The Girl with the Amber Comb. Linda Finlay

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       ‘Now there’s a sight for sore eyes,’ Clem murmured, blue eyes gleaming appreciation as his muscular frame filled the doorway.

      ‘I made it fresh yesterday,’ Eliza replied.

      ‘Hmm, the manchit looks good too,’ he told her, chuckling when her cheeks flushed bright as the berries in the jam. He waited until she’d served their tea then bent and kissed her cheek. ‘Happy birthday, Red,’ he said, tweaking her Titian tresses as he handed her a small package.

      ‘Thank you,’ she cried as, worries temporarily forgotten, she tore excitedly at the wrapping. ‘Oh, this is beautiful,’ she exclaimed, running her fingers over the polished handle of a wooden spoon.

      ‘Like the girl I made it for,’ he said, his gaze holding hers. ‘It’s for your jam pot, being as how you make the best ever,’ he added quickly.

      ‘Not that the damsons were plentiful this year. I had to mix them with brambles,’ she told him.

      ‘Well, you’ve certainly worked your magic,’ he grinned, eying the plate hopefully.

      ‘Go on then, but save some for Gramfer,’ Eliza told him, pleased he’d enjoyed it, though she knew she had some way to go before she reached her grammer’s standards. ‘This really is a beautiful piece of carving, Clem,’ she said, admiring the spoon again.

      ‘Not as good as those the Welsh carve. Love spoons, they call them. Idris was telling me they give them to their sweethearts as tokens of affection, to show their intentions as it were.’ Again, his clear blue eyes bore into hers, making her blush so that she had to turn quickly away.

      ‘More tea or anything?’ she asked, her voice unnaturally high.

      ‘Anything, Eliza?’ He cleared his throat. ‘I … well the thing is …’ he stopped as footsteps sounded outside.

      ‘Gramfer,’ Eliza cried, jumping to her feet. ‘You’re just in time for a brew. Clem’s brought us a sack of flour.’

      ‘That’s good of you, my boy,’ George said, sinking into his chair beside the fire and holding out gnarled hands to the meagre warmth. Eliza, busy filling another mug from the pot, didn’t see the look the two men exchanged.

      ‘It was no trouble, sir.’

      ‘You staying for supper? Old Conger’s placed an order for two eel traps so I should have the money for Miller later today,’ George said, staring knowingly at him.

      ‘Goodness, I’m only halfway through making them,’ Eliza exclaimed. ‘I’d better get on.’

      ‘Happy to help,’ Clem said, trying to keep up with her as she hurried out to the barn.

Chapter 2

      ‘Are you sure you’re not too busy?’ Eliza asked, still puzzling over his behaviour.

      ‘Got no more deliveries to make and two pairs of hands will work quicker,’ he replied. She nodded, knowing he was right. There was no telling what time the fisherman would be calling for his traps, and Old Conger wasn’t a man to be kept waiting.

      ‘Well if you’re sure,’ she said, sinking gratefully onto her stool and picking up the basket she’d started earlier. ‘You know what to do?’ Clem let out a loud guffaw that almost raised the rafters.

      ‘Been making these since you was in cradlehood,’ he snorted, stooping to gather up a pile of withies from the stack in the corner.

      ‘I’ll have you know I’m only three years younger than you, Clem Galton,’ she spluttered.

      ‘In years maybe, but experience?’ he shrugged. ‘Travelling the waterways of Somerset, collecting and delivering for Father, I meet lots of people, see what goes on in life. You’ve not really been away from the Droves, have you, Red?’ he asked.

      ‘That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve enjoyed spending time in Stoke helping Mrs Poundsberry at the school, but now of course, I shall have to give that up,’ she sighed.

      ‘I’m sorry, I only meant you haven’t seen much of life,’ he murmured, reaching out and patting her shoulder. Then never one to stay serious for long he added, ‘At least those poor little girls have had a narrow escape.’

      ‘Ha ha. I’ll have you know they worked well for me,’ she retorted.

      ‘Mother Eliza, eh?’ he grinned, then sobered. ‘Seriously though, is there really no way you can carry on with your job? What about Izziah Gliddon, I’m sure he …’

      ‘Don’t even mention that man’s name to me,’ she cut in. ‘He called the day after … she was taken, offering to take on Grammer’s orders. You know how she prided herself on her work with it all coming by recommendation. Gliddon’s associated with shoddy tatt and she’d turn in her grave if she thought I’d let him take over her business.’

      ‘She would that,’ Clem agreed.

      ‘Besides I daren’t leave Gramfer so soon after losing her. He looks so frail and lost without her,’ she sighed.

      ‘Still in shock, I suppose. When he’s had time to adjust, I’m sure you’ll be able to work something out. In the meantime, keeping busy is best.’

      ‘Well there’s certainly enough to do,’ she sighed, raising her brows. ‘Which reminds me, I lifted some more potatoes and carrots from the plot for Mrs Gill the greengrocer in Stoke earlier. The sacks are outside if could you deliver them for me on your return trip?’

       ‘Of course. Usual terms of business, extra tea and cake next visit,’ he bartered.

      ‘Thanks Clem,’ she smiled gratefully. ‘And do you think you could drop this letter into the school, it would save me a lot of time today,’ she replied, delving into her pocket for the envelope and handing it to him.

      ‘Certainly madam. Any more orders whilst I’m out and about?’ he asked with a grin.

      ‘I’ll try and think of some,’ she teased. Silence filled the barn as they resumed their work and before long, the slightly astringent smell of tannin and the rhythmic weaving began to soothe her. She couldn’t help thinking about the school though.

      ‘It’s not just about the money I earned. I really enjoyed teaching those little girls their letters.’ she added, picking up the knife and attacking the bottom spokes that would help trap the fish.

      ‘Here, let me. You’ll do yourself a mischief hacking away like that,’ Clem said, reaching out and taking the basket from her. ‘I can understand why you wouldn’t want to work for old Gliddon though,’ he said, looking up.

      ‘You can?’

      ‘Of course. I wouldn’t want to be employed by someone with one eye higher than the other. Bit shifty, don’t you think?’

      ‘Oh Clem, that’s a dreadful joke,’ she groaned.

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