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.