The Royal Lacemaker (13 page)

A small, mouselike woman with tawny hair
tied up in a bun answered almost immediately. However, there was nothing mouselike
about her manner.

‘Yes?' she barked, looking
Lily up and down.

‘Good afternoon. Miss Chicke? My
name is Lily Rose and I understand you have a room to rent.' There was silence
for a few moments whilst she was subjected to intense scrutiny from the woman, whose
dark eyes reminded Lily of the black flints that jutted out of the chalk cliffs.
Finally, she sniffed then motioned her inside. Lily followed her down a narrow
passage that clearly never saw any daylight. However, the room she was shown into,
although sparsely furnished, was neat and clean.

‘Someone recommend the
room?' Miss Chicke asked.

‘Yes, Mrs Westlake. Her son,
Thomas Westlake, is my betrothed.'

Miss Chicke sniffed and looked as if she
was sucking on a lemon. ‘I'll have you know I run a respectable
establishment and don't tolerate any goings-on. No men are allowed in these
rooms at any time. Do I make myself clear?'

Lily nodded, wondering what this sour
little woman
could possibly know about men and
‘goings-on', as she put it. She must be naïve if she thought they were
confined to the bedroom. Besides, that tiny bed would surely only accommodate one
body, and a small one at that. With a start she realized Miss Chicke was still
speaking and quickly turned back to face her.

‘Front door is locked prompt at 10
o'clock each night. Meals by arrangement, no cooking in rooms, and facilities
are shared. Laundry's extra. How old are you and why are you seeking
accommodation?'

‘I'm seventeen years of age,
Miss Chicke, and the cottage we rent went with my father's job. He was killed
when the byre collapsed earlier this year. Squire Clinsden's hired someone new
to help on the farm, which is why I need to find somewhere to live.'

‘I see. Sorry about your father,
I'm sure. Right, I'll take a look at your testimonials then.'

‘My what?' she asked.

Miss Chicke sniffed.
‘Testimonials. Guarantees of your qualities and virtues. You could be anyone,
for all I know.'

‘Oh, I see. I'm sure my
employer, Mrs Bodney, will provide one.'

‘Right, and I'll need one
from your present landlord too.'

Lily's heart sank, although she
knew there was no reason for the squire not to provide one. Their rent had always
been paid on time and they'd been good tenants. However, the thought of having
to ask him for one didn't sit well with her. In fact, the idea of having to
ask him for anything sickened her stomach.

‘Are you sure the one from Mrs
Bodney won't suffice?
I'm an excellent worker and
although I've only been with her a matter of weeks she's already
promoted me to overseer.'

‘That's as maybe, but the
rules of my house dictate two must be provided,' the woman sniffed, then led
Lily back down the corridor. ‘If you want the room, bring me two testimonials.
Otherwise there'll be others glad of the opportunity, I'm sure,'
she said, sniffing again as she pushed the door firmly shut.

Out on the street, Lily took a deep
breath. Goodness, the woman was a right shrew – and Lily had thought Mrs Bodney was
a tartar. Still, she'd been told respectable rooms were hard to come by and if
she wanted this one she'd have to bottle her pride and ask the squire for a
testimonial. She grimaced, imagining the supercilious sneer on his face when she
did.

As Lily hurried back to work, the sun
blazed overhead and it wasn't long before her black dress was clinging to her
legs, hampering her movement. Beads of perspiration trickled down her back, making
her corset stick to her body. She stopped to tuck a lock of hair back under her cap,
and saw a mob of youths huddled alongside the brook, goading a small boy. She
smiled, remembering Tom telling her jumping the brook was regarded as a rite of
passage and that no male could be regarded a man of Bransbeer until he'd
fallen in at least once.

As she watched them frolicking, she
couldn't help wishing she was that young again. Not that she'd ever
enjoyed the luxury of such freedom; as far back as she could remember her days had
been spent making lace. However, the sun sparkling on the water looked inviting, and
she had a sudden urge to take off her clothes and jump in.

A burst of raucous laughter brought her
sharply back to the present. Spinning round she realized she was standing outside
High House. The door was open and she ran up the steps and followed the sound of
merriment through to the workroom. She stood there for a few moments, but the ladies
were so engrossed in their fun they didn't notice her. Rapping sharply on the
table, she waited until silence descended.

‘What is the meaning of
this?' she asked, trying to
keep her voice steady as their
questioning looks turned belligerent.

‘We was doing no harm,'
muttered a woman she recognized as Cora's sister.

‘And no work either. I'm
surprised at you. Return to your pillows and I will check your work.' She
watched as they slunk back to their stools and then went around the room inspecting
each pillow in turn. To her relief all the lace was beautifully worked, although
under the circumstances, she knew better than to remark on the fact. Walking to the
front of the room, she addressed the now silent lace makers.

‘You are all aware this job is
confidential, are you not?'

‘Course we are,' they
chorused, looking affronted.

‘Then why was the front door open?
Anyone could have entered the building and with the noise you were making,
you'd have been none the wiser.' There was silence.

Then a timid voice squeaked, ‘It
was me, miss. I went outside to relieve myself and must've forgot to shut the
door when I came back. Will you tell the missus?' A young girl, not much
higher than her stool, was staring at her wide-eyed. The mood of the room was sombre
now as they stood there waiting for Lily's response. Instead of answering,
though, she had a question for them.

‘Are you going to reach your quota
of work before Mrs Bodney returns?'

As one, they nodded vigorously. Fixing
them with her fiercest glare, and leaving the question hanging in the air, she
turned and walked out of the room. The silence behind her was palpable, and she
trusted they would make
up the time they'd wasted. With
employment at a premium and money short, nobody in their right mind would incur the
wrath of Mrs Bodney and risk losing a well-paid job like this.

On legs that wobbled like jelly after
her confrontation, Lily made her way back through the village. Being an overseer
wasn't easy and she hoped she'd handled the situation correctly. She
just trusted her ladies weren't misbehaving in her absence.

She quickened her step, but when she
entered the workroom, everyone was busy at their pillows. Gratefully she sank onto
her stool but as she worked, she wondered. How could she obtain a testimonial from
the squire? And if she didn't get one, how could she secure the room?

By the time the shadows had lengthened
and she was able to dismiss the ladies, her head was pounding. Grateful for the
sudden silence, she walked round the room inspecting their work. It all looked
satisfactory and she was just breathing a sigh of relief when she reached
Anna's pillow, and saw the sprig she'd been working on was badly
distorted. Further examination revealed that two of the pins had been enclosed in
the wrong place, and the lace was wrongly tensioned.

She then remembered that the woman had
seemed to be having trouble with her eyes earlier. Why on earth hadn't she
checked her work when she'd returned from High House? Sinking onto the stool
by the woman's pillow, she began the arduous task of weaving back the threads.
It would take her an age to rework the sprig, but she had nobody to blame but
herself. The light was failing now but she daren't light a candle for Mrs
Bodney would
be sure to ask why it had been necessary to use one.
Besides, all materials had to be accounted for. She moved her pillow directly under
the window and was thankful the moon was full.

As ever, the reworking took much longer
than she'd anticipated and by the time she left the workroom she was dropping
with exhaustion. Clouds had covered the moon and she had to pick her way carefully
over the ruts in the back lane as she made her way to the hostelry. Everywhere was
sinister and silent, everything cloaked in darkness, and she could feel the hairs on
her neck prickle. She couldn't help wishing Tom was with her. Suddenly, a
piercing screech stopped her in her tracks. Then moments later an answering one sent
her scuttling. Owlers? She wasn't hanging around to find out. Heedless of the
potholes and detritus, she lifted her long skirts and ran as fast as she could
towards the stables.

Finally, she gained the safety of the
tumbledown building. Quickly closing the door behind her, she scrambled into the
donkey-cart and pulled her shawl over her head. Her heart was beating faster than
the clappers on the church bell while her stomach churned like butter. As she lay
shivering in the darkness, she could hear the sound of activity outside: the sound
of muffled hooves crossing the yard and the murmur of lowered voices. She jumped as
something heavy hit the ground, setting the cart rocking. Then she heard the sound
of casks being rolled over the cobbles. Disturbed by the noise, Doris gave a loud
bray and Lily stuffed her hand in her mouth to stop herself from crying out in
fright as
she crouched in the darkness, waiting for the door to
creak open. She was certain someone would come and investigate. Then, as suddenly as
it had started, the noise ceased. Still she didn't dare move. Instead she lay
there listening to the sound of her heart thumping and Doris munching her hay.

Next morning, bleary-eyed, she entered
the cottage to be greeted by Tilda informing her Mrs Bodney was waiting to see her.
Her stomach lurched and, worried her late night's work had been discovered,
she hurried through to the parlour. Her employer was sitting in her comfy chair,
staring at the tall glass vase of lilies and the familiar fragrance tugged at
Lily's throat. Mrs Bodney looked up and smiled, gesturing for her to be
seated.

‘Good morning, Lily. I trust
everything went well in my absence?' she asked.

‘Yes, Mrs Bodney.'

The other woman gave her a searching
look. ‘Then why, my dear, do you look deadly pale and have bags like pillows
under your eyes?'

‘I had to work late, Mrs
Bodney,' Lily muttered, looking down at the floor.

‘Yes, I understand even the moon
had retired by the time you finally left here last night. Surely, the schedule
I've set does not require you to work to such a late hour?' Lily shook
her head. ‘You were working, I take it, and not here for any other
reason?'

Her head jerked up and she stared at the
older woman perplexed. ‘Any other reason? Sorry, I don't
understand.'

‘You were entertaining Mr
Mountsford, perhaps?'

Lily swallowed,
staring at Mrs Bodney as if she'd grown another head. ‘Entertaining Mr
Mountsford?'

‘Lily, will you stop parroting me?
I'm not accusing you of anything. Quite the reverse, actually. It is I who owe
you an apology.'

‘You owe me an apology?'

‘Indeed I do. When I returned and
saw those beautiful flowers, I had reason to think they were for me. I've
been … that is to say, I too have an admirer.'

Lily watched in amazement as a flush
swept across the older woman's cheeks. It made her look softer somehow, and
with a shock she realized her employer wasn't nearly as old as she'd
supposed. Then something else struck her.

‘But, Mrs Bodney, you're
married,' she spluttered.

‘Of course I'm not, Lily.
The “Mrs” is a courtesy title. It commands respect from the people I
trade with.'

‘Oh, I see,' she said,
although she didn't really. In her book you were either married or you
weren't.

‘Anyway, as I was saying, I
thought the flowers were for me so when I saw the card propped up against them,
naturally I read it. Only then did I realize they'd been sent to you. Silly of
me really as cleverly they comprise lilies and a rose. And as for that beautiful
poem; who'd have thought our merchant so eloquent?'

Eloquent? What did that mean?
Lily's head was spinning.

‘Well, Lily, you're a lucky
young lady, though I'm not sure your young man would think so. Tom,
isn't it? Still, some things are best kept secret,' she said, tapping
the side of her nose with her finger. ‘I'm not sure why Tilda
set the flowers in here, but it's probably best you put
this somewhere safe,' Mrs Bodney added, handing her the card.

So the flowers were from Rupert
Mountsford, she thought, placing the card in her apron pocket and cursing herself
for not having listened to Mary the other morning. She started to say that
she'd asked Tilda to put them in here, but Mrs Bodney was speaking again.

‘Right, now back to business.
Perhaps you'd care to tell me why you were working so far into the
night?'

Didn't the woman ever forget
anything? Lily explained how she'd seen one of her ladies blinking
repetitively and looking upset; how she'd meant to check her work upon her
return but after calling in to see the other ladies when she was passing High House,
she'd forgotten.

‘Lily, High House is right on the
outskirts of Bransbeer on the way to Seaton. How could you be passing?'

‘Somebody told me of a room to let
in a lodging house by High Field and I went to visit during the nuncheon break
yesterday. Then on my way back I heard, um, noticed … I was outside High
House and called in to see how things were going there. I was later getting back
than anticipated and needed to catch up on my own work.' She could feel Mrs
Bodney's eyes boring into her as she related the events of the previous
day.

‘And?'

‘I forgot to check An— erm, this
lady's work until she'd gone home and when I did it was, erm, slightly
wrong.'

‘So you sat up half the night
reworking it?'

Lily nodded, gazing down at her boots
and wondering if she was going to be sacked.

‘Lily, my dear,
I might be a taskmaster but I'm certainly no slave driver. The problem could
surely have waited until today. Whatever did your aunt say when you arrived home
halfway through the night?'

Again, Lily stared down at her
boots.

‘Lily, you did go home last night,
didn't you?' Mrs Bodney was watching her closely and her words came out
in a whisper.

‘I was really tired and afraid the
owlers would be on the road to Coombe, so I slept on my donkey-cart in the
stable.'

‘Lily, you didn't!'
Mrs Bodney exclaimed, shuddering. ‘But, my dear, that's quite ghastly.
Anything could have happened. Why ever didn't you stay here in the
cottage?'

Not liking to admit she thought the
other woman would have had apoplexy, Lily kept quiet.

‘Have you broken your fast this
morning?'

‘Don't worry, Mrs Bodney,
I'm used to missing meals. I washed in the brook before I came here, so I am
clean.'

‘That's as may be, but your
clothes are creased. Nourishment is fuel for the body, Lily. You can't work on
an empty stomach and I don't suppose you have anything with you for your noon
break either?'

She shook her head and Mrs Bodney picked
up her little bell and rang it. Tilda appeared so quickly she must have been
standing outside the door, and when Lily looked at her she could see the girl was
agog. However, Mrs Bodney's next instructions had her positively gawping.

‘Tilda, take Lily upstairs to my
room and set out my spare working dress and cap. Then please bring tea and toast for
two in here. Lily, when you've changed into clean
clothes,
Tilda will take those to the wash house. Mrs Maggs can see to them when she comes on
Monday. When you return we will break our fast together and then discuss the ledger
we need to set up.'

Remembering the steam and backache of
the Monday wash she and her mother had struggled with, Lily smiled gratefully.