfortable, with new curtains at the window and soft thick blankets to keep out the cold on the bed as well as thick rugs on the floor. In truth, there was no longer any need for Molly to weave. The money that she had once earned, each bronze penny so important back then, was no longer necessary. Mr Forrester was a more than generous master and Amy was now earning more money than they could spend.

Amy had also ensured that the rest of the cottage was made more comfortable too with some of her earnings, and although Molly grumbled Amy knew that she was secretly pleased with the things she had bought. Her old rocking chair, which she would not hear of being done away with, was now padded with thick cushions, and Amy had bought her a stool to put her feet up on. Bright rugs were scattered all across the floor and good thick curtains hung at the windows. The coal house was full to brimming, as was the pantry, and Molly felt as if she had never had it so good. She was a good girl, was her Amy.

‘Are you in for the night now?’ she asked hopefully as she returned the washed crocks to the dresser a short while later.

Amy was lying in the fireside chair with her stockinged feet stretched out to the warmth of the fire.

She stretched lazily. ‘No. I’ve promised the old mistress I’d take some of my new sketches to The Folly tonight for her to look at. In fact, I ought to be getting off soon or I’ll get so comfy that I won’t want to go.’ As she pulled herself out of the chair with an effort, Molly clucked her tongue disapprovingly.

‘You should never be going back out in weather like this,’ she scolded. ‘It’s fit for neither man nor beast, an’ I was hopin’ Toby might come round an’ have a glass o’ me special home-made wine wi’ us tonight.’

‘You two go ahead,’ Amy told her as she pulled her soft high-buttoned leather boots on. ‘And don’t worry, Gran, I’ll wrap up warmly. I shouldn’t be gone for too long anyway.’

‘Well, if you must go just get back soon as you can.’

Amy looked at the two little pink bonnets that Molly had placed on the table. They had taken the old woman weeks to knit, for her hands were not as nifty with the knitting needles now as they had used to be. She guessed that they would be for Mary, who was the very proud mother of twins, little girls who were as alike as two peas in a pod. They were toddling about on their sturdy little legs now and into all sorts of mischief, but both Molly and Bessie utterly adored them and the knitting gave Molly something to do when Amy was away from home.

Bending, she placed a gentle kiss on Molly’s papery cheek. ‘You just stay by the fire now and keep warm,’ she warned.

Molly grunted. ‘Huh! I ain’t hardly goin’ to be out gallivantin’, am I? Now get yourself off. The sooner you’re gone the sooner you’ll be back, an’ take care.’

Amy smiled as she stepped out into the lane, just in time to see Annie Hayden entering Bessie’s cottage – and the sight instantly swiped the smile from her face. Annie lived in one of the little ribbon-weaver’s cottages in Abbey Street and was the latest in a long line of girls to set her cap at Toby. Cathy Hickman had long since given up on him and had married a local lad the year before. Annie was probably visiting on some pretext or another to see Toby, although Amy doubted that he would mind. Her gran had informed her that he seemed to be warming towards Annie lately, and as Amy set off on her journey her steps were heavy. The relationship between herself and Toby had changed noticeably since her very first visit to London. She had wondered at first if perhaps he could be jealous of the fact that she was trying to make something of herself, but had dismissed that idea almost immediately. It wasn’t in Toby’s nature to be jealous of anyone. Then she had thought that perhaps it was because he was having more to do with Annie, who had, as Bessie had bluntly put it, gone all out to woo him. But then again, no matter how she tried, she couldn’t see why that should have affected their friendship. She and Toby had been close for as far back as she could remember. Eventually, she could only assume that the cooling was due to her hectic way of life and the fact that they had simply grown up and grown apart.

Whatever the reason, she found that his cool attitude hurt her and she missed him far more than she could have imagined. Oh, he still came round to Molly’s occasionally, and he still showed interest in Amy’s designs when she showed them to him, but the closeness they had once shared seemed to be a thing of the past.

For a time she shuffled along the lane, her steps dragging. She was deeply lost in thought but then as the bitterly cold wind began to find its way through her many layers of clothes she quickened her pace. The wind was whistling eerily through the trees, which bent their barren branches towards her as if they were trying to snatch at her. But Amy hurried on regardless. The night held no fear for her and she knew every step of the way to Forrester’s Folly like the back of her hand. Soon the chimneys belching their black smoke into the dark skies came into view and she cut across the white frosted lawns to the door of the big house, keen to be out of the cold.

Lily admitted her. As usual, she was immaculately dressed in a grey serge gown and a heavily starched apron and mob cap. She took Amy’s outer things and hung them on a mahogany hat-stand. Amy thanked her and hurried towards the study, passing Beatrice, who had her arms full of Mrs Forrester’s clean laundry, in the hall. Beatrice had taken Mary’s position as lady’s maid to Mrs Forrester after the birth of Mary’s children, and loved her new role. Now she winked at Amy cheekily and Amy beamed back at her. They rarely got to see each other now, apart from the odd Sunday afternoon when Beatrice had time off and Amy was at home, but even so they had remained firm friends.

Both the master and mistress were waiting for Amy and they smiled at her warmly as she entered. Crossing to a heavy cut-glass decanter, Mr Forrester poured some of its amber contents into a glass and after placing it in Amy’s hand he drew her towards the roaring fire.

‘Get some of that down you,’ he encouraged. ‘It will warm you inside and out.’

Amy obediently sipped at the drink and as the fiery liquid made its way down her throat her eyes began to run and she coughed.

Patting her on the back, Mr Forrester chuckled. ‘There you are, you see – didn’t I tell you it was warming?’

‘Burning’ was the term Amy would have preferred to use as her insides felt as if they were on fire but she politely said nothing as she tried to compose herself. Once she was seated, she began to tell them about her latest trip to London. Mr Forrester was more than pleased with the pile of orders she placed in front of him, and leaning back in his chair he praised her. ‘Well done, Amy. At this rate we’re going to have to start to think about moving to larger premises to meet demand.’

Amy flushed at the compliment, and all the time Josephine Forrester, who as yet had said not a word, was watching her closely. ‘You’re not finding all this too much for you, are you, dear?’ she asked now. To her mind, Amy looked tired.

‘Not at all, ma’am. I love what I’m doing,’ Amy assured her quickly.

‘All the same, I don’t want you making yourself ill. I’m quite aware of all the travelling you are having to do, so Samuel and I have come up with an idea that just might make things slightly easier for you.’

When Amy looked at her curiously, Josephine hurried on, ‘The thing is, there is an empty cottage within the grounds of Forrester’s Folly. If you were to come and live in it – with your grandmother too, of course, it could save you a lot of time, running to and fro. You could have the use of the horse and carriage and travel into Nuneaton with Samuel whenever necessary, to save you having to walk everywhere. And it could also take you to the station whenever you needed to go to London. It would be nice to have you near, now that Adam and Eugenie have moved into their own property in London.’

Amy’s eyes stretched wide with shock, but then the more she thought about it, the more sense it made.

‘I’d have to talk to my gran about it,’ she told her mistress.

‘Of course you must,’ Josephine agreed, and she prayed that Molly would see the sense in her suggestion. She herself liked the thought of having Amy close at hand, as she had become very fond of her and looked forward to her visits enormously. She was a little lonely since Adam had moved out, although she could not say that she missed his wife. In fact, The Folly was a much happier place without Eugenie’s tantrums, if truth be told. She now rose in a billow of silk skirts.

‘Right then, that’s agreed.’ She smiled. ‘You speak to your gran and if she’s happy with the idea, we shall have the cottage made ready for you in no time at all.’ Josephine sailed towards the door. ‘Will you be looking in on Mother-in-law before you leave?’ she asked, as she paused with her hand on the door handle.

Amy nodded.

‘Very well. I shall excuse myself now then and look forward to hearing your decision. Good night, my dear.’ She cast one last radiant smile at Amy and then she was gone.

Later that evening, when she was perched on the edge of the elderly mistress’s huge brass bed, Amy told her of Josephine’s offer.

‘I ’ave to agree it would make sense,’ Maude said thoughtfully. ‘But what do yer think your gran will make of it?’

Amy shrugged. ‘I’m not too sure,’ she confessed, chewing on her lip. ‘Gran is a bit set in her ways and not really one for change.’

‘Well, I suppose yer could always come and live in the cottage on your own if yer gran wanted to stay put.’

Amy shook her head vehemently. ‘My place is with her. I’d never even consider leaving her on her own.’

As the girl’s eyes flashed, Mrs Forrester said gently, ‘Then that’s to your credit, my dear. But why don’t yer just put the offer to her and see how she feels about it?’

‘I will,’ Amy promised, and soon she was on her way home with her mind in a spin.

Much later that evening, when Amy and Molly were sitting either side of the fireplace, dozing over a cup of hot milk, Amy plucked up her courage and asked cautiously, ‘Gran, how would you feel about moving?’

‘Where would I be thinkin’ o’ movin’ to at my age?’ Molly raised her eyebrows.

Amy peeped at her out of the corner of her eye. ‘Well … the thing is, Mr and Mrs Forrester have offered us a cottage in the grounds of Forrester’s Folly and I wondered what you thought of the idea.’

Molly’s shrunken old frame seemed to grow in stature as she almost choked with indignation. ‘What? Leave here, yer mean? The place that’s been me home fer nearly ’alf o’ me life?’

As Amy nodded timidly, Molly’s eyes roved around the familiar room. ‘No, never!’ she declared firmly. ‘This is all I’ve ever wanted. I’m too old to be thinkin’ o’ pickin’ up sticks an’ movin’ on now. The only time I’ll ever leave here is feet first in a wooden box.’

Her answer was exactly what Amy had expected and she stared gloomily into the fire. Molly reached over, and her indignation gone now, she gently squeezed her hand.

‘I’m sorry, lass. I know it would mean a lot less rushin’ about fer you, but I’m too set in me ways. Why, I’d wither away if I had to move to somewhere strange now.’

When Amy nodded in understanding, Molly felt guilty. There was nothing in the world she wouldn’t have done for this girl. Nothing, that is, apart from what she was now suggesting.

‘You … you could always go on your own,’ she said, and now it was Amy’s turn to be indignant.

‘That’s a silly thing to say, Gran. You should know I would never leave you, not even if they were to offer me a mansion.’ Reaching out, she wrapped her arms around Molly and whispered, ‘I promise I’ll never mention it again. It was selfish of me to even consider it. I know that you’re settled here, and anyway, if we were to go I’d miss Bessie and Toby.’

‘Shush then, darlin’. Let’s just leave it at that, eh? The least said on the matter the soonest mended.’ And the old lady returned Amy’s hug and stroked her shining hair, knowing that the subject would never be raised again.

The Forresters were disappointed at Amy’s decision but they also respected it. Loyalty like hers was hard to find. And so the offer was shelved and life went on very much as it had before.