The Ribbon Weaver (13 page)

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.

Chapter Eight

1848

‘Will you be late home, lass?’ Molly asked as she walked Amy to the door.

‘No, Gran, I should be home for about six tonight.’ Amy planted a warm kiss on her cheek as the old woman nodded.

‘Good, just see as yer get straight back, mind, and don’t get talkin’ to none of them damn weird folk that’s hangin’ about.’

Amy chuckled happily. The coming of the railway the year before had caused great excitement in the town. She had taken Molly to see the first steam engine chug into the newly built Trent Valley railway station, but Molly was not as impressed with the new form of transport as Amy was.

‘Newfangled dirty things,’ she had said scornfully. ‘Chuckin’ all that muck an’ smoke out. Can’t see what’s wrong wi’ a horse an’ cart meself. They’ve always been good enough before but then happen this is progress.’

Amy had found her gran’s attitude highly amusing. She was very set in her ways was Molly Ernshaw, and not one for change.

The weird folk her gran referred to were actually a small group of people called Mormons who had travelled from America to preach their religion and eventually arrived by train in Nuneaton.

From the little she had seen of them, Amy found them to be extremely polite but she was in a minority and on the whole, the townfolk were not accepting the strangers at all. When it was discovered that the Mormons could and often did have more than one wife, the menfolk became angry and convinced that they had come to take their women. This was a view that was shared by Molly.

‘It ain’t natural,’ she had spluttered. ‘A man should keep ’imself to one woman. Why, it’s
immoral
, so it is.’

Her indignation had caused Amy and Toby to fall about laughing. But nothing they said in the Mormons’ defence would cause Molly to change her mind and eventually they stopped trying.

In truth, the Mormons were leaving the town already. Only last week two of them had been dragged from the Temperance Hotel whilst still in their beds by irate menfolk, claiming that the Americans had come to steal their daughters. The poor men had been severely beaten in full view in the marketplace, then tarred and feathered and donkeyed from the town.

Amy felt deeply sorry for them, but Molly was in full agreement of their treatment.

‘Serves ’em bloody well right,’ she had stated. ‘Decent women won’t rest easy in their beds till every last one of ’em is gone.’

Sighing deeply, Amy had let her rant on, knowing only too well that once Molly had made her mind up about something, nothing and no one would change it. Stubborn as a mule she was, but Amy loved her nonetheless.

As she set off for work there was a spring in her step. It was a beautiful March morning and from beneath the hedgerows the early flowering primroses peeped out at her. The birds were awakening and chirping their dawn chorus to the sun that was just beginning to rise from the gently moving clouds. It was the sort of morning that made her glad to be alive; the sort of morning when the problems of the past year slipped into the back of her mind, and she found herself humming as she hurried along.

It was over a year now since she had started work in the design department following her first eventful visit to Forrester’s Folly, and what a year it had turned out to be.

It had been a long hard slog to become accepted in her new role. Not just by the other designers but by the people on the shop floor too. Her sudden promotion had caused a stir to say the very least, for after all, who had ever heard of a menial cleaner suddenly becoming a designer? It was a position that took most designers years to achieve and here was Amy, a humble cottage-dweller, suddenly promoted overnight.

Sometimes as she passed the workers on the shop floor a snide comment would reach her ears. ‘Huh, look at little Miss High an’ Mighty, thinks she’s a cut above us now she does,’ they would mutter, or, ‘It’ll all end in tears, you’ll see. Yer can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.’

But she bore the whispers without complaint, her head held high, although inside her heart would be aching.

Sometimes at night when she arrived home, she would collapse into Molly’s arms and sob inconsolably and Molly’s heart would go out to her beloved girl’s plight.

‘They’ll never accept me, Gran,
never
,’ Amy would cry, and Molly would hold her close, stroking the auburn curls and muttering words of comfort.

‘Oh yes they will lass. Rome weren’t built in a day. You’ll see! Things will get easier; just bide yer time and remember that everythin’ comes to those that wait.’

And sure enough, by the time November came round, things had eased a little. It had long been a tradition in the factories to celebrate St Clement’s Day on 23 November. Clement had been adopted as the Patron Saint of Hatters. Legend had it that in the first century, a foot-sore St Clement had placed a pad of wool in his sandal and found that it had turned to felt during his pilgrimages. The special day was celebrated at the factory with a tea-party in the workrooms. Great jugs of ale would be brought in and Mr Forrester and his son would always call in and supply the food. It was during the festivities that the older Mr Forrester noticed Amy sitting slightly apart from the rest of the workers, seemingly no part of the labourers nor yet the designers, and he had a hasty word with Adam, who had been an invaluable help to Amy during the preceding months, always at hand to offer help and encouragement.

When the party was over, Mr Forrester mounted the staircase to his office and standing halfway up, he addressed the workforce from there as he usually did when giving his annual speech.

Everyone was in fine spirits, chatting and laughing in small groups. However, as they noticed him the laughter and the chatter died away and within seconds silence reigned as the workers stared up at their master.

‘Well!’ His voice echoed across the factory. ‘I think we’ll all agree that all in all it’s been a good year.’ A ripple of agreement flowed through his audience. ‘As you know, the coming of the railway has allowed much faster communication between here and London, hence the growing orders and the rise in your pay packets.’ Again the workforce nodded and Mr Forrester went on, ‘Now that we are able to transport the hats more quickly I envisage another good year ahead. Down at our hat shop in London, the gentry there are showing great interest in our designs.’ He stared about the upturned faces before continuing, ‘Which brings me to the next thing I wish to speak to you all about. As I am sure you are now all aware, some time ago I moved Miss Amy Ernshaw into the design department as an apprentice designer. It is some of her designs that my London connections are showing great interest in. However, we all know that there is much more to hatting than just designing them.’

Amy squirmed uncomfortably as sullen eyes glared her way, but the moment Mr Forrester continued, all eyes returned to him.

‘Miss Ernshaw has expressed a wish to learn everything there is to know about our business, from the raw products that are used to the finished products – and that is where you can all help her. Each and every one of you does an invaluable job. We work as a team, each reliant on the other, and I would like all of you to show her the part you play. The more she knows of hatting, the better her designs will become. And the better the designs we produce, the more hats we will sell, so we will all benefit from her talent.’

He paused to smile at some of the guilty, uncomfortable faces that were watching him. They had never looked at it this way before and they were now seeing Amy in a slightly different light.

Mr Forrester then continued with more mundane matters that needed to be addressed and finally bade them all farewell. The following day, as was usual, he was going to his townhouse in London where he would spend Christmas and the New Year with his wife as he did each year.

As he and Adam left the factory Mr Forrester happened to catch Amy’s eye and to her amazement he gave her a crafty wink. There was something about this young woman that he had taken to. Like him she had come from humble beginnings but he truly believed that she had a genuine talent and he had every intention of giving her the chance to develop it. He sincerely hoped that his talk this afternoon would make things easier for her, and to Amy’s relief it did. From then on the workers slowly began to accept her in her new role and she became a regular sight bent over some machine or other having the different jobs explained to her.

As Amy had learned at a very early age, Warwickshire was nothing short of a hatter’s paradise. It boasted everything it needed to meet a hatter’s demand in abundance. Blocks to shape the hats were fashioned from the leafy trees of the Warwickshire forests and woods. On the hillsides, outcrops of coal were easily accessible and used to fuel the felt-makers’ kettles, and all along the banks of the River Anker, the sheep that would provide the wool for the hats grazed peacefully. Numerous streams, mostly of which poured into the River Anker, fed Nuneaton and this gave the hatters the supply of water that was so important to their trade.

On top of all this, Samuel Forrester was fortunate enough to have in his employ an excellent ‘journeyman’ who ruled his apprentices with a rod of iron. Richard Paggett was a very accomplished craftsman at his trade and he would accept nothing less than perfection from those he taught, which was why Samuel Forrester’s hats were so highly regarded. It was this gentleman who was one of the first to accept Amy, following her promotion. She would often take one of her designs to him and ask his opinion on the way to shape it, discussing sizes and weights, and he soon recognised that she did indeed have an eye for design and respected her for it.