The Shoemaker's Daughter (42 page)

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Authors: Iris Gower

Tags: #Historical Saga

BOOK: The Shoemaker's Daughter
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‘Yes,’ Emily said wistfully. ‘She has her child. Ah, we’re here, see there’s the factory, isn’t it impressive?’
Emily and John were shown into the factory by the machine-room foreman and it was clear that John was enchanted by the place at once.
‘
Duw
, will you look at those machines!’ He moved around the room asking questions of the women who worked the treadles and Emily knew by the look on his face that John was storing the information away for future reference.
John was particularly interested in the America Blade machines that had been adapted for sewing uppers to soles with waxed threads.
‘See this, Emm?’ John said enthusiastically. ‘With this sort of machine boots can be made to keep out the worst of the weather, I’ve never seen such stout strong boots in my life.’
‘Would you like a machine of this sort, John?’ Emily asked innocently and John smiled at her.
‘I think you have just read my mind, Mrs Miller.’ He put his arm around her shoulder, ‘I think it’s about time,’ he said quietly, ‘that we had our own factory and made our own stock instead of having it imported from down here.’
‘Don’t let Mr Clark or his foreman hear you talking like that,’ Emily said softly. ‘I think they value the trade we give them very much.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ John replied, ‘but, quite truthfully, we are a flea bite to this sort of factory, they must export to many countries.’
‘We do that, Mr Miller.’ John Keats came up behind them and Emily smiled up at the foreman warmly.
‘We’d like to order some new stock,’ she said. ‘What are your latest designs in ladies’ and men’s fashions?’
‘Well there’s a ladies’ Lorne Lace boot, that’s very nice, I’ll show you if you like. For little girls we’ve got a dress anklet in black enamel seal which was first made in 1856 but is still very popular. Come and see for yourself.’
Emily took an immediate fancy to the Lorne Lace, it was a side-fastening boot with a small heel and a pointed toe and with a neat ankle line that would fit comfortably on most women.
‘I think we’ll have some of these and shall we order some more of the Gentlemen’s Osborne boots, John?’ Emily asked. ‘They seem to sell very well.’
‘Aye, I think so.’ John was looking at a low-backed Prince of Wales shoe with interest. ‘I like this,’ he said, ‘see the inlet at the side and the clever cut of the heel, I think we’ll take some of these as well.’
Emily enjoyed seeing John so enthusiastic, he was a good cobbler and knew about leather so she was content to let him choose whatever stock he thought they required.
She remembered with sadness the shoes Hari used to make, so distinctive and different to anything that could be bought from the big manufacturers.
She felt tired when at last she left the factory with John at her side enthusing over all he’d seen.
‘It would be fine if we could start our own factory, Emily,’ he said. ‘With machines like those the Clarks have we would soon make a profit.’
‘If that’s what you think, John, that’s what we’ll do,’ Emily said decisively. ‘I’m sure the initial outlay will soon be recouped.’
She bit her lip thoughtfully, she would need to risk a great deal to buy the machines but then she had faith in John, he was a sensible man with his head screwed on the right way and, as he said, they would soon begin to make a profit.
For a start there would not be the expense of bringing the stock up to Wales from Somerset or the high charges that Clarks made for their boots and shoes. On the other hand, as well as the machines there would have to be operators who could use them.
But surely sewing leather could not be so much different to sewing ordinary material, at any rate the treadles looked very much the same to Emily.
‘Perhaps we could persuade Mr Clark to lend us one of his machinists for a few weeks,’ she said. ‘How do you think your Sarah would take to sewing leather?’
‘I watched the girls on the Crispin sewing-machines very carefully,’ John said. ‘When you were in the office talking to the foreman I even got one of them to let me have a try of the Blake, it’s like magic, I don’t think we’ll need anybody else, my love.’
Emily hugged his arm. ‘I’ve got a very clever husband,’ she said, ‘and if I sound smug, it’s because I am smug.’
They ate at the tiny inn where they were to stay the night and John drank moderately of the drink made from apples and found it was both heady and refreshing.
‘Try some,’ he said, ‘only not too much or it’ll knock your pretty block off!’
They went to bed at last and as Emily curled up beside John she sighed with happiness. He turned and took her in his arms and kissed her passionately. He was a strong virile man and Emily never failed to respond to his ardour.
As he parted her lips with his own and his work roughened hands began to caress her, Emily closed her eyes in pleasure. Tonight, she was sure, she would conceive the child she wanted so badly, a son for John.
‘When are we going to get married?’ Sarah’s voice was faintly petulant and it grated a little on William as he rested beside her on the bed in her room at the back of the premises in Wind Street.
‘It’s impossible right now,’ Will said. ‘How can I leave Hari when she has just buried her husband. She is like a poor lost soul there. She looked after me when I needed her and so I am bound to stay with her at least until she’s over her grief.’
‘That’s all very well and good,’ Sarah said, ‘but what if I have a baby? My father would kill me, you too.’
‘You won’t have a baby, trust me.’ He was growing tired of the same old arguments, Sarah was a sweet girl but she was making demands on him that he was not prepared to meet.
He rose from the bed in a swift, impatient movement and began to dress.
‘Don’t go, Will,’ Sarah protested. ‘You always leave when I talk about serious things.’
‘Well, you know the answer then, don’t you?’ Will said abruptly.
‘Look,’ Sarah’s voice took on a wheedling tone, ‘with dad away you could even stay the night, the other girls won’t say anything, you needn’t worry about that.’
Will didn’t reply, Sarah was tightening the net around him and the more she pulled the more he struggled.
‘I have other admirers, mind,’ she said glancing up at him through curling eyelashes. ‘You are not the only one to set his cap at me.’ When Will didn’t reply, she changed her tactics. ‘Please stay,’ she tugged at his jacket, ‘there’s no reason for you to go home.’
‘There’s every reason,’ Will said. ‘I can’t leave Hari alone in that house in Chapel Street, can I?’
Sarah sighed, ‘Hari, it’s always Hari, anybody would think it was Hari you went to bed with.’
Will turned on her angrily. ‘Shut your mouth, Sarah, there’s no call to speak about her like that.’
‘Well, she’s no saint, is she?’ Sarah spoke with a strength that halted Will in his move to the door.
‘What do you mean?’ he said quietly, standing quite still and Sarah, unaware of his anger, rushed on.
‘Well, there’s talk the baby is not her husband’s, came
early
, so they say, not even nine months after the wedding,’ she wrapped her arms around her knees. ‘And the baby looks the spitting image of Craig Grenfell and we all know that he used to be living in World’s End with Hari, mind.’
Will caught her by the shoulder. ‘Keep your suspicions to yourself,’ he said shaking her roughly, ‘or you’ll have me to answer to.’
‘Don’t be like that, Will,’ Sarah knew she’d gone too far, ‘it’s only what people are saying, after all.’
‘Well, you needn’t spread the rumours any further, need you?’ He slammed out and hurried from the building into the night. That’s all Hari needed now was to be the subject of malicious gossip.
Poor Hari, she’d had enough to contend with, she had been stoical and patient during Edward’s sickness and then she seemed to have gone to pieces after his very sudden death. It was only when she held her child in her arms that she seemed to be at all animated.
The theatre folk had been marvellous, Charles and Meg had stepped in and taken over and Will suspected that Charlie had paid for the funeral out of his own pocket.
Suddenly Will became aware of footsteps and, from the pounding of booted feet against the cobbles, it was clear that there was more than one man behind him.
Without knowing why, Will began to run, he darted down one of the lanes and concealed himself in a shadowed doorway. He saw the men rush past, three of them and they seemed to be carrying stout branches in their hands.
The sound of their footsteps died away at last and Will cautiously ventured back into the street, wondering who could possibly be chasing him. Were they simply footpads looking for easy pickings or could Sarah have been telling the truth and he had a jealous rival? Whatever the truth was, he was careful as he made his way towards Chapel Street.
He was turning the corner near home when he was suddenly confronted with the three men. They stood in silence, their very stance threatening.
Will took stock of the situation, he could turn and run or stay and fight. He glanced behind him, the street was long and empty and the chances were he would easily be caught.
He launched himself forward and caught one of the men unawares. William recognized him at once, he would never forget that sneering face, it was Sam Payton the thief who had stolen Edward Morris’s boots all those years ago.
Taking the gnarled branch of a tree from Payton’s hand, Will swung it round and the other two men backed away uncertainly.
‘Get him!’ Payton was scrambling to his feet and, even as he spoke, he thrust himself forward and caught Will around the ankles.
Will crashed to the ground, losing his stick, his head hitting the cobbles. He felt a stunning blow on the back of his head and then a boot crashed into his chest and Will gasped for air, even in his pain knowing he was in for a real beating.
He tried to rise but another blow felled him, the gas light above him wavered and dimmed just as he felt a fist crashing into his face. Slowly, he toppled forward, trying feebly to remain conscious but the darkness pressed in on him as he slumped senseless to the ground.
Hari looked at the constable uncomprehendingly, he rubbed at his chin and repeated his words.
‘I’m sorry to bother you at a time like this, Mrs Morris, but we have a young man down at the hospital and from what little we can make out he is a cobbler at this establishment. Does the name Will Davies mean anything to you?’
Hari felt as though she was living in a nightmare, only a week had passed since Edward’s death and now this man was telling her that Will was very sick.
‘I’ll get my shawl,’ she said, her voice dulled with fear. She took Davie and wrapped him in the Welsh shawl and returned to where the constable stood in the hallway.
Nothing seemed real as she walked with the constable down the roadway to the hospital. Hari was unaware of the curious stares from people she passed and kept her mind blank, unwilling to think of Will so sick that a constable had been sent to fetch her.
The smell of the hospital brought a new wave of fear as Hari reluctantly handed the baby over to one of the nurses.
The room where Will was lying was quiet and still and smelled of soda.
‘Is this Will Davies?’ the constable asked kindly. Hari moved forward and stared down at the figure in the bed, fighting the waves of nausea that threatened to overwhelm her.
It was only by the tufts of bright hair that she could recognize him, his face was like raw meat, the eyes closed and swollen. His jaw seemed to be twice its normal size and Hari thought for a moment she might faint clean away.
She took one of his hands and kissed it tenderly. ‘That’s Will,’ she said softly. ‘What’s happened to him, how bad is he?’
‘You’ll have to speak to the doctor, Mrs Morris,’ the constable said gently. Even as he spoke, the doctor entered the room and lifting Will’s wrist felt his pulse.
‘What are his chances?’ Hari said, looking the young bearded man directly in the eye. He shook his head.
‘Not very good,’ he said. ‘But he’s a young strong man, he may survive.’
Hari sank into a chair and leaned forward. ‘Will, don’t you leave me too,’ she said softly, ‘I can’t manage without you.’
The doctor put his hand on her shoulder. ‘He can’t hear you, Mrs Morris,’ he said, ‘he’s deeply unconscious.’
‘Will!’ Hari persisted, ‘you must get well, we need you, David and me.’
The doctor drew her out of the room and smiled in sympathy. ‘I suggest you come back in a day or two, we’ll know more then.’
Hari walked home, not seeing the streets she passed through, she fought the tears that threatened to spill over until she was safely indoors.
Crying bitterly, she put David down in the bed where he immediately fell asleep. She stared around her at the emptiness of the house in Chapel Street and wondered why it was her life was falling apart.
There had been the shock of Edward’s death, followed by the devastating knowledge that there was no money, not even enough to bury him. It seemed Edward, though good with other people’s money, had not put his own affairs in order.
She rubbed at her eyes, it was only by the goodness of Charlie and Meg that the funeral had been able to take place and now she must pay them both back even if it meant selling everything she possessed.
And what did she possess? Not very much when she added it up. A few pairs of boots and shoes and some leftover leather and a few lasts. As for the workshop, it was rented, and there was no money for rent.
‘Craig,’ she said softly, covering her eyes with her hands, ‘why aren’t you here to help me through this ordeal? You promised you’d be back in a week, I need you Craig.’
But her words hung in the silence and Hari felt more alone than ever.
Craig stood outside the door of the office and seeing the door was locked sighed heavily. ‘Damn!’ He forced down his feeling of frustration; there was still no sign of the owner of the leather store.

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