The Ribbon Weaver (11 page)

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.

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.