The Last Runaway. Tracy Chevalier

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      The next two days Honor sewed all day, first in the corner of the shop by the window during the morning, and on the back porch in the afternoon.

      Belle had Honor work on bonnets again, finishing off some that customers were due to pick up that day. She edged one with lace, another with a double row of ruffles, then sewed clusters of cloth pansies to the inside rim of a stiff green bonnet and attached wide, pale green ribbons for tying under the chin. ‘Can you make more of them flowers if I give you the petals?’ Belle asked when Honor had finished.

      Honor nodded: though she had never made flowers, since Quakers did not wear them, she knew they could not be harder than some of the intricate patchwork she had sewn for quilts.

      Belle handed her a box full of petals and leaves. ‘I already cut out the petals after you went to bed last night. Just me and the whisky and the scissors. I like it that way.’ She showed Honor how to construct the pansies, then violets, roses, clover and little clusters of lace made to resemble baby’s breath. Honor wished Grace were there to see the things she was making: creations more and more colourful and elaborate.

      Belle’s customers continued to comment on Honor’s presence, even those who had been to the shop the day before and already discussed her. ‘Goodness, look at that Quaker girl’s lap full of flowers!’ they cried. ‘Isn’t that the funniest thing! You’ll turn her, Belle, you will!’

      Honor was only a short distraction, however, perhaps to be mulled over later. For now, once they’d made their remarks, the customers went on to the more important task of inspecting the latest goods and getting a bargain. Trying on the various hats and bonnets displayed on stands, they questioned Belle’s designs and criticised the shape and trim in order to drive down the price. Belle was equally determined to maintain her price, and a battle of words followed.

      Honor was unnerved by the haggling, with its underlying assumption that the value of something could change depending on how badly someone wanted to buy or sell it. The lack of a fixed price made Belle’s hats take on a temporary quality. Quakers never haggled, but set what they felt was a fair price for materials and labour. Each product had what was thought of as its own intrinsic merit, be it a carrot or a horseshoe or a quilt, and that did not change simply because many people needed a horseshoe. Honor knew of merchants in Bridport who haggled, but they didn’t when she went into their shops or to their market stalls. The haggling she’d witnessed was off-hand, even embarrassed, as if the participants were only doing it in jest, because it was expected of them. Here the haggling seemed fiercer, as if both sides were adamant that they were right and the other not simply wrong, but morally suspect. Some of the women in Belle’s shop became so indignant as they argued with Belle that Honor wondered if they would ever return.

      Belle, however, seemed entertained by the haggling, and unbothered when, more often than not, it reached a stalemate and the hat remained unsold. СКАЧАТЬ