The Ribbon Weaver

Chapter Three



Amy and Beatrice stared down the lane expectantly. It was Mary’s first day off from Forrester’s Folly since she had started her new job and they had been waiting for her for over an hour.

‘She can’t be much longer,’ complained Amy, pushing her damp curls from her forehead. The sun was blazing down and both little girls were hot and sticky. Luckily they didn’t have to wait much longer, for minutes later, Mary turned the corner in the lane and came into view. Delighted, both children flew to meet her and Beatrice hugged her sister tight. At sight of them, Mary’s eyes filled with tears and a huge lump formed in her throat. The first week had not gone at all as she had imagined it would. The hours were long and hard; she missed her family and was suffering from a severe bout of homesickness. But not wishing to upset the children, she smiled at them as best she could and pointed to the basket on her arm.

‘I’ve got some rare treats in here for yer,’ she told them. ‘Cakes left over from yesterday teatime. Cook let me bring them for yer.’

‘Cor, can I have one now?’ asked Beatrice, her eyes shining greedily as she reached for the linen cloth covering the basket.

Mary laughed and gently slapped her hand away. ‘No yer can’t, yer little madam. You’ll wait till we get home, so there.’

Beatrice pouted but then as Mary grinned at her she laughed and soon side-by-side they reached the little row of cottages.

As Mary passed, the neighbours called a greeting through their open doors and the girl waved back. Before she had even managed to get to her own door, Bessie flew out to meet her and caught her in a fierce embrace then, holding her at arm’s length, she surveyed her quizzically.

‘Are yer all right, love?’ Her voice was loaded with concern as she noted Mary’s pale face and red-rimmed eyes, but the girl smiled bravely.

‘O’ course I am, Mam, why wouldn’t I be?’ Arm-in-arm they entered the cottage. Within seconds the children were swarming around the basket like a plague of locusts and minutes later, every last crumb of the dainty tarts and pastries were gone.

‘By, they made short work o’ them,’ laughed Bessie as Mary managed a weak smile. Now that all the goodies were gone, the children, apart from Amy and Beatrice, ran back outside, almost knocking Molly over in their haste as she entered the cottage.

‘Steady on, you lot,’ she scolded with a grin, but then as her eyes came to rest on Mary she frowned.

‘Are yer all right, lass?’ she asked, exactly as Bessie had done only minutes before. Suddenly Mary’s lip trembled and her chin drooped to her chest.

Bessie was beside her instantly. ‘Oh, there, there, lass, come on – tell me what’s wrong now,’ she pleaded, and the tears that had been threatening suddenly welled from her daughter’s eyes to pour in torrents down her pale cheeks.

‘I’m all right, Mam, honest – just a bit homesick, that’s all. Take no notice o’ me.’

Bessie’s heart went out to her. ‘Come on, now – tell me what’s wrong, please. It can’t be just that yer homesick. There must be sommat else.’

Catching Molly’s eye, she shook her head slowly. This wasn’t at all how she had imagined her daughter’s first homecoming to be. By now Mary could no longer stem her feelings and, burying her face in her mother’s ample bosom, she sobbed as if her heart would break. When eventually she managed to calm down a little, Molly ushered Beatrice and Amy from the room, then going to Mary she said gently, ‘Now then, darlin’, come on. All the little ’uns are outside out o’ the way now, so what’s really the matter?’

Sniffing loudly, Mary slowly began to draw off the white cotton gloves she was wearing, and the sight of her poor hands made Molly and Bessie gasp. They were a mass of red weeping sores, the skin missing completely in places. At sight of them Bessie began to cry too.

‘Oh, yer poor little love.’ Guilt was flooding through her. ‘You ain’t going back there and that’s a fact!’

Molly chewed on her lip. ‘It’s the washing soda that’s done it,’ she commented wisely. ‘It’s ’cos you ain’t been used to having yer hands in water all day. But I promise yer, within an hour I can make ’em feel easier if you’ll let me, though I’ll have to be cruel to be kind.’

Looking Mary straight in the eye she waited for an answer and when the girl slowly nodded she crossed to Bessie’s sink where she collected a tin bowl. ‘Right, Bessie, get me a big block o’ salt,’ she ordered.

Bessie hurried away to the pantry and when she returned with it, Molly had the bowl half-full of hot water. She began to dissolve the salt in it before telling Mary in a voice that brooked no argument, ‘Soak yer hands in there.’

Obediently the poor girl did as she was told but as her hands entered the water she cried out with pain.

Holding her wrists, Molly ordered, ‘Keep ’em in there now, I promise you’ll benefit.’

Ten tearful minutes later, the trembling girl lifted her sore hands from the water and Molly tenderly dried them. Then, taking some salt, she began to rub it as gently as she could into Mary’s chafed hands. Once that was done she hurried back to her own cottage and returned with a large jar of goose grease.

‘There – now rub some o’ that in, then put your gloves back on,’ she said kindly. When everything had been done as she had asked, she smiled sympathetically at the solemn-faced girl.

‘Now I know it hurts, but if you rub a bit o’ salt in every night and then some goose grease, your skin’ll harden up in no time. I know the goose grease has got a nasty smell, but I guarantee it’ll work. Here, look – I’ll tuck it in yer basket fer yer. There’s sommat else as will help an’ all if you’ve the stomach to try it.’

When Mary raised a questioning eyebrow, Molly grinned. ‘Do yer have a chamber pot in yer room?’

Mary flushed, saying, ‘Yes, we both have.’

‘Good, then each mornin’ wash yer hands in it afore yer empty it. Not the nicest o’ things to do admittedly, but if it helps then it will be worth it.’

Mary wrinkled her nose in distaste at the thought but then gave a watery smile. ‘Thanks, Molly, and don’t worry, Mam – I am goin’ back. Happen I was just feelin’ a bit sorry for meself.’

From then on, the rest of the afternoon improved but when the girl left, Bessie was quiet.

‘Do yer think she’ll be all right, Molly?’ she asked worriedly.

Molly smiled. ‘O’ course she’ll be all right. Mary is made o’ stern stuff an’ it’ll take more than sore hands to make her walk away from such a good job,’ she answered, but inside she was thinking, My Amy will never do a job like that so long as I draw breath.

The next Sunday saw a completely different Mary swinging down the lane. Her hands, although still red raw in places, were hardening up slowly just as Molly had promised, and she looked much more her usual cheerful self.

This week, besides her basket of goodies she had also brought them some gossip. ‘I’ve been inside the main house,’ she told them joyfully. ‘And I’m telling yer, Mam, it’s like nothing yer could ever imagine.’

It was slightly cooler this week and Beatrice and Amy stared at her with shining eyes, happy to stay in and listen.

‘Why did you get to go in there then?’ Amy asked curiously.

Mary patted the younger girl’s springing curls affectionately. ‘I’d fetched some dry towels in from the line and the housekeeper told me to take ’em up to the first floor to the mistress’s rooms,’ she told her. ‘Oh, yer should see the carpet in the foyer – it’s red and it goes right from wall to wall – and all the way up the stairs are great paintings all in heavy gold frames.’ Amy’s eyes were wide with wonder and as Mary went on they grew wider still.

She told them of huge crystal chandeliers that sparkled like diamonds in the sunlight, and solid mahogany sideboards that were polished till you could see your face in them, and every pair of eyes in the room were on her as she related her tale.

‘Do yer ever get to see the master or the mistress?’ asked Beatrice inquisitively.

‘Occasionally,’ Mary replied, ‘and I have seen Master Adam, that’s Mr Forrester’s son, and his wife.’

‘Ooh! What’s she like?’ Immediately Amy was interested again. ‘Is she beautiful like a princess?’

Mary chuckled. ‘I suppose she is pretty,’ she admitted, ‘but only in looks. No one seems to like her very much and she’s …’ She sought in her mind for the right words. ‘Well, spoiled, I suppose. Her name is Eugenie and we often hear her shouting and throwing tantrums at Master Adam if something upsets her, yet he still seems to dote on her fer all that.’

‘What about Master Adam’s sister?’ It was Molly asking now, but Mary could only shrug.

‘All I know is that her name is Jessica. No one ever mentions her, but Cook told me on the quiet that she and the master had some big fall out some years ago and he ordered her from the house. They’ve seen neither hide nor hair of her since. And the mistress, well, from what I can make out, ever since then she’s become some sort of an invalid, yer know? She stays in her room a lot, but I’ve never seen her either.’

‘Who else is there then?’ piped up Amy, and Mary screwed up her eyes as she tried to think of all the staff. After a time she began to count them off on her fingers.

‘There’s Lily the parlourmaid, an’ Mrs Gibbs, the cook, then there’s Ruby, the chambermaid, and o’ course Alice, who works in the dairy. There’s Tom, he’s the gardener but we don’t get to see much of him ’cos he lives in a cottage in the grounds wi’ his missus an’ his kids and he has a young lad that works under him but I don’t know his name yet. Apparently, the master took him from the workhouse an’ he lives in wi’ Tom an’ his lot. Then there’s Seth – Mr Turpin – he’s head over all the stables an’ he lives in the rooms above the stable-block wi’ his missus, Winifred, an’ their kids. There was a butler an’ all when I first went there but he’s left now an’ it don’t look like they’re goin’ to replace him. I heard Mrs Benn say sommat about him bein’ surplus to requirements to the master when I passed ’em on me way to the laundry one day. And that’s about all the people I’ve got to know yet. Oh, except for the housekeeper, Mrs Benn, who I just mentioned, but she tends to keep herself very much to herself. Oh, and o’ course there’s Joe, he’s Seth’s son an’ one o’ the stable-boys. He lives with his mam and dad above the stables.’ As she mentioned Joe’s name she flushed a dull brick-red and Beatrice giggled.

‘Do yer fancy him then, our Mary? Is he handsome?’

Mary flushed an even deeper red if that were possible. ‘O’ course I don’t fancy him,’ she denied much too quickly and Molly and Bessie exchanged an amused grin. It sounded to them like Mary was developing her first crush, but neither of them wanted to embarrass her by pursuing it, so they quickly changed the subject.

The rest of the afternoon passed in happy chatter and when it was time to leave, Amy and Beatrice were allowed to walk Mary to the end of the lane with strict instructions to come straight back after seeing her off.

‘Yer will come again next Sunday, won’t yer?’ implored Amy as they parted.

Dropping a kiss on her unruly curls, Mary grinned. ‘’Course I will,’ she promised, and with a final wave she turned and hurried away.

‘One day I’m going to go and work with our Mary,’ Beatrice declared solemnly. ‘Will you come too, Amy?’

Amy shook her head. ‘No, I won’t,’ she replied without hesitation. ‘I’m going to work in the hat factory.’ And on that note the two little girls made their way home.

The rest of the summer passed pleasantly enough, with Mary’s visits one of the highlights of each week. Often, Molly would take Amy into town to shop. She had long since learned to avoid going in on Saturdays, for that was the day when the farmers brought their beasts into the cattle-market.

The butchers would be there, critically eyeing each animal as it arrived and once they had purchased the ones they wanted and struck a deal with the farmer, they would often slaughter them there and then, and sell off the joints of meat to the passers-by.

Amy had only witnessed this once and had become so hysterical that Molly had vowed never to let the child see it again. For months afterwards, Amy had suffered terrible nightmares and ever since, they had never gone into town on a Saturday again. More often than not, now they shopped on a Wednesday, which was also a market-day, and Amy looked forward to it. She loved the stalls and the hustle and bustle of the crowds and would drag Molly from one colourful display to another as the stallholders smiled at her indulgently and waved a cheery greeting.

Molly would swell with pride at the admiring glances. Amy was like a little ray of sunshine on a dark day and her mischievous but warm little nature made her shine all the more.

It was on one such day as they were walking along Abbey Street that Amy tugged on Molly’s hand and pointed ahead excitedly. ‘Look, Gran, look at the lovely horse and carriage.’ She almost dragged Molly along in her haste as Molly smiled indulgently.

‘Aye, I can see it, but slow down, love, or you’ll have me over.’

The carriage was some way away, stood outside the hat shop. When they were still some yards from it, Samuel Forrester suddenly stepped from inside the shop and, walking round to the other side of the carriage, he climbed inside, nodding to the driver as he did so to move on.

Amy was still dragging Molly along, intent on catching a closer look at the beautiful dapple-grey mare before it pulled away.

It was as they passed the fine carriage that Molly caught a glimpse of the woman inside. She supposed that this must be Josephine, Samuel Forrester’s wife, out on one of her rare outings, and instantly all the stories that Molly had ever heard of her were proven to be true. Josephine Forrester was indeed a beauty. Even as she was thinking it, the woman suddenly turned from saying something to her husband and glanced out of the window. What happened next shook Molly to her very core. As the woman’s eyes latched on to Amy, every ounce of colour seemed to drain from her face and she leaned forward to stare at the child more closely.

At the same time the child looked up and for an instant their eyes locked. Amy flashed her a huge smile but then with a clatter of hooves on the cobblestones, the carriage pulled away.

‘Eeh, Gran, did you see that lovely lady?’ Amy said excitedly, her young imagination fired.

Molly nodded as the child rambled on, ‘She were just like the princess in the fairy story Toby read to me last night, and did you see how she was dressed? By, her bonnet was lovely and that gown she was wearin’ must have been real velvet.’

Amy sighed dreamily. To her, Josephine Forrester in her fine clothes was a world away from the rest of the women who were walking about in their drab dresses and dull shawls. But for some reason the joy had suddenly gone from the day for Molly, and tugging at the little girl’s hand, she said, ‘Come on, love, let’s get away home, me feet are aching.’

‘Aw, Gran – we haven’t done all our shopping yet, nor even been to the pie stall.’ Disappointment clouded her face but Molly was adamant. She was more than used to people looking at Amy, yet there was something in the way that Josephine Forrester had stared at her that had rung a warning bell in her mind.

‘Never mind the rest o’ the shopping, we’ll do that tomorrow,’ she said firmly.

‘All right, Gran,’ agreed the little girl, never one to sulk, and with her mind full of the beautiful lady she had just seen, she skipped merrily ahead longing to get home now so that she could tell Beatrice all about it.

Molly had told Amy when she was very small that she was her gran. She said that she had taken her in when her mother died after her father had been killed in an accident, and Amy never queried why she had the same last name as her gran. Every day the old women prayed to God for forgiveness for the lies she had told, but just as Bessie had once predicted, Amy and anyone else who knew her never doubted her word. But for some reason today, for the very first time in a long while, Molly found herself thinking back to that fateful Christmas Eve, and the lies she had told lay heavy on her heart.

Some time later, after throwing her coat across the back of a silk chaiselongue in the deep bay window at Forrester’s Folly, Josephine Forrester crossed to a bell-pull and tugged it. Within seconds, a maid in a frilly white apron appeared as if by magic.

‘Yes, ma’am?’ The girl bobbed her knee respectfully and Josephine said, ‘Tea, Lily, if you please.’

‘Yes, ma’am – straight away.’ The girl backed towards the door and scuttled away as if her life depended on it.

‘Is anything wrong, Mother? You look pale.’

Looking across to her son, Adam, who was sitting on a settee with his wife, Josephine shook her head distractedly and replied, ‘No, dear, I’m quite all right. It’s just …’

As her voice trailed away and she gazed from the window across the lush green lawns, her husband exchanged a worried glance with their son.

‘Your mother isn’t feeling too well, Adam, despite what she says. I was hoping a ride out in the carriage and a little fresh air would do her good, but unfortunately we had got no further than the hat factory in the town when she decided she wanted to come home.’

Turning suddenly as if she hadn’t heard a single word he had said, Josephine demanded, ‘Samuel, you must have seen the child. She was …’ She struggled to find the right words. ‘She was standing outside the hat shop with an old woman. She smiled at me and it was almost like looking at Jessica when she was that age. She had the same red hair – the same dark eyes. She even had Jessica’s smile.’

A deep frown creased Adam’s brow and Eugenie pouted, as they silently watched Josephine pacing the floor.

‘There must be hundreds of children about with red hair, Mother,’ Adam patiently pointed out. ‘And every time you see a young woman or a child who looks even remotely like Jessica we have this same thing.’

At that moment, there came a tap to the door and Lily reappeared pushing a laden tea-trolley.

‘I’m going to my room for a rest before dinner. Are you coming?’ Eugenie stared at her husband imperiously but for once she did not have Adam’s undivided attention; his eyes remained on his mother.

‘I’ll be up shortly, darling,’ he replied. ‘You go ahead.’

Flouncing from the room in a swish of silk skirts, she closed the door resoundingly behind her.

Taking his wife’s elbow, Samuel led her to a chair and pressed her gently into it as Lily poured out the tea.

‘Look, darling, you’re letting your imagination run away with you again.’ His voice was heavy with sadness and regret. ‘As Adam pointed out, it’s the same every time you see anyone with red hair or dark eyes who looks anything at all like Jessica.’

Leaning forward in his chair, Adam asked, ‘How old was this child anyway, Mother?’

Josephine sighed as a picture of the lovely faced flashed before her eyes. ‘About five or six, I should say,’ she replied eventually.

Waving aside the tea that Lily held out to him, Adam quickly rose from his seat and strode towards the door. ‘I’ve just remembered I have something I need to do,’ he said curtly, and without another word he too left the room, much as his wife had done only moments before him.

The kitchen door had barely closed behind Lily when she gabbled out, ‘There’s goin’ to be ructions back there again. Miss Eugenie’s just stormed out o’ the room in a rare old strop an’ fer once Mr Adam didn’t go chasin’ after her skirts.’

The staff were enjoying a well-earned tea break at the enormous scrubbed table and they all looked towards her, eager to hear whatever gossip she had to impart.

‘What’s goin’ on now then?’ Cook was the first to give in to curiosity.

‘Well …’ Smoothing down her starched white apron and straightening her frilly mop cap, Lily approached the table. ‘Seems like the mistress went out fer a ride wi’ the master an’ while they were out he called in at the hat shop in town. The mistress got herself all worked up ’cos she saw a little girl who put her in mind o’ Miss Jessica standin’ outside it. But soon as ever the mistress mentioned Miss Jessica’s name, Miss Eugenie were off.’

‘Hmph, that I can well believe,’ the rosy-cheeked Cook grumbled. ‘If it weren’t fer that spoiled little madam then I’ve no doubt poor Miss Jessica would be here still. That little strumpet never could stand Miss Jessica – but then she never liked anyone who Master Adam paid any attention to.’

Mary’s eyes were almost starting from her head as she listened. This had certainly put some spice into the day and she could hardly wait for Lily to go on. At this rate she’d have lots of gossip to take home to her mam and Molly this coming weekend. However, much to her disappointment, the untimely entrance of Mrs Benn, the housekeeper, stopped the gossip mid-flow.

‘What’s this then?’ As she looked sternly from Lily to her rapt audience around the table, Lily stammered, ‘I were just sayin’ as how there’s trouble back there in the drawin’ room, Mrs Benn. The mistress had gone an’ got herself into a state ’cos—’

‘LILY – that is quite enough! I will not have you gossiping about the master and mistress’s affairs, do you hear me?’

Lily flushed a dull brick-red and dropped her eyes guiltily from the housekeeper’s furious face.

‘Yes, Mrs Benn,’ she mumbled, almost shaking in her shoes.

‘As for the rest of you,’ Mrs Benn’s eyes swept the table, ‘have none of you any work to do? I’m sure if you haven’t, I could find you all some extra jobs.’

There was the sound of chairs scraping across the red quarry tiles as everyone rose hastily from their seats and scurried off in different directions. Muttering oaths beneath her breath, Mary made her way back to the laundry. Damn and blast Mrs Benn. She had just been starting to enjoy herself. Not only that, she’d made such a hasty exit that she’d left half of one of Cook’s home-made scones on her plate. She pictured it, all dripping with butter and freshly made strawberry jam …

‘That Mrs Benn’s a bit of a tartar, ain’t she?’ she remarked to Alice, who was helping her with a particularly heavy batch of laundry. ‘Makes me wonder who is the boss in this house, her or the mistress.’

Alice giggled. ‘I reckon it’s Mrs Benn every time. One word from her an’ the lot of us jump. It’s her that’s responsible fer the hirin’ and firin’ so no one wants to upset her.’

‘An’ what about this here Miss Jessica?’

The smile slid from Alice’s face as she quickly looked around the yard to make sure that they couldn’t be overheard. ‘Least said about her the better. If the master so much as hears her name mentioned he goes off into a mood an’ the poor mistress falls into one o’ her swoons.’

‘But why?’ The sound of the laundry-room door slamming behind Alice was Mary’s only answer. Shrugging her shoulders she followed her.