by Liz Trenow
She entertained the idea of asking Uncle Joseph or William to help her, but dismissed it almost at once. Uncle Joseph would tell her not to ‘worry your little head about such matters’ or, worse, might question why she was so curious about silk designs. William was so grumpy and miserable he would probably tell her to mind her own business.
But what was stopping her from going to look at the sample books herself? Now? Everyone was asleep. The house was deathly quiet and pitch-black. She told herself not to be so impetuous, to wait until the morning and perhaps discuss it with Aunt Sarah. But the notion, once it took hold, would not let go.
She lit a candle, wrapped a shawl closely around her shoulders, and descended the stairs, carefully choosing the treads that she could trust not to creak. The most dangerous part was the upper landing, from which the other bedrooms led, but she managed to negotiate it without a sound. In her mind’s eye she could see the ledgers on the shelf. They were almost within her grasp.
When she finally reached the ground floor, the door to the office was closed and she feared it might be locked. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves, turned the handle and eased it open.
At first, she did not register that the glow in the room emanated from another candle besides her own. A second later she sensed the presence of someone concealed behind its glow on the other side of the table. Before her legs had understood the need to take flight, the person looked up: it was cousin William, his face the colour of tallow, pinched into a grimace of alarm and immobilised in her gaze. She struggled to take in what her eyes were telling her: on the table in front of him was a money box, and in his open hand several gold coins.
In that same moment, he seemed to recover the power of movement. He picked up the money box and shoved it into a drawer underneath the table and then, slick as lightning, slipped the coins into the pocket of his robe where they fell against each other with a sharp clink. But also, in that fraction of a second, Anna comprehended what she had seen: William was stealing money. Even the flickering candlelight could not conceal the expression on his face: it was a look of naked guilt.
‘Anna? What in God’s name are you doing down here at this time of night?’
Her heart was pounding in her chest, but she managed to answer calmly. ‘I might ask the same of you, William.’
‘It is none of your business. You’re not allowed in here anyway.’ He turned away, as if to busy himself with some papers on the nearby desk. ‘I suggest you take yourself back to bed and I’ll say nothing more of it.’
She might have done so but for the anger. How dare he be so insolent, so unpleasant, when it was he who had been caught red-handed?
‘Is it not my business to report that I have seen you taking coins from the money box?’ she asked, astonished by her own audacity.
William turned back and stepped around the table towards her with clenched fists raised, his face puce with fury.
‘Is that your answer?’ she heard herself saying. Every muscle was straining to run, but she stood her ground. ‘To beat me?’
For a moment he seemed to freeze on the spot, with fists still held high, but then his arms fell to his sides, his face contorted in confusion and – she now saw – a look of utter wretchedness. He slumped into a chair, rested his head in his hands and gave a loud groan. ‘Oh Christ,’ he muttered. ‘Why don’t you tell the whole world? I’m finished, anyway, so what difference does it make?’ To her further alarm, she saw that his hunched shoulders were shaking.
This was a dizzying turn of events – William, the sophisticate, the tough man, breaking down in front of her? It would have been so easy to run away, but what gain would there be from that? Her original intention had slipped to the back of her mind. Now, she was really curious to know what was causing William such intense distress and why it had led him to help himself from the money box at the dead of night. She drew up a chair and waited until the sobs subsided.
William looked up, his eyes red and raw-looking. ‘For Christ’s sake, why are you still here? I told you to go back to bed,’ he said, wiping his face with the sleeve of his night robe.
‘I am concerned for you, Cousin,’ she said.
‘It is nothing to trouble your little head with.’
She ignored the slight. ‘But it is, you see. I have seen it in your face these past few weeks. And it’s brought you to theft, too, if I’m not mistaken. So, as a member of the family, I think it is of quite some concern to me.’
He sat, stony-faced, trying to stare her out.
‘Unless,’ she added quietly, ‘you want me to ask Uncle Joseph?’
His fingers wrestled in his lap. ‘How do I know you won’t sneak on me anyway?’
‘I give you my word, William. And I will do what I can to help you,’ she said. ‘Even if you don’t seem to like me very much.’
He sighed deeply, causing the candle to gutter. ‘I owe money,’ he began. ‘And if I don’t pay it back, they’re going to issue a writ to take me to court. I could end up in debtors’ prison.’
‘How much money?’
‘Nearly two hundred pounds.’
Anna’s head was spinning. Two hundred pounds! A small fortune. ‘How . . . ?’ she began.
‘Gambling,’ he said. ‘I’m such an idiot. It was Charlie got me started, and one thing led to another. Just thought if I could only get a lucky break, I could clear the debts and never do it again. But it doesn’t work like that and now some very powerful people are determined to bring me down, unless I pay up by the end of the week. Honestly, I don’t know what else to do.’
She thought for a few moments, weighing up the possibilities. ‘Wouldn’t it be better to own up to your father, and ask him to lend you the money? You can pay him back a certain amount each week.’
‘Haven’t you learned anything about my father?’ William scoffed. ‘If he knew I’d been gambling, he’d throw me out on my ear.’
‘He’s not without his own shortcomings,’ she said. ‘What about that illegally imported French silk?’
His eyes widened. ‘How do you know about that?’
‘Never mind. I just know.’
There was another long silence before he started again, in a low voice. ‘The thing is, it was me who ordered that silk. It was another wheeze to try to pay off my debts and Father was never supposed to know, but it got discovered and went horribly wrong. He’s been covering for me ever since, trying to get me off the hook.’
It was Anna’s turn to be speechless. William had risked the reputation of his father, the business and the whole family just to feed his gambling habit? Now she understood perfectly why he had looked so queasy for the past few days. It was a truly dreadful state of affairs.
‘Haven’t you any friends who can lend you money?’ She still disliked the man and would never condone his actions, but could not help feeling sorry for the miserable plight he’d got himself into. ‘Can you not pay the debt back slowly, a few pounds each week?’
He gave a harsh, scornful guffaw.
‘What is the worst that could happen, if you don’t pay up?’
‘They will beat me, perhaps to death. At least that’s what they’ve threatened.’
‘Surely Uncle would notice if the cash has disappeared?’
‘I can cover it with accounting adjustments, until I can pay it back.’
‘Not by gambling? Tell me you won’t take that risk again?’
‘I may be an idiot but I’ve learned my lesson now, of that you can have my assurance,’ he said, looking her straight in the eye for the first time. ‘No, I will pay back a little each week, and no one need ever know.’
She did not want to know what ‘accounting adjustments’ meant and neither did she want to appear to be excusing his dishonesty, but she was coming to understand that, apart from telling Uncle Joseph, this might be the only way for William to avoid a fatal beating. She gave an involuntary shiver.
‘You will not mention this to anyone, Anna? Can I trust you?�
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‘I will say no more of this meeting, on two conditions. First, that you do not mention my own appearance here tonight and, second, that you agree to help me with the mission on which I came in the first place.’
‘And what might that be?’
In the most confident voice she could muster, she replied, ‘I want to learn about how a silk design is translated into woven fabric, and what makes a good design.’
‘May I ask why you wish to know these things?’
‘I cannot tell you why,’ she said. ‘Except that I am an amateur artist and now that I am living in a world full of silk the subject has piqued my interest.’
The colour had returned to his face now and she saw that his expression was, for once, neither a smirk nor a sneer. It was a smile, an honest smile, a smile of respect. ‘You want to look at these designs tonight?’
‘Why not? I am wide awake, and we have the place to ourselves.’
‘I will do my best,’ he said.
He moved quickly now, lighting three more candles and retrieving several ledgers from the showroom. For the next hour he was as good as his word, explaining all that he knew about silk design. He showed her how each double-page spread held a copy of the original design, the coloured point paper and a sample of the finished fabric, along with written instructions about the colour, yarn and weave.
‘First of all, the original design is translated onto these tiny squares and each one is coloured to represent the pattern that would be created by every movement of the warp threads, the ones that go lengthways,’ he said. He described how the type of cloth would determine the number and proportion of warp and weft threads – ‘for example, a satin has more warp threads than a tabby’ – and how each colour requires a different shuttle. ‘So, the more colours you have, the more complicated the weave and thus the more expensive the finished fabric,’ he explained.
Patterns could never be wider than a single comber – the width of the loom – of between nineteen and twenty-one inches. ‘And it must repeat well in width and length,’ he added, ‘to make it easier to weave without pucker, or distorting the design.’
‘There’s so much to remember,’ she sighed. ‘It would take a lifetime to learn it all.’
‘Many of the best designers are also weavers,’ he said. ‘But there are books about the topic. I will see if I can find one for you.’
He went on to talk about the design itself: how it is important never to have too many picks – ‘that’s a single pass of the shuttle’ – of one colour or this will result in a section of ‘floating’ weave which will be vulnerable to pulls and render the fabric ‘unstable’. He also showed her how it is difficult to weave curves, especially shallow curves, ‘when essentially you only have threads that go up and down or across’, and how shading can require especial skills, particularly in the horizontal plane. ‘It is simpler to shade with weft threads than with the warp,’ he explained, although she struggled to understand exactly what he meant.
The more he talked, the more Anna became convinced that her own sketch would be impossible to weave. All those curves, all that shading, all those colours, she thought to herself. Does Henri know what he is taking on, or will he have to simplify it to fit the difficulties of translating it into weave?
William closed the ledger, stretching his back. ‘Will that do for tonight?’
‘Thank you, William,’ she said.
‘You will not tell, Anna, about . . . you know?’
‘Your secret is safe with me, Cousin. But please take care. Stay out of trouble.’
‘You have my word,’ he said.
The following morning Anna was in the drawing room with Aunt Sarah, trying to read but struggling to keep her eyes open, when Betty arrived with the post.
The pretensions of the family never failed to amuse her – apart from the daily cook, Betty was their only servant, and thus expected to comport herself as butler, footman, lady’s maid and under-servant, all in one day. Nonetheless, she appeared to manage it all with admirably good humour.
‘A letter addressed to Mr and Mrs Sadler, and one for yourself,’ she said, presenting the silver tray to Aunt Sarah with a curtsey. ‘Would you take more tea, madam?’
‘No, you may remove the tray now, thank you.’ Aunt Sarah brushed her away with a flick of her wrist, and reached for the ivory letter knife.
The first, released from its crested envelope with great ceremony, was the formal invitation to the Worshipful Company of Mercers’ annual autumn dinner the following week, the event that had been the subject of much discussion at the Hinchliffes’ on their visit. Sarah examined for some minutes the thick, gilt-edged card with its heavy gold script, before asking Anna to place it on the mantelpiece.
‘No, not there, dear. In the middle, where everyone can see it,’ she said, sighing at her niece’s failure to appreciate the simplest of social niceties.
Anna had heard no mention of French silk since the night of the stone-throwing incident. Perhaps, she thought, this invitation was an indication that all had been smoothed over. She very much hoped so.
‘Your uncle and I are certain to have a most advantageous place at the high table because Mr Sadler is tipped to be Upper Bailiff next year. He is so very well respected, you know, and it is the highest position in the Company.’ Sarah fanned her face with the envelope. ‘Oh, my dear, it fills me with such pride to think of it. And I will have to look my very best at his side. I must commission a new gown from Miss Charlotte at the very earliest moment.’
She took up the second letter. ‘And this one is from dearest Augusta,’ she exclaimed, unsealing the folded note, and reading out loud: ‘Now that we are lately returned from Bath, Charles, Susannah and I would be delighted to welcome yourself, Miss Sadler and Miss Butterfield for tea tomorrow afternoon.’
‘How very generous,’ Aunt Sarah purred. ‘Do you hear that, Anna? Charles will be joining us again. This is excellent news. He seemed most taken with you last time.’
‘He is certainly a very pleasant young man,’ Anna said, recalling the cadaverous face and the Adam’s apple that bobbed so distractingly in his throat.
‘I do so long to hear about their time in Bath,’ Sarah went on. ‘And whether Susannah was introduced to any suitable young men. Oh, and I wonder if they met with Mr Gainsborough to discuss Mr Hinchliffe’s portrait. I should be most interested to hear of this. Indeed, I have considered whether we should commission him ourselves, to paint your uncle in his Upper Bailiff robes and regalia.’
Anna knew full well of Mr Gainsborough’s reputation – he had painted many members of the minor aristocracy – and she doubted that her aunt had any idea how much such a portrait might cost. But the possibility was certainly intriguing: the chance of meeting the famous artist, or even watching him at work, would be a remarkable opportunity. She had seen reproductions of his work in magazines and although his portraiture was of no interest to her whatsoever, the depictions of nature in his backgrounds – especially those wonderful trees and skies – were second to none.
Sarah was reading the rest of the letter: ‘Recalling Miss Butterfield’s interest in matters botanical, I have also arranged for the artist Mr Ehret to visit at the same time. We pray for clement weather which will enable us all to view Mr Hinchliffe’s garden together.’
‘How thoughtful. I am sure we will all enjoy that very much.’ Sarah sounded unconvinced. But Anna’s heart had begun to race with excitement: Georg Ehret, one of the most celebrated masters of botanical illustration! And she was to meet him tomorrow. She could scarcely wait.
The next day dawned grey and drizzly, and Anna spent the morning gazing anxiously at the sky, keen to detect any sign of the clouds lifting. Her stomach was full of butterflies.
Happily, by the time the carriage arrived the weather was clearing, the sun dimly visible through a thin veil of mist. Anna brought with her two sketchbooks of different sizes and a set of newly sharpened graphites. Even Lizzie’s persistent ch
atter for the entire journey could not dampen her sense of pleasurable anticipation.
Mr Ehret was already in attendance when they arrived: a tall, slim, middle-aged man with a prominent nose and rather bulbous lips, wearing a well-powdered wig and dressed soberly in a black jacket and waistcoat. On his feet were the shiniest black shoes she had seen in a long time.
At their entry he leapt to his feet, clipped his heels and, in response to Mrs Hinchliffe’s introductions, made a short, formal bow to each of the ladies in turn, repeating in strongly accented English, ‘Delighted, most delighted, I am sure.’
‘Our gracious hostess informs me that you too are an artist, Miss Butterfield?’ he said. ‘And that you are interested in botanical drawing?’
‘I am but a very amateur artist, sir. However, I have seen your work and am most honoured to meet you.’
‘Would you care to sit with me,’ he said, patting the place beside him on the chaise longue, ‘so that we may talk about painting?’ He glanced towards the window. ‘And then, if the sun decides to oblige us, we may take a walk to admire Mr Hinchliffe’s most admirable planting.’
Serious conversation was curtailed by the serving of tea and cakes, followed by further offerings and polite refusals. When she and Mr Ehret fell silent, her attention was drawn to the other side of the tea table where Susannah and Lizzie seemed already to have become the best of friends. Lizzie was quizzing the older girl about the entertainments in Bath.
‘For how many dances did you say he chose you?’