“If their work was so good why did people want to buy the French?”
“English people always think foreigners do better work than their own people. Besides the French had a reputation. They thought French clothes and materials must be better than the English. In any case, they almost put us out of business.”
“Why do you feel so strongly now?” I asked. “It is all over.”
“I feel for those poor people because I know how they suffered. And it could happen again.”
“Poor things,” said Cassie. “It must be dreadful to be hungry. And the little children too …”
“They are the first to suffer,” said Philip. “Oh, it has been a long and violent history. There was a time just over a hundred years ago when there was great trouble. The government had just signed the Treaty of Fontainebleau which allowed French silks to be brought into the country free of tax; and the workers were desperate. When the King was on his way to Parliament they decided to present a petition to the House of Commons. They were of the opinion that the Duke of Bedford had been bribed by the French to agree to the Fontainebleau Treaty. After they had marched to the House and forced an adjournment they went to Bedford House and attacked it. The guards were called out and the Riot Act read. The workers fled, but not before many of them had been trampled down by the horses. Many died. They had thought they had come to a safe haven when they left their homes, but they have had to fight all the way through to keep going.”
“And they did,” I said, “and all is well with them now.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “One never really knows what difficulties are going to arise. That’s how it is in life, Lenore.”
“But people find a way out of their difficulties.”
“Some do,” he replied.
Julia yawned. “It is time we went back,” she said.
I grew fond of Philip during those holidays. It was so different when Charles was not there. He used to come up to see Grand’mere. He would handle the bales of material knowledge-ably and talk about the weave. He was very interested in the loom she had there.
“Do you use it much?” he asked.
“When Sir Francis has something he specially wishes me to do.”
She talked of Villers-Mure and the factory with the bougain-villeas on the walls and the big workroom with all the big windows letting in the light.
Philip was clearly absorbed by the subject. He talked about the new process of spinning which was turning what had hitherto been waste into good material.
“A certain Mr. Lister of Bradford has invented a special loom to do this,” he told us. “It will revolutionize the trade because there must be quantities of chassum silk waste in many warehouses in London.”
I did not understand a great deal of what they said but I liked to listen to them as they talked. Grand’mere’s cheeks were flushed and Philip was talking enthusiastically. They liked each other and it is very pleasant when people whom one likes are interested in each other. Grand’mere made tea and we left the workroom and went into her little sitting room to drink it and continue talking. Philip told us how he would eventually be coming into the business. He found the waiting irksome. As soon as he had left the university he was to start. His father had promised him. He would have liked to dispense with the last stages of his education, but his father was adamant on that point.
” And your brother?” asked Grand’mere.
“Oh, he is bent on having a good time. I daresay he’ll grow out of it.”
“He has not your enthusiasm,” Grand’mere commented.
“It will come, Madame Cleremont,” Philip assured her. After all, once he begins to understand something about this fascinating business, it couldn’t fail to, could it?”
She smiled at him. “I am happy that Sir Francis has you to follow him. It must be a great joy to him.”
“My brother will probably be good at another side of the business. It’s the actual production of silk that intrigues me … the whole process. Those worms feeding on the mulberry leaves . . spinning their cocoons to produce the most exquisite material in the world …”
He talked a great deal about processes which I did not understand. I sat there in a haze of contentment watching Grand’mere and Philip liking each other more every minute.
When he had gone she showed her pleasure. As I helped her clear away the cups she was singing softly to herself:
En passant par la Lorraine
Avec mes sabots
J’ai rencontre dans la plaine
Avec mes sabots dondaines
Oh, Oh, Oh,
Avec mes sabots.
She always sang that when she was happy. I had asked her why once and she said she had always sung it as a child and it had always made her happy because the soldiers had thought the singer ugly. They did not know that a King’s son loved her. I said: “And did she marry the King’s son?” ‘ ‘We do not know. That is why I loved the song. He had given her a bouquet de marjolaine. If it flowered she would be queen. We do not know because the song ends before it tells.”
She kept smiling at me. She said: “There is one who loves this work. He is like his father. Sir Francis is lucky to have such a son.”
“You like him very much, don’t you, Grand’mere?” She nodded looking at me and smiling rather wistfully; and there were dreams in her eyes.
We were growing up. Julia was nearly seventeen. I was fifteen. Julia had changed; she was very anxious for us to know she was not a little girl any more.
She was to have a season in London.
Lady Sallonger talked of it often. It was one of our customs to take tea with her in the drawing room. I would often be there already, reading to her, and pausing now and then to thread the skeins of silk she needed. She was taking more and more of my time.
Julia and Cassie came down promptly at four o’clock and spent an hour with her. Clarkson would wheel in the tea trolly and Grace would stand by to pour out the tea and wait on us; but Lady Sallonger often dismissed her and dispensing the tea tell to my lot.
“Lenore can manage,” she would say. Then it would be: “Lenore, a little more cream please. Oh, and do bring me one of those scones.”
She would sit there, not eating, but crumbling the scone on her plate. The conversation at this time was all about Julia’s coming out which would soon take place. ” Dear me, I should be there … but it is impossible. Lenore, my feet are quite numb. Just take off my slippers and rub them, will you? Ah … that’s better. Such a relief. In my state of health it is alas impossible. The dresses you will have to have, Julia … Madame Cleremont will of course make them. She will have to get some patterns. Perhaps your father can send for them from Paris. …”
Julia clasped her hands and listened ecstatically. She was longing to be “out.” She talked about it to Cassie and me. Balls, banquets … gaiety … and armies of young men all seeking her hand in marriage.
I had heard Miss Logan, who knew of such things, talking to Miss Everton. She said: “Well, of course, it’s trade when all’s said and done… and that puts a damper on it. Mind you there’s money and money talks.”
So Julia was to be taken forth to the marriage market to display her assets. She was young, quite pretty sometimes when she was in a good temper, and very eager to find a husband but handicapped by that label “Trade”—enhanced though by the other one: “Money.”
Lady Sallonger said: “I have heard that the Countess of Bal-lader is very good. Poor soul, she needs the money now that the Earl is dead. He left her practically penniless… . Gambling they say, and drink … it swallowed up the estate and on his death it all came out. Poor Countess. Of course she was not quite … to start with. Actress or something. The Earl’s third wife and he was in his dotage when he married her. Well, now she has to eke out a living this way. She’s expensive but she was very good with Maria Cranley. Quite a plain little creature but she married well … money mind you, not much of the blue blood.”