The Shoemaker's Daughter (13 page)

After breakfast, she called the housekeeper and asked her to summon the rest of the staff. ‘Bring them into the kitchen, please,’ she said, her hands clasped tightly together, ‘I must tell them all the bad news personally.’

The housekeeper looked at her with concern. ‘What is it, Miss Emily?’ she asked anxiously.

‘I’m sorry,’ Emily said, ‘I have to let you all go, Summer Lodge is no longer mine and, in any case, there is simply not the means to keep going as we have been.’

The housekeeper bit her lip. ‘Let me come with you wherever you go, please, Miss Emily, you are the only family I’ve ever known, I won’t need paying, just my keep, I can still work hard, mind.’

‘We’ll see,’ Emily said softly knowing in her heart that the old woman could hardly bend, let alone light fires and carry coal.

The servants were subdued by the occasion, sensing at last that something was badly wrong, it was a rare occasion when all of them were summoned before the mistress at the same time.

Emily paced around the room, her skirts swishing against the carpet. At last, she paused and looked at the assembled staff.

‘There is no easy way to say this,’ she began haltingly, ‘my father died a ruined man, I have to let you all go, there’s nothing else for it.’

The butler stepped forward. ‘May I speak, Miss Emily?’ he said gruffly and, when she nodded, he gestured towards the rest of the staff. ‘I think I am talking for us all when I say that we will gladly work for nothing, just until matters improve, we have all been so happy here at Summer Lodge and each and every one of us would like to stay with you wherever you go.’

Emily felt tears constrict her throat. ‘Your loyalty is very touching,’ she forced herself to speak, ‘thank you all for this fine gesture, but I can no longer afford to maintain a staff of servants. As to Summer Lodge, it will as is the custom pass to the next male heir of the Grenfell family.’

She turned away and hid her tears. ‘But I will tell you this, I shall not be beaten, I will rebuild my father’s business and when I do, I want you all to return to work for me.’

She swallowed hard and turned to face them again. ‘There will be enough wages to keep you all for a few weeks at least, until you have a chance to find another situation. Of course, there will be fine references for you all. Thank you.’

The servants filed silently from the room until only the housekeeper remained.

‘What is it?’ Emily asked, forcing back the tears. The older woman rubbed her hands together.

‘I may be speaking out of turn, Miss Emily, but you are young and innocent and I am concerned about you.’

‘Go on,’ Emily said encouragingly, ‘I won’t bite your head off.’

‘It is not ladylike to run a business, Miss Emily, that’s a job for a man. Why you would have to travel abroad and choose leather and see that those in your employ did not cheat you, you are too sweet and beautiful to survive in such a harsh world.’

‘Thank you for your concern, but I shall be all right,’ Emily said firmly. She turned away and heard the door softly closing and knew she was alone. Alone, she sank into a chair and covered her eyes with her fingers, moved to tears by the way her staff had reacted to the bad news. They had not worried for themselves, only about what would happen to Emily.

She realized she had never seen the servants before except as part of the backdrop of Summer Lodge, now she saw that they were part of her life, real people with loves and loyalties especially to her and it made her feel suddenly humble.

She rose and stared through the window to the hills outside, to the sea running gently into the embracing arms of the bay. She would fight for a new future and she would succeed. And yet, even as determination rose within her to right the wrongs that had been done her father and to make the name of Thomas Grenfell respected again in Swansea, she was trembling with fear.

9

Hari stood in Goat Street staring up at the façade of the old theatre and swallowed hard, trying to pluck up enough courage to walk into the ornate portico. The theatre was not something of which her parents would have approved, such frivolous pleasures were not for the likes of hard-working shoemakers.

The basket on her arm contained assorted shoes, soft satin slippers, pumps of French calf as well as stout leather shoes for walking. She was taking a gamble, already Hari had spent precious time and materials making footwear that might never be bought and paid for.

And yet she must seek new outlets for her work; she greatly wanted to expand her range of shoemaking outside the humdrum jobs of soling and heeling heavy working boots.

It was true that she had gained a few customers lately, Dai Jones, Cleg the Coal’s brother being one of them. Dai and his sons were always needing boots tapped for they were big men all of them and heavy on their feet.

Once Edward Morris had been set free, he had recommended her to some of his friends and so trade was looking up. But Hari had ambition, she wanted to raise her business to great heights; to one day own an emporium where there would be shoes of all descriptions, serving the best customers in the country.

Well, she would do none of that standing here in the street, she told herself firmly. She pushed open the door and moved into the strange world of sparkling glass and soft carpets. The scent of rose water hung in the air, covering the stale smell of pipe tobacco and strong drink.

Hari stared around the silent building, there was no-one about, the silence hung heavily over the rows of seats, the stage was hidden by a thick curtain and yet Hari had the eerie sensation that she was being watched.

She moved down one of the long aisles; the body of the hall was in darkness and she stumbled a little as the floor sloped downwards. She felt panic rise within her, what was she doing here in this strangely unreal world? Her place was in her workshop, sitting before her bench moulding shoes upon a last, cutting and stitching, working the leather into a recognizable shape. That was the part of shoemaking that she loved. This plying of her trade was foreign to her and she felt unsure of her ability to carry it off.

‘And what might I ask are you doing here, young lady?’ A voice boomed at her from a small door at the side of the stage. Hari stopped abruptly and peered into the darkness, trying to see the face of the man addressing her.

‘I’m a shoemaker, sir,’ she said, forcing a confidence into her voice that she did not feel. ‘I wondered if I could be of service to anyone in the theatre.’

‘Come with me.’ She followed the sound of the disembodied voice out of the darkness of the theatre and into the lighted area of a long passageway.

The man looking down at her wore an imposing set of whiskers, a grey beard hung down over his brightly coloured waistcoat and thick, waving grey hair sprouted back from his forehead, giving him the look of an ageing lion.

‘I am Charles Briant,’ he spoke with a flourish as though addressing an audience. ‘I am the owner of this theatre and you should have sought my permission before you ventured inside, young lady.’

Hari tried to conceal her surprise, she had believed the man to be a famous actor, he seemed so colourful and too theatrical to simply be a businessman.

He saw the lift of her eyebrows and smiled. ‘Oh, I used to tread the boards, I am an actor all right but there aren’t many roles for a man who sustained an injury that left one leg shorter than the other. None of your boots would remedy that, young lady.’

Hari frowned. ‘I don’t know about that,’ she said, ‘but it’s certainly something I would like to think about.’

He laughed with forced heartiness, as limping badly he began to walk along the corridor, leading the way, and Hari realized that he had used the laugh many times to conceal his true feelings.

‘I won’t promise anything,’ she said following him, ‘I’ve never tackled a job like it before but I might just be able to make a built-up boot for you.’

‘In that case, young lady, you would have my undying gratitude.’ Charles Briant glanced back over his shoulder.

‘I am taking you to the dressing-room where the ladies are gathered, they would be your best customers, I don’t doubt.’

He took her to a surprisingly small room furnished with dark leather sofas and lit by harsh gas light.

Curious faces turned in her direction, faces some plain some pretty but all innocent of paint and powder. Hari felt a sense of disappointment, she had expected something more from players at the theatre, exactly what she didn’t know.

‘What’s this then, Charlie?’ One of the women rose to her feet, she wore a tight corset and bloomers, and pink ribbons trailed from the silk robe that hung loosely over her shoulders. ‘Heaven forbid that you’ve brought us another budding actress.’

‘My dear Meg, this lady,’ Charles Briant said with dignity, ‘is a boot and shoemaker, she simply wants to be of service to us, to make, like us all, an honest living.’ He stepped aside with a flourish and, after a moment’s hesitation, Hari removed the cloth from her basket and took out the satin slippers.

With cries of delight, the ladies of the theatre gathered round Hari, exclaiming loudly that they had never seen anything so pretty.

‘Can you make these to fit any foot?’ the actress in the pink robe asked, touching the satin almost caressingly.

Hari nodded. ‘I can make anything you like, here are some fashionable French calf slippers decorated with glass beads that glitter as you walk.’

‘I want some,’ Meg took the shoes lovingly in her hands, ‘they are so beautiful, a work of art, you are very clever, Miss Shoemaker.’

‘My name’s Angharad Morgan, Hari. My workshop is in World’s End.’ Hari smiled. ‘You’d be welcome to look around any time you like.’

‘I’m Clarisse,’ the actress said, ‘well, that’s my stage name of course, my real name is Meg.’ She shook back her curled hair. ‘But you wouldn’t catch me venturing into World’s End for love nor money. Why don’t you get respectable premises somewhere more suitable.’

‘Because I can’t afford to move,’ Hari said with a flash of anger. ‘In any case I was born in World’s End, everyone there has been very good to me.’

‘I’m sure,’ Meg said quickly. ‘I’ll order a pair of these French calf shoes for a start but I won’t have green beads, do you hear? Green is unlucky, don’t you know that?’

‘No, I’m sorry, I didn’t.’ Hari put her basket down and took out her paper patterns. ‘Right then, let’s have some measurements,’ she said firmly.

Within the hour, Hari had measured several pairs of feet and had enough orders to keep her busy for several weeks. She felt jubilant but apprehensive too, how was she going to cope with all the work?

She would just have to give young William the task of cutting out the leather soles, he had learned very quickly and his hands, though small, were strong and deft.

Meg was trying on the satin slippers. ‘These are so comfortable,’ she said happily, ‘and they fit beautifully, I’ll have them.’ She held out her hand to Charles Briant, ‘Give me some money, Charlie, take it out of my wages.’

‘Wait just a minute,’ Meg said as Hari moved towards the door, ‘next week, my friend Benny the Clown is appearing here in Swansea, he wears these enormous shoes for his act, he could be a very good customer for you.’

‘Next week?’ Hari said in dismay. ‘Do you mean you won’t be here then?’

Meg laughed, ‘Bless you, no, chick, we’ll be off to Somerset in a few days. Some fine shoes down there in Street, you know, made by Mr Clark, you must have heard of him.’

Hari remained silent not wanting to admit her ignorance. Meg smiled. ‘You will have the shoes ready in time, won’t you?’

‘
Duw
, course I will,’ Hari said firmly though she had no idea how she was going to live up to her word. ‘I’ll be back in a few days with your orders.’

Her head was buzzing as she followed Charles Briant out of the theatre and into the sunlight. Blinking a little, she looked up at him.

‘Will you be going to Somerset too?’ she asked and it was with a sense of relief that she saw him shake his head.

‘Dear me, no, I’m a permanent fixture here in Swansea, this is my home and this,’ he waved his hand towards the ornate façade of the theatre, ‘this is my domain.’

Hari sighed. ‘When I’ve done the orders for the ladies, I’ll try out some ideas for a boot for you, all right?’

‘That will be wonderful, my dear. In any event, come again, we always have a great deal of variety here at the theatre and if you are a speedy worker, you should do very well.’

When Hari returned home, she found William in the workshop hammering leather soles on to a pair of small boots. He looked up happily as Hari put down her basket and took off her shawl.

‘There’s nice to see you back, it’s quiet as the grave in by here on my own.’

Hari sank down on the bench beside him. ‘I see you’re getting on with the boots for Edward Morris’s nephew, doing a good job too by the look of it.’ She leaned forward and examined the leather which had been well cut, fitting the boot with just a little to spare. Hari sighed heavily.

‘What’s the matter, no job for you down at the theatre then?’ William looked up at her and Hari smiled, pleased with the way his cheeks had filled out and that the set of his shoulders was straight now, his fear of violence having given way to a new confidence in himself.

‘Don’t talk, Will, there’s too much work, six pairs of shoes to be made by the weekend! I don’t know how we’re going to do it, even if we work flat out every day.’

William bit his lip. ‘We could get somebody else in to help us, just for now, like. Got to be a cobbler round who is having a lean time of it.’

‘Will, you’re a genius,’ Hari said, eagerly. ‘I could go to see Lewis Watts, he was my dad’s apprentice for five years when I was a little sprout like you just learning the trade. I think he’d help us out if he’s not too busy.’