She sketched more details, showing a transformed hemline. ‘The sleeves aren’t quite right, being so narrow, but the neckline frill will conceal that fairly well, and I’ll add these frills at the cuffs.’ Her pencil again moved rapidly. ‘Yes, that should look rather nice,’ she said in evident satisfaction, passing the drawing over to Amy.
‘That’s beautiful,’ Amy said, awed by the woman’s skill. ‘That’ll be the nicest dress I’ve ever had.’
Sarah squeezed her arm. ‘They all will be, dear.’
Amy had thought the day dresses wonderful enough; when they came to her evening gowns, it was harder than ever to believe that such dresses could really be intended for her. A selection of the finest of all Mrs Stevenson’s fabrics was spread out for Amy’s consideration; silks and velvets and laces, and the most elaborate of trims.
‘Black?’ Sarah said, frowning in surprise at the first of Mrs Stevenson’s suggestions, a heavy black satin that slid like water through Amy’s fingers. Where the light caught it, the fabric gave back the impression of a shimmer of moonlight on a midnight ocean. ‘I’m not sure about the colour.’
‘Well, it’s up to you, Miss Millish—and you, of course, Mrs Stewart. But for a mature woman there’s no colour more elegant than black. It’s certainly not confined to mourning clothes. Especially when decorated—like this, say.’ She scattered a handful of tiny, silvery beads over the black fabric, and Amy gasped at the effect they made. ‘Imagine the bodice embroidered all over with these. Hardly sombre, is it?’ Mrs Stevenson asked, the barest hint of a challenge in her voice.
Sarah studied Amy’s expression at the sight of the beads sparkling against the fabric, and she smiled. ‘How can I possibly say no? Very well, Mrs Stevenson, it seems that you’re the best judge.’
Amy was coaxed away from the black satin to give her opinion on a midnight blue velvet.
‘This drapes beautifully.’ Mrs Stevenson illustrated her point by draping the fabric around Amy. It fell in soft folds, seeming to want to mould itself to Amy’s form, and the silver lace Mrs Stevenson held against it enhanced the graceful effect. ‘Do you think it’s suitable?’
‘Quite definitely,’ said Sarah. ‘It’s just right.’
Mrs Stevenson looked over at her bolts of fabric. ‘We were thinking of three evening gowns, weren’t we?’
Amy dragged herself away from wide-eyed study of her dress fabrics to snatch at the chance of sparing Sarah some expense. ‘Two’s enough—really it is, Sarah, I can hardly imagine even having one lovely dress like this. Anyway, I think I’d just about faint if Mrs Stevenson shows me any more lovely materials like these.’
‘Well, I suppose we could leave the third till another day,’ Sarah allowed. ‘It might be more fun for you that way.’
‘Just as you wish, of course,’ said Mrs Stevenson. ‘And we definitely don’t want any bright colours?’ she added, an oddly cautious tone to her voice.
‘No, I really don’t,’ said Amy.
Sarah was studying Mrs Stevenson’s expression with interest. ‘Why do you ask, Mrs Stevenson?’
‘Oh, it’s just the fabric I was speaking of earlier. I’m certain it would look quite stunning on Mrs Stewart. It would do no harm just to look, would it?’
‘No harm at all,’ Sarah said, the hint of a smile hovering around her mouth.
Mrs Stevenson picked up a bolt of fabric and unrolled a long length, which she draped around Amy. It was velvet, a little heavier than Amy’s midnight blue, but still soft enough to fall beautifully into folds.
The colour was a red so rich that Amy could not find a name for it; ‘crimson’ seemed woefully inadequate for a shade that seemed to pulse with life. It was the red of a fruit so tempting that the sternest of ascetics would scarcely have found strength to refuse it. The velvet cried out to be stroked, and when Amy gave in to its cry she found it as soft as kitten’s fur. It looked beautiful enough from where Amy stood, looking down at the fabric enveloping her body; if she had been able to see herself, pale skin and dark hair set off to perfection by the jewel-like richness, she would not have wondered at the expressions of the two women staring at her.
‘That really is lovely,’ said Mrs Stevenson.
‘Oh, yes,’ Sarah agreed softly. ‘That’s perfect.’
Amy felt that she was breaking a spell when she freed herself from the fabric. ‘No, I’m sorry, I really couldn’t. Not red.’
Sarah said nothing, but Amy had a fleeting impression of the two taller women exchanging a nod over her head. And the red velvet, though Mrs Stevenson put it to one side, was not returned to its shelf.
‘Mrs Stewart will need several hats to go with the outfits we’ve planned today, of course,’ Sarah said when styles for Amy’s two evening gowns had been chosen. ‘I’ve always found your milliners quite satisfactory, Mrs Stevenson. Do you have any particular ideas, Amy?’
Amy knew it would be pointless to try and say that she really did not need more than one or two hats. She was equally sure that her own grasp of what was fashionable was vague at best. ‘Not really. Except… well, I know those great big hats are in the fashion, I’ve seen lots of women wearing them. But I don’t know if I could. I mean, I’m so little, I think I’d look like a mushroom in a hat like that.’
Sarah laughed aloud at the notion. ‘A very pretty mushroom you’d make, too! But you’re probably right, dear, you are a bit small for those hats. A gust of wind might carry you away.’
‘Hats should be in proportion to the wearer,’ Mrs Stevenson said. ‘And it’s perfectly possible to have fashionable hats that aren’t particularly large. It’s simply a matter of style and trimmings. I’ll show you a few to give you some ideas.’
Mrs Stevenson rang for her assistant, and sent the girl off to fetch a selection of hats. Amy was relieved to be shown a dozen, all of them pretty, and none of them frighteningly large. ‘Oh, yes, I could wear any of these. They’re all lovely.’
‘I’m sure Mrs Stevenson’s milliners will produce a nice collection,’ said Sarah. ‘Now, Amy, do you want to show Mrs Stevenson your hat? Don’t if you’d rather not,’ she added gently.
Amy’s hand reached out to rest protectively on the hat box at her feet. ‘I know it’s old,’ she said, aware of the defensive note in her voice. ‘But it was a really smart hat, I know it was. It cost an awful lot of money, too.’ She hesitated, then decided to be brave. ‘I’ll show it to you.’
‘This is a rather special hat,’ Sarah explained while Amy got it out of the box. ‘Mrs Stewart’s late father bought it for her many years ago. I suggested she might like to consider having it remodelled, so that she could get a little more use out of it.’
Amy clutched at the hat. ‘But I don’t want it cut up or anything. I’d sooner not wear it if it’s too old-fashioned. I’d rather just keep it how it is.’
‘May I?’ Mrs Stevenson reached out a hand. ‘I’d like to see it.’
Amy made herself hold the hat out, and tried to take some relief from the obvious respect with which Mrs Stevenson handled it.
‘Oh, yes,’ Mrs Stevenson said as she examined the hat. ‘Yes, this is a fine piece of workmanship—it’s extremely well-made, and of the best quality materials, too.’ She looked up, and smiled at Amy. ‘I don’t think there’s any need to be cutting into it, Mrs Stewart. I could simply add some extra trimmings. Some pretty blue chiffon around the edge, perhaps, to give it more width—that would give the hat a more up-to-date appearance without damaging it. A little veiling, too, that’s always flattering. You want to keep the feather trim, I presume?’
‘Yes,’ Amy said. ‘I want to keep everything.’
‘But do you think those alterations would be all right, dear?’ Sarah asked. ‘It would be nice if you could actually wear the hat, wouldn’t it?’
Amy paused to consider the matter properly. She was aware that to the other two women her attachment to the hat might seem foolish, but she was not going to let that sway her. The hat was a link with her
father, and she could not bear to have it mutilated. ‘I think that sounds quite nice,’ she said at last. ‘As long as you only add those things to it. Don’t take anything away.’
Mrs Stevenson assured Amy that she would, indeed, take nothing away from the hat, and on the strength of that Amy agreed to leave it behind for the proposed retrimming.
‘That was rather a marathon, wasn’t it?’ Sarah said when the two of them were on the footpath outside Mrs Stevenson’s. The coachman was moving the carriage from a short distance down the road where he had been allowing the horses to graze a grassy verge. ‘I’d better take you straight home, you must be exhausted.’
Now that she was away from them, the spell of the gorgeous fabrics was relaxing its grip on Amy, allowing something of cold reality to take its place. ‘Sarah, all those dresses!’ she said in sudden alarm. ‘They must be going to cost an awful lot of money. I really don’t need all those, you know. You could tell Mrs Stevenson not to make so many, couldn’t you?’
‘There’s no need for that.’
‘But all that material! It looked so expensive. Perhaps you’d better—’
‘Amy,’ Sarah interrupted. ‘Walk over here a little, I want to show you something. We’ll be with you in a moment, Jenson,’ she called to the patiently waiting coachman, who tipped his hat in acknowledgment. Now, Amy, do you see that building over there?’ She indicated a busier part of the street.
‘That grey one?’ Amy asked, trying to follow Sarah’s pointing finger.
‘No, darling, that’s the Bank of New Zealand. I mean that brick building—the two-storeyed one. It has several shops in it. Do you see it now?’
‘Yes, I see the one you mean,’ Amy said, wondering what the building’s significance might be.
‘Well, my dear, I happen to own that building. It brings in reasonable rents. And it’s only one of… actually, I’m not sure that I could tell you the grand total off the top of my head. A good number, at any rate.’
She took Amy’s arm and led her towards the waiting carriage. ‘I think I can afford a few dresses for you.’
*
‘Where did you leave that other cake tin, Dave?’ Beth asked when she had unsuccessfully sought the tin on the kitchen shelf where it usually lived.
‘In the parlour, I think. Yes, that’s right, it’s in there.’
Beth retrieved the tin from the other room. She was surprised to find it so light, and when she lifted the lid the mystery was revealed.
‘Have you eaten all those biscuits?’ she asked in amazement.
‘Well, I get hungry,’ David said, a little guiltily.
‘You must do! Ma always says there’s nothing hungrier than boys, but you’re even worse than my lot. When did you eat all those? That tin was just about full when I went home yesterday.’
David frowned in thought. ‘I don’t know. I suppose it must’ve been last night. You know, it’s that dull and quiet at night, I just sort of eat to pass the time.’
‘Well, never mind, there’s a couple of these plain ones left.’ Beth put a biscuit on each of their plates and sat down beside him. ‘Do you get lonely at night?’
‘I suppose I do, a bit. It’s all right in the day time, with you here. I’ve got my work to do, anyway, so I don’t go thinking about a lot of stuff. But in the evening it’s… well, it’s sort of funny with Ma not here.’
Beth felt a pang of sympathy at the sight of David’s wistful face. ‘It’s a shame Biff died.’ David’s old dog had been found dead one January morning, when David had gone to call him. ‘Animals are good company. It must be awful, being here all on your own.’ She reached out and put her small hand over David’s broad one.
David turned his hand palm upwards to take hold of hers. ‘It’s all right, I suppose. Hey, I got a letter from Ma, I picked it up this morning.’
‘Another one? She must be writing just about every day.’
‘She said before she went away that she’d write a lot. It sounds like she’s having a good time.’ He used his free hand to fish the letter from his jacket pocket and spread it out in front of him. ‘She says she went to a play—a Shakespeare one. It was really good, she reckons.’
‘I wonder what it was like,’ Beth mused. ‘Richard’s been to plays and things. I suppose Aunt Lily might have, too. What else does Aunt Amy say?’
‘There’s some stuff about dresses. Sarah’s getting her some new dresses. She sounds pretty excited about that, too.’
‘Oh, Sarah, is it?’ Beth said tartly, her sharp reaction taking her by surprise. ‘I didn’t know you were such good friends with her. What happened to “Miss Millish”?’
‘Well, she said to call her that,’ David said, clearly unsure just how he had earned such an attack. ‘And she’s the sort of person that you just do what she says, you know. Like with your ma.’
‘She’s a lot younger than Ma,’ Beth said, wondering as she did so why she felt the need to argue the point. ‘I heard Ma say she’s twenty-one. She’s really pretty, too.’
‘Is she only twenty-one? She sort of seems older than that.’
‘Do you think she’s pretty?’ Beth pressed.
I suppose so. Not as pretty as Ma, though.’ He grinned at Beth. ‘Not as pretty as you, either.’
Beth knew she was being teased, but that did not prevent her taking a secret pleasure in the compliment. She would not let David see it, though. ‘What a lot of rot! Miss Millish has got such pretty dresses and things. She looks much nicer than I do.’ Failing to raise the hoped-for contradiction, she returned to more straightforward conversation. ‘She must be really well-off, eh?’
‘Mmm. Ma says it’s a neat house she’s got, too. I bet it is. I don’t suppose she misses this place.’
He looked wistful again, and Beth resorted to a method that never failed to cheer her if she found herself as low in spirits as David seemed to be. ‘I’d better get on and do some work, or I’ll never get through it all,’ she said, extricating her hand from his. ‘You look after the kitten for a bit.’
She fetched a tiny bundle of fur from a box she had placed close to the range. The bundle stirred, and unfolded itself into a small black kitten that stared around the room with bright eyes and gave a tiny squeak of surprise at being moved.
The kitten was the runt of the latest litter born at Beth’s home, and she had soon realised that the little creature had no prospect of fighting its siblings for a fair share of its mother’s milk. Turning down her father’s well-meant offer to put the kitten out of its supposed misery, Beth had taken it upon herself to rear the waif.
As was usually the case with Beth’s waifs and strays, the kitten showed every sign of thriving. But Beth was taking no chances; rather than leave the kitten at home where she could not be sure anyone would remember to feed it as often as it needed, she brought it to David’s farm every day, balancing the kitten in a small box on her lap as she rode.
‘It’s all right, kitty,’ Beth soothed. ‘Davie will give you some milk.’ She placed the kitten on David’s lap, poured a little milk into a saucer and put it on the table. ‘Get kitty to lick it off your finger if you can,’ she told David. ‘It’s a bit like teaching calves, only you’ve got to be ever so gentle.’
The kitten licked David’s finger with surprising energy for so tiny a creature. ‘It’s got a tickly tongue,’ David said, smiling at the gentle rasping. ‘Shall I try him with the saucer?’
‘Have a go. Mind he doesn’t fall right in, though.’
David balanced the saucer on his knee and carefully persuaded the kitten to transfer its attentions from his finger to the saucer. Beth had already had some success with the same lesson, so she was not surprised when the kitten began lapping greedily. ‘He’s doing it,’ David said, his face lighting up. ‘Gee, look at him go for that milk!’
The kitten lapped busily for a few seconds while Beth stacked dishes on the bench, then it abandoned the milk to wash its face with its paw. ‘He didn’t have very much,�
� David said.
‘He’s only got a tiny tummy. He’s growing fast, though—he was like a baby rat a couple of weeks ago.’ Beth paused in her work to run a finger gently down the kitten’s back. ‘Kitty’s going to be all right, I’m sure he is. I think I might call him Pip—he’s little and black, like an apple pip.’
The kitten curled into a tight ball on David’s lap. David lowered his head to catch the tiny rumbling noise emerging from the warm bundle. ‘He’s purring. You can only just hear it, but he’s purring all right. You’re good with animals, you know.’
‘So are you. See how the kitten likes you? He’s scared of most people, especially boys. Animals can tell when you like them—I think they know when they can trust someone.’
Beth carried a handful of washed carrots to the table and sat down beside David. ‘You know what you said about Aunt Amy before?’ she said, slicing the carrots as she spoke. ‘About how she probably isn’t missing the farm or anything, because she’s having such a good time?’
‘I don’t mind if she’s not missing it,’ David said quickly. ‘I want her to have a good time. She deserves to have something nice happen to her.’
‘Of course she does. She must like Miss Millish an awful lot, too, to go all that way. But it made me think of when Maudie got married. I cried when she went away, but she wasn’t upset to be leaving. It sort of seemed funny, you know? I mean, she was really lucky to get Richard, but I still thought she’d be sad to be going away from home. I know I would be, even if I did get someone like Richard. I won’t, though,’ she added, not bitterly but with the calm resignation of one who had lived her whole life in the shadow of a self-assured older sister. ‘Not like Maudie did.
‘I suppose it made a bit more room, anyway, with Maudie going,’ she said, determinedly bright. ‘Except then Maisie came to live, and then we got Benjy. It’s always full of kids at our place, eh? It’s a shame you can’t come and stay with us, you know—you can’t get lonely there. I don’t know where we’d put you, though.’
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