My mother said it was a charming house. It made places like Eversleigh and Enderby look over-fussy.
I agreed with her, to Edward’s delight, and it was clear that he felt an immense pleasure in showing us over the house. What he really wanted me to see was the factory, but he thought, in view of the situation, that he should take us there when work was not in progress; and as we had arrived on a Saturday, he suggested the following day.
It was an interesting experience. My mother was as fascinated as I was; and Edward talked with knowledge and great enthusiasm of lace, its history, its manufacture, its varieties and how it had changed through the ages.
He showed us some exquisite patterns—specimens of Venetian, Italian and English needlepoint, and Flemish, Russian and German Pillow Lace. He pointed out the old-fashioned bobbins which were being used to placate the workers, and then he took us into a room where new machines were being installed.
There was a man on duty there, a young boy with him. He touched his forelock as we entered.
“All well, Fellows?” asked Edward.
“Yes, sir,” answered the man.
Edward introduced him as Fellows and his son Tom who was just coming in to the works. He explained to us that it was necessary to have someone guarding the machines night and day. If any of the Luddites broke in Fellows would be there to give the alarm.
I shivered. I could understand Edward’s deep concern. I realized that he must have the machines and on the other hand I could see why there was anxiety in the workers’ minds.
Edward explained the intricacies of the machines.
“This is the Leavers Lace machine,” he said. “Let me show you. The number of threads brought into operation is regulated by the pattern to be made. See. The threads are of two sorts, beam or warp and bobbin or weft.”
“It looks very complicated.”
“It’s easy enough to work. One man can control it and sixty pieces of lace can be made simultaneously.”
“So it can do at once what sixty men would take much longer to do.”
“That is how it is.”
“No wonder they are afraid of losing their jobs.”
“It’s progress,” said Edward.
Interested as I was I wanted to leave that room which contained the machines.
We left Fellows and his son on guard and returned to the house. I was feeling rather sober. Edward slipped his arm through mine.
“You’re feeling sad, aren’t you? You mustn’t. We’ll ride the storm.”
My mother said: “It is such an insoluble problem. I suppose you must have the machines.”
“Certainly we must—or give up. We can’t face competition without them.”
“And yet those poor men …”
“You realize the difficulties. But this is the sort of situation which will arise throughout the history of industry. We have to move with the times.”
“Which means that some must suffer on the way.”
“It is progress,” said Edward.
I turned my attention to the beautiful house. I think we were all trying to forget the problem of the machines.
The days began to pass pleasantly as I threw myself wholeheartedly in to discussions with my mother about furnishings.
“Actually,” I said, “there is very little I want to change.”
“It is all very tasteful,” agreed my mother. “I love the simplicity which disguises its elegant comfort.”
“It is a charming house,” I said.
“Don’t get too fond of it. We shall want to see you often at Grasslands.”
As the week progressed my mother, as always, showed a little nostalgia for home. She hated to leave Eversleigh too long and decided to return home in the middle of the following week.
Edward was away most of the day. I loved to walk through the town gardens and all the time I was grappling with myself, deciding that this was the life I had chosen and I must prepare myself to like it.
Why should I not? I was getting more and more fond of Edward. He was kind and gentle and would make the best of husbands. Young girls were foolish to seek exciting adventures, dreaming of knights on horseback performing valiant feats; they did not exist outside a girl’s imagination. I was too old for fancies. I had to grow up and face facts. It was not as though I had been in love with Peter Lansdon. I had just been flattered because in the first place he had noticed me and followed me in the street, taking such risks to rescue me. It had seemed like a romantic adventure, whereas my relationship with Edward was staid, steady and very comfortable.
Peter was fickle. He must have been to transfer his attentions from me to Amaryllis so quickly. What were my feelings? Pique. Jealousy? Had I always been a little jealous of Amaryllis—her superior beauty, her charm, serene nature, her unselfishness? She was indeed the finer character and presented with the two of us a man would be a fool not to prefer her. Then Edward was foolish for he had always loved me. What was it one of the maids had once said? Men were fools when it came to women … And she had been talking about Amaryllis and me. I was the one they looked twice at… all except Peter Lansdon.
No, I was not in love with him. Flattered at first… finding his company stimulating … a little mysterious. Edward, of course, had never been mysterious.
I must learn to love Edward. I had accepted him in a rash moment, and he had supported me. Sometimes I wondered whether he knew that I had spoken out of pique, just as I wondered whether my mother did. She did mention Edward’s virtues continually as though stressing that I had made the wisest possible choice.
Yes, I must love Edward. I must prepare myself to be contented with the life which lay before me. I had chosen it and Edward had supported me magnificently … as he always would.
I must remember. I was the lucky one.
It was I who said I should like to visit the factory during working hours. I was eager to see the lace-making in progress. Edward did hesitate for a moment but I went on: “It would be so interesting…” And he was delighted in my interest and gave way, though I fancied with some reluctance. However, it was arranged that he would take me there.
I arrived with him in mid-morning, and as I went through the doors into that huge room which was full of people all engaged on the business of lace-making, I felt a sense of excitement.
I was aware of eyes following me as Edward conducted me through, here and there pausing to explain some little technicality. I spoke to one or two of the people. They answered me with restraint and I wondered whether there was a certain sullenness about them. Perhaps I felt a tremor of uneasiness or did I imagine that afterwards? I cannot be sure now I look back. I had become suddenly aware of my appearance in my dark blue wool jacket trimmed with sable at the neck and sleeves; my little hat with the scarlet feather and my scarlet gown. The contrast between my clothes and theirs must have been noticeable.
I was glad to leave the work room for a smaller one where a woman was sorting out specimens of lace and putting labels on them.
“This is Mrs. Fellows,” said Edward. “She is an expert. She can detect a flaw which is hardly visible to the naked eye.”
Mrs. Fellows, whom I guessed to be in her early forties, looked rather gratified.
I said: “Was it your husband I met the other day?”
“Oh yes, he’s on duty with the machines.”
“We’ve got more than two Fellows in the factory,” explained Edward.
“There’s my son Tom,” said Mrs. Fellows. “He’s here learning the trade … and I’ve another son who’ll be coming along in a year or two.”
“We like to keep it in families,” said Edward.
Just at that moment a man came in and said something to Edward which I did not hear. Edward turned to me and said: “I’ll leave you for a moment. Stay with Mrs. Fellows. She’ll show you some of our finest patterns.”I smiled at Mrs. Fellows. “I suppose lace has been made in this town for years and years.”