Farringdon's Fortune, page 6
‘Yes, and isn’t it exciting? Imagine living in London.’ Bea’s eyes glittered navy with enthusiasm. ‘Now come on, where’s that list?’
‘My debut outfit will have to travel with me. Oh Bea, you should see the silk Jane is using. In fact, I have a fitting tomorrow morning; why don’t you come with me?’
‘I’d love to, and it would be good to see Jane again.’
‘It will mean being interrogated by Mrs Somers en route,’ Victoria pointed out, laughing as Bea grimaced. ‘Although she appears to have set her bonnet at Quick and spends her time trying to catch his attention.’
‘That will make the journey interesting then,’ Bea grinned.
Chapter 7
‘You look like an angel, except obviously I know you’re not,’ Bea chuckled, as Victoria emerged from behind the pink embroidered screen in the Receiving Room.
‘Oh Jane, it’s beautiful,’ the girl gasped, turning this way and that in front of the long mirror.
‘Yes, we’ve done an excellent job,’ Ida agreed, puffing out her chest. ‘It needs a slight adjustment on yer waist what with yer being so slender like, and we still need to pin the hem. Not that we used pins on the body, of course.’
Jane bit down a retort. Trust the woman to take the credit when she had been the one sewing by the light of the candle until daybreak. Now her eyes felt gritty, her nerves taut as a tightly wound bobbin. Had Madame really been in her workroom with her? Whether she had or not, the train looked splendid, she thought, attaching it to the back of the gown.
‘You’ve worked wonders,’ Victoria said, giving Jane a knowing look. ‘These buttons set off the bodice perfectly. Wherever did you get them?’ she asked, running her fingers admiringly over their pearlescent sheen.
‘I think they must have been sent with the silk. There was a note too, but it’s written in French, and I can’t make out all the words.’
‘How exciting. Perhaps we can have a look.’
‘Bea, really,’ Victoria reproached.
‘When you’ve finished here, of course,’ Bea added quickly.
‘Of course,’ Jane agreed, watching as Ida placed the headdress on Victoria’s chestnut curls. The trimmed ostrich feathers set off the girl’s colouring and complemented the gown perfectly.
‘I can’t believe this is really me,’ Victoria said, shaking her head.
‘Yer looks a real picture, even if I do say so myself,’ Ida Somers nodded. ‘Cors, I knew yer would when I was making it.’
‘I am most grateful to you both,’ Victoria said quickly. ‘Except, I must confess my chest feels somewhat bare.’ She frowned, running her hand over the exposed flesh. Although the neckline was now high enough to conceal her womanly charms, Jane supposed the girl was used to wearing gowns that covered her completely.
‘Perhaps a necklace might help,’ she ventured. ‘Now, if you wouldn’t mind stepping onto the stool, I’ll start on your hem.’
‘I’ll help, I’ve a good eye for a hem,’ Ida offered. ‘None better in the business, in fact.’
Through a mouthful of pins, Ida regaled them with tales of past customers until Jane was tempted to suggest she might swallow one if she didn’t shut up.
‘Oh my, now you does look a picture,’ Ida said, when Jane sat back on her heels to check the hem looked even. ‘It’s a shame about yer wedding dress, Jane, but yer must admit this is the next best thing for that beautiful silk.’ Silence descended like a shroud as Victoria stared at Jane in dismay.
‘You mean this was intended for your betrothal gown?’ she gasped, running her fingers awkwardly over the fabric.
‘Sorry, girl, I’da didn’t know it was a secret,’ the woman muttered.
As Jane blinked back the tears that threatened, Beatrice took the older woman by the arm and led her towards the door, saying she was thinking of ordering a new chemise and would appreciate her opinion on which fabric to choose.
‘I am so sorry,’ Victoria murmured as the door closed behind them. ‘I didn’t know…’ Reaching out, she drew Jane close.
‘How could you?’ Jane whispered. ‘However, I can’t think of a nicer person to be wearing it.’
‘But you might need it in the future. I mean we are the same age and…’
‘My work is my life now. I have been given this opportunity and intend making the most of it.’ She forced a smile. ‘Now turn round and mind the pins, while I help you out of your gown.’
As Victoria disappeared behind the screen, Jane carefully laid the dress over the back of the chaise. She allowed herself a last wistful sigh for what might have been then tidied away her things.
‘You mentioned a letter earlier,’ Victoria said, reappearing in the elegant primrose ensemble she’d arrived in. ‘I speak fluent French; would it help if I had a look?’
‘Please,’ Jane cried, hurrying over to her work box, and retrieving it.
Victoria studied the note for a moment then smiled.
‘It is a love letter to someone called Rosa. How thrilling,’ she cried, as she began reading aloud. ‘My Dearest Rosa, I have finished my apprenticeship and write to let you know that when I next see you, it will be as a fully fledged weaver. So, my dearest Rosetta, at last I can ask you to be my wife. In hope and anticipation your answer will be favourable, I am sending this ahead of my arrival. I hope you find the silk to your liking. Master helped me weave this, the gold thread running through it is known as pail red and when it catches the light of the candle it reminds me of your golden tresses. Your Loving Jean Pittier.’
‘Oh, how romantic,’ Victoria exclaimed, handing the letter back to Jane. ‘Do you know who Rosa was?’
‘I think it must have been Madame Pittier, my former employer.’
‘You say Madame, so she married this Jean then?’
‘No, she wasn’t married. Madame was a courtesy title for business purposes.’
‘I seem to remember you saying that she’d brought you up.’ Victoria frowned, recalling the conversation they’d had at the manor earlier that year.
‘Yes, my mother was her maid but ran off leaving me behind. Madame took me on as her apprentice. But wait a minute, Jean is a girl’s name so how could they be going to marry?’
‘Jean is French for John,’ Victoria explained. ‘I wonder what happened?’
‘I don’t suppose we’ll ever know,’ Jane said sadly, wondering if that was why Madame had affected her French mannerisms. It didn’t explain why she had heard the clacking of looms and foreign voices though. Unless it was Madame sending her signals from the afterlife she’d so believed in. The question though, was why?
‘Well, whoever Jean was, he was obviously a fantastic weaver as well as being romantic. I can’t say I’ve ever heard of the expression pail red before, but perhaps you have?’
‘It is not one I’m familiar with.’
‘Well, I might not have golden tresses, but I shall certainly enjoy being dressed in such beautiful fabric. I am really grateful for all you’ve done, Jane.’ She paused and bit her lip. ‘And really sorry you didn’t get to wear it.’ Jane nodded and tried to swallow the lump at the back of her throat. ‘Do you need me for another fitting, only I have a hundred and one things to do before I leave Devonshire?’
‘No, there’s just the hem to stitch and your corset to make. Everything should be ready by Monday.’ She smiled, omitting to mention she would need to work over the weekend to fulfil her promise.
‘Wonderful. If you can have them packed ready for travelling, Quick will collect them. Along with your invoice for all you have done.’
‘Enjoy all those balls, and who knows, you might even find yourself a prince.’
‘I was thinking perhaps an earl or duke. That would be one in the eye for Her Ladyship, what with Papa only being a baron. And you would, of course, be invited to the wedding. Oh, I am sorry, that was tactless,’ she stammered, her hand going to her mouth.
‘Don’t be. What’s done is done. I shall concentrate on being the finest corsetiere in Devonshire.’
‘And I shall recommend your services to all the ladies of London,’ Victoria declared. They may have been poles apart in social standing but the smile they shared was one of complete understanding.
Jane watched in astonishment as Ida Somers followed Victoria and Beatrice towards the door. Surely the woman was staying to assist?
‘That nice Quick is here and I’da got to make the most of me chances,’ she chortled, giving Jane a sly wink. ‘Miss Brown can help finish the sewing; that’s what she’s here for, isn’t it?’
‘I never said anything,’ Mouse replied, looking worriedly at Jane as the door shut behind them.
‘I’m sure you didn’t. Nevertheless, you are here to learn to make corsets as well as selling merchandise,’ she replied, remembering Lady Connaught had sent the young girl here to improve her sewing skills. Neglecting her duties and offending her patron could cause her to withdraw her sponsorship, without which she would have no choice but to close her business. ‘Once I have completed Lady Victoria’s commission, you can assist me in the workroom when we are closed to clients.’ Routinely, she glanced around, ensuring everything was tidy and in its place.
‘Didn’t Lady Beatrice purchase any fabric?’ she asked, frowning at the bales behind the counter.
‘No. Although Mrs Somers asked Lady Beatrice what colour chemise would suit her as she might be needing something silky and sophisticated soon.’
‘And was Lady Beatrice able to help?’ Jane asked, quirking a brow in astonishment.
‘To be honest, I got the impression she was trying not to laugh.’
‘I see,’ Jane replied, trying to keep a straight face herself. Really, the woman was incorrigible. She must be well into her forties if she was a day. The ringing of the bell brought her back to the present as Millie burst through the door, hazel eyes burning with the excitement Jane knew from experience meant she had some gossip to impart.
‘Guess what?’ the maid exclaimed, resting her basket on the counter. ‘I only gone and got meself a follower.’ However, any further revelation had to wait as the bell tinkled again and two ladies dressed in the latest mode stepped elegantly into the shop. As Mouse stepped forward to assist, Jane ushered Millie into the hallway.
‘I know you’re excited, Millie, but you really should use the door from the yard,’ she chided, remembering Lady Connaught’s advice.
‘But I’m housekeeper now,’ the girl reminded her, removing her bonnet, and tossing her wayward curls. ‘Anyhows, it was me speaking nicely to Bert, the butcher’s boy, that got us a nice bacon joint for our meal. Well, he chopped a bit off the knuckle, but it will stew up nicely with some split peas. Bert says—’
‘That all sounds lovely,’ Jane said quickly. Seeing the girl’s crestfallen expression at having her news interrupted, she added, ‘I really am busy, Millie. There’s still Lady Victoria’s commission to finish so perhaps we can have a good chat over supper later.’
‘But yous hardly stops to eat these days. And yous know what they say about all work and no play,’ Millie muttered, hefting her basket and strutting off towards the scullery.
Jane shook her head. However, there was no time to dwell on her maid’s words. Between finishing Victoria’s commission, the current corsets she’d put on hold and seeing Miss Frobisher she had more than enough to do. Work was her life now and it was payment for these commissions that paid the bills.
Chapter 8
Following his manager into the quarry, Edwin shivered as the chilly air hit him. Squinting as his eyes adjusted to the dim light after the bright sunshine outside, he was shocked to hear shouting come from the area the stonemasons used. Even above the racket of the quarrymen’s hammering and sawing, the sound of angry voices echoed and bounced off the walls of the vast cavern, causing Wakeley to quicken his step. Knowing escalating arguments could lead to the men downing tools, Edwin frowned. The masons currently on site were the best in the area. Reputation of their work had spread wide and far, and he prided himself on the quality of both the stone and carvings that were exported from his quarry. A reputation, he knew, could be lost in less time than it took to light one of the foul-smelling tallow candles that were stuck to the walls with wet marl.
‘Shut it or sling it.’ Wakeley’s sudden bellow stopped the two men squaring up to each other in their tracks. As they stood glowering, neither prepared to move away from the arched stone tracery, Edwin stepped forward.
‘What seems to be the trouble?’ he asked.
‘I were here first,’ the stocky, younger man blustered. Defiantly, reaching out a calloused hand to lift down one of the arch-shaped stones used to trace the elegant windows of the finest churches and cathedrals.
‘Yer weren’t,’ the older man spat, wiping sweat from his brow. ‘Yer sneaked behind when I was laying down me block. Go and work on a different piece.’
‘But me block’s drying. Can’t carve stone that’s dried out.’
‘Grow up, the pair of you, or I’ll knock your blinking heads together,’ Wakeley barked. ‘You’re not paid to quarrel.’
‘Can always find another quarry. Crying out for good masons, they are.’
‘I’m sure, being intelligent gentlemen, you can sort this out between you,’ Edwin said placatingly. Although the men were highly strung, he knew they were also highly skilled and he was anxious to keep them.
Knowing the men needed to use sections from both sides of the archway, he signalled Wakeley to assign each a piece to work on. With a grunt the masons returned to their own workstation, placed their tracery on top of the stone blocks and began cutting to shape.
‘Pig-headed, the pair of them,’ Wakeley muttered as they retraced their steps to the entrance of the quarry. The crescendo of hammering and cutting coming from the quarry men working below made further conversation impossible.
Edwin bided his time until the inspection was complete, and they were back in the manager’s office before raising the matter.
‘You need to take better control, Wakeley. It is no good having the best quality limestone in Devonshire if the carving isn’t finished on time. The barge is already on its way to collect the order and God knows we need the money to pay the wages, yours included. You know as well as I that it is imperative we keep the cash flow going or it will be curtains for everyone.’
He was the largest employer for miles around and responsibility for his workers and the continuation of the quarry hung heavy on his shoulders.
‘I’m leaving for London next week, so we need to go through the ledgers, and you can tell me what new orders we’ve received.’
Two hours later, Edwin snapped his fingers at Ellery who was sprawled out in front of the fire and began retracing his steps up the steep lane. His joints felt stiff and there was no doubt the cold and damp underground penetrated his bones more these days.
‘Nearly there, old boy,’ he told his loyal companion who was panting at his side. ‘Both feeling our age, aren’t we?
Despite his worries, his spirits lifted when he reached the driveway of Nettlecombe. The borders were a riot of colour, the fragrance of flowers mingling with that of freshly cut grass. He admired the topiary bushes, which had recently been clipped, then, remembering his meeting with Wilf, lengthened his stride.
The happy sound of birdsong filled the air, some calling for a new mate, others busy seeking brandlings for their offspring. Even the new lambs bleating in the nearby field sounded full of joy. The season of renewal and rebirth. Suddenly Edwin was seized by an overwhelming sense of loneliness, making him yearn for the warmth of a woman’s affection. Not the cold, calculating kind that Charlotte offered with its expectation of expensive jewels in return. After he’d seen his two daughters settled in London, he would pay his mistress a visit. Anticipation flowing through his veins, he skipped up the steps like a man half his years.
First, his meeting with Wilf and then a celebratory dinner with his older daughters. He had also arranged a family tea party with Sarah and Maria the following afternoon for it was important the younger girls were included in the farewell festivities. If that were the right word, for life at the manor without Victoria and Beatrice was going to be very different and he was going to miss them.
‘There is a letter from Her Ladyship,’ Ferris announced, breaking into Edwin’s thoughts as he stepped into the hallway flanked by elaborate oak panelling, the sound of Ellery’s paws cushioned by the recently laid plush Axminster carpet. His ancestors seemed to frown down at him from their ornate frames and, as ever, he felt responsibility for the future of Nettlecombe settle heavier on his shoulders.
‘Thank you,’ he replied, taking it from the salver the butler held and placing it in his pocket to read later. A vase of golden narcissi had been arranged in front of the monstrous cherub clock and the heady mix of beeswax and flowers made Edwin smile as he strode towards his office. The manor felt like home again.
No sooner had he settled himself behind his desk than there was a knock on the door and Wilfred Gill, his old estate manager, was announced.
‘Come in and sit yourself down, Wilf,’ Edwin invited as the man stood uneasily before him.
‘The missus says she hopes we haven’t put you to too much trouble,’ the man said, snatching his cap from his head.
‘I can’t deny the estate will miss your expertise. However, I have a proposition for you to consider,’ Edwin said, sitting back in his chair and studying his manager thoughtfully. ‘Louisa tells me the hall in Combe is becoming ever busier now that various groups hold their meetings there, which mean the women have to re-arrange the tables and chairs before they can commence work. Not a problem itself, but they are paid for every piece they produce and understandably resent any delay. There is also the issue of cleaning up along with occasional minor maintenance. What the place needs is a caretaker, and I was wondering if you would consider the position.’
Wilf sat in silence, twisting his cap round and round on his lap until Edwin wondered if he’d offended the man.
