The Ribbon Weaver (5 page)

Now that the time for her to leave was approaching, Molly was quite looking forward to Mary working at Forrester’s Folly. No doubt she would come home and tell them tales of the happenings there, and Molly and Bessie enjoyed a good bit of gossip as much as the next person.

It was later that evening; the meal was over, the pots were washed and put away, and Molly was sitting at the side of the empty fireplace with the back door open enjoying the balmy summer night as she stitched yet another little petticoat for Amy. Every now and then a giggle from Amy or Toby, who were sitting at the table doing sums on a wooden abacus, made her look up and smile, and without thinking she offered up a silent prayer of gratitude. All in all, life was good and she had a lot to be thankful for. The youngsters’ heads, bent close together at the table, made a pleasing contrast. Toby’s fair hair, straight as a poker, and Amy’s deep auburn curls seemed almost joined as they worked in harmony to do their sums. And it was as she gazed at them that, for the first time, Molly had a premonition of things to come. It was something in Toby’s eyes as he looked at Amy. The youngsters looked for all the world as if they belonged together. Molly was a great believer in fate. What would be would be. And on that thought she returned to her sewing and left the children to themselves, with a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

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.