by Rona Randall
*
The news of Amelia Drayton’s abrupt departure from the family business, and the circumstances of it, spread through Burslem as rapidly as a bush fire. Some said she had rushed out of the Master Potter’s office in tears; that she had raged and ranted and abused him loudly; that she had wept on Meg Tinsley’s shoulder in full view of the other turners and that Meg had broken down and cried with her; that she had ordered the items from her precious museum to be burned in the middle of the potters’ yard, to shame her nephew in front of everyone; that she had vowed vengeance; that she had behaved as no one had ever seen her behave before — and, less excitingly, that she had held up her head and walked quietly across the yard to the modelling shed to see her niece before departing.
Every report varied in the telling and, but for the last, was laughed to scorn by people who had known Amelia Drayton all her life, but that didn’t halt the rumours and speculations. Was it true that workers were rioting at the Drayton Pottery? Was it true that a mob was throwing stones through the Master Potter’s window and that M’s Olivia was inciting them to vengeance on her aunt’s behalf? And was it true that she had produced faulty pieces deliberately, to explode in the kiln? Serve the man right, if so! Serve him right, indeed. What would happen next?
Many a woman on her way home from market made a deliberate detour past the pottery’s gates in order to regale others with highly embroidered versions of the truth, one of which was that ‘that-there Abby Walker’ had been seen in the cobbled yard, loudly defying Meg Tinsley. ‘Sticking up for the Master Potter, she were, bold as brass, an’ Meg berating ’er and ordering ’er back t’work, an’ young Abby taking not a blind bit o’notice. Going ’er mother’s way, is that one.’
But Abby Walker was of no interest to folk who only wanted to know the truth about Amelia Drayton’s abrupt departure. That she had walked quietly across the yard to the modelling shed to say goodbye to her niece was not nearly as exciting as the other variations, but on reflection seemed the more likely. And that Olivia Freeman had then been seen crossing resolutely to the Master Potter’s office, only to emerge a minute later looking just as resolute and perfectly calm, seemed equally likely. And when one of her modellers reported, when reaching home that night, that when Mistress Drayton came to the shed wearing her outdoor cloak and spoke in a low voice to her niece, M’s ’Livia had put down her modelling tool without a word, shed her hessian apron and wrapped all her tools in it, rolled down her sleeves, smoothed her hair, told her aunt to wait and then departed to see Master Lionel herself — well, all that had a distinct ring of truth about it and certainly seemed in character.
After that the two women had driven away from the pottery in M’s Olivia’s gig, leaving Mistress Drayton’s carriage to be sent back to Medlar Croft. Gatekeeper Peterson had watched them go, and reported how they had headed in the direction of Fletcher’s Forge.
‘And afore she left, M’s ’Livia said goodbye to each of us and told us never to forget all she had taught us and that she hoped we’d all be successful and happy under the new management. But I doubt we will be. Things’ll never be the same again in the modelling shed.’
*
By noon, echoes reached Tremain, where Max Freeman stumped along to his sister’s apartments demanding to know what the hell her son was up to now. ‘And don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about, Aggie. That Frenchie of yours gets every bit of gossip from the village, even at this distance. Talks to every tradesman who brings goods to the service door and invites the most obliging to linger for a tipple — and then relates to you only what he thinks you should hear and keeps the rest to himself. You’re a fool, Aggie, but I am not, so whatever Lionel is up to now won’t surprise me.’
‘I have no idea of what you are talking,’ Agatha said loftily, ‘and I do wish you would cease using that abominable abbreviation of my name.’
‘I am talking about Lionel’s sacking of Amelia. That’s what the workers call it when someone is turned off or got rid of on some pretext or another, and from all accounts that’s what Lionel has done to our sister, though I’ve no doubt he will have some plausible excuse which you will accept and I will not. If it’s true, there’ll be trouble and not only I will make it. Others won’t take it lying down, either.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning the Kendalls and the Fletchers.’
‘They are not the “Fletchers”. Olivia’s name is still Freeman. Oh, you may wave that aside, but I do not. As for all this other nonsense, from where did you get it? From one of the footmen, or your valet, or from that chief steward of yours who, no doubt, had it from an estate worker or one of the coachmen. Servants’ gossip! Always the worst kind. You shouldn’t listen to it.’
‘I’ll listen to anything concerning the family. So should you.’
‘Not to untruths about Lionel! He harbours only the kindest thoughts for Amelia.’
‘Such as it being high time she quit the family business? Jessica herself told me when Miguel drove me over to Ashburton the other day. That boy of mine always seems to know when I need a jaunt and a change of scene, but I suspect he decided on Ashburton not merely for that reason.’ Max finished on an indulgent note.
Agatha sniffed. ‘He did it out of no thought for you at all, brother, only for himself. He’s in love with that girl.’
‘Meaning Deborah? And why not? And don’t try to dodge the issue — what is that son of yours up to regarding our sister?’
‘Only what is best for her, I’m sure. He has her welfare at heart. It’s true that he believes she should retire, and I agree.’
‘And when did you hear him say that? He rarely comes to see you and you rarely visit Carrion House.’ Max finished cruelly but thoughtlessly, ‘Doesn’t he invite you?’
Ignoring that, Agatha continued, ‘Amelia can no longer be useful at the pottery. I doubt if she ever was very much, but Martin doted on her and humoured her in all sorts of ways — like that museum, and teaching the potters’ children to read and write and other subjects, too, until they are old enough to become apprentices. She should now settle down to sedate widowhood, as I have done. So if my dear boy has persuaded her to do so, I am glad to hear it.’
At that, Max Freeman snorted and stumped back to his own quarters.
*
When Miguel heard the news he ordered a curricle to be harnessed and drove off to Ashburton at speed. He had to see Deborah. He had to be with her when she heard the news for, remembering Lionel Drayton’s disparagement of the Mexican pots, he knew there was now little hope of her enthusiasm being rewarded. Without Amelia’s persuasion coupled with Olivia’s there would be no new ceramic line with a Mexican influence produced at the Drayton pottery. Only he, who understood her better than she suspected, knew how fervently she wanted to contribute to what she and others believed would be a new and exciting line, for which she had now produced a highly decorative design. During his visit to Ashburton with his father the other day, she had shown it to him, watching for his reaction with a certain anxiety.
‘Your opinion is important because of your Mexican affinity,’ she had said. ‘If my drawing passes such a test I shall take it along to the Drayton Pottery with more confidence.’
He had truthfully told her that it was delightful, which made it even harder now to dash her hopes. So it had to be done in the right way and by the right person. Himself.
But the moment he saw her, he knew it was too late. Her normally sunny face was grave.
‘I was there this morning,’ she said, ‘so it must have happened after I left. Sarah came back from market with the news — it was all over Burslem by that time. Someone told her that someone else had seen Meg Tinsley and a group of workers in the yard, shouting protests outside the Master Potter’s office. Not that that will do any of them any good, even if true which I doubt. You know how rumours and gossip spread.’ She hesitated, then finished, ‘I find it hard to defend Lionel even if he did do it for Amelia’s sa
ke, as he claims.’
‘Do you believe that?’
‘I want to, but how can I? My mother wants a council of war between ourselves and the Fletchers and is going to enlist Papa’s help as soon as he finishes his day’s work.’
‘And what do you want?’
‘I want to see Amelia as soon as possible.’
‘Then you shall. I’ve heard that she drove away from the pottery with Olivia, heading toward Fletcher’s Forge. Come — I’ll take you there.’
*
When Damian saw Olivia driving up to the forge he knew at once that something had happened, and when he saw Amelia beside her, he knew what it was.
Promptly, he went to meet them.
‘So you have left the pottery,’ he said, helping them down in turn.
‘How did you guess?’
‘For no other reason would either of you turn your back on the place in the middle of a working day. I take it you resigned from choice?’
Amelia, who looked pale but composed, told him that it had been Olivia’s choice, but not her own. ‘I was given none. Now I wish I had gone straight home without letting her know.’
‘Dear Amelia, that would have done no more than delay me,’ Olivia declared, ‘for I would have packed my tools the minute I heard. I could never have continued there without you. The place has been important in our shared life. Take the sharing away, and that part of it is over.’
Putting an arm about the shoulders of each, Damian led them away from the din of the forge. As they went, Olivia continued, ‘I’ve brought Amelia to see the building you’ve set aside for her. The crates are ready to be dispatched, so the sooner she sees where they are going, the better.’
‘I’m sure that wherever you store them will be very satisfactory —’ Amelia began.
‘Not stored — displayed.’ Damian turned to Olivia. ‘Haven’t you told her, my love?’
‘Not yet. I’ve been waiting for the right moment and this is it.’ When Amelia looked puzzled and inquiring, Olivia raced on. ‘It will make a splendid setting for your pottery museum and Damian has all sorts of plans for it — good display shelves, enlarged windows, and stronger flooring because the present boards won’t stand up to the wear and tear of many feet.’
Seeing the mixture of hope and disbelief in her aunt’s eyes, she chattered on in an attempt to help her through an emotional moment, and in this she succeeded until they reached the shed and Damian opened the door and led Amelia inside.
‘Welcome to the new Drayton Museum,’ he said gently.
Amelia tried to speak and failed. The huge area, emptied of its cargo of scrap iron, spread out before her like a promised land.
‘And Damian is having a sign made, for all the world to see,’ Olivia continued. ‘It will hang outside, with another by the gates bearing an arrow pointing to the entrance.’ Seeing now a definite threat of tears, she finished softly, ‘Dear Amelia, don’t be sad.’
‘How can I be, with such generous friends? Not sad in the way you mean, at least, but — yes — a little sad that you should both be so sure the end was coming.’
‘Not the end, the beginning,’ Damian said briskly. ‘Now, about that sign — I propose to make it in wrought iron, of course, and to hang it from an ornamental iron bracket, projecting like an inn sign to attract travellers along the road. You can choose the design while you are here, and the style of lettering too. And would you like “The Drayton Museum” set in a triangle, or all three words on one line? The choice is yours.’
‘Four words,’ Amelia said quickly. ‘“The Martin Drayton Museum”. That is my choice — with “Martin Drayton” dominant.’
‘Then that is what you will have. And the length and width and number of display shelves will also be to your choice and since there is plenty of room here for big display tables running the full length, the angle of the new windows must be calculated to shed the best light on them. Between us, we will turn this place into the finest artisan museum in Staffordshire.’
An hour later they were still discussing plans, heedless of the noise of wheels and hooves entering or leaving the cobbled entrance yard, until one of the double doors opened and Jessica Kendall’s voice said, ‘We thought you must be in here because there is nowhere else to look! Olivia’s gig is still outside and reports said that Amelia was with her —’ She broke off to embrace Amelia and then her niece. ‘As soon as I heard the news, I knew something had to be done and Simon agreed. So here we are, both of us; Deborah and Miguel also.’ To Damian she added, ‘We must hold a council of war at once. We can’t allow Amelia to be treated in such a fashion. And you, Olivia I hear you promptly resigned. Well done! But now we must all decide what steps to take —’
‘They are already being taken,’ Amelia told her. ‘This splendid outbuilding is to house the Martin Drayton Museum —’
The news met with enthusiasm and when Olivia suggested continuing the discussion at home, the party proceeded to the cottage which had once belonged to Damian’s parents and in which she and Damian still lived.
It was more than a cottage now. An additional room had been built for Damian, as a sanctum in which he designed new projects away from the noise and interruptions of his ironshops; kitchen quarters had been extended and additional bedrooms added — one for Hannah, her mother’s former maid, who had welcomed the chance to become their housekeeper, and others as guest rooms. Since Burslem’s only hostelry was the Red Lion on Cobbler’s Green, offering rough and ready accommodation, the Fletcher bedrooms were frequently occupied by Continental clients who came to England to discuss their requirements with the ironworker whose reputation had quickly spread across the Channel.
But the heart of the house was still the low-ceilinged living room, lined with Damian’s treasured books, and as Deborah and Miguel followed the others indoors the girl felt her usual rapport with the place and wondered why she experienced it here but not always in the homes of many a respectably married couple. The same feeling had reached out to her at Medlar Croft when her Uncle Martin was alive, and despite his death it was there still. Both cases seemed to prove that love within marriage or outside it could be strong and binding — as with her parents. Glancing at Miguel she reflected that he too must have known it when young, warmed by his mother’s devotion to his father — but now? In that vast, silent house in its vast, silent grounds was there an emptiness in his life despite his father’s affection for him?
Impulsively, she reached out and touched his hand. Seated within a window, they were isolated from the rest. His palm upturned and the fingers curled close, covering hers, and something she had never felt before flamed through her. She withdrew because she felt it wise to, not because she wanted to, and forced herself to listen to the conversation not because she wanted to, but because she felt she had to. She could not look at Miguel, and the reason puzzled her.
Old Hannah had plodded in with one of Drayton’s largest teapots, a plentiful supply of home-made scones, and an admonishment to eat the lot because she ‘didn’t want no left-overs in her kitchen’.
Plans for Amelia’s museum were well underway. It was all very exciting and splendid, of course, but Deborah did wish she could listen as attentively as Miguel. Glancing sideways, she saw that he was missing nothing. Naturally she was glad — or was she? And why did she regret withdrawing her hand? And how quiet he was — saying nothing, listening intently. He didn’t contribute a word until at last a lull came when everything seemed to have been thoroughly discussed. Only then did he lean forward and ask, ‘But what about Olivia — what is she going to do?’
‘I?’ echoed Olivia, surprised. ‘Why, I’ll be helping Amelia set up the exhibits…’
‘And when that is done?’
‘When that is done,’ said Damian, ‘she won’t be cheated out of her talent or her need to express it. I have already thought about that. I shall see that she has her own workroom either here or wherever she wishes to have it. I happen to love and understand her.�
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‘Sir! I meant no offence I wasn’t implying — I mean, I just thought, wondered —’ Distressed, Miguel stammered, ‘Why can’t they start their own pottery, the two of them? That’s what I mean. With all their knowledge and experience — why not? Why should a new and ignorant Master Potter put an end to all that?’
There was a moment’s silence and then Simon Kendall echoed, ‘Why not, indeed?’ and Jessica rose and came across to Miguel and kissed him soundly on both cheeks and said, ‘Bless you, bless you! Of course they must!’ And Damian was saying, ‘Forgive my reaction, Miguel — I’m somewhat touchy where my wife is concerned,’ and everyone took it for granted that he should refer to Olivia that way because they, too, thought of her as his wife, and Deborah danced across to her and hugged her, declaring that Miguel was absolutely right and they must waste no time…
‘And you don’t want to, do you, either of you? We can get it started while you are setting up your museum, Amelia, and then we can really begin!’
‘“We”?’ echoed her father. ‘So you intend to be part of the place, do you?’ His eyes were indulgent. ‘And why not? You’ve already made a start with that design for a sundial…’
Olivia and Amelia naturally wanted to know what he was talking about, but it was Miguel who answered, describing Deborah’s pheasant-and-partridge drawing in such detail that she was struck silent. He had complimented her on it, but she had not realized how closely he had studied it.
‘May we see it soon?’ Olivia asked, plainly delighted, and Deborah willingly agreed, explaining that it was designed for a large wall sundial which would have to be made of stoneware to withstand weathering, and that of course it all depended on whether the design would be considered good enough.
‘It is good enough,’ said Miguel. ‘Wait until you see it, all of you.’
But he was looking only at Deborah, who, in turn, was looking at Amelia and asking why she looked concerned.