As experienced dressmakers, Emily and Clara had built up a thriving business visiting ladies in their houses and measuring them for their new clothes. Sadly, Clara had recently succumbed to influenza, leaving Emily snowed under with unfinished orders. Knowing Colenso to be a dab hand with the needle, her mamm had offered her services in return for a few shillings and offcuts of material. Offcuts, the word kept sounding in her head as she sped down the lanes of Ruan. How dare that horrid man Fenton accuse her of stealing.
By the time she let herself into Emily’s stone cottage with its thatched roof badly in need of repair, Colenso was red with rage. The front room that best got the light had been turned into a sewing room, and Emily, silver tendrils escaping her bun, and customary tape around her neck, was already about her work, a roll of crêpe cloth on the stool beside her. She looked up from a swathe of black serge spread out on the table in front of her.
‘Ah, there yer are, Colenso. I thought yer weren’t coming,’ she muttered through a mouthful of pins.
‘I’m sorry but I had to …’ Colenso began.
‘Tell me later, lover. Got a new order, as if I haven’t enough already,’ she moaned good-naturedly. ‘Lady Carwell’s mother died at the weekend and I’ve been commissioned to make her mourning outfits. Her driver is calling for them later today so if yer can sew a veil to the back of that whilst I finish here that would be grand,’ she said, waving her hand towards a fur hat on the dresser that was somehow squeezed into the corner of the room.
‘Everyone wants things yesterday,’ Colenso grumbled, still out of sorts after her visit with Fenton.
‘Well, the poor woman didn’t ask to die,’ Emily replied with a reproving look.
‘No, of course not,’ Colenso murmured and, feeling chastened, settled down to her task. She began stitching, her needle stabbing in and out of the fabric as if she was poking that horrid Ferret in the eyes. She didn’t know what was worse, his creepy staring at her chest or being accused of theft. After a while, her nerves began to settle and she found herself sewing in time to the ticking of the little ormolu clock on the shelf above her.
‘Ther’s done,’ Emily said some time later, shaking out the folds of the mourning dress and eyeing it critically. ‘Her Ladyship’s going to wear her black fur over it for the funeral tomorrow. If yer’ve finished that, yer can add some tulle to the neck and wrists,’ she said, passing over the folded garment while casting a critical eye over Colenso’s work. ‘Now, I’ll makes us a hot drink and then yer can tell me why yer were fuming like a chimney when yer arrived.’ Colenso watched as the woman got awkwardly to her feet. Judging by her red-rimmed eyes and stiff back, she’d been up working for hours.
‘Would you like me to do it?’ she asked, feeling guilty for bringing her earlier bad mood into the room.
‘No, ta, me lover. It’ll do me good to stretch me old bones. Besides I need the privy,’ she added with a girlish grin.
As Emily shuffled stiffly towards the door, Colenso unfolded the tulle and began pinning it onto the dress. Even plain black serge could look attractive when it was good quality and nicely trimmed, she mused. Her thoughts turned to what she was going to wear for her handfasting ceremony. A deep red would be in keeping and complement her dark looks, or perhaps purple with flowing sleeves. The ties that would bind her and Kitto together could be made in matching material. Perhaps Emily would advise her, though of course she wouldn’t say anything until she’d spoken to her mamm. With any luck her father would spend the evening in the hostelry and they could begin making plans in peace. Although it would be some time before Kitto finished his apprenticeship and his siblings were settled, it was exciting to think that one day she would become his wife.
‘Here we are, lover, chamomile tea to soothe your mood, though yer looking brighter now,’ Emily said, eyeing her shrewdly as she set the tray carefully on the shelf. ‘Best put yer sewing down, don’t want Her Ladyship’s dress getting stained. ‘Made us a bit of luncheon while I was at it.’
‘Thanks, Emily,’ Colenso said, pushing the dress carefully to one side. ‘I’m famished.’
‘Yer always is,’ Emily laughed. ‘Come on, eat up then yer can tell me what’s wrong. Looked like a dog who’d had his bone took earlier, yer did.’
They ate their bread and cheese in peace, each lost in their own thoughts. From the way Emily kept glancing at the empty chair beside her, Colenso knew she was thinking of her sister. She was sipping her tea when Emily got to her feet again.
‘By the way, yer can have these offcuts, if they’re any use,’ she said, passing over some squares of material.
‘Oh,’ Colenso muttered, her eyes filling with tears as she stared down at them.
‘I thought yer’d be pleased not upset. Yer don’t have to take them if yer don’t want,’ Emily frowned.
‘But I do. It was the word offcuts that reminded me …’ she broke off as a lump rose in her throat.
‘What’s up, lover? Come on, yer can tell Auntie Em,’ the older lady said, patting Colenso’s shoulder.
‘The new manager at Poltesco, he … he … called me a thief cos I collected the offcuts on Saturday. But I was told I could take them like normal,’ she shook her head.
‘No wonder yer was hopping,’ Emily murmured, passing her a clean kerchief. ‘Wipe yer eyes, I’m sure yer father’ll explain he’s mistaken.’
‘Huh,’ Colenso sniffed. ‘He was there and didn’t stand up for me at all. All he did was grovel like the manager was some kind of god. Then, when he’d gone, that horrid man accused me of profiteering cos I sell the trinkets I fashion to the tourists.’
‘But if they was odd bits of no use to the works then they’d just be thrown out, surely? I mean, these offcuts of material here aren’t any use to me, but they’d be the start of a lovely patchwork quilt if yer has the time to sew them together. I mean, I guess yer’ll be thinking of yer own nest now,’ she said, grinning wryly at the ring on Colenso’s finger.
‘Nothing gets past you, Em,’ Colenso said, her spirits lifting. ‘But you’re right, I shall go and tell Mr Fenton exactly that tomorrow. Now I’d better get back to my sewing or you’ll be docking my wages too.’
‘Only when yer’ve calmed down, lover. I were worried poor Lady Carwell’s hat was going to be full of holes the way you were stabbing that needle through it. A word to the wise though, I’ve heard that new manager stops at nothing to get his own way.’
Colenso felt the necklace stab at her chest and that feeling of foreboding settled over her once again.
Having stayed late to help Emily pack up Lady Carwell’s mourning clothes ready for her driver to collect, it was dark by the time Colenso arrived home. The candle was flickering in the window and, despite it having been a long day, her heart quickened at the thought of discussing Kitto’s proposal with her mamm. A cosy evening by the warmth of the range making plans for the handfasting would be a welcome pleasure. She might even heat some elderflower cordial as a treat for them both.
However, when she entered the room, her spirits sank for her father was sitting in his chair. To her surprise he greeted her jovially, a smile replacing his usual sullen look.
‘Ah Colenso, there you are.’ She darted a look at her mamm who shook her head. ‘That nice Mr Fenton called me into his office and we had another chat about them things you’ve been making and …’
‘Look, Father, I’m no thief,’ she cut in, her temper rising again. ‘I only took the offcuts you said