The Flower Seller

by Linda Finlay

  ‘Oh, what a shame, they seem to be wilting even as we speak. Look, my dear, maybe we can help you. We have rented a nice little house only minutes from here. Why don’t you come back with us and partake of some refreshment while we discuss things?’ It was a long time since breakfast and Isabella could think of nothing nicer than a hot drink.

  ‘That would be lovely, thank you,’ she replied, her spirits rising.

  She followed the two women down an alleyway between the boot maker and a grocer’s she hadn’t noticed before, then on through winding back lanes, away from the town centre. They came to a stop in front of a smart redbrick house set slightly apart from the rest.

  Inside, she was met with the familiar scent of beeswax and rose petals. It was mixed with something else she couldn’t quite make out, but was familiar enough to remind her of her home in Chester Square. As Agnes turned and gave her a bright smile, Isabella swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat.

  ‘Make yourself at home, my dear,’ Agnes invited, throwing open the door to a large, airy room leading off the hallway. ‘Sit yourself down while Miriam makes us one of her restorative tisanes. We haven’t had time to hire staff yet so are catering for ourselves. We are quite enjoying it though, aren’t we, Miriam?’ The woman nodded and disappeared.

  ‘Where have you removed from?’ Isabella asked, setting her basket down on the floor.

  ‘Oh, that reminds me,’ Agnes said quickly, stooping to pick it up again. ‘We will be happy to purchase these from you.’

  ‘What, all of them?’ Isabella asked, hardly daring to believe her luck.

  ‘Oh yes, they will be most useful. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just put them in water,’ she smiled.

  Relieved to be sitting down after being on her feet for so long, Isabella sank back in the armchair then stared around the room. It was comfortably if not lavishly furnished, the plain walls relieved by velvet drapes at the lattice window and a scattering of colourful rugs. The little carriage clock on the mantelpiece was the only ornamentation, its gentle ticking soothing her frazzled nerves.

  ‘Well, here we are.’ Isabella came to with a start as the sisters bustled back into the room, one bearing a tray with three glasses on it, the other a salver of delightful-smelling pastries. ‘Oh goodness, child, did we wake you?’ Agnes crooned.

  ‘No,’ Isabella lied, a smile quivering her lips, for nobody had called her that since her nanny had left.

  ‘This will soon revive you,’ Miriam said, handing her a glass in a silver holder. It smelled unusual and she took a chary sip of the warm liquid. ‘It’s made to my own receipt,’ the woman added.

  ‘It is very nice,’ Isabella said, taking another sip so as not to offend her. The liquid warmed her insides and she felt herself relaxing.

  ‘Do have a croustade,’ Agnes said, proffering a plate along with the salver. ‘You’ll have heard of Gentleman’s Relish, of course. Well, we call these our sisters’ savouries,’ she giggled.

  ‘They look wonderful,’ she said, her mouth watering at the tempting sight. ‘Do you have a pastry fork?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, silly me. Yes, of course,’ Miriam said, jumping up and going to the sideboard. After much searching, she triumphantly produced the required cutlery, and Isabella eagerly cut into the pastry. It was filled with fluffy egg and herbs, and so delicious she needed no persuading to take another. As Isabella ate, she became aware of the curious looks the two sisters darted her way as they nibbled on their food. No sooner had they finished than Miriam jumped to her feet.

  ‘Goodness, that must be the lunchtime post,’ she cried, hurrying from the room.

  ‘Is everything all right, Miriam, dear?’ Agnes enquired when she returned frowning at the sheet of notepaper in her hand.

  ‘It would appear Mrs Davey is too unwell to attend our gathering this afternoon. That means we are one short, which – as you know, sister dear – is totally unacceptable. She looked at the clock. ‘And it is too late to let everyone know, so we shall have to turn them away at the door.’

  ‘Is there nothing we can do?’ Agnes asked, clutching her hands to her chest. ‘If word should spread that we are unreliable . . . ’ She closed her eyes as if finishing her sentence was too much for her.

  ‘What are you one too short for?’ Isabella enquired. ‘Is it your biritch afternoon because, if it is, perhaps I can assist. I play quite a good game.’ Immediately Agnes sat up straight, fixing Isabella with her sharp gaze.

  ‘Would you really be willing to help?’ she murmured.

  ‘Of course,’ she replied, eager to repay these two dear ladies for their hospitality. ‘Thanks to your kindness I have no more flowers to sell, so tell me what I have to do.’

  Chapter 15

  Miriam refreshed Isabella’s glass, insisting she needed another warm drink after standing in the Strand for most of the morning. Thinking how pleasant it was to have these lovely ladies cossetting her, she duly sipped the fragrant liquid and before long felt a blanket of tranquillity wrap around her. Feeling better than she had for ages, she listened as the two sisters outlined what they actually did.

  ‘You mean you can really make contact with the dead?’ she shuddered, staring apprehensively from one to the other.

  ‘Don’t look so worried, child. It is all perfectly harmless,’ Miriam explained.

  ‘And at this time of year, when the veil between this world and the next is at its thinnest, we feel it our duty to bring the spirits of loved ones through to as many people as we can,’ Agnes added.

  ‘Having recently suffered the loss of your father, you will appreciate how devastated bereavement leaves one feeling.’

  ‘Yes,’ she murmured, tears falling freely down her cheeks.

  ‘That’s it, dear, you let it out,’ Miriam said, leaning forward and patting her hand. ‘You should see the joy on people’s faces when we make contact with their dearest departed,’ she added quietly.

  ‘It brings them such comfort,’ Agnes added. ‘Now finish your tisane, dear, it’ll do you good.’ Isabella nodded and wiped her tears. They partook of their drinks in companionable silence and Isabella began to feel quite comforted herself.

  ‘What you do sounds marvellous. However, I still don’t see how I can assist,’ she said, draining her drink and putting her empty glass on the table. The two women exchanged looks.

  ‘Because our meetings are so, er, special, they can only work if the number of participants are divisible by three. All we ask is that you join our guests around the table,’ Agnes said.

  ‘Oh,’ she murmured. In truth, it sounded scary, and butterflies skittered in her stomach at the thought of joining in.

  ‘This is only the third seance we have arranged since arriving in Devonshire and the delicate nature of our work relies on people being able to place their complete trust in us, so if we cancel . . . ,’ Miriam shrugged.

  ‘I see your predicament,’ Isabella nodded. ‘If you’re sure all I have to do is sit there, then I’ll do it,’ she told them.

  ‘Thank you, Isabella,’ Agnes smiled, getting to her feet. ‘Whilst Miriam prepares a little welcome for each of our ladies, I’ll show you where we hold our meetings.’

  Isabella rose to follow but her legs almost buckled under her and she had to grip the arm of her chair to stop herself from toppling over.

  ‘Goodness, I must have been sitting down for too long.’ However, Agnes didn’t seem to notice as she led the way back down the hallway. As she opened another door, Isabella saw a rosy-cheeked woman, bonnet askew staring at her. Thinking it was one of the expected visitors, she smiled only to gasp in dismay when she realized it was herself reflected in the mirror.

  ‘Goodness,’ she cried. ‘I look dreadful, positively scruffy even.’

  ‘I have to confess I did wonder about your appearance,’ Agnes murmured. ‘It is so at variance with your cultured accent. Not that it matters, of course, for you are here purely to make up the numbers.’

  ‘I haven’t a
lways dressed like this. Why, I have silks, chiffons and fine jewels in the trunks stored at my aunt and uncle’s cottage.’ As Agnes turned and looked at her curiously, Isabella felt the need to explain. ‘It just hasn’t been appropriate to wear them for packing and selling flowers, hence . . . ,’ she grimaced down at her coarse dress.

  ‘Well, don’t worry about it, child,’ Agnes said softly, taking her hand and leading her into a larger room. It was dominated by a round table set with three candlesticks that were interspersed with bowls of violets.

  ‘Oh, my flowers. They have perked up again,’ Isabella cried, breathing in the familiar sweet, musky smell.

  ‘Indeed they have, and their uplifting fragrance will attract the spirits. Ah, and here is the bread and soup for their physical nourishment,’ Agnes explained as Miriam came in and set the tray in the middle. ‘Now, I’ll just stoke the fire and draw the drapes, then we will be ready for their appearance.’ A loud rat-a-tat sounded, making Isabella jump.

  ‘Oh,’ she cried.

  ‘No need to worry, child, it’s only the first of our guests arriving,’ Miriam said. ‘Keep your eyes lowered when they enter, and on no account say anything to anyone. Understand?’ Isabella nodded, taking the seat Miriam had pulled out for her. Trying to anticipate how large the gathering would be, she looked around at the chairs and had just counted the ninth when the guests began filing into the room.

  Although Isabella closed her eyes as instructed, curiosity got the better of her and she couldn’t resist peeping from under her lashes. The visitants appeared to be elderly ladies, dressed in black bonnets, coats and shawls. Strangely, they were all clutching a tiny posy of flowers which they inhaled at frequent intervals. As someone sat down beside her, the aroma of violets wafted her way. Then she got a whiff of another, stronger scent she didn’t recognize. Before she had a chance to think what it could be, the door closed and Agnes took her place opposite Isabella.

  ‘Welcome, ladies, to what I hope will prove a comforting afternoon for you,’ she smiled graciously. ‘Miriam will now light the three candles on the table to bring warmth and light for our beloved spirits to see their way. Inhale deeply of your nosegays then we will all join hands to complete the circle, ready to summon our first visitor.’ There was a rustle of movement around the room as the funny-looking posies were placed on the table. Isabella wrinkled her nose as she caught another trace of that strange essence, but then both of her hands were being firmly clasped and the room was filled with an air of anticipation.

  ‘Firstly, we ask if any life force of our dearly departed is waiting to come through,’ Agnes explained, looking at them in turn before closing her eyes. ‘Is there a beloved spirit here in this room?’ she asked. The tension in the room was palpable but there was no answer.

  ‘Beloved spirits, we bring you gifts from life into death,’ Agnes intoned. ‘Is anybody ready to come through?’ she repeated. Silence. ‘I can see someone coming, someone connected to the sea, I think.’

  ‘That’ll be my Henry, he were a fisherman here,’ an excited voice squeaked. Through half-closed eyes, Isabella watched in astonishment as Agnes’s head snapped backwards and her mouth sprang open.

  ‘Hello, Elsie, my lover.’ Although the gruff, West Country voice was male, it appeared to be coming from Agnes.

  ‘Oh Henry, I miss you so. Tell me you are happy,’ the quavering voice pleaded.

  ‘I am, though I miss ye too. Take care . . . of . . . yerself.’ The last words faded away on a whisper. Agnes expelled a deep breath and an expectant hush rippled round the room. Suddenly her head jerked back again.

  ‘I see a man dressed in a flat cap and smock. He’s holding a pigeon and smoking a pipe,’ Agnes told them.

  ‘Edward Craib, is that you?’ a woman’s strident voice asked.

  ‘We summon our beloved Edward Craib into our midst,’ Agnes intoned.

  ‘Our beloved Edward Craib,’ the ladies all repeated.

  ‘Commune, Edward, and move amongst us.’ There was silence. ‘Are you there, Edward?’

  ‘Aye,’ a voice grumped, again seeming to come through Agnes.

  ‘Welcome, Edward. Do you have a message for your beloved Ivy? She who has cared for you in your hour of need.’

  ‘Aye, I do. Tell ’er not to be so mean with the money I left.’ There was a sharp intake of breath from somewhere close to her, but Isabella’s eyes were fixed on Agnes. ‘Yer should be ashamed of yerself putting a button in the bowl. I expect better of you, Ivy Craib, and I shall be watching yer.’

  ‘Sorry, Edward,’ a woman groaned. ‘I’ll give properly this time.’

  ‘He has gone,’ Agnes sighed. ‘Wait, I think I can see something else. A blur is trying to materialize. I see a man with grey hair hovering on the periphery. Oh, he has only just passed and is not yet ready to come through.’

  Papa, Isabella thought, the blood pounding through her veins. She held her breath and stared hopefully at Agnes but already the woman was calling for the spirit of Walter Ferris to commune.

  ‘Are you there, Walter Ferris?’ she repeated but there was only silence, followed by a strangled sob from further down the room.

  ‘Have faith, dear,’ Miriam whispered. ‘Perhaps he will come through next time.’

  Suddenly Agnes opened her eyes and stared around the table as if wondering what she was doing there.

  ‘I feel no other presence waiting, so let us thank those spirits who joined us today and tell them to go in peace.’

  ‘Go in peace,’ the group chanted.

  ‘We may now break the circle,’ Agnes told them. As the group dropped their hands, Miriam smiled around the room.

  ‘Inhale deeply of your nosegays so that you too go in peace. The women did as she said, then leaving their flowers on the table, filed silently out of the room. Agnes was already in the hall, a bowl in her outstretched hands which the women all dropped money into on their way out.

  ‘Don’t give up, dear. Walter may well speak to you next time,’ Miriam murmured to a woman who was dabbing tears from her eyes. ‘Perhaps if you brought something he valued along with you next time, it would help the lines of communication.’ The woman nodded and dropped several coins into the dish.

  ‘I’ll give double today,’ muttered the thin-lipped woman who Isabella guessed must be Ivy, waving a note flamboyantly in the air before placing it ceremoniously into the bowl. ‘Gawd knows how ’e found out. Always did have eyes in the back of ’is bleeding ’ead. Don’t suppose ’e would have told me where ’e ’id ’is gold watch anyhow.’

  ‘Try looking in all his favourite places, my dear,’ Miriam suggested.

  ‘I did that the day he died,’ Ivy scoffed.

  ‘Perhaps he left it in his pigeon loft,’ Agnes added, coming into the hall. The woman’s eyes lit up.

  ‘I never thought of that,’ she cried, scurrying out of the door.

  ‘Let us know if you find it, Ivy dear. We do so like to know we’ve been of help,’ Miriam called after her.

  When the last guest had left, Miriam held out the dish to Agnes and smiled.

  ‘Our benevolent fund has done well today.’

  ‘That’s good to know, dear. You’d better make sure it’s put somewhere safe. We can’t have those in need missing out,’ Agnes giggled as the two women exchanged looks. ‘Now we have kept Isabella here quite long enough, so please can you fetch her basket along with payment for her flowers?’ As Miriam scuttled away, Agnes turned to Isabella.

  ‘Thank you so much for helping us out today. I don’t suppose our paths will cross again but it has been a pleasure meeting you, my dear. And once again, our condolences for your loss.’ At the thought of not seeing these two dear ladies again, Isabella’s heart sank.

  ‘Oh, but I had hoped I might attend another seance. You see, I think that grey-haired man who had just passed was Papa and . . . ’

  ‘It might not have been, for most of the men who have recently passed will have been old with grey hair,’ Agnes in
terrupted gently. Isabella’s heart plummeted. She’d been sure dear Papa had come to speak with her.

  ‘I could always bring more flowers here for you,’ she offered, staring at the woman hopefully. ‘Please,’ she pleaded. ‘You see, since arriving in Dawlish, I have been trying to find out about my mama but nobody will tell me. I thought if Papa came through in spirit I could ask him why everyone around here clams up when I ask about her.’ Agnes put a consoling hand on Isabella’s shoulder.

  ‘If it means that much to you, then we will try and help.’

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ Isabella cried.

  ‘You need to understand I get the best results when I’ve held a precious possession of the deceased person. It seems to connect with their spirit and bring them through. Don’t ask me how,’ she shrugged. ‘I am merely a medium who tries to use the gift I’ve been given to best effect.’

  ‘This was my mama’s,’ Isabella told her, putting her hand inside her turnover and holding out the locket. Agnes scrutinized it for a moment then ran a finger across the silver.

  ‘That won’t work, it feels too cold. Have you any other of your mother’s possessions?’

  ‘Mama’s pearls are in my trunk. Would they be any good?’

  ‘They might well be. Pearls are warm. Look, we are holding another seance on Friday. Fetch them along then and we’ll see. You can also bring more of those delightful violets too.’

  Overwhelmed, Isabella nodded excitedly.

  ‘Ah, here’s Miriam with your basket, along with recompense for your violets. Til then, Isabella. One more thing, best not mention any of this to anyone. Unlike you, many have a sceptical nature,’ Agnes said, patting her hand.

  ‘Keep your spirits up, Isabella,’ Miriam chirped, closing the door behind her.

  To her surprise, daylight was beginning to fade and Isabella knew her aunt and uncle would have been expecting her home by now. Guilt flooded through her, for she knew there was plenty she should be helping with. Carefully placing the coins in her pocket, she put her basket over her arm and hurried along the empty street as fast as her worn boots would allow. She felt hot and bothered, her head still spinning from everything she’d witnessed that afternoon. It hardly seemed believable that male voices could materialize from a female mouth, and yet she’d seen it with her own eyes, hadn’t she?