The Girl with the Amber Comb

LINDA FINLAY lives on the Devonshire coast and is the author of eight novels. From lace-making to willow weaving, each one is based on a local craft which, in order to write authentically and place herself firmly in the shoes of her heroines, she has learnt to do herself. However, it is people and their problems that make for a good story and, with so much interesting material to work with, it is easy for Linda to let her imagination run as wild as the rugged West Country landscape which has inspired her writing.

The Royal Lacemaker

The Girl with the Red Ribbon

A Family For Christmas

The Sea Shell Girl

Monday’s Child

Orphans and Angels

The Flower Seller

The Bonbon Girl

The Girl with the Amber Comb

Linda Finlay

ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES

Copyright

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2020

Copyright © Linda Finlay 2020

Linda Finlay asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © March 2020 ISBN: 9780008262990

Version 2020-06-21

Note to Readers

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 Page numbers taken from the following print edition: ISBN 9780008263003

To my loving husband, Pern,

for his continued support and encouragement

Contents

Cover

About the Author

Also by Linda Finlay

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Extract

About the Publisher

Prologue

Sedge Moor, Somerset. Autumn 1834

The harvest moon hung like a buttery orb, gilding the withies that stood like sentinels alongside the dykes. The smell of apple pressings from a cider house drifted across the land. Beyond rose Aller Moor, the black holes scored by peat cutters staring down on the Droves like watchful eyes.

Suddenly the quietude of the night was broken by a piercing scream that disturbed a heron from its roost. Mary cuddled her daughter closer, wiping the sweat from her brow before bending to ease the sac from her body. Although she worked quickly, she knew in her heart it was already too late. Sure enough, as the tiny form whimpered and took its first breath, Della shuddered and breathed her last. Mary shook her head, hot tears bouncing from her cheeks to mingle with the waters of the rhyne that now ran red with blood.

All she could feel was despair for a young life lost and hatred for the man whose selfish lust had been the cause. Another whimper sounded from the withies and she steeled herself to look. Yet even as she stared, the wail became impatient, its insistence demanding attention. It was just as Mary had thought, but now her worst fears had been realized, did she have the nerve to perform the task she’d sworn she would?

Chapter 1

Sedge Moor, Somerset. Seventeen years later

‘Oh Grammer, why didn’t I listen to you?’ Eliza cried as, oblivious to the dew glistening like stars in the pale light of early morning, she dropped to her knees on the grass. Gently, she placed her posy between the two graves, one recently dug, the other flattened with time. Grammer Mary now united with her daughter Della, the mother Eliza had never known.

‘May St Michael give you protection from darkness and evil,’ she murmured. The bright blue daisies symbolized farewell and Eliza knew she wasn’t only saying goodbye to the woman who had raised her, but to her own dreams for the future. As the willows rustled their leaves, she dashed away a tear, scarcely able to believe her beloved grammer had gone to sleep the previous week never to wake and greet another new day.

It was now the end of September and the swallows were taking flight from the nearby reed beds on their way to warmer climes and a new life. Eliza wished she was going with them, for winter was fast approaching bringing the wild winds and incessant rains that would batter their home for weeks on end.

Sighing, she got to her feet and stared over the withy beds that glinted yellow in the swirling autumn mist, towards the scattered stone cottages and farmhouses which made up the hamlet of Worth.

‘Happy birthday, Eliza.’ She started as her gramfer came up behind her. ‘Were a time of mixed emotions the day you were born and that’s the truth,’ he said gruffly. Turning, she smiled and linked her arm through his, for he said the same thing every year. ‘You’ve brought such joy and Lord knows how I’d manage without you now that …’ his voice cracked and he turned towards the old oak where the two crosses were flanked by the bright flowers.

Although she didn’t feel like celebrating today, her birthday had always been an occasion to be marked. A specially baked cake followed by a toast to Della.

‘I’m sure Grammer’s staring down from heaven to see what you’ve got for me,’ Eliza teased, forcing a smile as she tried to lift his spirits.

‘Mary were never one to miss out on anythin’.’ His lips twitched, hazel eyes pensive as he stroked his greying beard. ‘I might have a little somethin’ but you’ll have to wait ’til later. Birthday or no, there’s work to do first. Old Man Conger’s callin’ for those eel traps he ordered this art’noon. Mary was that busy she didn’t have time …’ his voice trailed off again.

‘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 cott.

Indoors was strangely quiet without Grammer’s humming. The smell of bittersweet smoke that curled from the smouldering peat fire hung in the air and she grimaced at the cobwebs swinging from the low beams. Still, the sound of the kettle singing was welcoming and Eliza poured water into the pot then set out the crisp pastry filled with her latest preserve.

‘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.

‘Made you smile, though,’ he chuckled, handing the trap back to her.

‘I’m sorry for being miserable, Clem,’ she sighed. ‘I really miss Grammer, and know it’s up to me to take over her role but …’

‘But?’

‘I feel as trapped as those poor fish swimming into here will be,’ she admitted, holding up the basket.

‘Handy for dinner though,’ he grinned, then looked sheepish when she shot him a look. ‘I do feel sorry for those eels actually. There they are happily swimming up our rivers going about their business, when bang they get caught in the trap with no way out.’

‘I know it sounds bad Clem, especially after all Gramfer’s going through, but that’s exactly how I feel at the moment,’ she admitted. He was quiet for a moment, then he laid down his basket.

‘Come on Red, you’re seventeen yet sound as though your life’s over. Here you are on the verge of woman—’ Embarrassed, he looked down at his hands. ‘Earlier when I was telling you about those Welsh love spoons and their intentions, I was hoping you might see what I was getting at, but obviously I’m not very good at explaining myself.’ He took a deep breath and turned to face her, his expression unusually serious.

Fearing what he was about to say, and wanting to keep their relationship as free and easy as it had always been, Eliza opened her mouth to reply. However, Clem continued.