It was going against the grain for Molly to think of Amy as the breadwinner. But the girl was so pleased with herself that Molly wisely held her tongue, not wanting to spoil it for her.
‘It’s only a temporary arrangement,’ she warned. ‘Just till I’m back in me stride.’ But even as the words were uttered they both knew that it wasn’t true, and that their life as they had known it was about to change.
Chapter Six
Right from when Amy had been a little girl, barely tall enough to gaze into the hat-shop window, she had imagined it as a very glamorous place. But within a very short time of working there she came to realise that the only glamorous thing about it was the hats it produced. Her day began at 5.30 each morning when she would make her way there with some bread and cheese that would serve as her lunch wrapped in a clean piece of muslin.
All day she would sweep the floors, supply the weavers who worked the great looms with huge reels of silk and cotton, fetch, carry, and in general do anything that she was told. Sometimes if there was an order being prepared, it could be seven or eight o’clock at night before she finished, and then at last she would make her weary way home.
No matter what time she finished, Molly would always be watching from the kitchen window for her and would meet her at the door with a welcoming kiss and a hug. Sometimes Amy would be so tired that she would fall asleep over the meal that Molly had ready for her – but even so, never once did she complain. Often when in the large factory she would stand and admire the finished hats and imagine how she herself could decorate them.
Of all the women that worked there, she envied the designers most of all. They worked in a separate room right at the end of the factory floor, and occasionally Amy would glimpse them bent over their drawing boards or busily pinning together the unfinished hats. Unfortunately she was never allowed into that room. The women in there were highly respected and highly paid, unlike herself and the women who toiled long hours over the looms and machines.
Mr Forrester’s office was at the other end of the factory on the first floor. To reach his office you had to climb a flight of steep metal stairs and occasionally on his visits, Amy would catch sight of him peering out of his office window as he surveyed his employees. Though now well into middle age, Mr Forrester was still a handsome man, but as yet Amy had never once seen him smile. Once a week he would walk amongst his workers with the supervisor, inspecting their work. He always had a word of praise for good quality work, but woe betide anyone whose work was not up to his standards. He himself had toiled long and hard to build up his little empire and he expected only the best. Anyone who couldn’t meet his standards was swiftly shown the door and never given a second chance.
But on the other hand he was also known as a fair man. Recently a heavily pregnant woman had lost two of her fingers in one of the machines after working a thirteen-hour shift straight through to try and fulfil an order. It was a known fact that not only had Samuel Forrester paid all her medical expenses, but he had given her a very hefty bonus and a small pension too. All in all he was feared, yet at the same time respected as being a fair man to those who were loyal and hardworking. Amy had no regrets about going to work for him whatsoever. At the minute she was right at the bottom of the ladder, but she was also young and ambitious, and her deep love of design held her there.
Molly, however, who was growing stronger by the day, was still not too happy about the situation. ‘It’s bloody cheap labour, that what it is,’ she would mutter when Amy came in at night tired to the bone. But Amy would only grin and let it go in one ear and out of the other.
It was satisfying being able to tip her wages on to the table each week. All of her life Molly had cared for her and now Amy felt that she was giving a little