The Ribbon Weaver

Chapter Twenty-Five



One sunny afternoon, Molly, Josephine and Amy were taking a gentle stroll up the lane leading from their cottage when a spasm of coughing wracked Molly’s body. Instantly concerned, Amy stopped and placed her arm about her shoulders.

‘Come on, Gran,’ she urged. ‘Let’s get you home, eh? It might be springtime but there’s still a nip in the air and you ought to be indoors. Coming for a walk was a silly idea. I thought the fresh air would do you good.’

Molly nodded, her eyes streaming from the coughing bout as she banged at her bony old chest until her breath returned.

Josephine was also concerned and taking Molly’s elbow she turned her about. ‘Why don’t you come and stay at The Folly for a few days, Mrs Ernshaw, just until you are recovered?’ she pleaded. ‘I could get our doctor in to take a look at you.’

Molly stubbornly shook her head. ‘There ain’t no place like yer own four walls when you ain’t feelin’ up to scratch, though I thank yer kindly fer the offer. An’ will yer please stop callin’ me Mrs Ernshaw? Me name is Molly.’

Amy and Josephine exchanged an amused smile as they helped the old woman towards the cottage and at the door, Josephine told them, ‘Right well, I must be off now. Are you quite sure that there is nothing you need?’

‘Nothing at all, thank you,’ Amy assured her. ‘I’ll be up to The Folly this afternoon, so long as Gran is all right.’

‘Then I shall get Cook to make you one of your favourite Victoria sponge cakes for tea, and another for you to bring home for Molly,’ Josephine told her as she turned towards the carriage. ‘Goodbye for now.’

‘Bye,’ Molly answered. She was getting to quite like the woman and found herself looking forward to her popping in, which she seemed to be doing more and more of late.

Amy helped Molly hobble into the kitchen just as Bessie bustled towards them, wildly flapping an envelope.

‘It’s for you, Amy,’ she told her breathlessly. ‘Another letter from Paris, by the looks of it. I bet it’s from that François. It came just after you’d set off fer yer stroll.’

Amy’s heart missed a beat just as it always did when she heard from him. She slipped the letter into her coat pocket as Bessie looked at Molly leaning heavily on Amy’s arm.

Nothing her pale face, she asked, ‘Has she been coughin’ again?’

Before Amy could answer, Molly snapped, ‘I ain’t invisible, yer know, Bessie Bradley, an’ I am capable of answerin’ fer meself. I ain’t quite in me dotage just yet. I can’t understand why you pair keep fussin’. It’s only a bloody cough when all’s said an’ done.’

Bessie nodded as Amy pursed her lips to stop herself from grinning.

‘Aye, well, that’s as maybe, yer stubborn old sod, but let’s get yer sat down, eh?’ With that, Bessie grabbed Molly’s other elbow and she and Amy propelled her towards her rocking chair. Bessie went to fill the kettle at the sink as Amy sank down at the table to read her letter. As her eyes scanned the page her face lit up, and Bessie asked curiously. ‘Had some good news, have yer?’

‘I can hardly believe it,’ Amy gasped. ‘François is coming to England this summer to visit.’ She read the letter again to convince herself that it was true as Bessie looked on with mixed feelings. She loved Amy almost as much as Molly did and wanted nothing more than to see her happy. But oh, what a shame that she couldn’t have found happiness with her Toby!

‘Gran, you’ll be able to meet François at last,’ Amy bubbled as she waggled the letter in the air. It was full of love and endearments, and the young woman’s heart was singing as she launched into yet another description of his many virtues.

Molly and Bessie exchanged a glance, and, could Bessie have known it, Molly was feeling much as she did. But then, if this Frenchman was the one that Amy wanted, she was glad he was coming at last. Hopefully, his visit would set a seal on Amy’s future, and although he wasn’t the one Molly would have chosen for her girl, still she might live long enough to see her settled. After how she had been feeling of late she had sometimes doubted it. But then, she had the consolation of knowing that Amy would always be well cared for, no matter what the outcome with the Frenchman. It was already more than obvious that her newfound grandparents doted on her, and the knowledge gave Molly comfort.

Amy’s excitement was still as great when she reached The Folly that afternoon, and her grandparents looked on with amusement as she waved François’ letter at them, although they did not seem to be as surprised at the news as she had expected them to be. The reason why became clear when Josephine patted the seat at the side of her and told Amy, ‘Come and sit beside me, dear. We have another piece of news that you might like to hear.’

Immediately curious, Amy crossed the room to sit at her grandmother’s side and Josephine squeezed her hand affectionatley.

‘It just so happens that your grandfather and I also received a letter from Monsieur Laroque this morning,’ she explained. ‘He informed us of his son’s visit and I must admit it got us to thinking, so your grandfather has already replied, inviting the whole of the Laroque family to accompany him. We have all had a lot of adjusting to do over the last few months and we wanted to somehow officially welcome you into the family – and what better way to do it than to celebrate with a ball that could coincide with their visit?’

Momentarily speechless, Amy gaped at them, and then for the first time she tentatively put her arm around the woman who she had so recently discovered was her grandmother and hugged her, causing Josephine to flush with delight.

‘Oh, that will be wonderful!’ she cried, clapping her hands with delight.

Her grandfather winked at her mischievously. ‘I have a strange feeling that once François arrives, this could well turn into a double celebration,’ he told her and now it was Amy’s turn to blush as the meaning of his words sank in.

Josephine was in her element and every bit as excited as Amy. ‘I intend this ball to be the best the town has ever seen,’ she declared. ‘We shall skimp on nothing, and of course, my dear, you shall have to design us each a new gown and then we can go together to choose the materials and your grandfather can set the seamstresses to work to get them done in time for us.’

The two women spent the next hour chattering on about the forthcoming event as Samuel looked on indulgently, but then glancing at the clock, Amy reluctantly took her leave of them, kissing them both shyly on the cheek as she slipped from the room.

She lay in her bed that night trying to picture François’ face in the darkness, but try as she might his features eluded her. Still, she thought, that will soon be put to rights now, for in just a few short weeks they would be back together again. And on that happy note she drifted off to sleep.

The next few weeks passed in a flurry of preparation and activity but at last the day came when Amy found herself standing on the railway platform, along with Mr and Mrs Forrester, staring down the line as her heart hammered in her chest. At last the train appeared, belching thick black smoke into the cloudless blue sky. When eventually it drew to a halt she scanned the carriage doors as the stationmaster threw them open, and then at last there he was, stepping down on to the platform, even taller and handsomer than she remembered him. Mr Forrester hurried to welcome Monsieur and Madame Laroque and Adeline, and Amy and François stood there, their hands clasped, staring deep into each other’s eyes. François kissed her hand tenderly with the smile that never failed to charm her as he told her, ‘Ma petite, you have grown even more beautiful, if that is possible.’

‘I can hardly believe you are really here,’ Amy whispered. ‘So very much has happened since we last met.’

‘Ah yes, but they are good things, no? Monsieur Forrester, or should I say your grandpapa, has informed us that he has discovered you are actually a part of his family, and we have rejoiced for you all. Now I am very much looking forward to seeing your home, Forrester’s Folly.’

‘Oh no, François,’ Amy quickly corrected him. ‘I do have a room there should I ever wish to use it, but I still live with my gran. You know … the one I told you all about? I am longing for you to meet her. I’m sure you will like her.’

Slightly confused, he frowned and said, ‘But surely, ma petite, now that you know that the Forresters are your true family, should your loyalty not lie with them? You will after all be very rich one day, will you not?’

‘Of course I am loyal to them.’ Her chin jutted indignantly. ‘But you must remember that my gran is the one who brought me up – and as I once told you, I could never leave her. Were I to discover that I was the Queen of England herself, nothing will ever change that.’

Seeing that he had annoyed her, François was instantly penitent. ‘Do not become agitated,’ he implored her. ‘I had no wish to cast aspersions on your guardian. But as for never leaving her … Well, I can only hope that by the time I am due to return home I will have changed your mind. And now, mademoiselle, allow me to escort you to your carriage, for I fear I have vexed you, and that was not my intention.’

Slightly mollified, Amy took his arm and as the carriage rattled towards The Folly she reverted to her normal cheery self, yet somehow some of the joy had gone out of François’ arrival and it had not been as she had imagined.

Nevertheless, the atmosphere in the dining room during dinner was pleasant and relaxed. The cook had excelled herself and they were served with a home-made vegetable soup and melon boats, followed by a succulent goose stuffed with herbs picked fresh from the garden that Monsieur Laroque declared was délicieux. The dessert was a mouthwatering meringue topping fresh baked apples from the orchard, and at last Monsieur Laroque sat back in his chair, and daintily wiping his little waxed moustache, he sighed contentedly.

‘Ah, I am how you say? Fitting to burst!’ he exclaimed and everyone laughed.

Shortly afterwards the women retired to the drawing room where they were served with small glasses of sherry whilst the men enjoyed a glass or two of Mr Forrester’s finest port from the cellar and huge aromatic cigars in his study.

As the twilight beyond the window gave way to night, the men joined them in the drawing room and Amy rose. ‘I shall have to be going now,’ she announced quietly.

François’ shoulders sagged. ‘But surely not so soon, Aimée? We have so much to talk of. Could you not spend the night here, just for once?’ His voice was sharp with disappointment but Amy would not be swayed.

‘I am afraid that is out of the question,’ she told him firmly, although she could not resist a smile at the way he pronounced her name. It never failed to amuse her and she was sure that she would never tire of hearing it. ‘I am sorry to leave you so soon, but my gran has been unwell and I don’t like to leave her alone for too long. But never mind – we have all of the rest of your stay before us, and tomorrow I shall take you to meet her.’

‘You will like her, François,’ Mr Forrester interrupted. ‘She really is quite an incredible old lady. She has many of the traits that my late mother possessed, one of them being stubbornness, so it’s quite hard to determine where Amy inherited hers from.’ His eyes were alight with mischief as Amy grinned back at him.

‘Then at least let me escort you home in the carriage,’ Francois pleaded and eventually Amy agreed.

‘Very well then, but just this once. I do actually prefer to walk, but if I do that, you may never find your way back.’

Mr Forrester left the room to order the carriage to be brought to the front of the house and shortly afterwards Amy and François left. The two ladies retired to bed whilst Monsieur Laroque and Mr Forrester discussed business over yet another glass of port.

Eventually, the Monsieur remarked, ‘Amy is indeed a most fortunate young woman, I am thinking.’

‘Actually, my wife and I consider ourselves to be the fortunate ones.’ Mr Forrester flicked his cigar ash into a cut-glass ashtray. ‘Amy is an exceptional young woman. She is beautiful, intelligent, talented and warm, and she had brightened our lives already.’

‘That I can well believe.’ The Frenchman peered at his host from the corner of his eye before proceeding cautiously. ‘You may have observed that my son is quite taken with your granddaughter, monsieur. My wife and I are very pleased about this, as François has been – how do you English say? – “a bit of a one for the ladies” up until now. My wife was beginning to despair of ever marrying him off, but now that we have discovered that Amy is your granddaughter, we consider she would be a very good match for François and we have high hopes that before our visit is over, he will approach you to ask for her hand in marriage. How would you feel about this, Monsieur Forrester?’

Mr Forrester swirled his port about in his glass and peered into its depth, considering. ‘Well, from a purely selfish point of view I would be sad to lose her so soon,’ he admitted. ‘But if François was asking her for the right reasons and it was what Amy wanted, then I would not stand in their way.’

Monsieur Laroque stared into the fire with a wide smile on his face. ‘Then that is good, monsieur, and it would certainly cement our partnership. Why, with our two businesses combined there would be no stopping us. Come, let us drink to young love.’

And their glasses clinked merrily together.

The next morning, Amy arrived back at The Folly bright and early. There were just two days to go to the ball and she was buzzing with happiness. Also, today she intended to take François to meet her gran. She found him just leaving the dining room when she slipped into the hallway, and he instantly hurried to meet her. He noticed that she was looking extremely pretty in an elegant sky-blue day suit, with a jaunty little plumed hat perched on her head, and he gazed at her sparkling eyes and rosy dimpled cheeks admiringly.

‘Today we shall spend the whole day together, yes?’ he asked beseechingly.

Without hesitation she nodded. ‘Yes, we shall, François. I am going to show you our shop in town and then I shall take you to meet my gran.’

He clicked together his heels and bowed gallantly. ‘I am yours to command, mademoiselle.’ He laughed as, hand-in-hand, they made their way out into the summer sunshine.

The day turned out to be very enjoyable. Amy gave him a guided tour of her hometown and introduced him to the staff in the shop as well as in the factory. The women were enchanted with him and blushed as he kissed their hands. François obviously found it all very interesting, if tiny compared to Paris.

Amy eventually led him back to the carriage, telling him, ‘I shall take you to meet my gran now.’

‘Lead the way, ma petite,’ he agreed, and soon the coach was swinging through Attleborough on its way to the cottage.

When it drew up outside, François jumped out and stared at the humble dwelling. ‘This is your home?’ he asked.

Amy nodded as he helped her step down from the coach. ‘Yes, it is. But do excuse my gran if she is a little quiet, won’t you? She hasn’t been at all well.’

When they first entered the cluttered little kitchen, François had to screw his eyes up so that they could adjust to the gloom after the bright sunshine outside. And then he slowly looked around in amazement. The cottage was tiny. He noted the crude dresser and the flagstone floors with gaily-coloured peg rugs scattered here and there, and wondered how two people could manage to live in such a confined space. However, he also noticed that everywhere was sparkling clean and extremely comfortable. As he stood there with his hat held respectfully in his hands, Amy hurried over to an old rocking chair that stood beside a highly polished brass fender that was placed around a low burning fire. Sitting in the chair was an old woman who was eyeing him suspiciously, and advancing on her he held out his hand.

‘You must be Madame Ernshaw.’ He bestowed his most charming smile on her and then, taking the wrinkled hand that Molly extended to him, he bowed respectfully and kissed it.

‘I am that, lad. But yer can call me Molly; everybody else does an’ we may as well start as we mean to go on. Now sit yerself down there an’ let me have a look at yer.’

Moving his coat-tails to either side of him, François perched uncomfortably on the edge of the sofa.

He saw the pride shining in Amy’s eyes as she looked down at the old woman, and as their eyes met he sensed the strong bond between them. It was hard to believe that a young woman as intelligent and beautiful as Amy had grown up in such surroundings and with such a wizened old guardian, but she obviously loved her.

Molly brought his thoughts back to her when she asked bluntly, ‘So what do yer think o’ Nuneaton then?’

François flashed her another dazzling smile. ‘It is most interesting, madame.’

She nodded before turning her attention back to Amy and barking, ‘Well, have yer forgot yer manners, gel? Get that kettle on. I’m sure as François could manage a brew an’ I know I could. I’m as dry as a bone.’

Not understanding her use of the local slang, François was perplexed, and Amy smothered her laughter with her hand as she told him, ‘You will have to excuse Gran. I’m afraid she’s not one for putting on airs and graces, as I’m sure you will discover over time.’ Then, leaving them to chat, she hurried away to do as Molly had told her.

When the lovers left, Molly sat staring broodily into the fire, and it was there that Bessie found her when she entered the cottage a short time later.

‘Well, I saw Amy turn up wi’ her handsome Frenchman. What’s he like?’ she demanded.

Molly dragged her eyes away from the fire and looked up at her, her eyes bleak.

‘He don’t seem a bad sort, Bessie,’ she admitted grudgingly, ‘but I’ll tell yer now, he ain’t the one fer my Amy. They’re from two different worlds, as different as chalk from cheese.’

Bessie hitched up her ample bosom before asking cautiously, ‘Are yer goin’ to tell Amy that?’

‘No, I ain’t.’ Molly shook her head slowly. ‘It ain’t my place to interfere. Amy’s old enough to make her own mind up an’ she’ll have to learn from her own mistakes, same as we all do. She’s movin’ in different circles now; hobnobbin’ wi’ the gentry. O’ course, there’s no reason why she shouldn’t, seein’ as it’s turned out she’s gentry herself. I always told yer I thought she were a cut above, didn’t I? But I just worry about her, that’s all. She were brought up here, a world away from the types o’ places she’s visitin’ now, an’ it’s a big change fer her.’

‘Yes, you did always say that Amy were somethin’ special.’ Bessie’s head wagged in agreement. ‘An’ it turned out that you were right. But yer know, Molly, I think underneath all her fancy clothes, Amy is still the same lass that you brought up as yer own, an’ it will take a lot more than a fancy-talkin’ Frenchman to alter that. She may have the Forresters’ blood flowin’ through her veins, but it’s your morals that she lives by an’ it’s you that’s made her the person she is. Amy’s got her head screwed on, so don’t go worryin’ about her unnecessarily, eh?’

Molly sighed as she pulled her shawl tighter about her scrawny shoulders. At the end of the day all she really wanted was for Amy to be happy.