Finding Eliza: writing Threads of Love
It began with steam — thick, clinging, and rising from a row of copper tubs in a London washhouse. I kept returning to that image: a young woman standing barefoot on wet stone, sleeves rolled, her hands raw from scrubbing. Not glamorous. Not romantic. Just real. And quietly powerful. That image wouldn’t let me go — and slowly, it turned into a story.
That woman became Eliza Berry.
Writing Threads of Love was, in many ways, an exercise in restraint. Eliza isn’t the kind of character who demands the spotlight. She doesn’t rage or rebel loudly. Her courage is quiet, watchful, stitched into small acts: keeping her head down, protecting those around her, and holding onto her sense of self in a world that treats working-class girls as disposable. I wanted to write a story that honoured that kind of strength — not flashy, not easy, but deeply rooted.
The setting came just as clearly: the backstreets of Victorian London. Not the ballrooms or the parlours, but the washhouses, alleyways, and cramped back rooms where so many women lived and worked, often unseen. I spent a lot of time researching East End laundries, how they operated, what they smelled like, what kind of toll they took on the women inside them. It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t romantic. But it was real — and Eliza’s resilience felt all the more powerful because of it.
Then came Thomas, the tailor’s apprentice. I hadn’t planned for him, honestly. He appeared quietly, like Eliza herself — a character who wasn’t there to rescue anyone, but to offer something rarer: steady kindness. They’re both people who’ve learned not to ask for much, who carry their wounds carefully. Watching their connection grow — slow, tentative, and entirely earned — was one of my favourite parts of writing this story.
In the end, Threads of Love became a book about survival, dignity, and the fragile beauty of hope. About how we hold ourselves together in a world that wants to wear us down. And how love — the quiet, patient kind — can be a lifeline, not a lightning bolt.
Eliza’s story stayed with me long after I wrote the final page. I hope it finds a place in your heart, too.
With love,
Elizabeth