Threads of Silk

by Grieve, Roberta

  But how to fix the material while she worked? She didn’t want to use drawing pins as she had with the practice piece. Perhaps Norah wouldn’t mind her borrowing her embroidery frame. If the scarf proved a success, she’d give it to her as a thank you present.

  With the silk firmly in place, Ellie soon transformed the white material into a bright swirl of mauves, pinks and blues. It reminded her of the wallpaper design she’d painted – so long ago now it seemed – and her eyes closed against the remembered pain of her father’s contemptuous expression as he screwed the paper up and threw it aside. She thrust the thought away. No one would ever do that to her again. She knew she had talent – and one day everyone would know it, including Bert Tyler.

  Norah was delighted with the scarf and only too happy for Ellie to use her embroidery frame. ‘You could make those and sell them,’ she told her.

  Ellie laughed. ‘It’s just a hobby,’ she said. ‘Besides, I’d have to charge a lot if I had to buy the material – I was lucky to get this piece for nothing.’

  She was pleased that Norah seemed impressed with her artistic talents and it gave her an idea. It was getting near Christmas and she would make scarves for the girls she’d become friendly with at the mill. She didn’t want to dip into her hard-won savings to buy presents.

  She asked Jackie to get some more scraps for her, unwilling to enter the weaving-shed unless she had a genuine errand in case she encountered Michael lurking behind the bales.

  She couldn’t avoid going across the yard for ever though. The time sheets had to be collected and she wanted to talk to Fred, the overseer, about the latest order. It was Michael’s job to monitor the work in progress but Ellie didn’t trust him. Last time the bales had gone missing she’d had a hard job persuading the customer not to cancel his order.

  Everything seemed to be all right this time and Ellie wondered if she might have been mistaken. Or perhaps Michael was aware of her suspicions and was lying low. She said goodbye to Fred and collected the time sheets.

  When she opened the shed door she was dismayed to see that the fine drizzle had turned to driving sheets of rain. She stepped back inside, hoping it would soon ease off.

  As she leaned against one of the bales, Michael appeared in the doorway, shaking the drops off an umbrella. He spotted her and smiled.

  ‘I’m just going to have a word with Fred, then I’m going back to the office. If you wait, you can share my umbrella,’ he said.

  Ellie would like to have refused but the rain seemed set to last. She wondered why Michael needed to talk to Fred. Were they working the fiddles together? She didn’t believe so. Fred had been with Turner’s since he was a boy and was now nearing retirement. Besides, she liked the old man and couldn’t bear to think ill of him.

  She jumped when Michael touched her shoulder. He opened the umbrella and grasped her arm, pulling her closer as he threw open the shed door. She flinched away instinctively and he hissed through his teeth.

  ‘What’s the matter with you, girl? All I’ve ever done is ask you to go out with me – to have a bit of fun. But you keep fobbing me off with excuses.’

  ‘I’ve already told you – I’m not interested,’ Ellie said, trying to keep her voice steady. She couldn’t tell him she just didn’t like the way he looked at her.

  ‘Got your eye on the new boss, have you?’ he sneered. ‘Not good enough for you now, am I?’

  ‘You never have been,’ she retorted, regretting her words instantly as a flash of anger darted across his face and his grip on her arm tightened.

  He threw the umbrella down and pushed her towards the pile of bales. As she fell against them he lunged at her, his lips curled in what was almost a snarl. ‘I’ll teach you who’s boss.’

  ‘Oh no you won’t,’ she muttered through clenched teeth as her knee came up and caught him between the legs. He reeled away, his face contorted in pain and anger, and Ellie grasped the opportunity to dive for the door.

  She raced across the yard and burst into the office, leaning against the door and trying to catch her breath. She was shaking, fighting the urge to burst into tears. Gradually her breathing eased and she became conscious of the rainwater dripping from her clothes to pool at her feet. She ran her hand through her tangled hair and looked up to see Alex Cameron perched on the edge of her desk, a sheaf of papers in his hand.

  She gaped at him foolishly. When had he returned? ‘I just went over for the time sheets,’ she said lamely.

  He looked at her without smiling and she realized she must have dropped them in her flight across the yard. ‘Never mind the time sheets.’ He thrust the papers in his hand at her. ‘I’d like you to explain the meaning of this.’

  Ellie reached out a hand for the papers which were covered with scribbled figures in her own handwriting. She was sure she’d put them away, worried that Michael might see them and realize their significance. As she collected her thoughts she wished she’d had time to work out what she was going to tell Alex. Why had he come back so unexpectedly?

  ‘Well, girl – explain,’ he said brusquely.

  Ellie bit her lip. He’d never spoken to her like that before. Surely he didn’t think she was the dishonest one? Stammering, she tried to explain the discrepancies between the amount of thrown silk purchased for weaving and the finished cloth sent out to their customers. Someone must be selling off the surplus for their own profit. The amount was too great to be accounted for by spoiled material and natural wastage. She couldn’t bring herself to mention Michael, unsure whether Alex would believe her.

  Throughout her halting explanation, Alex did not move from his perch on the corner of the desk, his grey eyes, hard as flint now, fixed on hers.

  Ellie’s voice trailed away and she felt herself reddening as Alex continued to stare at her in silence. She felt embarrassed – guilty almost – as if it were her fault that such things had been allowed to go on.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me of your suspicions before now?’ he asked.

  ‘I wanted to – but you were always so busy. I planned to speak to you as soon as you got back from Manchester.’

  ‘Never mind. I’ll deal with it now,’ he said sharply, getting up and striding out of the office.

  Ellie sagged against the desk in relief. It wasn’t her worry any more. She hoped fervently that there would be no second chance for Michael Turner and that he would get the sack as he deserved. But she spared a thought for old Mr Turner’s distress when he found out what his son had been up to.

  Alex realized he still had Ellie’s sheaf of notes and calculations in his hand when he sat down at the bench which ran along the far end of the laboratory. He’d managed to complete his business in Manchester earlier than expected and couldn’t wait to get back to his experiments. That was where his real interest lay and he resented time spent away from Essex.

  Donald spoke from his end of the bench, where he was testing a new batch of fibres. ‘Glad to see you back, Alex. Come and take a look at this.’

  ‘Not now, Don. I’ve got other things on my mind at the moment.’

  Donald swivelled round at the impatient note in his friend’s voice. ‘Things didn’t go well up there then?’ he asked mildly.

  ‘Oh, no. It’s something else that’s come up. I just need to go over some figures.’

  ‘Business before pleasure, eh?’ Don said with a laugh, turning back to the thread-testing machine.

  Alex didn’t reply, his head bent over the notes in Ellie’s neat handwriting. He’d have to do something about this. When he’d taken over Turner’s, he’d been fully aware that the business was going downhill. It hadn’t troubled him unduly. So long as the Manchester textile mill kept making money, he could afford to indulge his own interest. All he needed from Turner’s were the premises and the machinery – somewhere to conduct his experiments.

  It was part of his agreement with old Turner that he kept the existing staff on as long as possible. They were good and loyal workers and he hoped to kee
p things ticking over until he was ready to start producing the new material. He hated the idea of putting any of them out of work. It would be hard for them to find new jobs in the industry, especially out here in the sticks, although there were a couple of silk mills still in production in Essex – one just up the road in Braintree.

  But this new development was something else, he thought, as he pored over Ellie’s figures. He might not care about making money. But he did care about being cheated. He sat back and rubbed his chin, deep in thought. It must be someone who knew the business thoroughly – someone who also knew what a muddle the books had been in when he took over.

  Could it be Ellie? He knew very little about her background, except that she wasn’t local like the rest of the workers. But he’d seen how hard she worked and been impressed with her genuine interest in the silk business, as well as in his experiments. He hoped his growing attraction to her wasn’t clouding his judgement.

  Until recently his work and his experiments had been his whole life. But it wasn’t just the desire to know how the latest batch of thread-testing had gone that had brought him back from Manchester in such a hurry. His disappointment when he found Ellie wasn’t in the office was like a physical blow.

  And now this. Was Ellie cheating him? He didn’t want to believe it but the figures in her neat handwriting, spoke for themselves. She must have an accomplice. Who was it, he wondered as he paced the room, pausing by the window. The heavy rain had brought an early dusk and the lights from the weaving shed reflected off the deepening puddles. A movement caught his eye and a figure came out of the shadows and slunk across the yard, disappearing in the direction of the disused mill building down by the stream. What was young Turner up to? Alex, aware of his manager’s reputation with the mill girls, wondered if he’d arranged to meet one of them there.

  Or was there something else behind his furtive movements? Much as he disliked Michael Turner, Alex couldn’t believe he’d cheat his own father. Still, it might pay to keep an eye on him in future.

  Christmas had come and gone and the dark days of January made travelling to work a nightmare. But standing at the bus stop, blowing on her hands and stamping her feet to keep warm, Ellie laughed and joked with Jackie and the other mill girls, grateful for their friendship. She was grateful too that there were no longer offers of lifts in the mill manager’s car. Since their painful encounter some weeks ago, Michael had kept his distance.

  Nothing more had been said about the firm’s losses since Alex had confronted Ellie with her scribbled calculations. For days she waited for the sparks to fly – as she was sure they would when Alex exposed Michael’s dishonesty. But nothing happened and as time passed she began to wonder whether Alex had taken it seriously. When she hesitantly raised the subject he had brusquely fobbed her off.

  She still monitored the orders, incoming and outgoing, and as far as she could see the losses had stopped. Perhaps Alex had spoken to Michael, threatening him with dismissal if it happened again. She shivered, not entirely from the cold, as she realized that Michael had probably guessed he’d been rumbled and that she was the one responsible. Hadn’t she tried to discuss it with him – before she realized he was the culprit? She shivered again, pulling her scarf more closely about her neck as she prayed for the bus to arrive.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Ellie smiled as she stood up to clear the plates away, firmly pressing Norah back into her seat. ‘You stay there and entertain our guest,’ she said, grinning at Trevor over her friend’s head.

  Since spending Christmas Day with them, Trevor had got into the habit of coming to the cottage for Sunday dinner and Norah wore herself out preparing roast lamb or pork with all the trimmings, finishing off with one of her delicious puddings.

  Trevor licked his lips and his eyes gleamed in appreciation as Ellie set the light golden apple sponge down on the table, together with a jug of thick creamy custard. Yes, the way to a man’s heart – at least this man – was through his stomach, Ellie thought, recalling one of her mother’s sayings with a little pang.

  By the time they’d finished eating, the short winter afternoon was already drawing to a close.

  Trevor looked at his watch. ‘Time we were off, if we want to catch the first house,’ he said, helping Norah on with her coat. They were going to the pictures in Chelmsford to see The Flame and the Arrow. Norah, a great fan of Burt Lancaster, had missed it the first time round. The little cinema, known locally as the ‘fleapit’, always showed older films on Sundays.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?’ Norah asked for the third time.

  ‘Now why would I want to be cramped in the back of Trev’s van when I can sit here in front of a warm fire?’ Ellie laughed at the obvious relief on the older woman’s face. The couple might spend the best part of the week in each other’s company but Sunday afternoons and evenings were special. She went to the window and watched as Trevor solicitously helped Norah into the van, settling her comfortably before closing the door. It seemed that at last Trevor was ready to forget Gloria and begin to appreciate the treasure right under his nose.

  Ellie fondly hoped that this outing would be the turning point in her friends’ relationship. When she’d finished tidying the kitchen, she was ready to get her equipment out and start work on her next project. Much as she enjoyed the company of Norah and Trevor, she now relished these precious hours of solitude when she could lose herself in her painting.

  The scarves she had made and given as Christmas gifts to the mill girls had been so popular that she’d been inundated with requests for more. The girls wanted them as presents for their own friends and families. They had each given her their share of the offcuts and scraps from the mill to work on. But if she got any more orders, there wouldn’t be enough in the scrap bin at work. She would have to start buying material and charging for her services. As it was, she only accepted a token payment from her friends to help with the cost of the dyes.

  After her first tentative experiments with watercolours, Ellie had made another trip to the library to read up about the different techniques for silk painting. The art shop only had ordinary fabric paints which weren’t suitable for silk. So to obtain the special dyes she needed, and the gutta – a wax resist to stop the colours running into each other – she had to make a special trip to Colchester. As well as Norah’s embroidery frame, which her friend had been delighted to lend her, she now had a number of square frames so that she could work on several designs at once.

  She got out her materials and turned to the page in her sketchbook where she had drafted out her next project. She was making a square headscarf for Fred’s wife, whose birthday was due soon. The overseer had been stumped for a present until he asked Jackie where she’d got her scarf.

  His approach to Ellie had been rather hesitant and he’d smiled shyly when she agreed. He was a reserved little man who did his work quietly and efficiently, always ready to help when something went wrong and never blaming the girls when their machines broke down or the warp snapped. He and Ellie had always been polite to each other. But she’d been a little worried that he might think she was usurping his authority when she came into the weaving shed to check the progress of a job, or to see how many books of silk were left before reordering. Now she realized he was just shy and she was delighted when he made his request.

  Ellie always tried to match the scarf to the person it was intended for and the stained-glass window design she’d chosen was based on Fred telling her that his wife regularly attended the village church. With practice she’d become more proficient in using the gutta to draw the lines between the blocks of colour and now she was confident that the finished design would live up to her imagination.

  She’d already stretched the piece of silk on the frame and drawn the design. Now, she carefully painted raised lines in the white latex solution, following the pencilled design. While she waited for it to dry, she put on rubber gloves and started to mix the dyes – ruby red, purpl
e, jade green and sapphire blue. She hoped the jewel-like colours wouldn’t be too bright for Fred’s wife – if she was as quiet and mousy as her husband she’d probably be too timid to wear it. Perhaps she should have asked Fred what colours his wife liked.

  Ellie shrugged. If he seemed unsure she could always keep it for herself and make another one for his wife.

  She switched on the wireless for company. But soon she was so absorbed in her work that she scarcely noticed the strains of the Palm Court Orchestra, shortly followed by the Adams Singers singing ‘something simple’. Usually she avoided the programmes which reminded her so painfully of evenings at home with Harry and her mother – times which had been happy as long as Bert was out of the way. Now, in her new-found contentment with her job and having found an outlet for her creativity, the old songs had lost their power to make her sad. Occasionally, it was true, a small lump would lodge somewhere in the middle of her chest. But it was swiftly dismissed as she tried to do what Gran had always advised: ‘Count yer blessings, girl’.

  Ellie looked up in surprise as the door opened and Norah came in, her cheeks rosy with cold – or was it something else? Behind her, Trevor was unbuttoning his coat and laughing. How had the time passed so quickly? She had almost finished the scarf and all that remained was to let it dry before removing the rubbery solution to reveal crisp white lines between the colours. It wasn’t like a real church window, of course and Ellie wondered whether there might be a way to paint black lines to enhance the stained-glass effect. Or maybe she could do them in gold or silver. All sorts of ideas sprang into her mind. But for the moment this would have to do. She was sure it was one of the best she’d done so far.

  She put her things away and put the kettle on. ‘You look as if you’ve enjoyed yourselves,’ she said. ‘Was it a good film?’

  ‘It was OK.’ Norah blushed and caught Trevor’s eye.