The Ribbon Weaver

Chapter Six



Right from when Amy had been a little girl, barely tall enough to gaze into the hat-shop window, she had imagined it as a very glamorous place. But within a very short time of working there she came to realise that the only glamorous thing about it was the hats it produced. Her day began at 5.30 each morning when she would make her way there with some bread and cheese that would serve as her lunch wrapped in a clean piece of muslin.

All day she would sweep the floors, supply the weavers who worked the great looms with huge reels of silk and cotton, fetch, carry, and in general do anything that she was told. Sometimes if there was an order being prepared, it could be seven or eight o’clock at night before she finished, and then at last she would make her weary way home.

No matter what time she finished, Molly would always be watching from the kitchen window for her and would meet her at the door with a welcoming kiss and a hug. Sometimes Amy would be so tired that she would fall asleep over the meal that Molly had ready for her – but even so, never once did she complain. Often when in the large factory she would stand and admire the finished hats and imagine how she herself could decorate them.

Of all the women that worked there, she envied the designers most of all. They worked in a separate room right at the end of the factory floor, and occasionally Amy would glimpse them bent over their drawing boards or busily pinning together the unfinished hats. Unfortunately she was never allowed into that room. The women in there were highly respected and highly paid, unlike herself and the women who toiled long hours over the looms and machines.

Mr Forrester’s office was at the other end of the factory on the first floor. To reach his office you had to climb a flight of steep metal stairs and occasionally on his visits, Amy would catch sight of him peering out of his office window as he surveyed his employees. Though now well into middle age, Mr Forrester was still a handsome man, but as yet Amy had never once seen him smile. Once a week he would walk amongst his workers with the supervisor, inspecting their work. He always had a word of praise for good quality work, but woe betide anyone whose work was not up to his standards. He himself had toiled long and hard to build up his little empire and he expected only the best. Anyone who couldn’t meet his standards was swiftly shown the door and never given a second chance.

But on the other hand he was also known as a fair man. Recently a heavily pregnant woman had lost two of her fingers in one of the machines after working a thirteen-hour shift straight through to try and fulfil an order. It was a known fact that not only had Samuel Forrester paid all her medical expenses, but he had given her a very hefty bonus and a small pension too. All in all he was feared, yet at the same time respected as being a fair man to those who were loyal and hardworking. Amy had no regrets about going to work for him whatsoever. At the minute she was right at the bottom of the ladder, but she was also young and ambitious, and her deep love of design held her there.

Molly, however, who was growing stronger by the day, was still not too happy about the situation. ‘It’s bloody cheap labour, that what it is,’ she would mutter when Amy came in at night tired to the bone. But Amy would only grin and let it go in one ear and out of the other.

It was satisfying being able to tip her wages on to the table each week. All of her life Molly had cared for her and now Amy felt that she was giving a little back. She was well aware of the sacrifices that Molly had made for her. To Amy’s mind, Molly needn’t have taken her in when her mother died. But she had, and for that alone, Amy would always be grateful. Molly had never really spoken too much about her daughter, except to tell Amy that she had been beautiful, and that her father had died before she was born. Amy didn’t like to ask too many questions for fear of upsetting her, although at times she ached to. But sometimes when she was tucked up warm in bed at night, her imagination, which was lively at the best of times, would run riot.

Molly had told her that she looked very much like her mother, so Amy would lie there in the darkness trying to picture her mother in her mind and wishing she could have known her. Even so, she was more than happy with her lot and though she regretted never knowing her parents, she couldn’t imagine ever loving anyone more than she loved her gran.

The evenings she spent with Toby were few and far between now, for most nights after her evening meal, all she wanted to do was fall into bed. Toby himself was very busy, too. As well as doing his shifts down the pit, he was also working for a few hours a week in the village school now, teaching the local children – and more than ever he now longed to make that job his career. On Sundays though, which was their day off, Amy would draw him sketches of some of the hats that were being produced, and then alter them to her own designs.

Toby was greatly impressed. Like Molly, he felt that Amy’s talent was being wasted. But every time he voiced his opinion, Amy would simply smile. For now she was content.

‘Everyone has to start somewhere, and patience is a virtue,’ she would say and Toby would smile back, his face softening and his blue eyes proud.

As Mary’s wedding day in mid-June approached, the cottages became a hive of activity. Bessie had scrimped and saved for months to buy the material to make the wedding dress. And then once it was purchased she and Molly sat long hours into the night stitching it. Molly’s fingers were nowhere near as nimble as they had used to be, but even so the finished product was breathtaking.

Amy herself had designed it and supervised Molly and Bessie closely. She bought a plain poke bonnet and stitched a veil into it, and the few people who were allowed to see it before the big day swore that they had never seen anything quite like it. Once the veil was stitched to her satisfaction she then took scraps of ivory silk and made them into tiny flowers that she sewed all around the brim. And then at last it was finished and all they had to do was wait.

The big day finally dawned, and it was just as perfect a day as any bride could wish for. Amy intended to enjoy every minute of it.

The little church in Coton was bulging at the seams, and as all heads turned to watch the radiant bride walk down the aisle on her father’s Jim’s arm, a gasp of admiration could be heard. Mary fairly floated and was everything a bride should be, and Bessie looked fit to burst with pride although her sniffs could be heard all through the ceremony.

When the happy couple finally left the church as man and wife, they were greeted with a shower of rose petals and rice. Mary’s new husband Joe looked as proud as Punch and could barely take his eyes from her, and as they ran down the path of the Parish Church, the church bells pealed joyously. Once they were seated in the pony and trap, Mary threw her bouquet high into the air. It seemed to hang there for some seconds, its trailing ribbons fluttering in the warm breeze, and then suddenly it plummeted down and landed straight in Amy’s arms. She giggled nervously as she looked up and caught Toby’s eyes. He flushed and turned away and suddenly confused, Amy stared at him, but then a cheer went up as the pony and trap bore away the bride and groom, and the strange moment was gone.

Once they were all back at the Bradleys’ cottage, the merrymaking began in earnest. Borrowed tables, which had all been pushed together, stretched the length of one wall, sagging beneath the weight of all the food that had been piled upon them. There were pies and pastries, whole cheeses, crusty new baked bread, cakes, tarts and great stone jugs full of homebrewed ale and cider, plus numerous bottles of home-made wine. The furniture had been pushed back against the walls in readiness for the party, and once the speeches had been made, the wedding cake was cut, and a toast was raised to the happy couple. Mary’s father Jim then produced his flute and began to rattle out a tune as a good old kneesup got well under way. The sound of laughter and merriment was echoing along the little cobbled lane when suddenly the sound of a horse and carriage stopping outside the open doorway caused all eyes in the room to look towards the lane.

Mary’s mouth gaped in amazement as Samuel Forrester and his son Adam alighted from the coach and strode towards her. Bessie herself was all afluster. She had never expected the likes of such a wealthy man to cross her humble doorstep and was momentarily struck dumb.

However, she needn’t have worried, for Samuel Forrester was beaming as he grasped Joe’s hand and shook it warmly.

‘Congratulations, Joe.’ He smiled. ‘I have popped in because Mrs Forrester insisted that you should have your wedding present today.’ Turning, he took a beautifully wrapped parcel from Adam who was standing behind him, and looking at Mary, who was blushing furiously, he placed it in her arms. ‘Here you are, Mrs Turpin,’ he said kindly. ‘And may I say that you look absolutely beautiful?’

Totally lost for words, Mary bobbed her knee. ‘Th … thank you, sir,’ she stuttered.

Amy, who was standing at the side of the open door next to Beatrice, was amazed at how different Samuel Forrester looked when he smiled, and watched with amusement as poor Mary squirmed with embarrassment.

‘I must say, my dear, your dress and bonnet are most unusual,’ Samuel Forrester commented as he eyed her up and down. ‘Charming, in fact.’

‘Amy designed them, sir,’ Mary stated proudly.

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh really? And who is this Amy then?’ It was Amy’s turn to blush as Mary pointed her out, saying shyly, ‘That’s Amy Ernshaw over there, sir.’

He turned, but then as his eyes fell on Amy, the smile slid from his face. After staring at her for what seemed an age but was in fact only a matter of seconds, he pulled himself together with an obvious effort, as Seth, the groom’s father, and Adam exchanged a glance.

‘Your designs are quite stunning, my dear.’

Amy smiled with delight.

Suddenly remembering her manners, Bessie bustled over to him. ‘Would yer care fer a drink, sir?’ Now that she had got over the initial shock of seeing him there, she was enjoying the fact that gentry had attended Mary’s little reception and wanted to make sure that all the neighbours saw him.

Dragging his eyes away from Amy’s face, he said hastily, ‘Oh no, my dear Mrs Bradley, thank you, but as I said, I only called in to drop off the present and wish the couple well. I really must be going now. Do please carry on with your celebrations and accept my apologies for disturbing you.’

As he spoke he cast a last smile at Mary and Joe, then strode towards the door. The guests all followed him outside to the carriage, and as Adam climbed in before him, Mr Forrester turned briefly once more to the young couple.

‘I almost forgot,’ he was smiling again. ‘The mistress said to tell you that you are both to take the next three days off work.’

‘Oh, thank you, sir.’ Mary flushed with pleasure. Then the door to the carriage slammed and it rattled away across the cobblestones.

‘Well I’ll be.’ Bessie was almost beside herself and beaming from ear to ear. ‘This is turning out to be a wedding to remember and no mistake. Who would ever have thought that the likes o’ Samuel Forrester himself would ever darken my doorstep, eh?’

Everyone was slowly making their way back into the cottage and waiting excitedly for Mary to reveal what was in the beautifully wrapped parcel.

‘Oh, it seems such a shame to rip it,’ Mary declared, but she did all the same and gasped with delight when she saw its contents. Inside was a whole canteen of nickel-plated cutlery, and everyone admired it enviously. Everyone that is except Molly, who was seeing again and again in her mind the look that had crossed Samuel Forrester’s face when his eyes lit on Amy.

By early evening Amy herself had long since forgotten the incident. The elderflower wine was flowing like water and she was more than a little tiddly and so was Beatrice, who had also been given the day off to attend her sister’s wedding. Molly was watching both girls closely and when she saw them cross to the table to refill their glasses she stepped in smartly.

‘I think you’ve both had quite enough o’ that, young ladies,’ she said sternly.

‘Molly’s quite right,’ Toby agreed. ‘Now get yerself off to bed, our Beatrice, an’ get some sleep – else you’ll not be fit for work tomorrow. And how about if I take Amy for a stroll down the lane, Molly? Give her a breath o’ fresh air, eh?’

Molly winked at him. ‘I reckon that’s a very good idea.’

Grabbing Amy by her elbow, Toby steered her over to the door. Beatrice lurched towards the stairs and they both laughed as she stumbled on the first step.

Once outside, Amy sighed happily and tucking her arm into Toby’s they began to stroll along in companionable silence. The noise of the party gradually receded into the distance, and the little row of terraced cottages slipped away behind them. Eventually they reached the banks of the River Anker and contentedly they wandered along until they reached the fork in the midnight waters. The leaves on the overhanging willow trees gently kissed the water and the riverbed reeds swayed softly in the warm evening breeze. Through the evening twilight they could just make out the old water mill that stood in Mill Walk, and almost as one they sank down on to the velvety green grass of the riverbank. Nearby, a fat old water rat plopped into the water, leaving a trail of bubbles behind him, and the sound of nesting moorhens floated on the air. It was a glorious evening and high overhead the stars began to appear and twinkle down on them, casting their reflections like fairy dust on to the slow-moving current.

Amy hugged her knees and sighed dreamily. ‘Eeh, Mary looked lovely, didn’t she?’ she said and Toby nodded, his eyes on her face as she stared into the water. But although he agreed with her, he was thinking at that moment that even Mary in her wedding finery couldn’t hold a light to this girl sitting beside him now.

Luckily Amy was studying the progress of the old water rat that was swimming amongst the reeds and was oblivious to her friend’s thoughts; her own locked tight on the wonderful day they had just spent.

There was nothing but the sounds of the night creatures scurrying about their business and the stars shining on the water, and there might have been no one else left in the whole world but the two of them. Suddenly the urge came on Toby to take her in his arms there and then, but using all of his self-restraint, he managed to stop himself as sadness crept over him.

Amy was beautiful, kind-hearted and talented, and somehow he felt that she was destined for better things. She was far too good for a simple man like him. Underneath he had always sensed it. There was a quality about her that set her far above the people in the cottages where she had grown up. Something about the way she carried herself. The way she spoke. Even the way she smiled made her a being apart and he knew that he would never be good enough for her even if he lived to be a hundred.

His thoughts made him sigh unconsciously and Amy immediately turned to him, her face full of concern. Her small hand came up to tenderly caress his cheek and again she saw him as the young man he now was and not the boy she had grown up with. She looked at him in a different light, noticing the way his thick fair hair tumbled across his brow and the deep dark depths of his eyes. And she was instantly confused.

Their eyes met and locked, and suddenly she longed for him to kiss her. She had never been kissed before but her palm was tingling as it touched his face and her heart was pounding painfully in her chest. His large hand came up and gently covered hers and with not a word spoken they moved towards each other, lost in each other’s eyes. But then suddenly Toby swung about – and the magical moment was gone.

Amy was deeply embarrassed. ‘Oh, dear,’ she giggled nervously, glad of the darkness that would hide her glowing cheeks. ‘I’m afraid that the wine must have gone to my head.’

Toby, who was standing now, reached down and taking her hand, roughly pulled her to her feet. Then he began to stride back the way they had come, his hands thrust deep in his pockets.

‘We’d best get back, else they’ll think we’ve got lost,’ he said shortly. Gathering up her skirts, Amy had to almost run to keep up with him.

The journey back was made in silence; they were both lost in their own thoughts, and once they had rejoined the party they spent the rest of the evening studiously avoiding each other. This was not lost on Molly and a sly little grin played about her lips. After Amy she loved Toby more than anyone else in the world and had long harboured hopes that one day they would come together. If this happened then she would die with an easy mind, safe in the knowledge that Amy would be loved and cared for. She had guessed long ago where Toby’s affections lay. Still, Amy was little more than a girl at the minute and for now Molly was content to stand back and let nature take its course.

At ten o’clock a horse and trap sent especially by Mr Forrester arrived to carry the newlyweds away to their little cottage, and the wedding party spilled into the lane to see them on their way. There was more throwing of rose petals and rice, and good wishes floated on the night air as the horse and trap clip-clopped away down the lane, followed by Seth and his family who were returning to their rooms above the stable-block at Forrester’s Folly.

Bessie beamed as she shouted her goodbyes, more than content with the day. ‘Well, that’s one settled,’ she sighed happily. ‘Only four more to go.’ She looked pointedly at Toby.

The poor chap flushed. ‘Give over, Mam.’

Seeing his embarrassment everyone chuckled, and with the departure of the happy couple the party began to disperse.

‘I’ll help you clear away a bit, shall I?’ Molly offered.

Bessie shook her head adamantly. ‘You’ll do no such thing.’ She was suddenly worn out. ‘There’s nothin’ as won’t keep till morning, so you get away to your bed.’

Needing no second telling, Molly bade her good night, and arm-inarm she and Amy strolled back to their own cottage. Within minutes they were both tucked up in their beds. It had been a long day and they were both pleasantly tired. Yet even so, sleep evaded Amy. Her mind was still full of the day that had just passed as she lay there reliving it.

It had been a lovely wedding and a grand party. She had enjoyed every single minute of it. Every minute that is, except for the time on the riverbank with Toby.

The effects of the wine she had drunk were wearing off now, and she squirmed with embarrassment as she remembered how, just for an instant, she had longed for him to kiss her. She screwed her eyes up tight in shame at the thought. He had looked so uncomfortable and she could only hope that by tomorrow he would have forgotten all about it.

Sunday morning dawned, another bright sunny day. Molly let Amy sleep in and it was the sunlight streaming through the chink in her curtains that woke her. She stretched luxuriously then sighed in contentment. Sunday was her favourite day of the week. In the kitchen she could hear Molly bustling about as she prepared breakfast and the smell of frying bacon wafted to her on the air.

Hopping lightly out of her comfortable feather bed, she hastily washed at the little jug and bowl on the wash-stand. Then after quickly dressing in her Sunday best for church, she made her way downstairs into the kitchen. Molly was humming softly to herself and when Amy appeared she smiled broadly. ‘I’ve cooked yer bacon just as yer like it,’ she greeted her.

Amy tutted. ‘I would have done that, Gran,’ she scolded.

Molly just laughed. ‘Happen yer worth spoiling,’ she said, and side-by-side they sat together at the table and tucked into a hearty breakfast.

When they were finished, Molly hurried away to help Bessie tidy up, and once their own table was cleared and the pots washed and dried, Amy went off to church.

An hour or so later, when Molly returned, the girl was back and had begun sketching. Peeping over her shoulder, Molly gazed at the drawings admiringly.

‘Yer know, that dress and hat you designed for Mary is the talk o’ the lane,’ she commented. ‘She almost looked like gentry. I don’t mind bettin’ there ain’t no bride hereabouts worn a dress like that before.’

Amy grinned.

‘Why, even Samuel Forrester himself was impressed,’ Molly went on, still staring at the sketches spread out on the table. There were drawings of hats of all shapes and sizes and Amy had somehow seemed to make them stand out from the paper.

‘Yer know, yer should never be sweepin’ floors an’ fetchin’ an’ carryin’ wi’ a talent like this. It’s a crying shame,’ she grumbled, but Amy only grinned.

‘It’s early days yet, Gran,’ she told her confidently. ‘Everything comes to those that wait.’ And lowering her head again she returned to her sketching.

The long dry summer came and went pleasantly enough and so did Christmas. The coalhouse was full, the pantry was full, and with Amy tipping up the seven shillings that she earned each week, she and Molly had more than enough to meet their needs.

Amy’s wage was in fact meagre compared to those of the women who worked the machines at the factory but for now, she was happy.

Molly herself was now doing a bit of weaving again, more to pass the lonely hours whilst Amy was at work than anything else. She found that she could only turn out a quarter of the ribbons that she had used to, but nevertheless the pennies in the savings jar were slowly rising again and Molly counted her blessings.

Mary still came to visit, though not as regularly now that she had her own home to see to, and it was on one of her visits that she had them rolling with laughter as she told them of the new addition at Forrester’s Folly.

Samuel Forrester’s mother had gone to live there and according to Mary she was a character to be reckoned with.

‘I’ll tell yer now, she puts that little madam, Miss Eugenie, in her place and no mistake,’ she laughed. ‘She don’t dare throw no nonsense or tantrums in front o’ her. In fact, everybody watches their Ps and Qs when she’s about.’

‘Is she horrible?’ Amy asked, wide-eyed.

Mary shook her head. ‘Ner, to tell the truth I quite like her. She don’t suffer fools gladly, she says what she thinks but she’s got no airs an’ graces so you allus know where you stand wi’ her.’

‘Well, that’s one blessin’ then,’ Molly remarked.

Mary nodded. ‘From what I’ve heard it’s her that has made the master what he is today. Even now she still talks to him as if he’s a little lad, an’ the funny thing is, when she cracks the whip he bloody jumps.’ She was dabbing at the tears of laughter in her eyes with a large white handkerchief and her amusement was so infectious that soon she had everyone else laughing too.

‘I tell yer, the old dear is a tonic,’ she giggled, and as she continued to recount the incidents she had witnessed they were all almost crying with laughter and holding their sides.

‘The best thing to come out of her arrivin’ is the fact that I’ve heard rumours that Miss Eugenie is naggin’ young Master Adam to get their own house in London now,’ Mary confided. ‘Up until now they’ve spent their married life livin’ between The Folly an’ the master’s house in London but now she’s champin’ at the bit to own her own place.’

‘Do you think Master Adam will buy her one?’ Molly asked.

Mary shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t doubt it; she usually gets her own way. An’ if you were to ask me, I’d say the sooner the better. Master Adam is all right admittedly but she’s a right hellcat. The poor bloke seems to be right under the thumb, though more fool him. Happen he should put his foot down with her.’

The topic of conversation then moved on to the famine that was sweeping Ireland, due to the potato blight that had destroyed the crops there, and the rest of the afternoon seemed to pass in the blink of an eye.