The Girl with the Amber Comb. Linda Finlay

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      ‘I’ve a basket to make for Mr Batstone then I’ll see to them,’ Eliza assured him, for the man was a good customer who always paid promptly, sometimes even giving them fish for their evening meal. Besides, their flour sack was almost empty and the money would help pay for another.

      ‘You’re a good girl,’ he murmured. ‘I’ll be out checkin’ the beds. The cattle have made a good job of clearin’ the weeds so hopefully we’ll be able to harvest before the first frosts set in.’

      ‘I’ll have a brew ready when you return. We can have it with a slice of the bramble manchit I baked yesterday,’ she told him, knowing how he lost track of time when he was checking his precious withies.

      ‘Your pastry’s almost good as your grammer’s,’ he grunted, his eyes suspiciously bright. Eliza watched as he made his way slowly down the drove, a stout hazel stick supporting the body that was stooped from a lifetime spent bending over his precious beds.

      As a fresh breeze blew in from the moors, Eliza shivered and hurried over to the ramshackle barn that served both as store and workshop. The letter in her pocket crackled, reminding her of the decision she’d had to take. Although she loved helping the school mistress teaching the young girls their lessons, with Grammer gone there was nobody else to fulfil the orders for the quality baskets her family were renowned for making. It was up to Eliza to take over the business. There was no way she was letting Izziah Gliddon get his hands on it. The odious merchant had called with indecent haste the moment he’d heard Mary had been taken, insisting he would be doing Eliza a favour. He’d even insinuated a young girl such as herself wouldn’t be able to cope. However, she’d helped her grammer often enough and would take great delight in proving him wrong. There was no denying the fact that Gramfer had aged considerably over the past week and she couldn’t leave him alone all day to manage by himself.

      Still, it was no good brooding for, as he was fond of reminding her, time was tucker. And she’d have precious little of that now she also had to look after their cott and continue tending the vegetable plot. With Clem’s help, she’d turned it into a profitable concern that supplemented their income.

      Settling herself down on the thin piece of matting, she placed their old flat iron on the lapboard between her legs. Then taking up a pliant osier from the pile beside her, she began making a new basket for the baker at Stathe. To lift her mood, she started singing the song she’d learned as a child.

       One cane round, neat and tight,

       insert a decent border.

       Upset tight, wale alright,

       to keep my stakes in order.

      Once Eliza had finished up-setting the uprights around the base, she began weaving in and out. Despite working quickly, she prided herself on the standard of her work. Competition was fierce and only perfection acceptable. With the body finished, she picked another, more flexible rod and wound it into a rope handle, finally adding the flower twist that her grammer’s work was known for, which would now become Eliza’s own trademark.

       Twisting, binding, winding,

       willow wand, now fold.

       Handle strong, but not too long,

       for ladies’ hands to hold

      Her fingers weaving to the rhythm of the words, she worked until the basket was completed. Placing it ready for collection, she went over to the stooks stacked along the walls and selected the strong sticks she would need for the eel traps. Firmly holding three of the thicker ones, she made a split in the centre of each of them. Setting these together and inserting another three horizontally through the holes, she took up a thinner cane and began the figure of eight weave that would become the base. Over and under with another two, pull up the sides, she chanted, determined to get on with her work. As the basket began to spread out, she took the weaver over and under singly and was just inserting the spokes into the base when a shadow fell across her.

      ‘Marnen, birthday girl.’

      ‘Clem, how did you get here?’ she cried, looking up from her work.

      ‘By boat, same as ever,’ he grinned, flicking his unruly dark hair back from his head. ‘Your gramfer said you needed flour and as I was passing the mill at Stathe it was easy to pick up a sack.’

       ‘But I didn’t give you the empty one and you know what Miller’s like.’

      ‘Ah, but when I explained it was a special day, he said you could have it with his blessing.’

      ‘That’s kind of him but …’ she stopped, not wishing to sound ungrateful.

      ‘You don’t think you should be celebrating,’ he finished, as ever picking up on her thoughts.

      ‘Well yes,’ she admitted. ‘Grammer’s only just …’ her voice trailed away. As she brushed away the tears that rolled unbidden down her cheeks, Clem leaned forward and took her hand. ‘She were a fine woman and wouldn’t want you grieving,’ he murmured.

      ‘I know but I can’t help feeling guilty,’ she admitted.

      ‘Whatever for? It were a natural passing,’ he frowned.

      ‘But Grammer prophesized it,’ Eliza burst out, anxious to share the worry that had been plaguing her. ‘You know her life revolved around her beliefs in nature, Wicca she called it. Well, the night before she died, she told me that one of the willows had grown so large it had cast a grave-sized shadow over her as she passed by. It was a portent of her death and I took no notice. No, worse than that, I told her not to be so silly.’

      ‘Mary and her superstitions,’ he smiled sadly, his grip tightening. ‘And that’s what it was, Red. Ma’s just as bad, mind. Thinks if she gets a double-yolked egg it means a hurried wedding’s in the offing. Not that I’ve seen that happen – yet,’ he added, giving her a look that made her feel strangely uncomfortable.

       ‘Well, getting back to that sack,’ she said, removing her hand. ‘It was a nice gesture and I shall dye it and make a new top. Goodness knows I could do with one,’ she added, frowning down at her frayed and well-worn blouse.

      ‘You look good from where I’m standing,’ he smiled, shooting her another of those looks that made her flustered. Although they’d been friends since her first day at school when he’d offered her his kerchief after she’d fallen and cut her knee, it was only lately he’d started paying her compliments. ‘Well, it’s been a long day already and I’m fair parched,’ he added, looking at her hopefully.

      ‘When aren’t you?’ she smiled, pleased to be back on familiar footing. ‘I’ll go and make us a drink.’

      ‘And I’ll unload the flour and put it in the pantry out of the way of those meddling mice of yours. Then I might have a little something for you myself.’ Giving her a cheeky wink, he strode back to the flat-bottomed trow he used for transporting goods along the narrower waterways.

      Eliza watched as Clem tossed the sack over his broad shoulders as if it weighed no more than a feather. It had been a relief to share her worries with him, but then she’d always been able to talk to him she realized, her mood lifting like the mist in the heat of the sun as she made her way towards the СКАЧАТЬ