The Ribbon Weaver - By Rosie Goodwin Page 0,38

the woollen coat that Toby had bought her for her fifteenth birthday and beneath that a lovely blue gown embroidered with tiny pink rosebuds that set off her dark beauty to perfection. Molly had sat for hours and hours stitching that dress for her, and Amy treasured it so much that it was kept strictly for high days and holidays.

However, as she left the factory yard, Amy suddenly felt very small and insignificant and her legs felt as if they had turned to jelly. One half of her longed to turn and run straight back home to the safety of her gran’s loving arms; the other half of her was curious as to why Mr Forrester wanted to see her. Nevertheless, even with a worried expression on her pretty face she drew more than a few admiring glances and slowly her spirits began to lift. It was wonderful to be out in the open air, after being confined to the factory, and eventually she found herself humming as she hurried along, clutching her precious sketches. After leaving the town behind her she struck off across the Weddington fields and headed for Caldecote. The fields appeared like a giant patchwork quilt laid out before her, and every now and then a little bobtailed rabbit, his whiskers twitching, would scurry out of her path causing her to smile.

In no time at all the tall chimneys of Forrester’s Folly came into view. Pausing at the side of a babbling brook, she admired the sight. Smoke from the numerous chimneystacks curled lazily up into the sky, each seeming to try to touch the watery February sun. Even though it was not yet four o’clock, the brightness of the day was already waning and mist was beginning to gather along the river, making it appear almost fairy-like. Amy was entranced – and then suddenly nervous again as she proceeded on her journey. The walk down the drive to the house seemed endless and she wished now with all of her heart that she hadn’t come. But now that she was this near her pride wouldn’t allow her to turn back, even if it meant coming away with a flea in her ear.

When she finally rounded the bend and the house came into full view she stopped in her tracks and gazed in amazement.

The last time she had come to Forrester’s Folly as a kitchen help it had been evening and pitch black. But today for the first time she saw it spread out before her in all its splendour and the sight almost took her breath away.

It was a beautiful house with turrets and towers and real marble steps leading up to the huge front doors, on each side of which were ornately carved stone pillars. The windows were all dressed in heavy curtains, and as the late sunlight caught the huge leaded windows they sparkled. Amy sighed deeply. What must it be like to live in a house like that and have servants to wait on you? And fine carriages to ride in? She could only guess, for this was like entering another world a million miles away from the little terraced cottage she had been brought up in.

A picture of her gran floated before her eyes, and Amy’s chin thrust out as she drew herself up to her full height. What was she thinking of ? Her gran had brought her up to believe that she was as good as anyone else! And as the thought gave courage to her shaking legs, she climbed the steps and rapped smartly on the great brass knocker.

The door was opened immediately by a young maid in a starched white apron and mob cap all trimmed with broderie anglaise.

‘Miss Amy Ernshaw?’ she enquired, and Amy suddenly lost her tongue and nodded dumbly, guessing from what Mary and Beatrice had told her that this must be Lily.

The door was held wide. ‘Follow me, please,’ the maid said primly. ‘The master is expecting you in his study.’

Amy gulped to swallow the great lump that had formed in her throat, and followed the girl along a huge hallway, her feet sinking into the Turkey carpet as she went.

Eventually they stopped before a large oak-panelled door, on which the maid tapped lightly.

‘Come in.’ When a voice came from the other side of the door, Amy’s heart did a somersault.

‘Miss Ernshaw, sir,’ the maid announced, pushing the door wide, and Mr Forrester, who was standing behind a large mahogany desk, nodded impatiently.

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