The Shoemaker's Daughter (16 page)

Determination surged afresh through Emily’s consciousness, she
would
rebuild her father’s reputation and his business, she would show the world that Emily Grenfell was no weak-kneed lady of leisure, but as strong as any man when it came to business. She would
make
Hari Morgan interested in her scheme for an emporium however much it cost her in lost pride for in Hari lay the key to success.

Emily was astute enough to recognize that Hari had a singular talent, a fine touch for design that eluded most men. She also had the gift for innovation, something the more practical-minded Emily lacked, a fact she readily admitted to herself.

The ringing of a bell from downstairs announced that it was time for supper and Emily realized quite suddenly that she was hungry. She rose from the bed and stared at her reflection in the speckled mirror on the wall. She was unremarkable to look at and far too tall for a woman.

But Emily did herself an injustice, her hair was lit with copper tones enhancing her creamy skin. Her figure though slender was well formed and her height gave her an almost regal appearance.

She moved away from the mirror and walked slowly to the door, she would eat her supper, make pleasant conversation with her landlady and then return to her room.

Tonight, she would rest and not think about her future until the morning. Tomorrow would come all too soon and then her problems would really begin.

11

The foyer of the theatre was ablaze with lights, music drifting from behind closed doors carried to where Hari stood in the street with William at her side.

Her eyes felt heavy, she had worked much of the previous night and most of the day to have the shoes for the theatre people ready in time.

‘
Noswaith da
, Miss Morgan, going to the theatre like the rich folks now, is it?’

Hari turned to see Ben Jones smiling down at her, his cap in his hand. ‘Good evening to you, Ben.’ Hari smiled ruefully. ‘No such luck, I’m just working as usual.’ She moved the basket from one arm to the other.

‘You haven’t brought me any boots for repair, lately, Ben, anything wrong with my cobbling then?’ Hari smiled. ‘No offence intended, mind, if you want to go to someone else that’s up to you.’

‘
Duw
, it’s not that,’ Ben protested. ‘I didn’t like to tell you before but I’ve learned to be a dab hand at tapping the boots myself. Had to do it see, dad’s been complaining about me being lazy.’ He shrugged.

‘I like the cobbling, that and driving the van is about the only work I’m fit for, having very little brains for the counting and stock taking.’

Hari liked Ben’s open friendly manner and his honesty. ‘Well then, I can’t complain about a man who does his own boots, can I? But when I’m rich and have my own emporium I’ll hire you as part-time cobbler and van driver, right?’

‘Right,’ Ben said solemnly, ‘but for now can I wait by here for you and walk you back home, it’s no time for a young lady to be out alone.’

‘I’m here, mind!’ William said indignantly. ‘I wouldn’t let Miss Hari go out by herself.’

‘My apologies,’ Ben said at once, ‘I didn’t notice you by there.’ He winked at Hari. ‘May I still have the pleasure of walking to World’s End with the both of you?’

‘Well, I’m willing,’ Will said reluctantly, ‘if that’s what Hari wants but there’s no need, mind.’

Hari moved purposefully towards the foyer. ‘See you in a few minutes, Ben,’ she said smiling. ‘You’re welcome to walk back home with Will and me and have a cup of tea for your trouble.’

The theatre was alive with the sound of voices and Hari realized with relief that the show must be over. She led the way along the back passages towards the small dressing-rooms and she could hear William’s well-soled boots clattering against the stone floor.

The corridors were ill-lit and cheerless and Hari shivered, the backstage life of the theatre folk was far from the glamour portrayed in front of the public.

‘Ah, our little shoemaker.’ Charles Briant welcomed Hari into the bright lights of his office. ‘You’ve come just in time because tomorrow the cast moves on to Somerset.’

He sat on a huge leather chair with a sigh of relief and it was clear to Hari that his leg had been giving him trouble.

‘Let me see what you have been doing for us,’ Charles said smiling widely beneath his white moustache. ‘I’m sure Meg and all the ladies are very anxious to take possession of their fine new footwear, but I shall have the privilege of seeing it first.’

‘There’s something for you to try.’ Hari took a pair of boots from her basket. On one of them, the leather sole had been built up fairly high and yet by the sheer elegance of the design the modification scarcely showed.

‘You know I took all those measurements?’ Hari said smiling. ‘Well, I’m hoping I’ve made good use of them.’

Charles frowned and cleared his throat, tentatively he took the boots from Hari and kicking off his leather slippers, bent forward and gingerly drew the boots on to his feet, lacing them up with trembling fingers.

Slowly, he rose to his feet. He took a step forward and then another free from the characteristic rolling movement caused by the shortness of one of his legs.

He turned to Hari, his eyes moist. ‘For the first time in years, I can stand proud like any other man.’ He took her hand and kissed it. ‘I can’t find enough words to thank you.’

Hari swallowed hard. ‘No thanks needed,’ she said briskly.

‘I shall pay you well for the boots, of course,’ Charles said in a matter-of-fact tone that did little to conceal his emotions. Then, with a return to his flamboyant self, he flung his arms wide. ‘But more, I shall spread your name far and wide to all parts of the country, you will be as famous as any of the actors who have trod the boards at this theatre, that I promise you, Hari Morgan.’

A sudden wash of laughter and raised voices shattered the silence as the doors opened and from the area of the stage, the performers returned to the small dingy dressing-rooms.

‘Hari!’ Meg’s voice was joyful, ‘you’ve brought our shoes, thank the Lord for that, I thought you’d forgotten.’

She fell silent, staring in wonder as Charles walked towards her, hands outstretched. ‘Look what the wonderful girl has done for me, my darlings,’ Charles waved his hand to encompass the entire cast, ‘I can walk straight as a tree, no more will I have to endure the taunts and jeers of the ignorant, I am a new man.’

‘Hari, you are so clever,’ Meg said warmly, ‘you can see what happiness you’ve brought dear Charlie, you are a genius. Come now, let us all see what you’ve done for us, then you must celebrate with a glass of champagne, mustn’t she Charles?’

‘Indeed, she must,’ Charles said emphatically. ‘The first toast shall be to Hari Morgan, shoemaker extraordinaire.’

It was much later when Hari, with William at her side and her empty basket swinging on her arm, left the theatre. Of Ben Jones there was no sign and Hari sighed, she could hardly blame him for not waiting, she had been in the theatre for over an hour.

‘Looks like your follower didn’t want to hang around,’ William said with obvious satisfaction.

‘Looks like,’ Hari agreed hiding her amusement. ‘Never mind, you and me will manage on our own, right?’

‘Right.’ William walked swiftly to keep stride with Hari.

Although he was growing fast, Hari was still taller than he was, a matter which quite clearly irked him. Hari rested her hand on his shoulder.

‘But I have you at my side, Will, and I know we’ll be all right.’

Nonetheless, she was happy to reach the tall narrow house in World’s End, she didn’t like the darkness of the streets and the distant sounds of drunken voices. She closed the door behind her with a sigh of relief.

‘Bed now, Will,’ she said softly, ‘you look worn out.’ She threw off her shawl. ‘As for me, I must write what I am owed in my book and then I too will go to bed. I’m sleeping on my nose.’

She sat at the table and painstakingly wrote down the sums of money that should have come in for the work already done. She had expected to return home with full payment for the shoes she’d made, but it seemed the theatre people were not too quick in settling bills, a practice they shared with the gentry. The only payment she had received was from Charles Briant who had given her a generous bonus for her extra work on his boots.

Hari closed her book with a snap of finality, the outstanding balance she owed for the French calf hung like a weight around her neck. She stood for a moment staring round at the flickering shadows thrown by the lone candle, the fire had died long since and the room was cold and suddenly lonely.

‘Time for some sleep, Hari, girl,’ she said softly, knowing that in the morning her worries would subside and her natural optimism take over once again. She would face the future with renewed determination but, for now, all she wanted to do was to crawl into her bed and sleep.

Emily climbed down from the cab and stood looking uncertainly around her, World’s End was a far worse place than she could ever have imagined. Tall narrow houses stood back to back and grimed curtainless windows stared blankly at her as though reflecting the hostility of those within. Her lodgings at Chapel Street were a palace in comparison with this place and Summer Lodge a far-off dream of perfection.

And yet, amidst the dirt and grime, grew the occasional camomile, white flowers pressing strongly towards the sun. Perhaps it was fanciful to think of Hari Morgan as a defiant camomile flower and yet that was the picture which came to Emily’s mind.

She saw to the side of one of the houses the faded sign for Morgan and family, boot and shoemakers, fastened over what appeared to be little better than a shed. Surely Hari Morgan would be only too grateful for the opportunity to get away from such an unprepossessing background?

She pushed open the door and saw a small counter before her arrayed with pieces of leather and a variety of lasts. The smell of leather permeated the air and at once Emily was back in her father’s storehouse where he had kept mountains of skins ready to be cut and fashioned into boots and shoes.

She straightened her shoulders, harking back to the past would do her no good at all, it was all gone, like a once-cherished dream. She was alone now, she had lost not only her father but her possessions, her beloved emeralds and her home and all because of the neglect of Craig Grenfell.

Prison had been too good for him and although he declared himself innocent of any crime, he was most certainly guilty of fecklessness, leaving important matters of finance in the hands of his greedy younger brother. It was ultimately Craig’s responsibility and yet he had stood back and allowed himself to be duped and Emily’s father to be ruined. How could she ever forgive him?

A small boy appeared from the table behind the counter, he smiled at her politely and waited for her to speak.

‘I’m looking for Miss Hari Morgan,’ she said stiffly, not taking kindly to having to explain her business to a mere boy, however clean and polite he might appear.

‘Are you a customer, misses?’ the boy said eagerly, touching his cap, and Emily nodded.

‘That’s right, is Hari Morgan here or not?’

‘I’ll fetch her now, misses, won’t be a minute.’ He ducked out of a back door and Emily heard the sound of his boots ringing on the cobbles.

She looked around at the bare, cheerless workshop, at the roughly made counter and the cold bare flags of the floor and shivered, what a place to have to work, even in her own reduced circumstances she was so much better placed than Hari Morgan. Why was it then that she almost envied the girl?

Suddenly, Hari Morgan appeared in the opening of the back door, her hair fanning out darkly on her shoulders, an incongruously large leather apron swamping her small frame. She looked very vulnerable and Emily wished that they had started off on a more pleasant footing.

‘May I talk to you?’ Emily asked awkwardly, not quite knowing what to say. ‘It’s about business.’

‘Aye, come through into the kitchen,’ Hari spoke guardedly and Emily couldn’t blame her for being suspicious. Emily followed her across the yard into the surprisingly sunny warmth of the kitchen. The room was poorly furnished but it was spotlessly clean and a cheerful fire blazed in the blackened hearth.

‘Yes?’ Hari said and there was a note of hostility in her voice that was unmistakable.

‘I want to make you a proposition,’ Emily said, almost wishing she hadn’t come. ‘I intend to start up a business.’ She paused for a moment looking for the right words.

‘I want to make shoes and sell them in large quantities and yet I would like them to be different, individual, and to achieve that, I require a designer.’

The words were rushing out and Emily realized with surprise that she was actually nervous of this composed young woman standing before her. ‘You could be my designer if you so wished.’

‘Me?’ Hari said with disbelief. ‘You want me to work for you after the way you’ve treated me? You must be daft then.’

Hari raked the coals beneath the kettle on the fire, more, Emily imagined, to give herself time to think than for any other reason. Hari looked up suddenly, catching Emily off her guard.

‘You’ve got plenty of money, why should you want me when you could pay the best in Swansea?’

‘You are the best in Swansea as far as I’m concerned,’ Emily said. Ambition burned within her, she wanted Hari to work for her so much, to make the business an outstanding success and Hari’s reticence only made Emily more eager to have her services.

‘I can take any debts you might have on to my books and raise the money I need to start the business off, but I must tell you one thing,’ Emily said, ‘I am not rich, don’t make that mistake, I need the business to succeed or I’m finished.’ Silence hung heavily in the room as Hari seemed to be assessing her words.

‘With your talent and my management,’ Emily went on, ‘we could make the names of Grenfell and Morgan known throughout the country. It’s a wonderful opportunity, please don’t discard it out of hand because of pride or pique, just think it over for a few days and let me know your decision when you are ready.’