Dotwork mandala design sketch

The pattern came back from the printers with the centre smudged, so I have been sitting at the kitchen table since six with a fine nib and a magnifying glass, putting back the dots one by one. Mr Haworth wants the bodice sheet by Friday. He says the mill girls will not stitch a thing they cannot count, and I told him that was the most sensible thing he had said all year.

You will remember how Mother drew her lotus. Five petals first, then the inner ring, then the rope band that runs round the waist like a bit of old bell rope. She never used a ruler. She said the dots were how you let the paper breathe, and that a line was only a promise a dot could keep better.

Last night I got to the middle, where the petals crowd together, and found that the nib had skipped. Three dots short, right where the light would fall if anyone wore it. I sat a long while deciding whether to fix it or leave it. In the end I left the smallest gap, a clean white speck at the very heart, and I have decided it is the petal that is still opening.

Come home at Easter if you can. The lotus is nearly finished and I want you to tell me whether the gap looks like a mistake or a choice.

Your loving sister, Ada