The Sweethearts Collection. Pam Jenoff

time for anything other than sewing all those drapes and covers for the Ferret.’

      ‘Who’s the Ferret?’ Alys asked, looking at Colenso curiously.

      ‘None of yer business, young lady,’ Emily told her. ‘And remember, yer on trial.’ The sober words jolted Colenso back to the present. She really needed to get on with her work or she might still find herself on trial yet. Setting the little pot of ointment down on the table along with the samples, she turned to Emily.

      ‘The material Fenton’s bought is so thick my small scissors won’t cut through it.’

      ‘So even though yer don’t have an order to place with me, yer expecting me to help?’ Emily asked, shaking her head so that silver tendrils bobbed under her cotton cap. Colenso stared at the floor. ‘Don’t fret yerself, maid, cors I’ll help. Did he buy tape for the hooks to hang by?’

      ‘I hadn’t even thought of that, but no, he didn’t.’

      ‘So, we can still make som’at from him, then,’ Emily grinned. ‘What about thread?’ Colenso shook her head. She’d been so overwhelmed by the amount of cloth delivered, she hadn’t thought beyond cutting it to size.

      ‘I’ll be needing burgundy red, emerald green and gold.’

      Emily stared at her thoughtfully then bustled over to the cupboard in the corner of the room. ‘Here, you might as well have this,’ she said, handing Colenso a large wicker basket.

      ‘But that was Clara’s workbox,’ she protested.

      ‘And she’d be pleased for yer to have it,’ Emily said, her eyes suspiciously bright. ‘Go on, take it afore I change my mind. Yer’ll find everything you need in there. Prided herself on keeping a goodly supply of everything, Clara did.’

      ‘Oh Emily, thank you,’ Colenso cried, leaning forward and kissing the old woman’s paper-thin cheek.

      ‘Get away with yer,’ Emily protested. ‘Just remember to cost yer time and charge Fenton well for that tape and thread. Yer can pay me back when he settles up.’

      ✳

      As March continued roaring its way through the rest of the month, Colenso sewed like a woman possessed, completing curtain after curtain according to the measurements Mrs Grim had provided, before making a start on the chair covers. To her delight but her father’s chagrin, there had been no further communication from the Ferret. Thank heavens for small mercies, she thought, stabbing her needle viciously through the material. Although she tried not to dwell on their last meeting, images of him advancing, paw-like hands outstretched, continued to plagued her. Although she didn’t know how, she was certain it was Mammwynn’s pentacle that had saved her.

      ‘It’s been over three weeks since you last saw Fenton,’ Peder moaned, over supper that evening. ‘He don’t even stop and speak at work no more.’ Hardly surprising, Colenso thought, remembering how Kitto had told her Peder had tried to get Tomas fired. That he could do such a thing to his own son was despicable, yet not wishing to enrage her father, she held her tongue.

      ‘You did say he was sorting out that dispute at the works cos the owner’s coming to look over them next month,’ Caja ventured.

      ‘True, and I’m sure he’ll introduce me to him. Me being one of his key workers an’ all that,’ Peder crowed, puffing out his chest. Colenso stared at her father in astonishment. Only he would have the gall to consider himself important enough to be introduced to the owner.

      ‘What you staring at, maid?’ he asked, turning on Colenso. ‘If you’ve done som’at to put Fenton off, I’ll …’ his voice trailed off, his fingers going to his belt. Then, seeming to change his mind, he smiled. ‘You’ll have to do som’at to entice him, maid. Make him think he can’t live without you. How else will we ever make a better life?’ Colenso stared down at her plate and wondered when the nightmare her life had become would ever end.

      ✳

      As the days lengthened and lightened into April, Colenso’s mood darkened until all she wanted to do was escape. She missed Kitto so much and, even using Clara’s thimble, her fingers were sore from continually pushing the needle through the thick fabric. The bolts of material that had taken over her bedroom were gradually being replaced by the finished curtains and covers, but having to measure, cut and sew at the table downstairs then take everything back upstairs again before her father came home was both tiring and time-consuming. Even though he took himself off to the alehouse each evening after supper, he still refused to have his space cluttered with cloth, as he put it.

      Then one Saturday an envelope was delivered to their cottage. It was addressed in copperplate writing to Mr and Mrs P. Carne. Hardly able to contain his excitement, Peder drew out the thick card and scanned the contents, his usual scowl turning to delight.

      ‘Here, Mother, listen to this.’

       Mr Henry Fenton requests the company of Peder and Caja Carne, along with their delightful daughter Colenso, for luncheon next Sunday 19th. The carriage will collect you at noon.

       You are hereby notified that the signatory has a matter of great import to discuss.

       There is no need to r.s.v.p. Your acceptance is presumed.

       Henry J. Fenton

       P.S. It would be greatly appreciated if the finished drapes and covers were conveyed at the same time.

      ‘Well, what do you think of that?’ he grinned.

      ‘But all the covers aren’t finished yet,’ Colenso protested. Immediately her father’s expression changed.

      ‘See that they are, then, or you’ll be sorry,’ he snapped, his hands going to the buckle on his belt.

      ‘I’ll help,’ Caja said quickly. ‘It wouldn’t do to let that nice Mr Fenton down.’ Colenso nodded gratefully, for she’d been dreading making the covers for the chamber. The very thought made her shudder.

      ‘Wear your low-cut top,’ Peder instructed. ‘But without that netting stuff. Makes your bos—, er, front look like a couple of caged …’

      ‘Father!’ Caja chided. ‘Besides, look at the state of you. You can’t go to Mr Fenton’s looking like that,’ she added, gesturing to the hole on his knee. ‘You’d best go and see Mr Tailor. Get measured up for a new pair of barrigans.’

      ‘I ain’t wearing no stiff moleskin,’ he protested. ‘It’s taken me years to wear these in and if you thinks I’m standing there while the old fool goes on about “fis, faps or awls”, you can think again.’

      ‘It’s not his fault he has a stammer, Peder. And you could help by telling him if you want a fly, flap or hole at the front so he doesn’t have to ask.’

      ‘Pah, I’ve a meeting to go to. Important things to discuss,’ Peder added, snatching his cap from its nail and all but running out of the door.

      ‘He’ll be spreading the news of our invite,’ Caja said, looking delighted at the prospect. ‘Now, what material are you using for those covers and where are they for?’ she asked, turning her attention back to Colenso.

      ‘Gold and it’s for the principal bed chamber,’ she muttered. ‘I’ll go and get it,’ she added, grateful for the excuse to get away from her mamm’s scrutiny. However, when she returned with the material, her mamm was still bubbling with excitement.

      ‘Oh my, imagine having covers of velvet on your bed,’ she gushed, running her fingers over the soft nap. She’d rather not, Colenso thought, snatching up the paper detailing the measurements.

      ‘He wants six identical covers made, would you believe?’

      ‘Six!’ Caja exclaimed, her eyes widening. ‘Blimey, maid, we’d better get stitching, there’s only a week till we go to his