Toby couldn’t help but notice how often François’ name cropped up and the way Amy’s face softened whenever she spoke of him. It caused a feeling of jealousy the like of which he had never known, and it rose like burning bile in his throat.
‘I’m glad that everythin’ went so well,’ he said, straight-lipped. ‘It sounds like this is only the beginnin’ fer you an’ yer fancy Frenchman.’
Amy lowered her eyes at the peevish tone that had crept into his voice despite his very best efforts to disguise it.
‘It’s perhaps time yer were thinkin’ o’ settlin’ down,’ he went on. ‘I know I certainly am. An’ I reckon I shan’t have to look much further than Annie. I’ve kept her danglin’ fer far too long, so happen I should start to think o’ makin’ an honest woman of her.’
‘If that’s what you want then perhaps you should, Toby,’ Amy told him, her chin in the air. ‘And all I can say is – I wish you well. There’s no one I know who deserves to be happy more than you do.’
As Toby slowly rose from the table their eyes momentarily met. ‘Right, well … thanks. Happen I’d better get off now; you’ll be wantin’ to get to your bed no doubt after your long journey. Night, Molly. Night, Amy.’
Molly, who had been listening to the pair of them sparring, sighed heavily as Toby slipped away without another word.
Here were the two young people she cared about most in the world facing each other as if they were saying their last goodbyes. She had the urge to rush around the table and bang their two bloody silly heads together but she wisely stifled it.
Oh, Toby could marry his Annie and Amy could well end up marrying her Frenchman, although she felt the chances of that happening were slim. But would either of them ever know true happiness if they did? She very much doubted it, but if they were unable to see what was staring them in the face, then what could she do about it?
After silently lighting her candle from the lamp that was sputtering on the table, she placed a gentle kiss on Amy’s cheeks and went to bed, leaving the girl staring quietly into the empty fire-grate.
Molly glanced at the envelope with its foreign stamps propped up against the clock on the mantelpiece and sighed. They had been coming as fast as the post would allow for months now, and she knew that Amy often sat up late into the night replying to them. She had secretly hoped that Amy’s affair with François would fizzle out, but as the months wore on and the letters kept coming, her hopes of that had begun to fade.
She supposed that it was selfish of her to feel as she did. More than anything she wanted to see Amy happy and settled. But try as she might, she just could not imagine her married to a Frenchman. In fairness, there had been no mention of marriage as yet but even so, Molly had a feeling that it would only be a matter of time before there was. Her greatest wish now was to see Amy settled before she died, but sometimes of late she wondered if her wish would be fulfilled.
She was having to rise later in the mornings and retire to bed earlier at night, and sometimes her old body ached so much that all she wanted to do was close her eyes and never wake up again.
Since returning from her trip to Paris, Amy had been forced to spend more and more of her time in London. Mr Forrester had opened another two shops, or salons, as he now referred to them, and Amy had asked that they be designed along the same lines as the ones she had worked at in Paris. These new, Parisian-style businesses were thriving, and were extremely popular with the high-society ladies of London. So much so that Mr Forrester now employed many new staff in order to meet demand. It was the same story in Paris, as Amy knew from the letters that she received from François; he assured her that her designs were selling as fast as they could be made.
Just as he had always been, Mr Forrester was a more than generous master and Amy was now a young woman of considerable means. Yet still she spent as much time at the cottage with Molly as she could, and Molly began to worry that she was holding her back. She also worried about the amount of money Amy spent ensuring that the cottage was now as comfortable as it possibly could be. Amongst other things, her bedroom now boasted a fine marble-topped washstand on which stood a pretty china jug and bowl, and downstairs a brass fender that had Bessie sighing with envy every time she set eyes on it, skirted the hearth.
Molly had once expressed her misgivings and Amy had nearly bitten her head off. ‘I like you to have nice things, Gran. You deserve them. And also, if you don’t want me here, and think I should be living somewhere else, then just say.’ Her eyes had been deep wells of hurt.
Molly had been instantly contrite. ‘O’
course
I want yer here! You know that, lass, but I want yer to get on in the world as well.’
‘But I
am
getting on, Gran – although I don’t know if it would be the same story if I didn’t have you to come home to. You’re the one that keeps my feet on the ground. You’re my port in a storm when I need someone to turn to. Don’t you know that by now?’
More touched at her words than she cared to show, Molly had hugged her and she knew then that behind the fine clothes and the confident manner was still the same girl she loved. The subject of Amy leaving home was never mentioned again.
Now with a last glance at the letter on the shelf, Molly dragged herself from her comfy chair. Amy would be home soon and the old woman had no doubt that she would be ready for a good strong brew. It was bitterly cold outside and although it was only five o’clock in the afternoon the lane outside was already as dark as pitch. After pushing the sooty kettle into the heart of the fire, Molly measured some spoonfuls of tea into the well-used brown teapot and shuffled away to check the shepherd’s pie that was cooking in the oven of the black-leaded range. Happy now that all was as it should be, she returned to her chair and settled back to wait for Amy’s return.
Meanwhile, Amy was hurrying through the cobbled streets of the town centre, gripping the smart overnight valise that she had treated herself to for her stays in London. She had left the house in Kensington that morning in a happy frame of mind following a most enjoyable early-morning gossip with Nancy. Married life was obviously suiting her and Amy had never seen her friend so happy. Nancy was getting along famously with Billy’s mother, so much so that their plans to start searching for a home of their own had been temporarily shelved. Even now, months after the wedding, all she could talk about was her wonderful Billy and what a lovely wedding they had had. After leaving the house, Amy’s day had continued on a good note. Each of the shops she visited was doing extremely well and she knew that Mr Forrester would be pleased when she passed on the news to him tomorrow.
Humming to herself, she hurried along and soon was passing the Parish Church on the last leg of her journey home. She thought how pretty it looked with the frost on the roof sparkling in the glow of the new gas lamps that had recently been installed, but then her thoughts turned to François as they so often did and she wondered if there would be a letter from him waiting for her when she got home. She smiled at the thought. She now had a whole pile of letters from him all tied with a ribbon and tucked beneath her mattress. But sometimes lately she had to screw her eyes up tight and concentrate with all her might to remember his face in detail. Still, she supposed that this was to be expected. After all, it had been some long months now since she had returned from Paris, and she had been so busy that many things about the trip were slowly fading in her memory.
When she entered the warmth of the kitchen, the smell of the shepherd’s pie greeted her and she said, ‘By, Gran, that smells good enough to make my mouth water.’
Molly chuckled. ‘Well, sit yourself down at the table then an’ get some of it inside yer. Then you can tell me all about what’s been goin’ on in London.’
Amy obediently took off her coat and bonnet and after hanging them on the smart new coat-stand and having a good wash to get rid of the grime of the journey, she gratefully tucked into the plateful of steaming food that Molly placed in front of her.
Between mouthfuls she told her gran of all the news from London and as always, Molly listened avidly. She now heard so much about Nancy and the staff in the shops that she felt as if she knew them personally, for Amy could almost bring them to life with her tales.
‘Has anything interesting happened here while I’ve been away?’ Amy asked casually,
Knowing exactly what she meant, Molly nodded towards the mantelpiece. ‘Well, there’s another letter from Paris arrived if yer could call that interestin’,’ she said.
Amy’s eyes lit up as she hurried to the shelf and popped the letter into the pocket of her dress. ‘Oh, thanks. I’ll read it later.’
Molly’s eyebrows rose but she had no time to comment because at that moment, Toby ambled in.
Seeing Amy, he smiled. ‘Ah, so you’re back again then. I was just callin’ in to see if yer gran needed her coal-scuttle fillin’. But seein’ as you’re here I’ll do it and be on me way.’
‘Can’t you stay for a drink?’ Amy asked him when he had brought more coal in and was washing his hands. ‘There’s fresh tea in the pot. I was just about to have one.’
Toby shook his head. ‘No, thanks all the same but Annie’s round at me mam’s, an’ if I’m not needed here I’d best be off an’ see her home.’
Swallowing her disappointment, Amy forced a smile. Molly would be off to bed soon and she would have enjoyed Toby’s company. It seemed such a long time since they had had a good chat. But still, she consoled herself, I have my letter to read, and the thought cheered her.
‘Very well then, Toby. Good night, and thank you for calling round.’
He stared at her for a moment, then nodding at them both, he stepped back out into the bitterly cold night.
‘He’s a good lad, make no mistake,’ muttered Molly as the door closed behind him. ‘He looks after me like a mother hen, so he does, when you ain’t here. I reckon they broke the mould when they made that ’un.’
Amy nodded in agreement. She knew that she had a lot to thank Toby for. But shortly afterwards, when Molly went to bed and as she settled down by the fire to read her letter from Paris, all else was forgotten.
The next morning, Amy set off for Forrester’s Folly bright and early. Lily let her in with a cheery smile, and for the next few hours she was kept busy going over the account books in the study with Mr Forrester. This was another side of the business that he had lately involved her in. Amy was actually very good with figures as he had quickly discovered, and when all the ledgers were up to date he sat back in his chair and sighed with satisfaction. Every single one of the shops and factories that he owned were doing well, and he was aware that a lot of this was due to Amy.
‘Well, I think that’s quite enough of that for now, young lady, don’t you?’ Rising from the desk, he smiled at her. ‘It’s time we joined Mrs Forrester in the drawing room while Cook rustles us up some lunch.’
It was usual for Amy to dine with her employer now, and once the lunch was served they all sat around the dining table tucking into one of Cook’s delicious steak and kidney puddings. Amy noticed that Mrs Forrester seemed to be in an exceptionally good mood and she soon discovered the reason why.
‘Has Mr Forrester spoken to you about the party yet?’ she asked.
‘No, I haven’t,’ her husband replied indulgently as he dabbed at his mouth with a starched white linen napkin. ‘I thought I would leave that up to you, my dear.’
Josephine instantly turned her attention back to Amy.
‘The thing is,’ she confided, ‘I got to thinking that it’s been many years since we had a party at Forrester’s Folly. It’s almost a year now since Samuel’s mother died and it’s also coming up to Christmas. On top of that, I believe it is also your birthday on Christmas Eve, Amy, so what better time for a party could there be? Samuel and I are both aware that you have worked very hard this year, and this house has known enough sadness to last an entire lifetime. So, I have decided, on Christmas Eve we shall throw a party and you must come and bring your grandmother. What do you think of the idea?’ She was as excited as a girl and Amy found her good mood infectious.
‘I think it’s a wonderful idea,’ she told her. ‘And thank you very much for inviting us both.’
‘That is settled then.’ Josephine’s mind was already on the invitations and the menus and so the rest of their lunch was spent on planning the forthcoming event.
When Amy got home later that afternoon, she could hardly wait to tell Molly the good news. Molly was a little dubious about going but Amy assured her, ‘I shall design a new dress and bonnet for you and you’ll be the belle of the ball, you’ll see. I know that you’ll get on well with Mr and Mrs Forrester and it’s going to be lovely!’
Molly had not seen Amy so excited since her trip to Paris, and although the thought of the party held no appeal whatsoever for her, she said nothing for Amy’s sake, unwilling to upset her.
During the next few days, Amy brought home numerous samples of material for her gran to look at but Molly turned her nose up at all of them.
‘Oh, Gran,
please
!’ Amy scolded. ‘You’ll have to make a decision soon otherwise I won’t have time to get them made up for you. Please look again. What about this lovely dark green? It’s not too bright and you’ve always liked green.’
More than a little uncomfortable, Molly sniffed, feeling as if she had been backed into a corner. She had been putting off the inevitable but now it must be said and done with.
‘Look, lass,’ she began tentatively, ‘I’ve no wish to hurt yer, you know I’d cut me right hand off rather than do that … but the truth is, I ain’t goin’ to the party.’
‘What do you mean, you’re not coming?’ Amy was appalled. ‘But, Gran, you
must
come. Mr and Mrs Forrester will so disappointed if you don’t. And so shall I!’
The loose skin that had once formed Molly’s double chin quivered as her head shook slowly from side to side.
‘Disappointed or not, I ain’t goin’. Yer know I’ve never been one fer parties. An’ anyway, I’d just stick out like a sore thumb, as yer well aware. Truth is, Amy, I’m past gallivantin’ about at my age. All I want is a peaceful life an’ me own fireside. I wouldn’t fit in wi’ the sort o’ folks as you’re mixin’ wi’ now. In your case it’s different. I always knew you were destined for better things.’