formed the bond between him and Amy, for already at just five years old she could say the alphabet and write her name, along with other words that even Bessie couldn’t write. Toby would spend hours of an evening round at Molly’s teaching Amy her letters and numbers, and Bessie had long since been forced to admit that Toby was closer to her than to any of his own sisters or brother Henry. He obviously doted on the little girl and she in turn doted on him. It had been like this ever since Molly took Amy in, and Bessie could see no sign of it changing now. In fact, she didn’t mind it, for she was also extremely fond of her. Amy and her Beatrice had lain side by side in the same crib and fed from the same breasts, and Bessie loved the child almost as much as her own brood.
The sound of the children’s laughter reached her now as they skipped past the cottage door. Amy and Beatrice were almost inseparable although they were as different as chalk from cheese. Beatrice was the taller of the two, with straight mousy hair and solemn grey eyes. She was a quiet little girl, content to follow Amy about whilst Amy, although more petite, had the more outgoing personality. She had huge dark brown eyes that could appear almost black if she were upset, and her hair, which defied any ribbon to hold it for long, cascaded down her back in thick auburn curls.
But it wasn’t just the child’s beauty and her dimpled smile that set her apart from Beatrice and the other children in the neighbourhood; it was the way that Molly dressed her. You would never see Amy in the dull browns and greys that were usual for the children thereabouts. Instead, Molly would sit for hours stitching her little dresses of all the colours of the rainbow from remnants of material that she had bought from the market. Sadly, Molly had never discovered what had happened to Amy’s mother and sometimes Bessie suspected that Molly had forgotten that Amy wasn’t really hers. In many ways Amy was spoiled, but even so she had such a bright and kindly little spirit that no one could fail to love her.
Molly absolutely adored her. Since taking Amy in, her life had completely changed. The child was her reason to live, and never a day went by when she didn’t thank God for her. Molly also had a big soft spot for Toby, and since he had taken on the role of Amy’s protector she loved him even more. Whenever she had a few pennies to spare she would buy him a book and he would read it from cover to cover again and again. He would sit at night and read stories to Amy as Molly sat in her rocking chair quietly sewing, and the old lady would smile at the expressions of wonder that flitted across the child’s face as the stories unfolded. In truth, Molly could not confess to being much of a scholar herself, but that made her all the more determined that Amy should be educated. She was as proud of Amy as Bessie was of Toby, and this over the last years had strengthened the bond between them.
For some time now, Molly had taken to working at home again, using the loom in the attic. Once a week Amos Bennett would come and collect the ribbons she had weaved and pay her the wages that were due. Molly had soon discovered that she couldn’t earn as much as she had when working in the factory, for her loom was merely a rude single handloom, which restricted the types of ribbons she could weave. It was, however, excellent for turning out tartan plaids and rich plain ribbons, and luckily these were still very much in demand. Amy would stand at the side of the loom for hours at a time, fascinated by the beautiful ribbons she produced as Molly smiled at her fondly. Although her savings jar was not quite as full as it had used to be, it suited Molly to have extra time to spend with Amy and she was more content than she had been for many years.
But today, Molly had no intention of working all day, for this was the day that Mary, Bessie’s twelve year old, was going for an interview at Forrester’s Folly for the position of laundrymaid. It was