The Flower Seller

by Linda Finlay

  It was hot for October and she could feel the sun beating down on her back as it climbed higher in the sky. The trees and hedges that had seemed so picturesque earlier now teemed with clouds of insects, while stray branches caught on her mantle. She was swatting away yet another persistent fly when she heard the sound of hooves and, looking up, saw a dappled pony approaching. It was pulling a smartly painted cart, and as it drew closer she saw Felix Furneaux sitting on the box. Pleased to see him again and certain he would offer her a lift, she smiled sweetly up at him.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Carrington,’ he called, returning her smile. ‘It’s a beautiful day for promenading, is it not?’ She was about to tell him where she was bound when, to her chagrin, he tipped his cap and continued on his way. Isabella stared at his receding back, her heart dropping to her boots. Why hadn’t he stopped? She’d thought he was different to the other men around these parts, but clearly he was as ill-mannered as the rest.

  By the time she reached the edge of the town, the sun was directly overhead and she was fatigued and thirsty. She skirted the brightly coloured stalls that were piled with produce and fairings spread out before her. It was noisy with vendors shouting their wares, and hefting her basket, she had no alternative but to brave the crowds in order to reach the better side of town Dotty had directed her to. The smell of perspiration mixed with unsavoury street food made her feel nauseous, while the rising dust caught at the back of her throat. Everyone seemed to be eating or drinking as they walked along. How uncouth, she thought, yearning to be back in the cultured environs of Claridge’s or The Savoy.

  She’d just reached the edge of the market when a man unable to see over the pile of garish material he was carrying bumped into her, causing her to stumble into the path of an approaching donkey cart. Although she managed to avoid it, the impatient driver cracking his whip caused the poor beast to relieve itself right in front of her. As the stench from the steaming pile pervaded her nostrils, Isabella’s stomach retched. Fearing she was about to be sick, she stared around until she spotted a lane leading off the main thoroughfare, and hurried towards it. Collapsing against the wall of the nearest building, she closed her eyes and waited for her head to stop spinning.

  ‘Oi, off my pitch, you bleedin’ bitch.’ Something wet splattered on Isabella’s chin and she opened her eyes to find an angry woman, vermillion stained lips flecked with spittle, waving a fist at her. She was wearing a top that did little to hide her heaving bosom, while her long black hair hung loose.

  ‘Well, really,’ Isabella protested.

  ‘Well, really,’ the woman parroted. ‘If you thinks being posh tosh gives you the right to nab the best spot, you’re bleedin’ wrong, you . . . ’ Her tirade trailed off, her snarl turning to a dazzling smile as a young man dressed in naval uniform approached. ‘Ello ’andsome, lookin’ for a good time?’ she purred, pulling her blouse lower. Ignoring her, the sailor eyed Isabella up and down appreciatively.

  ‘Nice, very nice,’ he murmured, leaning close so that she caught the full force of his beery breath. Recoiling, she pressed herself harder against the wall. ‘How about you showin’ Ollie here a good time?’ he leered. Then he caught sight of her basket. ‘Oh, flowers, that’s a new one. Always up for learning new tricks, blondey. Spices things up,’ he chortled, plucking a violet from Isabella’s basket and running it slowly across her chest. Isabella shuddered, and as she tried to move away he let out a lewd laugh. ‘Playin’ ’ard to get, me lover. Well, Ollie ’ere’s just been paid an’ . . . ’

  ‘And Ollie can pay me to show him all he wants,’ the other woman purred, placing her hand possessively on his arm and fluttering her spider lashes at him. With narrowed eyes, she turned back to Isabella. ‘Sling your ’ook and take them furkin’ violets with yer, flower girl,’ she snarled, snatching up Isabella’s basket and hurling it into the road. It landed in front of a passing dray laden with beer barrels, and there was a loud crunch as the wheels rolled over it. As Isabella stared down at the broken remains in dismay, the woman cackled, clapping her hands with glee. ‘And yer’ll end up the same way if yer don’t scat, cat,’ she chortled, giving Isabella a shove.

  She didn’t need telling twice and, leaving the remains of her basket, ran as fast as she could. It was only when she heard the catcalls and suggestive remarks that she realized that, in her haste, she’d headed further up the dingy lane.

  ‘Want some fun, darlin’?’ a voice taunted.

  ‘What’s the ’urry, lover?’ another called.

  Ignoring them, Isabella continued running but the lane was narrowing and growing darker. A group of men advanced menacingly towards her, and from the look on their faces, she knew she was in terrible trouble. Blood pounded in her ears as she glanced desperately around for some means of escape, but the only open doors were strewn with drunken bodies.

  Suddenly an arm reached out and grabbed her. A scream caught in her throat as she was pulled roughly down another squalid alleyway littered with empty bottles and human detritus. The stench was indescribable and, just when she thought she would pass out, she found herself out in the daylight. As the man let go of her, she felt her legs buckle and sank to the ground.

  ‘Blimmer, girl. Whatever you doin’ round there?’ he asked. Isabella blinked up at the dark-haired man towering over her. He was wearing a brown smock and looked vaguely familiar but, dazed and disorientated, it took a moment for her to place him.

  ‘Uncle Bill?’ she whispered, relief flooding through her as she recognized the man she’d seen talking to her aunt and uncle at the hop the previous Saturday.

  ‘That’s right, and you be Izzie, Ellie’s girl,’ he replied. ‘’Appen up, you be shaking like a wet dog. Come on, my cart’s over there.’ He pointed past a row of rickety shop fronts to a rough patch of grass where a pony was grazing. ‘Best I take you home. You can tell me what you been about on the way.’ He held out his arm and, grateful for his support, she picked herself off the filthy cobbles and allowed herself to be led to his cart.

  ‘Manage the hop up, can you?’ he asked in his gentle West Country burr.

  ‘I think so,’ she replied, grimacing at the familiar corset boxes that were piled high. Grinning ruefully, he pushed some aside to make room for Isabella.

  ‘My turn to collect them from town. There now, up you go.’

  ‘I suppose that means they will all need filling,’ she muttered as he climbed up beside them. Hearing the despair in her voice, he darted her a sympathetic look then called the pony to walk on.

  ‘Hope that brother of mine’s not working you too hard?’ he asked, taking his briar pipe from his pocket and lighting it. ‘He’s a good ’un but, like a racehorse, once he gets the bit between his teeth there’s no stopping him. This competition from Furneaux has got him in a proper frenzy and no mistake. Take it easy, Fred, I told him. There’s violets aplenty round here. Mind you, we’ve worked hard to build up our business, so I sees his point of view.’ She shivered and he frowned. Clamping the pipe between his teeth, he pulled a sack from behind the seat and handed it to her. ‘Here, cover yerself over and get warm. That’s quite a fright you had.’

  Smiling gratefully and paying little heed to its musty smell, she snuggled under it and, with the man’s gentle voice washing over her, finally began to relax.

  She must have fallen asleep for when she was woken by a jolt from the cart, they had left the town and were travelling down a country lane. Although the sun had lost its heat, blisters were burning her feet and she felt as stiff as that horrid housekeeper’s starched petticoats. The blast of a whistle made her jump, and hearing a train rattling its way towards London she sighed wistfully. What she wouldn’t give to be on it.

  ‘Ah, back in the land of the living, are we?’ her uncle chuckled.

  ‘Sorry, I must have closed my eyes for a few moments,’ she replied. He darted her a worried look.

  ‘Best tell me what you been doin’, maid. Did no one say not to venture over that part of town
? Fair worried I was when I spied you there in all your finery. Though you’re looking a bit draggled now, if you don’t mind my saying.’

  ‘Draggled?’ she frowned.

  ‘Likes you been pulled through the hedge backers,’ he added, puffing on his pipe. Glancing down at her skirts, Isabella saw they were filthy and the hem was hanging down. Her best mantle was snagged and had bits of twig clinging to it, while her boots were muddy and scuffed. Never before had she appeared in public so badly attired. Thank heavens her papa and Maxwell weren’t here to see her. Thoughts of them made her heart lurch and she let out another sigh.

  ‘There, maid. Can’t be that bad, surely?’ her uncle asked.

  ‘It couldn’t be worse. Firstly, I had to take flowers to the big house because Dotty hurt her ankle and couldn’t. I don’t know who was more obnoxious, snooty Somber, the haughty housekeeper or that loathsome Lord Lester.’

  ‘You saw Lord Lester?’ her uncle spluttered, taking the pipe from his mouth.

  ‘Yes, he said I was spirited like Mama and offered to tell me more about her if I . . . if I . . . ,’ her voice trailed off and she stared at him miserably. His lips tightened into a line.

  ‘I can imagine,’ he muttered.

  ‘But I so want to find out about Mama and nobody will tell me much about her. Even Grandmama’s no help,’ she told him.

  ‘No, she wouldn’t be,’ he sighed. ‘’Tis only natural you be curious, though.’

  ‘But I’m not going to be nice to that odious man for that,’ she burst out.

  ‘Nor should ye, maid. Best yer stay away from him, there’s talk of . . . well, like I say, best you avoid him. Now, tell me what you were doing on the wrong side of town.’

  ‘That horrible housekeeper returned my basket still full of flowers, so I had to walk all the way into town to see if I could sell them. Then a donkey did his . . . well, I thought I was going to be sick so I found a side street. Oh Uncle Bill, it was ghastly. I was accused of stealing this woman’s pitch, whatever that is.’

  ‘Look, maid, that street is known as “red-light rhyll”. It’s where men pay to have fun, and not for the likes of a respectable young lady like you. Promise you’ll stay away from there in future.’ As the implication of what he’d told her sank in, Isabella’s eyes widened in shock.

  ‘Goodness,’ she murmured, her hand going to her throat. ‘You mean those men in front of me thought they were going to . . . ? Nothing would induce me to go back there, believe you me.’

  ‘Pleased to hear it. Now here we are,’ he said. To Isabella’s surprise he was already pulling up outside the cottage. As she turned to thank him for the lift, she saw he was staring at her neck. ‘I see you’re wearing Ellie’s locket,’ he said gently. ‘I was that fond of her and right sad when she had to . . . er, when she left. There are things you should be told but this is not the time nor place. Fred’ll be out in a moment wanting to unload his boxes and we have important business to discuss. I’ll send Joseph over with the trap to collect you one day soon and we’ll have a nice old chat, eh?’

  ‘Thank you, Uncle Bill, I’d like that,’ she replied, smiling at the kindly man with his sweet tobacco smell. Although his voice had the same West Country burr as her Uncle Frederick, it was softer somehow and his eyes were kinder, too. ‘Anything you can tell me would be very much appreciated, although I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be staying. My intended has been detained in the City, you see. However, he is bound to be arriving for me soon and Papa will have his affairs sorted by then.’

  He frowned and opened his mouth to say something, but just then her Uncle Frederick appeared. He was looking unusually animated, two spots of red flushing his already ruddy cheeks.

  ‘Ah there you are, Bill,’ he said. ‘And you too, girl. Had a good day? What, no flowers left?’

  ‘No, Uncle,’ she replied. Or basket, she thought, her heart sinking at his reaction when he found out. But he seemed impatient for her to disappear.

  ‘Get yourself inside, girl. We’re having an early supper tonight and Mother needs a hand.’

  ‘Yes, Uncle Frederick. Thank you for the lift, Uncle Bill,’ she said, turning back to him.

  ‘My pleasure,’ he said jumping off and hurrying round to her side of the cart. As he helped her down, he leaned in close.

  ‘Best not let on you met Lord Lester or that you ended up on the wrong side of town,’ he whispered.

  It was only later she realized she hadn’t asked Uncle Bill what he’d been doing in that unsavoury area.

  Chapter 12

  Desperate to wash the filth from her body, Isabella went straight round to the pump. For once she relished the cold water tingling her skin and, feeling slightly cleaner, made her way across the empty yard and into the kitchen.

  ‘How did you get on?’ Aunt Mary asked. She was standing at the range, stirring something in a large pot. As an appetizing aroma wafted her way, Isabella’s stomach rumbled. It was hours since she’d last eaten and, having recovered from her ordeal, she was starving. ‘Lory-lor, what’s happened to you?’ Mary cried when she saw Isabella’s dishevelled appearance.

  ‘I didn’t sell any flowers at the big house and ended up in the wrong street in town by mistake,’ Isabella replied nervously. ‘Uncle’s going to be furious. You see . . . ’

  ‘Never mind Father, Izzie,’ Mary interrupted, putting down her spoon and bustling over to Isabella. ‘Just look at the state o’ you. Your turnover’s all ripped and you’re pale as parchment. Sit yourself down,’ she ordered, pulling out the chair nearest the range and gently pushing Isabella onto it. ‘I’ll pour us a cuppa then you can tell me exactly what happened.’

  ‘But Uncle said we were having supper early and . . . ’

  ‘Father and his stomach can wait,’ Mary interrupted. ‘Anyways, he’ll be some time offloading those boxes as William’s taken our flowers to the station. Asides, he has things to discuss with Uncle Bill. Cock-a-hoop Father is ’cos them precious new plants of his is thriving,’ she added, pouring strong tea from the big brown pot. ‘Seems his investment is going to pay off, though he’ll need to buy more glass to help with propagation over winter. Not that we usually gets much snow or frost down here, but you never know.’ She looked so happy, Isabella didn’t like to voice her suspicion about where the money for all this had come from.

  ‘I’m pleased, Auntie,’ she murmured, taking a sip of her drink then spluttering when it burned her tongue.

  ‘Well that’s put some colour in your cheeks,’ Aunt Mary laughed. ‘Right now spill.’ Isabella put down her mug and, remembering her uncle Bill’s advice, gave an edited version of her day.

  ‘Oh lory-lor,’ her aunt clucked. ‘I’ve heard mutterings about the goings-on in that red-lighted place. How dreadful for you and what a blessing you escaped unscathed. You did, didn’t you? I mean no one . . . ’ She stopped, staring at Isabella as if she hardly dared go on.

  ‘Nobody touched me, if that’s what you’re worried about,’ Isabella reassured her, blinking back the images of the coarse woman, seedy sailor, taunts and menacing faces.

  ‘I suppose Bill happened along when you were making your way home?’ her aunt said, breaking into her thoughts.

  ‘Something like that,’ Isabella replied, not wishing to say he’d actually been there. ‘I’m afraid your basket got crushed, though.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that, Izzie, plenty more baskets in the barn,’ she shrugged. ‘Now, I know it’s not Saturday, but if you’d like a bath later, I can heat water and get Father to bring the tub in.’

  ‘Thank you, but I had a rinse under the pump,’ Isabella assured her quickly. While she could think of nothing better than a leisurely soak in her bathtub at home, with scented salts to perfume her body, the thought of sitting in an inch of lukewarm water sheltered behind a sheet hanging from the clothes airer, was more than she could bear. Particularly as the family had no qualms about wandering in and out while pretending to ignore her.

  ‘W
ell, you sit and gather yourself while I go and see to Grandmother. She’s having one of her daffy days. Swears blind she saw her Ellie walking down the path this morning. Cors, I told her that wasn’t possible, but she insisted it was true and has been fretful ever since. I’ve made her one of my violet simples to calm her,’ she said, getting to her feet.

  ‘You use violets for medicinal purposes?’ Isabella asked in surprise.

  ‘Oh yes, we use them for everything. They make fine salves, syrups and sugars as well,’ she replied, wiping her hand across her brow. As she picked up a little blue bottle and spoon from the dresser, Isabella noticed how weary she was looking and guessed she must have had a trying day.

  ‘Are you sure I can’t help?’ she offered.

  ‘Why, bless you, no. You finish your drink. Dotty’ll be in soon. It’s taking her longer to do the flowers sitting down, though between you and me I think Father’s happy she’s out there guarding his precious new plantings. Oh, I nearly forgot, this came for you earlier,’ she said, handing over a crisp envelope. Isabella’s heart leapt. Maxwell had written at last. However, it was written in her father’s hand.

  My Dearest Isabella 18 October 1892

  I trust this letter finds you well and that you are now settled with your mama’s family.

  What strange wording, Isabella thought.

  To receive a communication from you was both a delight and blessing, arriving as it did during this most traumatic of times, and I wish you to know how much I treasure your loving words.

  I think of you constantly and hope you are happy in Devonshire.