by Linda Finlay
‘I meant your servant boy,’ Isabella explained, giving her aunt a bewildered look.
‘Cor, bless you dear, we don’t have no servants here,’ she replied.
‘What, none at all?’ Isabella gasped. ‘Then who does all the work?’
‘We do, of course. All mucks in together,’ her uncle replied, looking her up and down. ‘I hope you’ve brought some sensible clothes with you. Them fancy threads’ll be no good for working the land.’
‘Working the land?’ she gasped.
‘Ah,’ he nodded. ‘Come the morrow you’ll be pitching in too. Got to earn your keep, girl.’
Chapter 3
As Isabella stared at her uncle in dismay, a hush fell over the room.
‘I’m not sure what my chaperone has packed for me.’
‘Well, don’t worry about that now, my dear,’ her aunt said quickly. ‘You must be fair parched after all your travels. I’ll set the kettle to boil and Dotty can show you where you’ll be sleeping.’
‘Me too,’ Alice cried, springing to her feet and scurrying over to a flight of steep steps that led straight off the kitchen. Gingerly Isabella followed them up the narrow staircase and into a small room where three mattresses topped with yellow coverlets lay side by side on the floor. There was a cast iron fireplace on one wall and a small closet squeezed into the corner with a fly-spotted mirror hanging up beside it.
‘Mother got Father to put that up ’specially. We’ve never had our own looking-glass before,’ Alice proudly declared.
‘He said you’d be used to tiddyvating,’ Dotty said knowingly. ‘And it means I can see to frizz my hair,’ she added, patting her sleek braid.
‘Why would you do that?’ Isabella asked, staring at her in astonishment.
‘To puff it up, of course. Father says he’s seen thicker rats’ tails,’ Dotty laughed.
Charming, Isabella thought, turning towards the window. Like the rest of the cottage, it was tiny and hung with yellow curtains that, although clean, had definitely seen better days. A single candlestick stood alone and forlorn on the windowsill. She knew just how it felt, she thought, remembering her comfortable chamber at home.
‘Not what you’re used to?’ Dotty guessed, seeing her expression.
‘Don’t you like it?’ Alice asked. ‘We’ve squeezed up so you can get your mattress in and Mother’s made you a new cover just like ours.’
‘It’s a lovely room and I appreciate you making space for me,’ Isabella assured her. ‘Where are the facilities?’
‘The facil—you mean the privy?’ Dotty frowned. Isabella nodded. ‘Out the back in the yard and there’s a tin bath in the shed which Mother brings in each Saturday night. It’s quite cosy with the range lit.’
‘You mean you bathe in the kitchen?’ Isabella shuddered. Before Dotty could reply, William staggered into the room, set her trunk down with a thud then turned to face her.
‘There’s no room left in here so where would you like the boy to put the rest of your things, your ladyship?’ he asked, venom sparking in his dark eyes.
‘Look, I . . . ’ she began, but he was already thundering down the stairs. The two girls stared after him in dismay.
‘William isn’t usually rude like that,’ Dotty frowned.
‘It’s my fault. When your father said he hadn’t brought the boy with him I assumed he was referring to your servant,’ Isabella explained. ‘I had no idea you didn’t have staff until your mother explained just now.’
‘Be good if we did, though,’ Dotty laughed. ‘We wouldn’t have to wash the dishes or sweep the floor. Don’t worry about William, he’ll get over it. Boy is what Father calls him, by the way.’
‘Doesn’t it get confusing when you have two other brothers?’ Isabella asked. Dotty shook her head.
‘He always called me the girl and when William came along he was the boy. Then Joe was born and Father realized he couldn’t call him boy as well so had to use his name, though he always says Joseph, of course.’
‘And he calls me Alice Band, ’cos he says I’m like Alice in Wonderland,’ the girl added proudly. ‘But I can’t say Isa—, Isba—your fancy name so I’ll call you Izzie.’ Isabella opened her mouth to protest then saw the girl’s eager expression and smiled.
‘Why not,’ she conceded. After all, it was only going to be for a short time. Maxwell was bound to arrive soon.
‘Tay’s up.’ As Mary’s voice sounded up the stairs, Alice turned to Isabella.
‘Come on, Mother’s baked Devon splits ’specially for your arrival.’
‘That’s the boys’ room opposite,’ Dotty told her, as they made their way back down the stairs. Isabella was about to ask where her parents slept when she heard her uncle’s voice bemoaning the extent of her luggage.
‘I tell you, Mother, I don’t know where we’ll put it all. The boy says there’s no space left in the girls’ room. She’ll have to hang her work clothes in the closet and leave the finery in that fancy trunk.’
‘Hush,’ Mary warned when she saw Isabella. ‘There you are, dear. Come and sit down,’ she added, shooing a large tabby off the chair beside her. As the cat yowled in protest, her aunt laughed and returned her attention to pouring tea from the large brown earthenware pot. ‘Don’t mind Tibbles, he thinks it’s his right to sit nearest the range. Now you maak a tay,’ she added.
‘Sorry?’ Isabella frowned.
‘Mother means tuck in, eat as much as you can,’ Dotty told her.
‘Hurry up, I’m starving,’ William grunted. Isabella stared at everyone squashed together around the table, quickly brushed the hair-covered seat with her hand, and took her place beside them. A steaming mug was placed in front of her but the thick dark liquid made her stomach heave, and it didn’t help when Dotty proffered a plate of sponge cakes spread lavishly with cream and strawberry jam. Forcing a smile, she took the smallest then looked in vain for a knife to cut it with. There didn’t appear to be any napkins either. Unaware of her predicament, the others tucked in as if they hadn’t seen food for weeks.
‘Well, Mother, you’ve done us proud,’ her uncle declared, licking cream from his fingers. ‘That’ll keep us going til supper. Come on, boys, there’s still work to be done.’ He got to his feet then noticed Isabella had hardly eaten anything. ‘Didn’t you like Mother’s baking?’ he frowned.
‘Doesn’t do to let good food go to waste,’ William said, snatching it from her plate before she could reply.
‘Will . . . ,’ her aunt began, but she was talking to his departing back. ‘Sorry about that. There’s more in the pantry if you’d like.’ Isabella shook her head.
‘Thank you but I’m not really hungry. Perhaps I could freshen up?’ she asked, getting to her feet.
‘Of course. Dotty, you show Isabella where everything is. Alice, the teddies need boiling and bashing for supper.’
‘You boil and bash teddies?’ Isabella exclaimed, her eyes widening in surprise.
‘How else do you get mashed spuds?’ her aunt asked.
‘Spuds? Oh, you mean potatoes,’ she smiled.
‘Of course. Goodness me, maid, I can see you need an eddy-f’cation,’ her aunt tutted.
‘But I want to go outside too,’ Alice protested, interrupting them.
‘Sorry, pet, I need your help. You know Father insists we eat on time,’ Mary replied.
‘See you later then, Izzie,’ Alice sighed.
‘Her name’s Isabella,’ her mother remonstrated.
‘But I can’t say that so she said I could call her Izzie.’ Her aunt looked askance at Isabella who nodded.
‘Perhaps I could have my mantle if we’re going outside.’
‘But it’s only a few steps to the yard,’ Dotty replied looking surprised.
‘Isabella’s used to city life, Dotty,’ Mary reminded her. ‘Do you have any sturdier footwear, dear?’ she asked Isabella.
‘Sturdier?’ Isabella echoed, frowning down at her button boots.
‘For ou
tdoor wear,’ her aunt elaborated.
‘But these are my outdoor boots.’
‘Ah. Not to worry, it’ll probably be another month before we get any real rain. Gets right muddy then, it does.’
Out in the yard, Isabella looked around for the facilities but could only see a pump and a sprawl of ramshackle buildings.
‘That’s the privy,’ Dotty told her, gesturing towards one of the sheds. Supressing a shudder, Isabella slipped inside and carefully jammed the door closed with the piece of knotted twine which appeared to act as a bolt. Squinting in the gloom, she froze as she saw two piercing eyes glinting up at her. Then something furry brushed against her legs and with a scream, she staggered outside, an indignant-looking tabby cat flashing past her.
‘Oh Izzie, you should see your face,’ Dotty giggled.
‘Well, how was I to know the cat was lying in wait? I shall never go back in there, ever,’ she vowed.
‘You’ll be crossing your legs for an awfully long time then,’ her cousin told her with a shake of her head. ‘Bet poor old Tibbles got more of a fright anyhow ’cos that’s his hiding place when he gets shooed out of the kitchen. Come on, I’ll show you our violets.’
‘Goodness, I had no idea you had so much land or grew so many flowers,’ Isabella exclaimed as they wandered down the stone path. She seemed to be surrounded by fields of green velvet-leafed plants, many sprouting mauve buds.
‘’Tis the mild, damp climate. Brings them on a treat,’ Dotty smiled. ‘And this time of evening when there’s moisture in the air you gets to smell them best.’
As the sweet, musky scent wrapped itself around her, she was gripped by a sense of déjà vu, yet she knew she’d never been here before.
‘Lovely, isn’t it? And definitely an improvement on the smell of those vegetables we grew before.’
‘You haven’t always grown flowers then?’ Isabella asked. Dotty shook her head.
‘Father used to farm here but when it went into depression he turned the land over to cultivating the violets that grew wild. Uncle did the same on his land over there,’ she explained. Isabella looked to where she was gesturing and could just make out a line of green hedging in the distance. ‘It didn’t pay too well at first, then they realized there was a good demand for the flowers in London. Men buy them for their ladies to decorate their evening gowns, can you believe?’ Dotty exclaimed, raising her brows in amazement.
‘They are called corsages and I have worn them myself,’ Isabella replied, remembering how Maxwell had purchased some from the flower girl outside Claridge’s. Had it really been only the previous day?
‘Coo, father said you were used to having money but you must have been filthy rich before . . . ,’ Dotty clamped her hand over her mouth. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t meant to mention it.’ Isabella started to say they still were, then remembered her father’s disclosure.
‘Funny how things change, isn’t it?’ Dotty said, smiling sympathetically. ‘Once Father couldn’t even pay his bills and now we have all this,’ she cried, spreading her arms out wide. Isabella frowned, surprised her cousin should be content with so little. ‘And of course, you being family, we’re happy to share it with you,’ the girl added.
Isabella stared at her cousin, nonplussed. Although Dotty meant well, Isabella had no desire to be some kind of charity case. Not wishing to hurt her cousin’s feelings, she forced a smile.
‘Thank you, that is kind.’ Seeking to regain her equilibrium, she turned back towards the flowers where her uncle and cousins were moving between the plants, wielding long sticks.
‘What the . . . ,’ she began.
‘They’re hoeing the weeds,’ Dotty explained. ‘You have to keep them down or they choke the plants.’
‘Supper in ten,’ Mary called.
‘Coo, I’d no idea we’d been out here so long,’ Dotty exclaimed. ‘Better go, Mother’ll be wanting me to take Grandmother’s meal in to her.’
‘Your grandmother?’ Isabella asked.
‘Yours too,’ Dotty pointed out. ‘She lives in the house next door. No doubt you’ll get to meet her, though be warned, she’s away with the pixies most of the time.’
Isabella stared at Dotty in surprise. Until then, she hadn’t even thought about having a grandmother. Would she look like her mama? How wonderful it would be to meet this woman and find out about her.
‘Perhaps you could introduce me after supper?’ she asked eagerly. Dotty frowned.
‘I’ll speak to Mother. She’ll probably say it’d be best to leave it until Grandmother’s having a good day, though they’re as rare as hen’s teeth.’
‘I must meet her before I leave, though,’ Isabella insisted.
‘But . . . ,’ Dotty began. Then, hearing her mother call again, she shrugged.
As they squashed into their seats round the table, a delicious smell wafted from the large pot on the range.
‘Here you are, dear,’ the woman said, passing her a dish of stew surrounded by a mound of mashed potatoes.
‘Goodness me, I shall be enormous if I eat all this,’ Isabella protested, then seeing her uncle frown, hastily picked up her knife and fork.
‘Mother is a fine cook,’ he said, causing her aunt to blush. ‘And we need sustenance for our work tomorrow.’
‘We don’t usually get this much meat, so I likes you coming to live with us,’ Thomas piped up.
‘Actually, I’m not . . . ,’ Isabella began, but her uncle interrupted.
‘No talking at the table.’ Isabella blinked in surprise. Surely this was the very time for genial conversation? Obediently the others turned their attention to their food and the only noise was the scraping of cutlery on dishes.
‘That was very nice, thank you,’ Isabella said politely, pushing aside what she couldn’t eat.
‘Fancy words don’t butter no parsnips, Isabella,’ her uncle grunted. ‘And talking of fancy, there’s no room for all your luggage in here, so unpack what you need and we’ll store the rest in Grandmother’s barn.’
‘A barn,’ Isabella exclaimed.
‘Perhaps her spare room would be better?’ Mary ventured.
‘I’ll help you go through your things, Izzie,’ Alice cried. ‘I bet you’ve got lots of lovely dresses.’
‘I have,’ Isabella agreed thinking of her silks and chiffons. ‘Although I’ve left many behind in London,’ she added seeing the look on her uncle’s face. ‘If you tell me what you do around here in the evenings, I’ll have a better idea of what to unpack. Are there many balls or concerts . . . ?’ her voice trailed away as she saw their astonished expressions.
‘This be Doulis not London,’ William grunted.
‘Even so, you must have some form of entertainment,’ she persisted.
‘We have a harvest hop next month,’ Dotty volunteered.
‘And the church put on a splendid concert at Christmas,’ her aunt chipped in. ‘The choir sing lovely.’
‘There’s the Violet Ball in May,’ Dotty added.
‘May? But that’s months away,’ Isabella said, her heart sinking.
‘We don’t have much time for socializing, what with the long hours we work,’ her uncle told her.
‘Surely picking a few flowers doesn’t take all day,’ Isabella replied. Her uncle gave a snort.
‘You’ll see, Isabella. Market gardening is more than just picking a few flowers, as you put it. It’s a way of life. As well as sorting the violets into bunches and packing them up ready for market, there’s the cleaning to be done, meals to be cooked.’
‘Oh but . . . ,’ Isabella began. However, her uncle carried on as if she hadn’t spoken.
‘And you’ll pitch in and help, starting with breakfast in the morning.’
‘But I’ve never cooked anything in my life before,’ she frowned.
‘Then it’s time you learned. When your father sent that communication asking us to take you in, we didn’t hesitate.’
‘But I’m only staying a short while,’ Isabell
a pointed out. Her uncle gave a long sigh.
‘For as long as you are here, you’ll help Mother with the chores.’ Seeing the challenge in his eyes, something stirred in Isabella.
‘Of course, Uncle,’ she replied. She’d show him, she thought.
‘Now, go and sort some suitable clothes for the morning,’ he grunted. ‘Come along, boys,’ he ordered, going outside.
‘Don’t worry, my dear, we’ll show you what to do,’ her aunt told her as the door closed behind them. ‘Best stow those fine jewels in your trunk. You don’t want them getting dirty or damaged,’ she said, pointing to the pearls around Isabella’s neck.
That night, sleep eluded Isabella. Although enthralled by her fine gowns and jewellery, her cousins had decided none were suited for life on the flower farm. Reluctantly, she’d packed everything away again and 17-year-old Dotty, who was of a similar height although a little broader, had loaned her a cotton frock and smock. Now they were asleep, their snorts and snuffles disrupting her peace.
She sighed and ran her fingers over the silver locket, the only piece of jewellery not packed away. Oh Mama, she wept, I can hardly believe this tiny cottage is where you were raised, or that Uncle with his fastidious ways was your brother. He is so stern and forbidding while you were always so charming and gentle. Auntie has her own funny way of speaking but has been kind and welcoming. You should see my cousins, though. William is so hostile and the younger boys, Joseph and Thomas, follow his lead. At least Dotty and Alice are friendly. One good thing to come out of this enforced holiday is that I’ll hopefully get to meet your mama in the morning. Before Maxwell comes. Maxwell! Her heart flipped at the thought of seeing him again. Imagine having to live here permanently like Dotty and Alice. It didn’t bear thinking about, she thought, closing her eyes.
Chapter 4
What a frightful noise, Isabella groaned, pulling the cover up over her head. Only it wouldn’t reach and the bed was rock-hard beneath her. Frowning, she opened her eyes then blinked in the brightness. Why hadn’t the maid drawn her drapes? Then she remembered that she wasn’t in her comfortable chamber with its feather bed and sateen eiderdown, but crammed into a poky room, with a lumpy mattress on the floor alongside her cousins. Then she heard the dreadful squawking again but, turning her head, saw she was alone in the room.