The Flower Seller

by Linda Finlay

  ‘She’s gone again,’ Dotty sighed, drawing the cover over the woman. As Dotty knelt and banked up the fire then carefully replaced the guard, Isabella stared at her grandmother, willing her to wake up.

  ‘Come on, let’s go and start on the supper. We’re having raw teddy vry, tonight,’ she smiled. Isabella hadn’t a clue what that was and at that moment, she didn’t really care.

  ‘But she thought I was Mama,’ Isabella cried, following Dotty back to their side of the cottage.

  ‘I know. She’s been waiting years for her daughter to come home, you see. Apparently, she was about the same age you are now when she left. Mother told her she was dead but . . . sorry,’ she shrugged. ‘Still, that’s the best Grandmother’s been for ages. Perhaps if she sees more of you it will stir her memory again.’

  As Dotty took down the skillet and placed it on the range, Isabella sank into a chair and thought about what she’d said. If only she could have a proper conversation with the old woman, ask what Mama had been like as a child.

  ‘That’s right, sit there like lady muck while Dotty does all the work.’ Isabella looked up to find William glaring at her from the doorway.

  ‘Oh sorry, I didn’t think,’ she murmured.

  ‘No, that’s your trouble. Didn’t think about poor Mother having to work in the cold barn without her turnover either, I suppose.’

  ‘Now then, William,’ Dotty chided. ‘Mother said she would take a look in the market for another one.’

  ‘She wouldn’t have to if her ladyship wore her own.’

  ‘But my mantle got torn . . . ,’ Isabella began.

  ‘And you never thought to take a needle to it, I suppose?’ William asked, his eyes blazing. Besides, you must have more, what with all that luggage you brought with you.’

  ‘Well, I . . . ,’ she began, wanting to explain that Mary thought her clothes unsuitable for around here, but he was in his stride and didn’t let her finish.

  ‘And that’s another thing, poor Mother and Father can hardly move without falling over trunks and hat boxes,’ he scoffed.

  ‘I told Auntie she could move them to the barn but didn’t check it had been done.’

  ‘I told Auntie she could move them to the barn,’ he parroted. ‘Didn’t think to do it yourself. Mother and Father have enough to do without sorting out your things. They’ve bent over backwards trying to include you into our family life and what have you done in return, apart from swanning around wearing fancy clothes and jewels?’

  ‘That’s enough, William,’ Dotty insisted. ‘We’re happy to have Izzie here. She’s had a tough time and you should be helping her to settle in, not going on at her. Now, call a truce, you two, and help me get supper on the table. Mother and the nippers will be back soon and starving hungry, like as not.’ As she turned back to the range, Isabella and William eyed each other warily, like two feral animals sizing each other up.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said, making for her aunt’s room. With anger lending her strength, she began pulling the nearest trunk towards the door. It was heavy, but William’s words had struck a nerve.

  ‘Whatever are you doing?’ Mary cried, coming into the room, a brown parcel under each arm.

  ‘Sorry, Auntie, I hadn’t realized my luggage was still stored in here. I was trying to move it to the barn.’

  ‘Fiddlesticks. I told you it was all right where it was. Now come along, Dotty’s dishing up, and I for one am thurdlegutted.’ Seeing her aunt’s look, Isabella knew argument would be useless and followed her back to the kitchen where the children were gathered round the table.

  ‘Me ears is all froze,’ Alice announced.

  ‘I’m so hungry,’ Thomas cried, sniffing the air appreciatively.

  ‘Here you are,’ Dotty told them, passing round plates heaped high with a fried onion and potato concoction. Did you get what you needed, Mother?’ she asked.

  ‘Got the nips a hooded cape each from Tolley’s. Good condition too, but not cheap. Still, it’s a start. This is good, Dotty,’ Mary told her, tucking into her meal. ‘Father not back?’

  ‘He’s out looking for Uncle Bill,’ William replied.

  ‘Gone missing again, has he?’ she sighed.

  ‘What about a turnover for you, Mother?’ William asked.

  ‘Not this time,’ Mary replied. ‘We’ll just have to sell a few more flowers.’ Isabella stared at her aunt. Surely if her uncle was spending money on his business, they could afford new clothes for everyone? Unless . . . once again her thoughts went back to her papa’s effects. Well, her uncle had promised they would talk, and she would take the opportunity to ask him all that was worrying her.

  ‘You are welcome to anything in my trunks, Auntie,’ Isabella ventured.

  ‘That’s very kind, Izzie, but regrettably your flimsy, floaty things are not suited to our kind of life. And please don’t concern yourself about your luggage. I really don’t know what made you think you had to move it, anyhow.’ Isabella stared at William but he busied himself eating and didn’t look up. Dotty shook her head.

  ‘I’m sorry, Auntie, I had no idea that having lent me your turnover, you were going without. I shall wear my mantle into town tomorrow,’ Isabella told her.

  ‘That’s all right, dear, ’tis only just turned cold. Now, how did you get on today? And where did those apples come from?’ she said, eyeing Isabella’s basket on the floor. Once again, Isabella found herself relaying an edited version of her day.

  ‘But Grandmother thought Izzie was Father’s sister come back,’ Dotty cried, taking up the story. Isabella looked at her aunt expectantly, but she looked away.

  ‘Come on, it’s been a long day,’ she said quickly. ‘The dishes can wait until tomorrow.’

  Exhausted, Isabella fell onto her mattress. Although gentle snores soon emanated from her cousins, the events of the day played over and over in her mind. The cook’s comments about her mother had been interesting but she sincerely hoped she’d never have to encounter Lord Lester again. The thought of him trying to kiss her sent shudders down her spine. Her reaction might have been justified but she knew enough about life to know people would think there was no smoke without fire. And Lord Lester wasn’t the kind of man to take kindly to rejection so would there be any repercussions?

  William’s outburst had stirred her conscience and she resolved to help her aunt more. It had been good seeing Felix again and getting to know Joseph, too. Poor Uncle Bill, she hoped he was all right and that when Uncle Frederick returned he would keep his word about their discussion. She had so much to ask him. It had been a surprise seeing her grandmother so lucid, albeit for a short time. Hopefully, she would soon have another good day, for although she kept hearing bits about her mama, fitting them together was proving to be more difficult than the most complicated jigsaw puzzle.

  Chapter 21

  The next morning, Isabella took her customary place between the circulating library and stationer’s. William’s words had struck home and, having recovered her mantle and smoothed it as best she could, she was now wearing it over the lavender outfit. It certainly wasn’t in the condition she was used to, yet she couldn’t bear to think of her aunt being cold. Vowing that from now on she’d be more considerate of the needs of the family who’d taken her in, she intended to sell as many bunches of violets as she could for their full price. She would then take the rest to the sisters’ house – if she could find her way, that was.

  Putting her hand inside her collar, she ran her fingers over her mama’s pearls, comforted as ever by their presence. Knowing her aunt wouldn’t have approved of her wearing them into town, she’d concealed them under her jacket before leaving the cottage, and hopefully today they would prove a tangible link to her past. Patting her collar back into place, she smiled at the early-morning shoppers in an effort to entice them to stop and buy.

  It was to no avail as everyone hurried by without even acknowledging her. A bitter wind blew up, bringing with it the strong smell of salt and se
aweed, and before long she was so cold, she could hardly feel her feet.

  ‘Here you are, dear.’ The woman from the stationer’s appeared at her side, holding out a steaming mug.

  ‘Oh, er, thank you,’ Isabella replied. She was about to say she never partook of refreshment in the street but the delightful aroma of coffee proved too tempting. Taking it gratefully from her, she glanced left and right then drank it quickly. The hot liquid tantalized her tastebuds and warmed her insides. ‘That was delicious, and most welcome. Thank you again,’ she said, handing back the empty mug. The woman grinned.

  ‘You looked as though you needed it. Winter’s certainly blowing itself in with a roar, isn’t it? Look, why don’t you stand behind my sign? It’ll help keep the wind off you. Not having much luck with the flowers, then?’ she said, gesturing towards Isabella’s overflowing basket.

  ‘I guess it’s too cold for people to stop,’ Isabella sighed. The woman eyed her doubtfully.

  ‘Perhaps if you looked a little less affluent they’d find you more approachable,’ she suggested. ‘Tell you what, I’ll take a bunch. A spot of colour will liven up my counter,’ she said, producing a couple of coins from her pocket. Isabella smiled gratefully and handed over the violets. Then, as the woman turned to leave, she remembered her uncle.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen Uncle Bill, have you?’

  ‘Gone off again, has he? Let me think now,’ she murmured, staring out over the green opposite. ‘I do recall seeing him hurrying in the direction of the rhyll, stupid man. Still, if it helps him forget, you can’t blame him, can you? Oops must go, customer waiting.’ The woman bustled off leaving Isabella to ponder what she’d been told.

  What on earth was he doing at the rhyll, Isabella wondered, remembering the seedy place he’d rescued her from. As three smartly dressed ladies approached, she smiled and held out her basket. Despite her fine clothes, they raised their immaculate brows, tutted to each other and crossed the street and began walking along the green. ‘Stuck-up toffs,’ she muttered. Then, realizing what she’d said, she laughed. Goodness, what had Dotty said about her now being working-class?

  As another gust of wind lifted her skirts and tugged at the ribbons on her hat, she turned to take shelter behind the sign. Just then someone tapped her on the shoulder.

  ‘Hello, dear.’ She spun round to see the two sisters beaming at her. They were dressed in their customary black outfits, the berries on their hats bobbing up and down as they greeted her.

  ‘Good morning, Agnes, Miriam,’ she cried happily.

  ‘My, you are looking pretty today,’ Agnes gushed, taking in Isabella’s outfit. ‘Is that new?’

  ‘Goodness me, no. It’s one Gaskell, my chaperone, packed for me.’

  ‘Ah, I thought it had the style of the city about it,’ Agnes nodded. ‘Actually, my dear, we thought we’d come and see if you still wanted to join our little meeting this afternoon?’

  ‘Indeed, I do,’ Isabella told them. The sisters beamed again then exchanged a look.

  ‘I see you’ve still got lots of flowers left,’ Miriam remarked, glancing in her basket.

  ‘We nearly bought some yesterday from a woman with black curls and gold hoops in her ears. Quite insistent, she was, but we know violets don’t last long and feared they might wilt before our meeting today,’ Agnes added.

  ‘You would have purchased them cheaper, though,’ Isabella replied, recalling the lady from the beach.

  ‘Oh no, dear, she was selling them for the same price as you,’ Miriam frowned. Well, of all the cheek, Isabella thought, but the sisters were linking their arms through hers. ‘Come along, we’ve a seance to arrange,’ they cried.

  As they hurried her through the streets, Isabella tried hard to remember the way. The last thing she wanted was to lose her bearings again. However, the sisters moved at such a pace that all too soon they were letting themselves into the house they were leasing. Isabella was ushered down the hall with its familiar smell of beeswax, rose petals and that other fragrance she couldn’t discern, then into the same room as before. This time a fire was blazing brightly in the hearth.

  ‘Now, let Miriam take your basket then we’ll have a nice drink to warm up. It’s certainly bitter out there,’ Agnes told her, holding her hands to the fire. ‘Miriam has made a special tart for our luncheon, with Naples bisket grated over egg yolks and cream, all seasoned with nutmeg, cinnamon and sugar.’ She touched her fingers to her lips and kissed them theatrically.

  ‘But I couldn’t finish it without these,’ Miriam cried, holding out the violets.

  ‘Goodness, you put flowers in your tart?’ Isabella frowned.

  ‘It is the pièce de résistance,’ Miriam nodded. ‘We put flowers in everything.’ The sisters looked at each other and giggled. ‘I’ll drop these into the kitchen and make us a nice tisane.’

  ‘And I’ll take your mantle, dear, or you won’t feel the benefit when you leave.’ As Agnes held out her hand, Isabella shrugged off the garment and gave it to her.

  ‘I can’t get over how different you look,’ Agnes enthused, her eyes settling on the pearls at Isabella’s neck. ‘Quite the young lady. Although that worn mantle doesn’t do you justice, if you don’t mind my saying. And this lovely necklace was your mother’s?’ she asked taking a step closer and scrutinizing the ropes.

  ‘Yes, these are the pearls I mentioned last time. Do you think they will help Mama to, er, come through?’ she asked, trying to remember the term Agnes had used.

  ‘They might,’ Agnes nodded. ‘Of course, I shall need to feel them, hold them, soak up their aura.’

  ‘They have an aura?’ Isabella asked, unfastening the clasp and placing them in her outstretched hand.

  ‘Of course. They will have absorbed your mother’s life force,’ the woman explained, running her fingers over the stones. ‘Such lustre and size, so nearly perfectly round,’ she murmured. ‘These pearls must surely be natural?’ she asked, giving Isabella a keen look.

  ‘Goodness, yes. Papa adored Mama and would only give her the best. Why, does it make a difference then?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said, a gleam sparking in her eyes. ‘Now, hush for a moment while I try to capture their essence.’ Agnes closed her eyes and slowly ran her finger over each pearl.

  ‘Will they make Mama come through, then?’ Isabella asked, too excited to be quiet.

  ‘You’ll need to be patient, child, sometimes it takes longer than others.’

  ‘But Papa nearly came through last time, didn’t he?’ Isabella persisted.

  ‘Have you brought something of your papa’s as well?’ Agnes asked, her eyes snapping open. Isabella shook her head.

  ‘I don’t really have anything, although I know Uncle brought some of his things back from Chester Square after his fun—’ As the tears begin to well, her voice trailed off. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered, taking out her handkerchief and dabbing her eyes.

  ‘No need to apologize, my dear. Grief can hit at the most unexpected times and yours is still very raw. Ah, here’s Miriam with our tisanes,’ she said.

  ‘Just what the doctor ordered,’ Miriam smiled, handing her a glass in its silver holder. Isabella smiled her thanks, inhaling the heady aroma which seemed stronger than she remembered.

  ‘Now, drink up, it will make you feel brighter,’ Agnes instructed. Isabella duly sipped the fragrant liquid and before long felt that blanket of tranquillity wrap itself around her once more. In fact, she relaxed so much she hardly noticed the conversation going on around her. Then she became aware of the sisters staring at her.

  ‘Feeling better now?’ Agnes asked. Isabella smiled for her spirits had lifted and she was feeling quite insouciant.

  ‘I’m pleased to see you have a much better colour,’ Miriam told her. ‘Now, we need to partake of luncheon if we are to be finished before our dear ladies arrive,’ she added, handing her a plate upon which nestled a delicate tartlet. This time she was also given a pastry fork. ‘I made this espec
ially for today so do let me know what you think.’ As Isabella cut into it, the pastry flaked and the filling smelled sweet-scented and quite heady.

  ‘Goodness, I didn’t or have such an effect. You know bisket could taste so exquisite or have such an effect. You said you added flowers, which did you use?’ she asked. The sisters looked at each other and giggled again.

  ‘Sorry you must forgive us. Not many people appreciate our culinary skills. We use violets, primroses, poppy tears, even strawberries, whatever’s in season at the time,’ Miriam told her. Isabella blinked, did she say tears? Before she could check, the woman got to her feet. ‘Talking of flowers, I must go and finish my nostr—er, nosegays.’ As she left the room, Isabella looked over at Agnes but the woman had her eyes closed and was stroking the pearls again. The room was quite hot now and, feeling her own lids growing heavy, Isabella sat back in her seat. She must have dropped off for, the next thing she knew, Agnes was patting her shoulder.

  ‘Time for our meeting.’ Groggily Isabella got to her feet. Then she saw Agnes was holding out her pearls.

  ‘Do you think Mama will come through?’ she asked again.

  ‘One can never be sure,’ she sighed. ‘I haven’t had much time to really absorb the pearls’ spirit, but we can try. Now, do you have the case for them?’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, I can fasten them back on now,’ Isabella said. Agnes shook her head. ‘Sorry, dear, I make it a rule never to have material goods of the deceased in the room in case it interferes with the spiritual energy.’

  ‘I understand,’ Isabella replied, delving into her pocket and drawing out the satin-lined case.

  ‘Thank you, dear. Now, don’t get your spirits up,’ she gave a titter at her own joke. ‘Your mama may or may not come through this time. We shall have to wait and see,’ she said, leading the way into the room where the meetings were held.