also in very good condition, and so she paid for it without a qualm, happy with her choice and trying to imagine Toby’s face when she gave it to him.
Nancy was horrified and berated her as they left the shop. ‘Yer must be soft in the bloody ’ead!’ she scolded. ‘Fancy payin’ two whole bob just fer a bleedin’ book.’
Amy just laughed at her, highly amused at her reaction. Once they had retraced their steps and were back in the market, Nancy asked, ‘Have yer ever tried jellied eels?’
Amy shook her head.
‘Well, we’ll ’ave to put that right. Yer can’t come to London wivout tryin’ jellied eels. Lovely they are, caught fresh from the Thames each day.’ So saying, she took Amy’s hand and almost dragged her along until they came to the stall she had been seeking.
As Amy stared down at the glutinous mass Nancy placed in her hand a few minutes later, she wrinkled her nose in disgust. ‘Ugh, you don’t really expect me to eat this, do you?’ She shuddered.
Nancy laughed. ‘Just shut yer eyes an’ try it,’ she urged. ‘You’ll love it,’ she promised with her own mouth full.
Gingerly, Amy lifted a small piece of the slimy slippery fish and raised it to her mouth. ‘Ugh!’ She spat it out in horror, oblivious to manners, and Nancy almost choked with laughter. Amy looked suspiciously as if she was going to be sick and had turned a very unbecoming shade of grey.
‘What’s up, mate? Don’t yer like ’em?’ the other girl quipped.
Wiping her mouth on her handkerchief, Amy managed to mutter, ‘I’ve never tasted anything quite so revolting in the whole of my life.’
‘Well, give ’em ’ere then,’ Nancy told her. ‘Yer know what they say, waste not want not.’ Snatching the offending delicacy from Amy’s hand she began to cram the contents into her mouth, causing Amy to turn even greyer if that was possible. Her poor stomach rebelled all the way home, much to Nancy’s amusement.
‘Yer don’t know what’s good fer yer, that’s the trouble wiv you,’ she giggled, but just this once, Amy had to disagree with her. One thing she was sure of, a jellied eel would never pass her lips again for as long as she lived.
The rest of Amy’s stay in London passed all too quickly, and just five days before she was due to leave, Mr Forrester, returning late one evening, asked her to join him in his study.
‘I wanted to talk to you about the bridal bonnet sketches,’ he told her almost immediately. Amy listened with her hands folded demurely in her lap and her heart thudding with anticipation.
‘I’ve given this idea a great deal of thought and I’ve also made extensive enquiries about the costing, et cetera, of producing these designs. I have to say I think it’s an extremely good idea – but I also wondered if perhaps we couldn’t take it a stage further?’ He was pacing up and down the room with his hands joined behind his back, and after a moment he went on, ‘Mr Harvey and I both feel that a shop offering such bonnets could become very popular. Even more so if we could offer bridal gowns to wear with them, which got me to thinking … didn’t you design young Mary Turpin’s wedding gown?’
Flustered, Amy nodded as he stopped his pacing to stare at her.
‘Then do you think you might be capable of turning out designs to complement the hats?’
With her mind racing, Amy gulped deep in her throat before looking him straight in the eye. ‘Yes, sir. I think I could.’
‘I thought you would say that,’ he smiled. ‘So tomorrow, please take advantage of this room and see if you can come up with a few ideas, then in the evening we will look at them together.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Amy rose and after bobbing her knee she retreated from the room. She could barely take in what Mr Forrester had just suggested but her chin set. She could do it, she knew she could: all she had to do now was prove it – and that was exactly what she set out to do.
Following the evening meal the next night, Amy and Mr Forrester once again retired to his study and she spread out several designs on the desk before him. She had worked until the early hours of the morning on them and was so tired that she was sure she could fall asleep at the drop of a hat,