The Ribbon Weaver

Chapter Twenty-Six



The day of the ball dawned bright and clear, and Amy skipped about the cottage as she prepared breakfast for her gran and herself. Her own gown and Molly’s were pressed and hanging on the back of the door, and every time she looked at them she smiled. She could hardly believe that Molly had agreed to attend the ball with her, and could scarcely wait to show her off, although she was a little apprehensive about how Molly would cope with such a formal occasion. Molly was a home bird through and through, never happier than when she was sitting at her own fireside, but Amy hoped that she would view the event as a treat and enjoy herself.

Once the tea was mashed, she took a cup up to Molly – but the second that she set foot in her room she knew that something was wrong. Her gran’s face was as white as the linen pillowcases that she lay upon and her chest was rising and falling rapidly.

‘Gran, what’s the matter?’ Amy cried as panic gripped her.

Molly looked at her wearily. ‘Oh, it’s just this damn cough again, lass,’ she told her in a weak voice. ‘It’s had me up half the bloody night, so it has, an’ I don’t feel as if I’ve been to bed.’

‘Right, that’s it then. Enough is enough. I’m going to fetch the doctor!’ Amy declared, and when Molly began to protest she slammed the cup of tea down on the small chest-of-drawers at the side of the bed and glared at her. ‘You can moan as much as you like, Gran, but this has gone on for quite long enough. I don’t usually go against your wishes, as you well know, but this time I am going to fetch the doctor whether you like it or not.’ And so saying, she swung about in a swish of skirts and hurried away.

Amy went through the back door intending to take the short-cut across the fields and as she banged it to behind her, Bessie, who was in the process of putting a dripping sheet through the mangle in her back yard, called over to her, ‘Where are you off to in such a tearin’ rush, pet?’

Amy sped past her, shouting across her shoulder, ‘I’m going for the doctor. Gran isn’t well again so I’ve put my foot down. She should have let me fetch him weeks ago.’

Bessie nodded at her retreating back as she dried her hands on her coarse calico apron. ‘Well, I’m with yer there, gel. You’re right, but take yer time an’ I’ll go an’ stay with her till yer get back.’ And true to her word Bessie pottered away, leaving the sheet to steam in the warm sunshine.

The doctor arrived almost two hours later. By then, Molly was feeling slightly better. Bessie had helped her to wash and dress, and she was sitting in her chair by the fire.

Even so, the big man tutted when he had finished examining her. ‘That’s a rare bad chest you have on you there, Mrs Ernshaw,’ he scolded. ‘You should have seen me sooner and then I could have given you something to stop it from getting to this stage.’

‘Pah! You know I ain’t never been one fer runnin’ to the quack wi’ the least little ailment,’ she grumbled.

The doctor winked at Amy. ‘Happen this time you should have. Now I’m going to give you some linctus and I want you to take it three times a day. And just mind you do take it, otherwise Amy will tell me. Besides that, I want you to rest. You’re not as young as you used to be, Molly, and I’m sure that Amy is quite capable of seeing to anything that needs doing, so just do as you’re told for a change, eh?’

Molly muttered something under her breath and when he had snapped his bag shut Amy saw him to the door.

‘Does this mean that Gran shouldn’t go to the ball tonight?’ she asked.

The doctor looked at her regretfully. ‘I’m afraid it does, Amy. It wouldn’t do her any good at all in her present condition. If we are to clear that chest of hers she should stay in the same temperature.’

Amy was unable to hide her disappointment as Bessie squeezed her arm sympathetically. ‘Never mind, love, there’s absolutely no reason why you shouldn’t still go. Me an’ Toby will see as she’s all right, I promise. Those grandparents of yours have gone to a lot o’ trouble to organise this affair, so you just get ready an’ leave the rest to us. Yer gran will be as right as ninepence, you’ll see. An’ she’d hate for yer to miss it.’

Amy looked at her kindly neighbour, feeling as if she was being torn in two. One half of her wanted to stay with her gran. The other half of her recognised the truth of Bessie’s words, for the Forresters had pulled out all the stops to arrange this ball in her honour. It looked set to be an occasion that would be remembered for a long, long time to come, so how could she let them down?

Seeing the dilemma she was in, Molly, who had been listening intently, added her comments to Bessie’s. ‘Don’t even think o’ not goin’, my gel,’ she told her sternly. ‘I shall be perfectly all right here wi’ Bessie an’ Toby. To tell yer the truth, I’m relieved. Yer know I ain’t never been one fer fancy dos. But I ain’t half lookin’ forward to seein’ you all dolled up in yer glad rags.’

Knowing when she was beaten, Amy sighed heavily then set about cleaning the cottage. She was no match for her gran and Bessie when they stood together, and well she knew it.

Amy was still getting ready in her bedroom that evening when Toby arrived at the cottage and she heard her gran chatting away to him. Molly loved nothing better than for Toby to sit and read to her, and it was a comfort to know that she would be leaving her in safe hands.

Turning her attention back to the reflection in the mirror, Amy eyed herself critically. Deciding that her gown was too sophisticated for her hair to hang loose, she began to pile it on to the top of her head. Once it was clipped into place she began to tease it into long fat ringlets that framed her heart-shaped face. The springing curls seemed to have developed a life of their own and she struggled with the style for some time, wishing that Nancy were there to help her. Nancy could do in minutes what it always took Amy ages to achieve. But at last it was done and rising from her dressing-table stool she shook out her stiff taffeta skirts and headed downstairs to the kitchen.

Molly and Toby were deep in conversation but they stopped speaking when she entered and gazed towards her in awe. Her gown was in a shade of palest gold, which complemented her thick auburn hair, and it was richly embroidered with silk burgundy thread all around its lowcut neckline. Apart from the embroidery the dress was perfectly plain and she wore no jewellery whatsoever, which only seemed to add to the stunning effect.

Deeply embarrassed at the way they were staring at her, Amy flushed. ‘It’s very good of you to come round and stay with Gran, Toby,’ she told him sincerely. ‘I hope that Annie didn’t mind.’

It was Toby’s turn to flush now as he dragged his eyes away from her to stare at the copper pans that were gleaming in the firelight. ‘I weren’t seein’ her tonight anyway as it happens,’ he mumbled.

Now that Amy came to think of it she realised that she hadn’t seen Annie around for some time. She was just about to comment on the fact when they all heard the sound of the carriage approaching and she dashed away to get her cloak and her evening bag from her room.

Toby was waiting by the door when she came back downstairs and he held her cloak for her while she ran to plant a gentle kiss on Molly’s thinning hair.

‘Goodnight, Gran. Don’t get waiting up for me, I shall likely be late in.’

‘Well, just be sure an’ have a good time,’ Molly said, flapping her hand at her. ‘Now get yourself away, gel, an’ leave an old woman in peace, eh?’

Amy stood as Toby draped her cloak about her shoulders and just for an instant their eyes met and she found herself thinking how incredibly blue his were … But then the moment was lost as the coachman rapped sharply on the door, and flustered, Amy turned away from him, her heart racing. With a final wave she was gone and Toby felt as if his heart was breaking.

All was in readiness for the ball and Mr Forrester, who was in his study with François, grinned at the poor young man’s discomfort as he shuffled from foot to foot. After pouring them both a generous measure of whisky from a sparkling crystal decanter, he pressed a glass into François’ hand and smiled.

‘Come along then,’ he teased. ‘Spit it out, man. Whatever it is you wish to ask me must be important, but our guests will be arriving shortly so I suggest you begin.’

François took a great gulp of his whisky, then, raising his eyes to his host’s he smiled nervously. ‘The thing is, monsieur, as I am sure you will have guessed … I have grown extremely fond of your granddaughter. I am, I assure you, in the fortunate position to be able to offer her the best of everything, and as you are her nearest male relative I wondered …’ He gulped again as he tugged at his stiff white collar. ‘I er … I have come to ask if you would give me permission to ask for her hand in marriage.’

Staring at Mr Forrester he held his breath as he waited for his reaction, and when the man smiled he visibly relaxed.

‘I cannot pretend that this has come as a surprise,’ his host stated kindly, hoping to put the young man out of his misery. ‘And I thank you for the respect you have shown in coming to me first. I have no objections at all to you proposing to Amy, and I suspect that your proposal will be accepted as I happen to know that she is very fond of you too.’

François beamed before shaking Mr Forrester’s hand until the man feared it would drop off. ‘Thank you, monsieur. I shall ask her this very night and should she accept, you could perhaps make an official announcement at the ball?’

‘It would be my pleasure,’ Mr Forrester assured him. ‘And a most fitting conclusion to your visit. To be honest, your father had already hinted to me of your intentions and I think, like myself, he would be delighted to see the two families united.’

François clicked his heels together and bowed respectfully. ‘Thank you again, monsieur. And now with your permission I shall go and await Amy’s arrival.’ And under Mr Forrester’s watchful eye he dashed from the room.

Soon after, the Forresters took up their positions at the front door with their guests of honour at their sides, and as the guests began to arrive they formally introduced them. The young women who arrived with their parents flushed and giggled as they were introduced to the handsome young Frenchman, but he simply smiled at them politely, oblivious to their charms as he waited impatiently for Amy to arrive. Samuel and Josephine had hoped that she would prepare for the ball at The Folly so that she could greet their guests with them, but as she had sent word that her gran was ill, and knowing how much she loved the old woman they were just grateful that she had still agreed to come.

At last she swept through the door like a breath of fresh air and hugged her grandparents fondly before taking her place at François’ side. He guarded her jealously, determined that she should not spend a second with anyone but himself, and when the orchestra finally started with a graceful waltz he took her into his arms and swept her around the dance floor.

The two families looked proudly on as Monsieur Laroque murmured to Samuel, ‘I am having the feeling that tonight shall be one to remember,’ and he had no way of knowing just how true his words would prove to be.

Josephine positively glowed with pride as she introduced their granddaughter to their guests, while Samuel looked on with a broad smile on his face. The house and gardens were teeming with people and everyone was in fine high spirits. Champagne flowed like water and maids especially hired for the grand occasion flitted here and there replenishing the tables with mouthwatering treats and making sure that everyone’s glasses were full.

Even Adam seemed to be making an effort tonight and was mingling with the guests instead of locking himself away in his room as he had tended to do since Eugenie had left. The moon winked as if in approval to hear laughter in the house that had seen so much sadness.

Amy had danced so much that she was breathless, so when the grandfather clock struck ten and François took her by the hand and led her out on to the terrace, she went willingly, glad of a chance of a little fresh air. It was a perfect night. The moon was sailing high in an inky black sky surrounded by millions of stars and Amy sighed happily as François’ warm arm rested about her slim shoulders. Leaning on the ornate stone balustrade that skirted the terruce she smiled dreamily as she watched two snow-white swans swimming by in perfect harmony on the River Anker that snaked through the grounds. A sly old fox, his bushy tail flying out behind him, suddenly broke from the woods and after doing a quick tour of the lawns for any unsuspecting rabbit that might be loitering there, he disappeared back the way he had come, intent on finding his supper.

Amy smiled as she glanced up at François, but then noting his serious expression she asked, ‘Is something wrong? Are you not enjoying yourself ?’

‘How could anything be wrong when I am with you, ma petite? If I appeared grave it was only because I was thinking how very lucky I am to be here with you.’

‘Oh, François …’

He raised a finger to her lips and stopped her from going any further. ‘No, do not say anything, Aimée, for I have something that I wish very much to ask you … But first I must show you this.’

Delving into his waistcoat pocket he withdrew a small box, and when he opened the lid she found herself staring down at a sparkling diamond ring. She gasped as the moonlight caught its many facets and reflected them a thousandfold, and François smiled at her reaction.

‘This, ma petite, is for you,’ he murmured. ‘I had it especially made in Paris. Do you like it?’

‘Like it? Why, François, who could not like it? It’s beautiful,’ she stuttered.

He lifted her chin until she was staring into his eyes.

‘Aimée, you must know how much I love you by now.’ To her consternation he then dropped to one knee. ‘Aimée Elizabeth Hannah Forrester, will you please do me the very great honour of becoming my wife?’

Amy’s mouth fell into a gape. It was strange. She had dreamed of this moment and yet now that it was actually happening, she felt only numbness. He stood back up and took her into his arms, his eyes gentle as she stared up into his face, perplexed. It was almost as if she was seeing him for the very first time. She was sure that she should be feeling something, anything, and yet all she could feel was this strange numbness, and for now words failed her.

‘Come, Aimée,’ he prompted urgently when the silence stretched on. ‘Do not keep me in suspense. Let me put the ring upon your finger and then we shall go back inside and tell our families the joyous news. I have already spoken to your grandfather and he, like my father, is happy at the thought of our two families merging. Why, think of it – we could spend our lives living between Paris and England, and you need never want for anything again for as long as you live.’

Amy bristled. ‘But I never have wanted for anything, François – my gran always saw to that,’ she told him with a touch of ice in her voice. ‘We may have been poor by your standards but what we lacked in material things she more than made up for with love.’

‘Of course she did, ma petite,’ he soothed. ‘But come … just think of it. My father is one of the wealthiest men in Paris. You could have everything that your heart has ever desired. Your gran is an old woman – she cannot live forever and I would employ a nurse to see to her every need for the rest of her days.’

‘You obviously don’t know my gran very well, François,’ Amy said stoutly. ‘She is a very proud woman. She would never agree to that.’

Seeing his stricken expression, her face softened as her eyes settled on the ring again. Surely there was no problem that was insurmountable? And he was very handsome and charming.

And then the words were out before she could stop them. ‘Very well, François, I would love to be your wife.’

He gasped with joy and before she knew it he had slipped the ring on to her finger and kissed her soundly on the mouth, and then he was dragging her back into the house. He then left her side for a moment to rush over to Mr Forrester and whisper something into his ear.

Her grandfather looked towards her and smiled as she twisted the ring on her finger. It felt strange, but then Amy supposed that was to be expected. She had never been one for wearing a lot of jewellery.

The next minute, François was at her side again and marching her into the room where people were dancing. Mr Forrester went over to the orchestra and muttered something in the violinist’s ear and then the music suddenly stopped while he clambered on to the platform.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he boomed. ‘Do excuse me for interrupting the dancing, but I have something to share with you all. I am delighted to announce that Monsieur François Laroque has just proposed to my beautiful granddaughter and she has agreed to become his wife, so could I ask you all to raise your glasses and drink a toast to the newly engaged couple, please!’

Before Amy knew it she was surrounded by people all kissing and congratulating her, and she suddenly had the urge to escape. Everything was happening so quickly and she felt that she could hardly breathe, but then a hush fell on the room and all the guests turned, their eyes fixed on the doorway. Amy, too, slowly turned – to find Eugenie, who was obviously very drunk, glaring at her.

‘So … you managed it then,’ she sneered. ‘Not only did you wheedle your way into this family but you pretended to be their flesh and blood too. And now you have landed yourself a wealthy husband-to-be into the bargain.’ She began to advance menacingly on Amy, who could hardly believe what she was hearing. ‘Well, let me tell you this, you common little trollop: enjoy your happiness while you may, because as God is my witness I can promise you it won’t last for long. You just mark my words!’

She raised her hand but at that moment, Adam lunged forward and caught her around the waist, demanding, ‘What are you doing here, Eugenie? Why don’t you just go home and leave us in peace?’

‘But I am home, husband dear,’ she slurred as she trailed her finger down his pale cheek. ‘Surely you prefer my company to that of this little guttersnipe?’

Adam began to forcibly drag her from the room as everyone looked on in horror. The wonderful evening had been ruined and besmirched, and they all felt sorry for Adam. Eugenie began to kick and spit as he heaved her considerable bulk out into the hallway and towards the front door.

‘You’ll be sorry for this,’ she screamed as people began to whisper in little groups.

Josephine hurried over to Amy’s side and asked anxiously, ‘Are you all right, my dear?’

Amy nodded numbly, desperately wanting to run as far away as she could. François had come to stand protectively at her side, a look of complete and utter shock on his face.

‘What a dreadful woman!’ he shuddered. ‘And for this to happen at such a time.’

Amy could feel everyone’s eyes boring into her as she stood there, her cheeks aflame.

‘I … I think I should like to go now.’ Lifting her skirts she fled into the hallway, completely forgetting her manners as she shouldered her way through the guests assembled there. She did not even stop to get her cloak, and once outside she saw Adam trying to manhandle Eugenie, who was fighting like a wild cat, into her father’s carriage. She sped past them so quickly that Eugenie was not even aware that she was there, and then she ran across the lawns as if Old Nick himself was snapping at her heels. By the time she reached the shelter of the woods her chest was heaving and she stopped to lean against a tree as sobs wracked her body. The night had gone disastrously wrong and as the ring on her finger winked in the light from the moon that was filtering through the trees, she wondered if this was a bad omen for the life she was about to embark upon with François.

Inside The Folly, François was distraught and his hosts were trying to calm him as guests drifted silently away, aware that the party was over.

‘I must go after her,’ he told them as he paced to and fro.

‘No, leave her,’ Josephine urged. ‘She must be feeling humiliated and she needs some time alone to recover. Eugenie has always been jealous of Amy, but what she did tonight of all nights is totally unforgivable. You may rest assured that my husband and I will be contacting her father at the earliest opportunity about her appalling behaviour.’

The young Frenchman moved to the front door and looked across the grounds. Perhaps Mrs Forrester was right. But at least Amy had agreed to become his wife before that dreadful woman had put in an appearance. That was something at least.