by Diane Allen
‘An artist? What was he doing staying with the Christies? Is he young, old, married, single?’ Charlotte looked worried.
‘I’d say he is in his early fifties and he’s married, Mother, so you don’t need to worry. He was just interesting to talk to, and his ideas on art are fascinating. I learned so much just by sitting and talking a short while with him. He gave me some new ideas on design – that’s what I’ve been sketching now. We should embrace nature and incorporate it in our designs.’ Isabelle lifted up her sketch of Harriet’s wedding dress to show her mother and moved next to her. ‘Look, I got these ideas from him yesterday. I’m hoping Harriet can embroider them into the taffeta, as they would look so beautiful.’
Charlotte looked at her daughter’s sketch of a straight wedding dress with a very small bustle, embroidered with the most beautiful leaves and intertwining curling flowers.
‘I thought if we could embroider the flowers with a silver thread, it would catch the light.’ Isabelle looked excited and waited for her mother’s response.
‘Isabelle, it’s beautiful. I’ve never seen you draw anything more exquisite. Indeed, I’ve never seen anything like these designs before. I’ll have to ask Hector just who this William Morris is, if he’s had such an influence on you.’ Charlotte’s eyes filled with tears as she looked at her daughter, who had thought so much about the wedding dress for Harriet while her own heart was still broken.
‘You would love his patterns, Mother. He designs wallpaper, so perhaps we could get rid of that horrible flock wallpaper in the drawing room and replace it with one of his designs, which depict nature. You would love them.’ Isabelle smiled; she wanted the best for Harriet and Danny, and had been racking her brains about how to make the wedding dress special.
‘We’ll see, regarding the wallpaper. And you will have to hope that Harriet likes your design, although I’m sure she will, and that she can embroider them onto the taffeta. It will certainly show everyone what you both can do. I’m so proud of you, my love.’ Charlotte reached over and hugged her daughter.
‘I love you, Mother, and I’m sorry to give you so much worry.’ Isabelle hugged her mother tightly.
‘We will pick ourselves up and go forward. The right man for you will turn up when you least expect it, Isabelle, and he will make you so happy.’ Charlotte kissed her daughter on the cheek and prayed that her words would come true.
Isabelle picked up the taffeta that was being carefully embroidered, in between customers and dress fittings. The wedding dress should have been hers, she couldn’t help but think, as she looked at the curling design of drooping tulip heads, which shimmered in the faint winter’s light. She would have been married by now and living in Skipton with John Sidgwick, if she had not been forced never to see him again.
‘Oh! It’s cold out there, it feels like snow.’ The shop bell and Harriet’s bustling arrival brought Isabelle out of the dark place that she seemed sometimes to find herself in, when she was left to her own thoughts. ‘Here, I got us mutton pies from Mrs Askew’s; they are still warm, and I thought that they would keep us warm. We’ll have to mind that our fingers are not greasy after we have eaten them, as I’ve to finish that petticoat for Mrs Bibby, and you’ve got Mrs Lawson coming for a fitting this afternoon. Let’s sit around the fire and have five minutes to ourselves.’ Harriet pushed a pie into Isabelle’s hand and pulled two chairs up next to the coal fire that was merely a glimmer in the grate. ‘You’ve nearly let the fire out, Isabelle. I’ll put some coal on it before I sit down, although I’m loath to go out and wash my hands under the water pump in this bitter weather.’
‘I’m sorry, Harriet. I was busy thinking of my design for Mrs Lawson, and I forgot. Thank you for the pie.’ Isabelle looked at the mutton pie that had been thrust into her hands, wrapped in brown paper. Was she supposed to eat it without a knife and fork and plate – what would her mama think? She watched as Harriet picked up the coal scuttle and tipped an ample helping of coal on the dimming fire. This was something that Nancy, the maid, would have done at Windfell, and Isabelle would not lower herself to such a degrading task. With her pie still unwrapped, Harriet quickly went out of the shop again and washed her hands under the communal water pump just outside the shop, shaking them free of the freezing-cold water and then wiping them on her skirts.
‘Have you not taken a bite yet? Get it eaten before it goes cold, and mind the gravy doesn’t run down your chin.’ Harriet pulled up a stool as close to the fire as she could and bit into her pie, grinning at Isabelle as she watched her friend take the pie out of the brown paper and bite into it. ‘Good, eh! Mrs Askew’s pies are the best for miles around.’ She demolished her pie in just a few mouthfuls and watched Isabelle pick, ladylike, at hers. ‘Go on: get it eaten. There’s no easy way, just bite into it.’
Isabelle decided to take her advice, else half of the pie was going to end up down the front of her dress. She had to agree she hadn’t tasted anything so good for a long time, and the fact that she was eating it like a savage made it even more so.
‘Just look at him – who does he think he is?’ Harriet got up from her stool and looked out of the window down Cheapside, at a couple walking arm-in-arm down the street. ‘I saw them both coming out of Bloomenber’s. Dora was giving him a kiss on the cheek; they always were good friends. I can’t stand the man, he’s always chatting young women up. I gave them a wide birth,’ Harriet growled.
Isabelle wiped her mouth with her handkerchief and threw the brown paper onto the fire, while checking that her hands were free of grease. ‘Who are you moaning about?’ She walked over to join Harriet at the window and spy on the couple who were upsetting Harriet so much.
‘John Sidgwick, that’s who. Look at the old fool, with a young bit of a thing on his arm. She must have been daft enough to fall for his charms; he’s an old lecher with no money. He owes Bloomenber’s a small fortune for the trinkets he buys for his young fancies.’ Harriet watched the couple wandering down the street and making their way closer to the shop, not noticing the colour drain from Isabelle’s face. ‘I hope he doesn’t come in here. I had enough of him when I worked for Ezera.’
‘Harriet, I’m just going into the fitting room. Could you serve them, if they come in?’ Isabelle was filled with fear at the thought of having to serve John Sidgwick and see his latest victim on his arm.
‘Yes, of course, Isabelle. Are you alright? You look quite pale.’ Harriet turned and looked at her distraught friend.
‘Yes, I think the pie may have been a bit too rich for me.’ Isabelle rushed into the fitting room and sat at her desk, looking down at the pattern she had been working on, and wiped it free of the tears that she could not stop. John Sidgwick was nothing but a rogue; he was no gentleman – everyone had been right. How could she have been such a fool? She felt stupid to have been taken in by him, and angry at the same time. Damn John Sidgwick, she hoped he rotted in hell!
‘Thank heavens for that, they just looked in the window and then turned around. I heard him say that he would not waste his money on such shoddy work. The cheek of the man! It’ll be because your mother is better in business than him, and he’s jealous.’ Harriet came to check if Isabelle was alright and noticed that she had been crying. ‘What’s wrong, Isabelle? Have I said something to offend you?’ She sat down next to a trembling Isabelle and took her hand.
‘Oh, Harriet, I’ve been such a fool. Up to the other week, I was the young woman on John Sidgwick’s arm. I didn’t know I was being used. I promised him that I’d marry him, and I would have done, if my mother and Hector Christie had not stopped me.’ Isabelle wiped her eyes; she hadn’t wanted anyone to know of her stupidity, but she couldn’t hide her heartache any longer from Harriet.
‘Oh, Isabelle, how could you fall for his charms? He’s such a cad and money-grabber. But I can understand how he’d twist you around his finger, for he knows all too well how to manipulate people, he and Dora, who he’s close friends with. I wouldn’t put it pas
t Dora to put him up to it. I wouldn’t have been so cruel with my words if I’d have known the situation. Danny has not said anything.’ Harriet hugged her sobbing future sister-in-law.
‘Danny knew nothing. I asked Mama and Father to keep it to themselves. I felt such a fool, and I didn’t want to spoil your wedding plans.’ Isabelle looked into Harriet’s eyes and played with her wet handkerchief between her fingers.
‘Then I won’t say a word to Danny, either, and your secret’s safe with me. As for “shoddy” clothes, we’ll give that John Sidgwick shoddy; he will regret the day he took on Isabelle and Harriet Atkinson, because we are the greatest dress designers and milliners Yorkshire has ever seen. We may be small at the moment, but as my mother says, great oaks from little acorns grow.’
‘Oh, Harriet, if only I had your strengths,’ Isabelle sighed.
‘You are the strength of this firm – just look at these designs. Have you not looked at how busy our books are? We have orders coming out of our ears! As for John Sidgwick, clear him from your mind, throw him out on the rubbish pile where he belongs; he’s a chancer you shouldn’t give a second thought to. You are Isabelle Atkinson, the most eligible young woman in the district: beautiful, elegant and extremely clever. You don’t need any man. Especially a man who would have bled you dry within a matter of months.’ Harriet couldn’t believe how vulnerable and insecure Isabelle was.
‘You are right, Harriet. I was being used.’ Isabelle breathed in deeply. ‘Now, let’s get our heads down and get on with these orders. As you say, we’ll show him. Thank you for keeping my secret and for giving me your support. I owe you.’
‘Not another word, especially when it comes to Sidgwick. Anyway, I’m sure there is somebody out there who is just right for you. Why, only this morning I saw the most handsome man. He was walking into the empty shop on New Street across from the new railway station. He was so handsome. I wonder what trade he’s going to be setting up there. Perhaps you should go and see?’ Harriet smiled. ‘You could also ask Robert Knowles around for tea, as Danny says he’s sweet on you.’
‘Oh, Harriet, give me time to get over my upset. I couldn’t look at another man, not just yet.’
‘Don’t let the grass grow under your feet, Isabelle. Life is for living.’ Harriet squeezed her tightly and then went into the shop as she heard the doorbell ring.
Isabelle drew another deep breath. Harriet was right: it was time to stop moping and get on with her life. She had everything she could ever wish for, and she could have lost it all for the sake of John Sidgwick. She would never make the same mistake again. The world was hers to take, and that was exactly what she was going to do.
13
‘Looks like winter is upon us.’ Archie looked out of the morning-room’s window and watched the first snowflakes of winter fall.
Charlotte stood by his side. ‘You know, I still feel a tingle down my spine with excitement, just like a small child, when I see the first snows of winter. It reminds me of being up at Crummock, and waking up to fern patterns on the windows made by the frost, and having to dress quickly because the house was so cold. Your aunty used to lay me out all the layers of clothes I had to wear that day, and I used to pull them quickly on, to get down to the warm kitchen and be fed by her. She was more like a mother to me than the family cook. I do miss her.’
‘Aye, she was a good woman, was Aunt Lucy. She would do anything for anybody and she never hurt a soul. The world’s a worse place without her. I don’t like the look of this sky, Lottie, it looks full of snow. I hope Arthur’s got the sheep down off the fell and into the lower pastures at Crummock. It looks as if it could come soon.’ Archie scowled and looked hard into the grey, snow-filled skies.
‘Surely he will have done. He usually has them down around the house by this time of the year.’ Charlotte walked to her writing desk and looked at the wording for the Christmas Ball invitation that she had been toying with, then sighed. ‘I don’t know whether to hold a Christmas Ball this year or not. After all, we have the wedding to pay for; and then I’ve invested a bit in Isabelle’s and Harriet’s shop – not that they are struggling. I’m quite impressed with their takings; they’ve got a nice little business building there. But the mill isn’t making as much profit as it used to, because there’s so much competition nowadays. I feel dark days are just around the corner.’ She sat back in her chair and looked at Archie, who was obviously worried about the weather.
‘Suit yourself, lass. It makes no difference to me – you know I’m not keen on such dos. I hate having to watch what I say to folk, and I’m not exactly light on my toes. If you think we can’t afford it, don’t bother. It’s only keeping up with appearances. Are you struggling at the mill? You’ve never said anything afore now.’ Archie turned and looked at his worried wife. She’d always thrown a ball at Christmas, so something must be wrong.
‘Not struggling, but not making as much money as I’d like, Archie. And there’s that many mills closing. Two at Keighley closed last month, and then there’s John Sidgwick’s High Mill at Skipton; he’s going to lose it. He’s in hock to the bank, and they’ll close on him any day now.’ Charlotte looked at her draft invitation again and decided to screw it up and not bother with a ball.
‘Don’t mention him in this house. He deserves all he gets, after leading our Isabelle on. She still looks like a washed-out sheet. I feel like telling her he’s not worth bothering about, but I don’t want the tears again,’ Archie grumbled.
‘She’s been a bit better this last week or two. She’s enjoying throwing herself into her work, and Harriet is like a tonic for her. To say I doubted that lass when I first saw her would be an understatement, but she’s done wonders for our Isabelle, and she is such a worker. I’ll not bother holding a ball. Let’s just have a quiet family Christmas. We can always invite the Armstrongs to join us, as they don’t seem to be a bad family. Betty gets a bit excited, but she’s been easy to deal with over the wedding.’
‘You mean she didn’t question your decisions. The poor woman didn’t have a leg to stand on, when you railroaded her with your suggestions over dinner. She couldn’t say no, because she knew she couldn’t afford anything, poor woman.’ Archie grinned. ‘A family Christmas would be better. After all, it isn’t long since we lost my father and we should show him some respect. I’m going to miss him sitting around our Christmas table saying that the pheasants aren’t cooked enough and that he’d have been better at home. Yet he never wanted to go home to be on his own, when the time came for him to do so. I think, in his heart of hearts, he loved it here, just couldn’t say it.’ Archie walked back to the window and gazed out, thinking of his father.
‘I miss him, too. I never took the place of Rosie, in his eyes. I was a bit too forward for him, I think. But he was a good man and we all miss him. It’s been a bit of a year, when you think what we’ve been through: Isabelle’s birthday, your father dying, then Danny and his loves, not to mention Isabelle’s flirtation with marriage.’ Charlotte smiled as Archie sat down in the chair across from her.
‘I’ll be happier when Arthur moves into Butterfield Gap. I don’t like to see the old place empty. Although, looking at the weather, I’m glad I’ve moved all the stock up to Crummock. At least Danny and I haven’t to go back and forward between farms.’
‘Just look at the snow now – it’s a blizzard out there. I can hardly see the beech trees down the drive,’ Charlotte gasped.
‘I think, at the first break in this weather, Danny and I had better go up to Crummock. Arthur will need our help, for the water troughs outside will be frozen over and if he hasn’t brought the stock down off the fell, we could be looking at a disaster.’ Archie stood up again and looked out of the window. ‘I don’t like the look of this day, but you’ve no control over the weather and the snow’s come a little early this year.’
‘If you must go, my love, Isabelle and I will be fine. Jethro will take me to the mill and Isabelle to Settle, so don’t worry your head
about us.’ Charlotte knew that Archie was worried; his sheep were his life, as the mill was hers.
Archie drew back the bedroom curtains and looked out into the darkness of the winter’s morning. He’d not slept a wink, and now the mantel clock lit by the dying embers of the fire was telling him it was only five-thirty. Too early to put into practice his decision of having breakfast, stirring Danny and going to Crummock, no matter what the weather was doing. He peered out into the darkness, hoping to be able to see if the snow was still falling.
‘It’s no good you not sleeping – that will not stop the snow. Come back to bed, just for another hour, until it gets a little lighter, then we can all have breakfast together and leave the house at the same time. You’ll not get anything done in the dark.’ Charlotte yawned and urged her husband to stop worrying and to climb back into bed with her.
‘I tried not to waken you. I haven’t had a wink of sleep, because even if Arthur has brought the sheep down from the fell, they’ve no protection.’ Archie lit the oil lamp at his bedside and peered out into the darkness yet again; he sighed as the light illuminated falling snowflakes. ‘It’s not stopped since yesterday morning. If we have a good covering, Crummock will be feet under. And listen to that wind – it’ll be whipping the snow into drifts. I’ll be lucky if I can get up to Crummock.’
‘More reason for you to wait until light, else you’ll not be able to see where you are going. Blow out your light and get back into bed, Archie. Worrying will not save your sheep, nor will losing your way in the dark in a snowdrift.’ Charlotte patted the bed as her husband relieved himself in the chamberpot under the bed.