by Linda Finlay
‘Oh, er, well I . . . ,’ she began, wanting to comply yet knowing she couldn’t until she collected them from the sisters.
‘Clearly you don’t have any faith in us,’ he muttered when she hesitated. Turning on his heel, he stomped back outside.
‘Felix Furneaux called to say they’ve found Bill and taken him home,’ Mary called after him but, if he heard, he gave no indication.
‘Don’t worry, dear, he’ll come around. Although it would help if you could show him you trust us. Sets a lot of store by that, he does. Now, what did you think of Uncle Bill’s place? Looks after it a treat, doesn’t he? Well, most of the time.’
‘It was beautiful and Joseph was really kind showing me around,’ she said, bending to reach another box. ‘He said they would be growing potatoes next year. Will you be sending them to Covent Garden instead of violets?’ Hearing a snort, she turned to find William rocking with mirth.
‘Oh yeah, we’re going to sell teddies and eat violets,’ he said, dumping yet more flowers into water. ‘You still have no idea what running these large market gardens for a living entails, do you?’
‘Well, I . . . ,’ but she was talking to his retreating back.
‘Don’t worry, Izzie. William doesn’t understand you’ve only been here a couple of months. Anyway, you’re doing well there,’ she added, nodding approvingly at the flowers Isabella had packed. ‘At this rate, we’ll be in time for the train after all. It’s a bit different to trying to sell them in town, isn’t it?’
‘Goodness yes, I hate that,’ Isabella cried. ‘All those snooty women looking down their nose at me as they pass by.’
‘Well, you’ve been coming back with an empty basket, so if they haven’t been buying your flowers, who has?’ her aunt asked, giving her a searching look.
Chapter 23
Isabella stared at her aunt, trying in vain to come up with a reasonable explanation, but then the woman shrugged.
‘No, don’t answer, Izzie. Having spent the morning speaking about trust, it’s time I put it into practice.’ Knowing she should admit she’d been selling her flowers to the sisters, Isabella flushed and stared back down at the posies on the trestle. Despite her aunt’s understanding, Isabella knew she wouldn’t approve of seances, and being desperate to hear from her mama or papa, she didn’t dare risk being forbidden to attend. Besides, she had to collect her mama’s pearls.
Racking her brains for something to steer the conversation away from selling, she remembered one thing she’d been meaning to ask.
‘A gentleman stopped his carriage and enquired if I had any tussie-mussies. What are they?’ she asked.
‘Small nosegays decorated with a lace doily,’ her aunt replied, looking thoughtful. ‘Suitors use them to convey messages to their loved ones.’
‘How? I mean flowers can’t talk, can they?’ she asked, trying not to laugh.
‘Oh, but they can, my dear. Each bloom has its own meaning. The language of flowers, they call it. Our dear Queen was a staunch advocate, until her beloved Albert was taken. Though these violets have always been a favourite of hers,’ she said, picking up the bunch she’d just counted out. ‘They mean faithful love. To assure a lady of his devotion, a gentleman might ask you to wrap them in lavender-coloured lace. A red rosebud in the middle signifies ardent love, while a sprig of myrtle would add strength to that.’
‘Goodness, how fascinating,’ Isabella cried. ‘Maxwell bought me the odd corsage but never anything like that. Still, I don’t suppose there’s a flower for him finding another,’ she muttered.
‘Well, the yellow sweetbriar denotes the decease of love,’ her aunt told her. ‘But bitterness is a waste of energy so why dwell on such unworthy thoughts on a lovely day like this?’ Hearing the rain drumming even harder on the roof, Isabella stared at her in amazement. Then she realized the woman was humouring her and smiled.
‘Does it always rain here?’ she asked. ‘I’m sure I don’t remember it being this wet in London.’
‘Ah, come to lovely Devon where it rains six days out of seven,’ Mary chortled. ‘Not completely true, but near enough. Still, if it wasn’t for our moist climate the violets wouldn’t flourish, so it’s a small price to pay. ’Tis good for the complexion, too. Talking of rain, those boots of yours are less than useless for this weather. I’ll see if I’ve got something more suitable in my chest.’
‘Oh, please don’t go to any more trouble,’ Isabella said, glancing at the sturdy, lace-up boots her aunt favoured. Never could she wear anything so unsightly; she’d rather suffer wet feet until she could have replacements made for the button boots she favoured.
‘It’s no trouble. I’ve already found some grey woollen material in the closet which would make a serviceable warm dress for you. It worries me, you going around selling flowers all dressed up like a lady. Don’t argue,’ she added holding up her hand when Isabella opened her mouth to protest. ‘That frock of yours, pretty though it might be, is too flimsy for winter. Besides, people have been talking and, as your guardians, it is up to Father and I to make sure you act and dress properly.’
‘Who said you were my guardians?’ she cried.
‘Your father, my dear, and we would be doing him a disservice if we didn’t take our responsibility seriously.’
‘But I attain my majority in February.’
‘And until then you are in our care. Father and I had a long chat after Felix brought you back from town in what can only be described as a state quite unbefitting of a young lady. We decided that from now on you’re to be treated exactly the same as Dotty and Alice, which means abiding by the rules of the house. Now, it’s nearly noon so I’m going to prepare our luncheon then see to Mother.’ Seeing Isabella’s hopeful look, she shook her head. ‘She’s having another of her mad and muddled days so I won’t suggest you come with me. Finish packing the flowers in here then you’ll be ready for something to eat.’
Isabella watched through the open door as her aunt dashed across the puddled yard and into the cottage. As far as she could make out, abiding by the rules of the house meant doing as she was told. It was all right for the others, Dotty was only seventeen while Alice was still an infant. She, on the other hand, would be twenty-one in February and whilst it was only three months away, for someone used to doing what she wanted when she wanted, it sounded like a life sentence. Frustration lending energy to her work, she continued posying and packing, but soon the violets worked their magic and she felt calmer and focused again. She was just placing the last of the bunches into the box when Frederick strode into the barn.
‘Well, girl, you’ve done a grand job here and no mistake,’ he said, pushing his hat to the back of his head so that raindrops slid down the back of his coat and onto the floor. ‘Getting the hang of things are yer?’
‘It took a while, but now I’m actually enjoying it,’ she told him, surprised to find it was true. He nodded and stared at her for a moment.
‘Want to see the new cultivars I’m nurturing?’ he asked. Shocked by his praise and offer, she followed him to the other side of the barn and waited while he unlocked the door. Ushering her in, he proudly gestured to the rows of earth-filled boxes covered with sheets of glass that were set out on another trestle. Peering inside one, she saw little green shoots which, although healthy, looked different to the plants outside.
‘Goodness,’ she murmured, not knowing what else to say.
‘You should have seen them a few weeks ago,’ he chuckled, mistaking her surprise. ‘Tiny they were. Now look at them,’ he said proudly. ‘And, with some tender loving care, they’ll be ready to be transplanted come spring. Be the making of this household, they will, put our name on the map and money in the bank. But until then they’ll need lots of kind words.’
‘Kind words?’ she asked, certain he was jesting.
‘Of course, plants need nurturing and encouraging just like people,’ he said, giving her a knowing look. ‘Mother thinks I was too harsh earlier but I was sa
ddened you had no faith in us. She says it’s a failing of mine being hot-headed,’ he sighed.
‘It is I who should apologize, Uncle. My accusation was unforgivable.’
‘Well, water under the bridge, as your aunt always says. Don’t think I’ve forgotten our discussion about your mother either, but what with Bill taking off, things have been hectic. This is where I come to think things out, so perhaps we’ll have our talk in here, away from flapping ears, eh?’
‘Could we start now?’ she asked eagerly only to hear William calling them.
‘Best go in for luncheon. But soon, Izzie, I promise. Remember, though, not a word about my new babies to anyone outside this family.’
It was a simple meal of cheese and oatmeal biscuits, but Isabella was so hungry she tucked in with relish.
‘Forgot to put the dough in to bake,’ Aunt Mary admitted as she sat munching her food while scribbling a shopping list.
‘That was my fault,’ Isabella admitted.
‘Surprise, surprise,’ William muttered only to receive a stern look from his father.
‘We need a fair few things,’ Mary said, running her finger down the page.
‘Right, William. Mother and I have things to discuss, so you take the flowers to Dawlish station today. Isabella, some fresh air will do you good so you go with him. He can drop you at the grocer’s then pick you up on his return journey.’ Ignoring William’s scowl, Frederick continued: ‘Dotty’s visiting a friend this afternoon and Thomas and Alice are staying over to help Joseph so you won’t have to worry about them.’
‘That’d certainly be a help, if you don’t mind,’ Mary said, looking askance at Isabella.
‘Of course, Auntie,’ she replied, eager to atone for her earlier behaviour.
‘Pudge’s is opposite the grocer’s, so you could pop in there and pick up a length of mauve ribbon. Sewn onto that grey material, you’ll have a dress suitable for wearing during your period of mourning.’
‘I didn’t know you had money to spare for furbelows, Mother,’ William frowned.
‘Isabella has been earning her keep same as you, boy, and will receive equal allowance. ’Tain’t much, mind,’ Frederick said, pushing a couple of coins across the table, ‘but it’s yours to spend as you wish.’
‘Goodness, thank you, Uncle,’ she murmured. Was there no end to his surprises this day?
William was sullen as they drove into town. Despite the rain falling in sheets, everywhere was busy and he stared purposefully ahead, dodging traffic, pedestrians and the debris that littered the wet roads.
‘Saw you coming out of Father’s private potting area earlier. You might think you’ve got your feet well and truly under the table, but I’m the oldest son and Father’s market garden will be mine one day, so don’t you go getting any ideas,’ he grunted, drawing to a halt outside a row of shops at the seaward end of town.
‘I wouldn’t dream of it. Muxy hands and thoughts are not for me, thank you,’ she told him, smiling sweetly as she climbed down and collected her basket. Resisting the urge to make an unladylike gesture, she turned her attention towards the draper’s shop. Bales of materials filled one window whilst the other displayed lace collars, scarves, hat pins and a miscellany of other accessories. Pushing open the door, Isabella looked around in surprise. It certainly bore little resemblance to the smart linen draper’s she’d previously visited. Here the merchandise was piled haphazardly and covered every conceivable space.
‘Can I help you, my dear?’ a pleasant voice asked. Isabella made her way to the counter where a plump woman stood smiling at her.
‘Good afternoon, madam. I’m looking for mauve ribbon to trim a grey woollen dress,’ she asked.
‘We got ribbons of all sorts. Have a gander at this little lot,’ she invited, pulling out a wooden drawer and placing it on the counter. Isabella cast her eye over the various spools, selecting the one she thought most appropriate. While the woman measured it out on the rule that ran the length of the shiny wooden counter, Isabella stared idly around. At the back of the shop hung the ready-made corsets Dotty had told her about. She couldn’t help grimacing at their wrinkled forms which reminded her of the chicken carcasses she’d seen swinging from hooks outside the butcher’s. Did women really wear such ugly garments?
‘Settled in at the Northcott’s, have you?’ the woman asked, handing over the ribbon wrapped in brown paper.
‘Oh, er, yes, thank you,’ she murmured, dropping the correct money into the woman’s podgy hand and heading for the door. ‘Tell Dotty I got what she wanted,’ the woman called. Shaking her head at the woman’s familiarity, Isabella began making her way across the road just as a heavily laden cart swung around the corner, swaying and shedding straw on the road. She jumped back but was too late to avoid its wheels spraying mud over her skirts. The driver, a boy in a tattered shirt collar and fraying cuffs, shook his fists at her as he went past.
‘Really,’ Isabella fumed, dabbing ineffectually at the marks with her handkerchief. Muttering crossly under her breath, she pushed open the door of the grocery shop with such force, it set the bell jangling violently.
There was a stunned silence as the grocer and the line of waiting customers turned to stare at her. To her chagrin, she saw one of them was Felix Furneaux. He gave a slight lift of his brow.
‘Good afternoon, Miss Carrington. I trust all is well?’ he enquired, his lips twitching.
‘Quite dandy, thank you, Mr Furneaux,’ she told him, forcing a smile. Then, not wanting him to see her in a dishevelled state yet again, she moved away to take a look around.
The store was well stocked with haunches of smoked ham hanging from hooks in the ceiling. Glass-fronted counters were covered in baskets of pulses, and other dried goods were displayed on a ledge beneath. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, holding an assortment of jars, canisters, multicoloured packets of food and household commodities.
The babble around her subsided briefly as two customers bustled out of the shop together, then her attention was caught by the grocer’s voice.
‘Not great weather for lifting the ladies’ skirts, eh Felix?’
‘It certainly isn’t, and some of them are crying out for attention, too,’ he replied. ‘You wouldn’t believe how frustrating it is having to bide my time.’ Hardly able to believe what she was hearing, Isabella turned away again, feigning an interest in the large bins containing oatmeal, barley and flour. Only when she heard the tinkle of the bell as Felix left, did she move towards the counter.
‘Good afternoon, Miss,’ the grocer said.
‘Good afternoon. I have been asked to collect these items,’ she replied, handing over the list her aunt had made. He nodded, removed the pencil lodged behind his ear and began plucking things from the shelves, crossing off each item as he put it on the counter.
She watched as he expertly sliced cheese, placed it on greased paper and weighed it. Then he picked up a pair of wooden paddles, went over to where a mound of golden butter glistened from a stone slab. He cut off a piece, shaped it into a neat pat before wrapping and tying it with string. Finally, he weighed out broken biscuits from a jar, added them to everything else, then quickly tallied his row of numbers.
‘Tell Mrs Northcott, end of the month as usual,’ he said, handing it back to Isabella. He was about to say something else but the little bell tinkled again and William entered the shop.
‘Good afternoon, William. Everything’s neatly packaged ready for transport.’
‘Thank you, Mr Cox,’ he said, picking up the parcels. ‘Perhaps you could manage to bring the biscuits,’ he said airily to Isabella. Fighting down her irritation at his patronizing attitude, she nodded to the grocer and followed him outside.
‘How was your afternoon’s shopping?’ he asked, stowing the groceries in the back of the cart. ‘Saw Furneaux’s cart parked outside when I went past earlier. Bit of a coincidence, being as he called by the cottage to see you this morning.’
‘I don�
��t know what you mean,’ she replied, still reeling from what she’d heard in the shop.
‘Oh, come on, it’s obvious he’s got a thing for you,’ William smirked.
‘Well, I do not reciprocate this thing, as you put it. Anyway, a man who goes around lifting the skirts of ladies is disgusting and certainly of no interest to me,’ she snapped. William stared at her for a moment, then a light sparked in his dark eyes.
‘Oh, so you’ve heard,’ he said gravely. ‘Hardly surprising really, for he is well known around here for his weird ways.’
Chapter 24
‘Are you awake?’ Dotty whispered, sinking down onto her mattress and pulling the cover over her.
‘Yes,’ Isabella admitted, for although she’d pleaded tiredness to escape her aunt’s cheerful questions and William’s sneering looks, she hadn’t been able to sleep. The storm raging outside only reflected the turmoil seething inside her.
‘You was in a right old state when you came back yesterday. Felix was that worried about you. I reckon he likes you, Izzie. You know, I mean really likes you,’ she said.
‘Well, I really don’t like him,’ Isabella replied. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get Felix’s bizarre revelation out of her mind. To think she’d considered him honest, candid even.
‘Can’t think why not. He’s good-looking and fun. Father used to like him too, before they started growing flowers for the market. Cors, he’s not as handsome as my Alfie.’
Realizing she wasn’t going to get any peace, Isabella sighed inwardly and turned towards her cousin. Even in the dark, she could tell the girl was beaming.
‘You’ve seen Alfred then?’
‘How did you guess?’ she giggled. ‘It was his afternoon off and he treated me to coffee and cake in that smart café on the front. Lovely, it was.’
‘The cake, you mean?’ In spite of her own low mood, Isabella couldn’t help smiling at the girl’s enthusiasm.
