The Ribbon Weaver

Chapter Seven



1847

As Amy entered the cobbled alleys of the town centre, a group of Irish navvies raised their hands in greeting, and Amy waved back. Almost every morning she saw them and they always made her smile. They made a comical sight, sauntering along in bare feet with their boots swinging about their necks from the tied laces. Once she had asked Mrs Davis, her supervisor, why they chose to walk barefoot, and Mrs Davis had explained to her.

‘Well, it’s like this, see, Amy. Back in Ireland where they come from, they’re very, very poor. So when they get a job in our country their families all club together to buy them a pair of leather boots to work in.’

Intrigued, Amy had nodded as Mrs Davis went on, ‘These lads don’t want to wear out their boots just walkin’ about – they’re treasured, you see? So the only time they do wear them is when they’re laying the tracks.’

Amy was saddened at the tale. She and Molly had known hard times, but they had always had boots, albeit worn ones.

The navvies had been in the town for months now, and their coming had caused great excitement. They had been brought in to build a railway station, the ‘Trent Valley’, and lay the tracks for the steam train that would make its maiden voyage to the town later in the year. The other thing that Amy found amusing about them was the hats that they wore, although in fact they were fairly common in Nuneaton. They were actually made in Samuel Forrester’s other hat factory in Atherstone, of which Master Adam was in charge, and had been nicknamed Billycocks or Atherstone Cocks. Very cheap round felt hats, they were enormously popular with the working men. But somehow on the navvies with their boots strung around their necks they looked doubly comical and never failed to make her smile. Now that the tracks were almost finished, Amy guessed that the navvies would soon move on to some other town where they would be employed to dig out canals or again lay track, and she knew that she would miss their cheerful faces in the mornings.

‘You be havin’ a good day now, me beauty,’ one of them shouted, raising his hand in a final salute as they rounded a corner and disappeared.

Smiling broadly, Amy hurried into the hat factory. As usual she was one of the first to arrive and as she crossed the shop floor, Mrs Davis appeared from the design department and stopped her in her tracks.

‘Amy, love, how do you fancy a few extra hours’ work? Please say you do, and save me life.’

Amy grinned at her. ‘What doing?’ she enquired and the answer she received made her eyes stretch wide with delight.

‘It’s like this. Milly who cleans in the design department is down with ’flu. Right poorly she is by all accounts, so how do you fancy taking her job, eh? It would mean you staying behind at night when the designers have gone an’ starting a little earlier in the mornings. Just till Milly’s better like, of course.’ The scrawny woman eyed Amy hopefully; she had taken a shine to her and had always found her polite and respectful.

Amy’s eyes lit up at the prospect. ‘I’d love to do it,’ she agreed immediately, and relieved, Mrs Davis nodded.

‘Good girl. Well, start tonight when the designers have gone and when you’ve finished, the night watchman will let you out and lock up after you.’ She had no qualms at all about leaving Amy alone in the factory. She had always found her trustworthy and hardworking, and now that the first problem of the day had been solved, she bustled away content.

That evening, when Amy arrived home late, she was almost beside herself with excitement and bursting to tell Molly her good news. But instead of being pleased for her, Molly’s brow creased with concern.

‘I were worried sick when you were late home. Don’t yer think you already do enough hours as it is, lass?’ she questioned worriedly.

Amy dropped a kiss on Molly’s wrinkled brow. ‘I’m sorry to worry you, Gran. I couldn’t get word to you but I’d do a double shift to get into the design department even if it’s only as a cleaner,’ she declared, and from the animated look on her face Molly believed her.

‘Well, all right then,’ she agreed reluctantly. ‘Give it a try just fer a few days if yer must. But if it’s too much for yer, then yer must be sure to say so.’

‘I will, Gran,’ Amy promised, and wisely she then let the subject drop and turned the conversation to other things.

That evening as she lay in bed, she hugged herself in the darkness. Her mind was full of the designs she had glimpsed in the design room and she could barely wait for the morning to come.

She had a good feeling inside her and for now sleep was the last thing on her mind. Eventually she went to the window and after drawing back the curtains, she sat with her chin on her hands staring out into the night. Somewhere she could hear a wise old owl hooting his greeting to the night. She sighed dreamily. At last she was allowed into the design department and although it was only as a cleaner, it was a start.

The next morning, Amy set off for work bright and early as usual. Apart from the navvies who shouted their usual cheery greeting the cobbled streets were deserted.

After collecting her mop and pail from the cupboard at the factory she set about her duties and soon the workforce began to arrive. They took their seats at the machines that dotted the factory floor and within an hour the whole place was a hive of activity, with people having to shout to be heard above the whirr of the machinery.

For the whole day Amy was run ragged, fetching and carrying and running to see to the workers’ needs, and by the time the last one had left late that evening she was tired out. But even so as she entered the design room to begin her work in there, there was a little bubble of excitement in her stomach.

She set to with a vengeance and didn’t stop once until the whole room was spick and span. Then she stood for some minutes enjoying the peace and quiet and gazed about with fascination. Large easels and drawing boards were stood here and there with designs from start to finish of hats of all shapes and sizes sketched upon them. Dotted about were wooden hatstands displaying hats of all kinds, from the very plainest of styles to elaborately decorated creations. Amy eyed each one critically, turning her head this way and that, looking at them from different angles and seeing them in her mind’s eye as she would have dressed them.

Her mind was full of ideas and that evening when she arrived home she immediately began to draw sketches of the styles she had seen. Both Molly and Toby were deeply impressed but Amy impatiently waved aside their compliments.

‘Look at this one here,’ she ordered, pointing at a sketch of a very elaborate bonnet. ‘I think it should have a long length of veil, very fine, tied round the brim and trailing down the back like this.’

With a few strokes of her pencil she demonstrated to them what she meant, and after patting his chin thoughtfully, Toby slowly nodded in agreement.

‘I see what you mean,’ he admitted. ‘That does look much nicer than those flowers.’

Amy grinned at his approval before going on to show him some of her other ideas.

‘Why don’t you show some of these to the designers?’ he suggested after a while.

Amy shook her head. ‘Can you just imagine what they’d say?’ she frowned. ‘A cleaning girl telling them their job?’

Toby’s heart went out to her. Amy had such talent that it saddened him to see it going to waste. But still he was also a great optimist. He had always believed deep in his soul that Amy was destined for better things and had a feeling that somehow things would surely come right for her in the end.

By the end of the week, Amy was finding it hard to keep her hands off the unfinished hats in the design department. It was late on Saturday evening and everyone else had gone long since. Although she had finished her chores, still she lingered eyeing one particular hat. Next to it was a sketch of how it would look when it was finished and she felt that the design was totally wrong. Shaking her head, she sighed with frustration. It was a sophisticated style taken from a man’s top hat with clean straight lines. Amy felt that the flowers planned to adorn it were too fussy. It needed something more elegant and clean cut. Her fingers were itching to dress it as she felt it should be dressed, and suddenly she could resist the temptation no longer.

Hurrying over to another table she carefully selected two tall brightly coloured peacock feathers. Then, crossing to another table, she selected a length of plain scarlet silk ribbon. After carefully cutting the feathers to the length she required, she fixed them firmly to the side of the hat at a jaunty angle. Then carefully she looped the ribbon around the crown in one simple length. When it was finished she stood back and viewed it with satisfaction.

It was stunning in its simplicity and she was pleased with her efforts. However, just then she spotted the nightwatchman, working his weary way across the shop floor towards her, and instantly her elation turned to panic. She had intended to put everything back as she had found it before she left, but now she would have no chance. Seconds later he pushed open the door and asked her worriedly, ‘Is everything all right in here, love? I were beginning to think you’d got lost.’

Amy snatched up her broom guiltily. ‘It’s all right, Mr Stubbs, everything’s fine … I was just coming.’

As she reluctantly followed his retreating figure from the room, she looked back one last time at her handiwork and her stomach sank into her boots.

It was as she made her way home that a thought occurred to her and she began to relax. Tomorrow was Sunday. There would be nobody in the factory and if she went in early on Monday morning, before Mrs Davis arrived, she would have time to put everything back as it had been and no one would be any the wiser. Whistling with relief, she made the rest of the way home in a slightly easier frame of mind.

As planned on Monday morning, Amy arrived early and crept across the factory floor. As she had hoped, there was no sign of Mrs Davis – but when she pushed open the door to the design room, the sight that met her eyes made her stop dead in her tracks. Milly was busily mopping the floor and it was hard to say who was the most startled, she or Amy.

‘Cor, yer didn’t half give me a fright, gel.’ Milly grinned. ‘Thanks fer covering fer me while I’ve been ill. I bet you’re glad to see me back, eh?’ She coughed and blew her nose.

Amy returned her smile weakly; in truth, she was far from glad to see her back. Her eyes went to the hat she had dressed on Saturday night and her stomach churned.

As Milly’s eyes followed hers, she grinned. ‘It’s lovely, ain’t it? I’d do anything to have a hat like that, wouldn’t you?’

Amy nodded miserably. There was no chance now of putting it back as it had been, and she didn’t know what to do.

‘Oh well, I’d best get on,’ Milly said, although she still looked far from well. Amy turned and went to fetch her own mop and pail. Now that she was here she might as well go about her own duties, and as for the hat … Well, it was too late to worry about it now. What would be, would be. She could only hope that once her interference came to light, as it surely would, she wouldn’t be dismissed.

Outside, a watery sun rose in the sky and inside Amy fetched and carried – one fearful eye on the door of the design room all the time, every minute expecting to be summoned. But the morning passed uneventfully and no one disturbed her. Just before lunch Samuel Forrester and his son arrived and after striding across the factory floor they made their way up the steep metal staircase at the far end of the room and disappeared into the office. Minutes later, Amy saw one of the designers mount the stairs to join them and when they descended together only moments later and entered the design room, Amy’s stomach twisted into a knot.

They seemed to be in there for what appeared to be an eternity but eventually Mr Forrester reappeared in the doorway and beckoned to Mrs Davis. Just as Amy had feared, Mrs Davis, after exchanging words with him, raked the factory floor with her eyes until they came to rest on Amy. Then, picking her way through the whirring machines she approached her.

‘Mr Forrester wants you in the design department right now.’ She had to shout into Amy’s ear to make herself heard. ‘You’d best hurry; he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.’

Amy was quaking in her boots but she obediently retraced Mrs Davis’s steps and entered the door.

Mr Forrester was standing, legs slightly apart, arms behind his back, staring at the hat she had trimmed. Silently she went to stand before him, aware of the eyes of the designers tight on her.

When eventually he turned his head to look at her, a glimmer of recognition shone in his eyes. ‘What’s your name, girl?’ His voice was curt.

‘Amy, sir.’

‘Amy what?’

‘Amy Ernshaw … sir.’ She was staring back at him now, her head high. If he was going to sack her, then so be it. But why was he staring at her like that? After all, dressing a hat wasn’t exactly a hanging offence, was it?

‘Haven’t we met before?’ he asked uncertainly.

‘Yes, sir, we ’ave, at Mary and Joe Turpin’s wedding reception.’ Her voice was clear, and suddenly recognition dawned in his eyes as he remembered her. It was the mob cap she was wearing that made her look so different.

After staring at her thoughtfully for some seconds he went on, ‘I believe you were the last person to leave this room on Saturday evening?’

‘Y … yes, sir.’ Her confidence suddenly flew straight out of the window.

‘Are you responsible for this?’ He pointed at the hat and without hesitation she replied, ‘Yes, sir.’

Molly had taught her never to lie, and if she were to be dismissed then at least she would go with dignity.

He stared unnervingly at her again but she looked him straight back in the eye.

‘I’m very sorry that I interfered with it. I know it was wrong o’ me but I didn’t like the sketch o’ the finished product. I felt it was too fussy and thought the shape o’ the hat lent itself to something a bit more stylish.’

Mr Forrester, Adam and the designers were obviously taken aback, and Amy felt herself flush at her own boldness. But still, it was said now and the way she saw it, she might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. She waited for Mr Forrester to erupt but instead he studied her intently. Then, suddenly turning about on his heel, he strode from the room.

‘Follow me,’ he ordered, and Amy meekly did as she was told, with the young Master Forrester close on her heels.

‘Aren’t you the young woman who made Mary’s wedding dress?’ Mr Forrester asked eventually as they climbed the steps to his office.

Amy nodded. ‘Yes, sir, I love designin’ clothes, especially hats; I spend a lot of my spare time sketchin’.’ Fumbling deep in her apron pocket, she withdrew half a dozen designs that she had drawn the night before. She boldly held them out to him and taking them, Samuel spread them out on the desk in front of him and he and Adam began to study them intently. When he finally raised his eyes, Samuel said, ‘Do you have any more of these?’

‘Yes, sir, hundreds back at home.’ She explained swiftly, ‘I carry a pencil and bits o’ paper about with me so that I can jot down ideas – in my breaks, of course,’ she added.

‘Do you know where Forrester’s Folly is?’ Mr Forrester asked eventually.

Bemused, Amy replied, ‘Yes, I do, sir.’

Mr Forrester glanced at his son, who nodded almost imperceptibly, before saying, ‘Right then, I would like you to bring some of your designs there tomorrow – shall we say at four o’clock? I shall ask Mrs Davis to let you leave work early.’

Amy nodded dumbly.

‘Very well. You may go about your duties now.’

On unsteady feet, Amy left the office and descended the staircase. The women’s eyes followed her curiously but Amy’s mind was in such turmoil that she didn’t even notice. Why would Mr Forrester want to see her designs, and why hadn’t he dismissed her? She had no answers as yet to her questions, but wild horses wouldn’t have stopped her from keeping their appointment – and the excitement in the pit of her stomach began to grow.

When she told Molly of the morning’s happenings later that evening, the old woman scratched her head in bewilderment. ‘An’ yer say you’re to go to Forrester’s Folly and he didn’t sack yer? Well, I don’t quite know what to make of it.’ But all the same she hurried away to look through Amy’s wardrobe, determined that she should look her best for her appointment.

It was a good walk to Forrester’s Folly from the factory, and the next day, armed with a bag full of her best sketches, Amy set off in good time with Mrs Davis’s consent. Her hair, which was confined in a mob cap at the factory, was hanging loose down her back and on her head was a pretty warm bonnet. She was wearing the woollen coat that Toby had bought her for her fifteenth birthday and beneath that a lovely blue gown embroidered with tiny pink rosebuds that set off her dark beauty to perfection. Molly had sat for hours and hours stitching that dress for her, and Amy treasured it so much that it was kept strictly for high days and holidays.

However, as she left the factory yard, Amy suddenly felt very small and insignificant and her legs felt as if they had turned to jelly. One half of her longed to turn and run straight back home to the safety of her gran’s loving arms; the other half of her was curious as to why Mr Forrester wanted to see her. Nevertheless, even with a worried expression on her pretty face she drew more than a few admiring glances and slowly her spirits began to lift. It was wonderful to be out in the open air, after being confined to the factory, and eventually she found herself humming as she hurried along, clutching her precious sketches. After leaving the town behind her she struck off across the Weddington fields and headed for Caldecote. The fields appeared like a giant patchwork quilt laid out before her, and every now and then a little bobtailed rabbit, his whiskers twitching, would scurry out of her path causing her to smile.

In no time at all the tall chimneys of Forrester’s Folly came into view. Pausing at the side of a babbling brook, she admired the sight. Smoke from the numerous chimneystacks curled lazily up into the sky, each seeming to try to touch the watery February sun. Even though it was not yet four o’clock, the brightness of the day was already waning and mist was beginning to gather along the river, making it appear almost fairy-like. Amy was entranced – and then suddenly nervous again as she proceeded on her journey. The walk down the drive to the house seemed endless and she wished now with all of her heart that she hadn’t come. But now that she was this near her pride wouldn’t allow her to turn back, even if it meant coming away with a flea in her ear.

When she finally rounded the bend and the house came into full view she stopped in her tracks and gazed in amazement.

The last time she had come to Forrester’s Folly as a kitchen help it had been evening and pitch black. But today for the first time she saw it spread out before her in all its splendour and the sight almost took her breath away.

It was a beautiful house with turrets and towers and real marble steps leading up to the huge front doors, on each side of which were ornately carved stone pillars. The windows were all dressed in heavy curtains, and as the late sunlight caught the huge leaded windows they sparkled. Amy sighed deeply. What must it be like to live in a house like that and have servants to wait on you? And fine carriages to ride in? She could only guess, for this was like entering another world a million miles away from the little terraced cottage she had been brought up in.

A picture of her gran floated before her eyes, and Amy’s chin thrust out as she drew herself up to her full height. What was she thinking of ? Her gran had brought her up to believe that she was as good as anyone else! And as the thought gave courage to her shaking legs, she climbed the steps and rapped smartly on the great brass knocker.

The door was opened immediately by a young maid in a starched white apron and mob cap all trimmed with broderie anglaise.

‘Miss Amy Ernshaw?’ she enquired, and Amy suddenly lost her tongue and nodded dumbly, guessing from what Mary and Beatrice had told her that this must be Lily.

The door was held wide. ‘Follow me, please,’ the maid said primly. ‘The master is expecting you in his study.’

Amy gulped to swallow the great lump that had formed in her throat, and followed the girl along a huge hallway, her feet sinking into the Turkey carpet as she went.

Eventually they stopped before a large oak-panelled door, on which the maid tapped lightly.

‘Come in.’ When a voice came from the other side of the door, Amy’s heart did a somersault.

‘Miss Ernshaw, sir,’ the maid announced, pushing the door wide, and Mr Forrester, who was standing behind a large mahogany desk, nodded impatiently. ‘Well, show her in then!’

The maid quickly ushered Amy into the room, then bobbing her knee respectfully she quickly withdrew, drawing the door shut behind her.

Amy stared about her in awe, so taken with the huge bookshelves and luxurious furnishings that she temporarily forgot to be nervous. It was very much a gentleman’s room, with great gold-framed oil paintings of hunting scenes dotted about the walls. There was an omate marble fireplace with two leather deep-winged chairs to either side of it and a fringed Oriental rug on the floor between them.

‘So … you found us then, Miss Ernshaw?’ Mr Forrester’s deep voice pulled her back to the present.

‘Yes, sir.’ She was squirming beneath his gaze and feeling extremely uncomfortable, when suddenly she became aware of another presence in the room. An old lady was sitting almost hidden in one of the winged chairs to the side of the fireplace. She too was closely scrutinising her, and Amy felt the sweat break out on her forehead. The old woman was so aged and wrinkled that she made Molly appear almost young in comparison. Yet for all that, her eyes were bright and alert. She was extravagantly dressed in so many frills and bows that they seemed to swamp her tiny figure. And her face with its white complexion, highly rouged cheeks and scarlet painted lips reminded Amy of a china-faced doll that she had seen in the toy-shop window in the town. The whole look was topped by what was obviously a very elaborately curled dark wig that only seemed to emphasise the pallor of her face. The old lady’s eyes had narrowed to slits. In fact, she was staring at Amy so intently that they appeared to have almost disappeared into her wrinkles. Her hands were covered in rings that caught and reflected the weak fading light that shone through the windows, and one of them clutched a silver-topped walking stick that she suddenly tapped impatiently on the floor.

‘Well, come ’ere then, lass, and let me ’ave a good look at you,’ she ordered in a voice that brooked no argument. The walk across the room seemed endless but eventually Amy stood before her.

‘Take off your ’at,’ the old woman ordered shortly.

After fumbling with the ribbons beneath her chin, Amy did as she was told. Her long auburn curls spilled about her shoulders and the old woman’s eyes went from Amy to Mr Forrester’s. ‘You were right,’ she said. ‘The resemblance is uncanny.’

Amy had no idea at all what the woman was talking about, so for now she wisely remained silent.

‘Amy, this is my mother, Mrs Forrester senior.’

Amy bobbed her knee respectfully. ‘How do you do, ma’am,’ she said politely, and for the first time the old woman’s face softened, her eyes still tight on her.

‘Now then – I believe you have some sketches to show me.’ Mr Forrester was impatient to get down to the business at hand, and relieved for an excuse to escape the old woman’s scrutiny, Amy crossed to the desk and, hastily withdrawing the sketches from her bag, she placed them in a neat pile before him. Samuel began to lift them one by one and study them closely.

‘Mother, come and look at these,’ he said eventually, as if Amy were not even present, and stiffly the old woman rose from her seat and leaning heavily on her cane, she hobbled over to him.

As she began to leaf through the sketches, looking through an eyeglass that hung from her neck on a silver chain, Samuel pulled a bell-rope, and seconds later, the young maid who had shown Amy in reappeared at the door.

‘Ah, Lily, show Miss Ernshaw to the kitchen and see to it that she has some refreshments.’ He smiled for the first time at Amy. ‘I’m sure you must be thirsty after your walk?’

Amy nodded, feeling totally out of her depth.

‘Go with Lily, my dear, and my mother and I will look more closely at your sketches until you return.’

Obediently, Amy followed the maid from the room, and once the door had closed behind them she let out a great sigh of relief.

The maid grinned cheekily. ‘Don’t let old Mrs Forrester frighten yer. Her bark’s far worse than her bite.’ She was leading Amy to a green baize door that stood right at the far end of the long hallway, and after following her through a maze of corridors, they passed through another door and into the kitchen.

The cook was sitting with her feet propped up on a stool at the side of the large kitchen range and a young girl was standing at the sink washing a towering pile of dirty china.

‘Hello, love, you’re Mary and Beatrice’s young neighbour, ain’t yer? The one who helped us out one night a couple o’ years or so back?’ She smiled kindly and pointed to a chair. ‘Sit yerself down, pet, and you, Lily, fetch that jug o’ lemonade out o’ the pantry.’

Lily hurried away to do as she was told and within minutes was back bearing a great stone jug and some heavy glasses.

Soon they were all seated at the great scrubbed table sipping their drinks and Amy felt herself beginning to relax a little.

‘What brings yer here then?’ asked the cook, who didn’t like to miss anything, and quickly Amy told her of her interference at the hat factory and how she had been caught out. Both Cook and Lily were grinning by the time she had finished relating her tale and Amy found herself smiling too.

‘An’ yer say the master and the old mistress are in there right now lookin’ at yer designs, eh?’ Cook stroked her chin thoughtfully. ‘Well, all I can say is whatever yer did to that hat must have pleased the master, ’cos I’ll tell yer now he don’t suffer fools gladly. An’ what’s more – if he’s taking the trouble to show yer designs to the old mistress, well … he must be impressed ’cos big as he is, he don’t do nothin’ without her say so. To tell the truth I sometimes think it’s her as should be wearing the trousers in this house and not him.’ She laughed, which set her double chins wobbling and then as she looked at Amy again she became more solemn. ‘I’ll tell yer something else an’ all,’ she commented. ‘Yer don’t ’alf remind me o’ Miss Jessica. I don’t mind admittin’ yer give me quite a gliff the first time I saw yer.’

Amy stared back at her curiously. ‘Isn’t Miss Jessica Mr Forrester’s daughter?’

But Cook never got a chance to answer her, for just then a bell sounded, summoning her back to the study.

‘Hope to see yer again, love,’ she told the girl good-naturedly, and quickly Lily ushered Amy back the way they had come. Within minutes Amy found herself back in the oak-panelled study.

As soon as the door was closed behind her, Samuel Forrester addressed her. ‘I have to admit, Miss Ernshaw, that my mother and I are quite impressed with your sketches. Are they all your own ideas?’

‘Oh yes, sir, they are, but I’ve only brought a fraction of them to show you. There are too many to carry all in one go.’

His eyebrows rose as he glanced at his mother who screwed up her eyes suspiciously.

‘Who taught you to draw like this?’ she snapped.

Amy shrugged. ‘I taught myself, I suppose. I’ve loved to draw ever since I was a little girl.’

The old woman frowned. ‘This one …’ She stabbed a bony finger at a particular sketch. ‘What weight would you expect that to be when it was finished?’

‘Oh, no more than three or four ounces, I expect, for the actual body of the hat. Then o’ course there’d be the added weight o’ the trimmings, though for this particular design I would use a very fine lawn veiling, which would have very little weight at all.’

‘An’ this one.’ The old woman pointed to another sketch, a much more elaborate design this time.

‘Definitely silk, stiffened and trimmed with ostrich feathers for more formal occasions. I think that this style might be favoured for day visiting. It would obviously be heavier – possibly nine or ten ounces without the trimmings.’

‘An’ how do you know all this? I doubt you’d get the chance to wear such outfits.’

‘I er … my gran buys me books on the latest fashions when she can afford to,’ Amy told her meekly.

Mrs Forrester nodded. ‘Well, you seem to have a fair grasp o’ fashion, but I could teach you a lot more,’ she commented, and she then proceeded to listen to Amy intently as she fired yet more questions at her. Eventually, seemingly satisfied with the girl’s answers and without excusing herself, she began to hobble towards the door.

‘I’m going to have a lie-down before dinner,’ she told her son over her shoulder, ignoring Amy completely. ‘But I’ll tell you something, Samuel; I think this young lass has a rare gift. Puts some o’ those silly overpaid women you call designers to shame, she does. And if you take my advice you’ll give ’er a chance!’

Then without so much as a backward glance she was gone, the door banging resoundingly behind her, leaving Amy to stare after her open-mouthed.