by Linda Finlay
‘As you know, Furneaux’s going into competition with us. I were right cross when I heard but, as your Uncle Bill pointed out, the man has as much of a right to turn his land over to flower growing as us. We all have a living to earn, after all. But I’ve worked darn hard to get this business up and running and don’t intend to lose my market share.’
‘Market share, that’s good, Father,’ William chortled. ‘Market garden, market share, get it?’
‘Very funny, boy, but it won’t be no laughing matter if the price drops, which it will if the market’s saturated with violets. ’Tis all about supply and demand, and from today we are going to double our efforts to provide Covent Garden with the finest blooms at the best price. By the time Furneaux’s violets are ready for sale, we will have proved to the buyers that Northcott’s can fulfil their needs.’
‘But we work hard enough as it is, Father,’ Joseph said, waving his spoon in the air.
‘I know, boy, and that’s why your uncle and I have come up with a plan. But in order for it to succeed, each of you must play your part.’ He took a sip of his tea then stared at each of them in turn. ‘From now on, we will be working towards doubling our output.’
‘But Father . . . ,’ Mary began but her husband held up his hand to silence her.
‘No buts. As I said, Bill and I have worked out a way. First of all, Joseph, you will team up with your uncle and as it’s too far for you to travel there and back each day, you’ll move into his cot. Afore you complain, Mother, Bill will bring Joseph for Sunday lunch each week, so you will see him then.’ From the grin that met this statement, Isabella guessed that Joseph was happy with the news.
‘William, you’ll turn the rest of your grandmother’s garden over to growing violets. There’s a large patch down the bottom going wild and we might even dig up her yard, seeing as how she never uses it now.’ He leaned forward and patted William’s hand. ‘I’m putting you in charge of this part of the business, so it’s a good chance for you to prove yourself.’
‘Dotty, as well as taking violets to the big house on Thursdays then selling the rest in town, you will attend the Saturday market as well.’
‘Yes, Father,’ Dotty smiled, and again Isabella could see his idea had gone down well.
‘Perhaps I could come with you,’ Isabella offered, her spirits lifting at the thought of escaping for a few hours.
‘Don’t take two of you,’ her uncle growled. ‘You’ll stay here and help Mother.’
‘But . . .’ She looked at Dotty, hoping she would concur, but the girl stared quickly down at her dish.
‘If we’ve all got to do extra work, does this mean Alice and me don’t have to go to school no more?’ Thomas asked hopefully.
‘No, it does not. Eddy-f’cation’s everything,’ his mother said.
‘Didn’t do William any good, did it?’ Alice grinned. ‘He can’t read nor write proper, Izzie,’ she told her gleefully. Isabella stared at William in surprise.
‘Least I can add up, and the word is properly anyway,’ William retorted, but Isabella could tell by the way his face flushed that he was embarrassed.
‘That’s enough,’ his father said, banging his fist down on the table. ‘We’ve got enough to do without bickering. Alice and Thomas, you will get up an hour earlier every day to help Mother with the chores then pick the extra flowers we’ll be growing.’ This was met with groans but their father ignored them.
‘Mother, Dotty, and you girl – for the time you are here,’ he added as Isabella opened her mouth to protest, ‘will have extra flowers to pack. And as Dotty will be out more, you can watch how Mother prepares our meals then take over in the kitchen. I’m sure even you can manage to make brewis,’ he added.
‘What?’ Isabella gasped.
‘Of course she can, Father,’ her aunt said quickly, smiling encouragingly at Isabella.
‘As long as you remember to use the crusts and not just the bread,’ William smirked. Knowing it would be foolish to retaliate, Isabella bit her tongue. When he realized she wasn’t rising to the bait, William turned to his father. ‘So, what will you be doing then?’
‘Managing the extra orders and invoices. Then after supper I’ll spend the evenings propagating and bringing on fresh plants. Give Furneaux something to really compete with. Now, to work,’ he said, getting to his feet and pulling on his hat.
Isabella watched him go then glanced at the clock. It wasn’t yet 5.30 a.m. and yet she felt as if she’d been up for ever. She’d go upstairs and write to Maxwell and Papa. There was no way she could stay here with this strident man and his strict routine. As for the food, she thought, glaring down at her bowl . . . why, she’d seen Cook put better offerings in the pig swill.
Chapter 8
As the family carried out their father’s wishes, knowing her presence on the small holding was temporary, Isabella tried her best to fit in. While she applauded her uncle’s determination and tenacity, she was still smarting from the way he’d spoken to her on their journey back from Starcross. If he noticed her coolness he ignored it, treating her the same as the others during the day, then disappearing through the door at the end of the barn after supper each evening.
‘What’s through there?’ Isabella asked her aunt as they stood side by side bunching up the violets a few days later. Dotty, wearing her best bonnet, had departed earlier for the big house, a large willow basket filled with flowers over her arm, and the letters she’d promised Isabella she’d post in her pocket.
‘That’s Father’s domain,’ she replied. ‘He’s bringing on a new strain of plant. Between you and me, it’s a bit risky financially but very exciting. He’s keeping it under his hat so nobody’s allowed inside.’
‘You don’t mind him taking a chance with your money?’ Isabella asked, thinking of all the shabby things in the house that needed replacing. The woman chuckled.
‘Once Father gets something in his mind, there’s no stopping him. He’s no fool, though. Put everything into this market garden, he has, and if he wants to expand the range of flowers he can offer, who am I to stand in his way?’ Isabella nodded and concentrated on tying up the posies, but as she worked her mind was busy processing what her aunt had told her. Finally, she had to ask the question that was uppermost in her mind.
‘Auntie, when I arrived here, I handed Uncle an envelope from Papa that I’m guessing contained money for my keep?’ Her aunt stared at her in surprise.
‘He never mentioned it, but then he’s had a lot on his mind,’ she frowned. ‘Not that we expected anything for having you here. You’re family, after all.’
‘Thank you, Auntie,’ she replied, touched by the woman’s kindness. The more she thought it about it, though, the more she was convinced that the envelope would have contained money. Quite a lot too, judging by the thickness of it. Could her uncle have kept it for himself? Perhaps to purchase these new flowers?
‘Oh, well done, dear. You’re really getting the hang of this now, aren’t you?’
Isabella stared down at the posy she’d been fashioning and, with a jolt, realized it was true. All the flower heads were facing the same way and she’d even managed to tie their stems neatly with raffia. Feeling ridiculously pleased by her aunt’s praise, she beamed and started on another one. It was peaceful in the barn and, as the boxes filled up, she was proud to see the progress she was making. All thought of money forgotten, she let out a sigh of contentment.
‘Enjoying yourself?’ her aunt asked.
‘I am actually,’ Isabella replied, surprised to find it was true. ‘It’s so calm in here, although I still find it funny that you can’t smell any of the flowers after a while.’
‘Father might have a scientific reason for that, but I like to think it’s nature playing one of her jokes on us. I must admit, it’s a good time for thinking. Flowers don’t criticize or judge, do they?’ her aunt said, giving Isabella a wink. ‘And it’s rewarding to see the results of your labours, isn’t it?’
; ‘It is, but you must get tired with everything else you have to do. What with looking after your house and Grandmother’s, taking care of the family and teaching me to cook, you never have a moment to yourself, Aunt Mary.’
‘And why would I want one? My family and home mean everything to me, Isabella,’ she said.
‘But you don’t have any hired help,’ Isabella protested. Her aunt smiled.
‘It might surprise you to know that I take a pride in running both homes and bringing up the children. I was raised in an orphanage, you see.’ Isabella stared at her aunt in surprise. ‘Oh, we were well looked after, but with thirty of us sharing a dormitory and all our clothes cast-offs and hand-me-downs, I soon learned what mattered in life. Having my own home and family is like a dream come true.’
‘Goodness, I never realized,’ Isabella murmured, her eyes widening in shock. ‘Didn’t you know your parents at all?’ Her aunt shook her head.
‘I was left in a chapel porch on Dartmoor. Still, I thank my lucky stars whoever abandoned me knew I’d soon be found by folk that cared. They made enquiries but . . . ,’ she shrugged. ‘Anyhow, at least I was placed in a home . . . of sorts, anyhow,’ she added.
‘That’s terrible,’ Isabella frowned.
‘Your uncle’s the best thing that ever happened to me.’
‘How did you meet?’ Isabella asked.
‘I was in service at a big house on the edge of Moretonhampstead and met him at the town market on my half day. We got talking and just sparked. Couldn’t believe it when he called the next day and asked my employer if he would agree to my having a follower. Always been a man who knows his own mind, has Frederick,’ she smiled. ‘After we wed, he brought me back here with him.’
‘How romantic,’ Isabella gushed, feeling a sharp pang that her own plans for the future had been deferred.
‘Don’t mind me and my ruminations, dear,’ her aunt said quickly. The rosy flush staining her cheeks made her look softer somehow, and Isabella realized she wasn’t as old as she’d thought.
‘But I’d like to know more,’ she protested, seeing this as an ideal time to discover something about her own family. ‘Did you know you’d have to look after Grandmother as well?’ Isabella asked, pausing mid-posy.
‘Of course. Father told me about the shock . . . ,’ her voice trailed off and she quickly resumed her counting. Isabella wasn’t going to let the opportunity pass, though.
‘Am I right in guessing it had something to do with my mother?’
‘Well . . . ,’ her aunt began, looking flustered. Then William appeared, two laden baskets over his arms and, looking relieved, she said: ‘Oh my, you’ve picked yet more, I see. Father will be pleased. Good job Mrs Pudge let you have all those boxes.’
Grinning, he carefully placed them in the buckets they’d spent the past few hours emptying and it was all Isabella could do not to groan.
‘This little lot are from Grandmother’s garden. I’m off to dig over the wild patch at the back so we can plant more. We’ll be swimming in blue mice soon,’ William said, grinning at Isabella’s look of dismay. ‘Finding it hard to keep up, are you?’ he crowed. ‘No sign of your knight in shining armour coming to your rescue then?’
‘Now then, William. Your cousin’s doing a fine job and I for one am pleased to have her here. It’s nice to have a bit of intelligent conversation for once,’ she added.
As William snorted and loped from the barn, taking Isabella’s good humour with him, her aunt patted her shoulder.
‘Don’t mind him, dear. He might be my son but he’s all the sensitivity of a pumpkin.’
‘I’ve written to Maxwell again, as he might not have received my original note.’ Isabella could see the scepticism in her aunt’s eyes.
‘Well, suppose we’d better get on it like a bonnet,’ she joked. Knowing the woman was trying to make her feel better, Isabella forced down her frustration and reached for another box.
‘I hope this is the last lot, my back’s killing me,’ she winced. Having been in here since downing a hasty breakfast at the crack of dawn, she was hot and sticky. What she wouldn’t give for a lovely soak in the tub. Even a bowl of lovely warm water would suffice. However, a quick rinse under the pump each evening seemed to suffice for everyone here.
They worked on in silence, but whilst Isabella’s hands calmly tied yet more flowers into bunches, her thoughts ran amok. William’s remark about Maxwell rankled. However, the more she thought about it, the more she was convinced it was business that was keeping her intended in the City, for hadn’t he mentioned there’d been a big takeover in the offing? Maybe he was involved in it and unable to leave his office. Well, she’d soon know when he replied to her note. She hoped dear Papa would respond quickly too, for she longed to find out how he was, and surely by now he would know how much time he needed to sort everything out.
‘Come along, Daisy Daydream, as soon as we finish this lot we can break for luncheon.’
‘Shall I make a start on it?’ Isabella offered.
‘Please. There’s some of my brawn left so perhaps you could cut some bread to go with it and lay out pickles.’
‘Brawn?’ Isabella frowned.
‘Yes, from the pig’s head. I’ll show you how to make it if you like.’ Isabella gulped, her appetite vanishing completely. Oblivious, her aunt continued. ‘You’ll find it in a dish on the cold slab in the pantry. And I’m that parched, a nice strong brew would go down well,’ she said. Realizing it was her aunt’s tactful way of reminding her of her uncle’s preference, she forced a smile.
‘Don’t worry, Auntie, I’ll make strong tea in mugs with milk this time. And I’ll remember not to cut the crusts off the bread.’
‘You’re learning, dear,’ her aunt chuckled. ‘Keep your man’s stomach filled and he’ll be happy. Dotty won’t be back until later so there’ll just be the four of us. Perhaps you could make one of those dainty sandwiches for Mother. She so enjoyed hers the other day.’
‘I’ll take it in to her, shall I?’ she asked eagerly.
‘Best we go in together, dear, she’s that unpredictable,’ her aunt replied before returning to her counting.
To Isabella’s surprise, when she entered the kitchen, her grandmother was standing by the range. She was waving a spill in the air above the hob, her white curls bobbing wildly as she chatted away.
‘Got to get this lit.’
‘Hello, Grandmama,’ Isabella said cheerily, looking around to see who she’d been talking to. To her surprise there was nobody else in the room.
‘Who are you?’ the woman asked, staring at Isabella blankly.
‘I’m Isabella, your granddaughter,’ she explained. ‘We met a few days ago, don’t you remember?’ The woman narrowed her eyes.
‘Never see you afore in me life,’ she muttered. Then to Isabella’s horror, tears began rolling down her cheek. ‘Can’t abide strangers in my kitchen,’ she sobbed. Isabella moved to put a reassuring arm around her, but the woman backed away and cowered in the corner. At a loss to know what to do, she was relieved when William hurried into the room.
‘It’s all right, Grandmother,’ he soothed. ‘You’ve wandered into Mother’s kitchen by mistake. I’ll take you home, eh?’ Gently he put his arm around the woman and led her towards the door. ‘Don’t look so worried, she often gets like this,’ he whispered as he passed Isabella. ‘Put the kettle to boil, eh?’
She stared at William, hardly able to believe this was the terse person who’d delighted in taunting her ever since she’d arrived. Hands trembling, she did as he said then began setting out the luncheon. As she worked she began to feel calmer and couldn’t help puzzling over the old lady’s outburst. How could her grandmother not remember they’d met? And why was she crying? By the time her aunt came in, Isabella was pouring hot water into the big brown teapot.
‘I’ve just seen William. He’s sitting with Mother until I take her luncheon through.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Isabe
lla replied. Her aunt shook her head.
‘Best not at the moment. She’s in a bit of a state and needs to settle. What did she say to you exactly?’ she asked, scrutinizing Isabella closely.
‘That she’d never seen me before, which is strange when you introduced us only the other day.’
‘I know, dear, but she’ll have forgotten that,’ her aunt replied, looking strangely relieved. ‘Some days she remembers things, mostly she doesn’t. It’s the unpredictability that catches us unawares. That’s why we keep her door locked,’ she sighed.
Just then Dotty breezed in looking happy and carefree. Seeing the table spread with food, her face lit up.
‘Oh goody, I’m in time for luncheon. I’ve had a really good morning, Mother. Lord Lester is entertaining at the weekend so Mrs Pride bought lots more violets than usual,’ she announced proudly, sitting down and spreading brawn thickly on a slice of bread.
‘Does she arrange them around the house, then?’ Isabella asked.
‘Some are to be made into posies for place settings, but mostly Cook crystallizes the flower heads for decorating her cakes. You should see them, they’re a work of art.’
‘Oh yes, I’ve eaten similar at Claridge’s,’ Isabella replied, remembering her last meeting with Maxwell.
‘Coo, lucky you,’ Dotty sighed, staring around the room. ‘Where’s Father and William? It’s not like them to be late for luncheon.’
‘Father’s checking on his new plants and William’s sitting with your Grandmother. You forgot to lock her door before you left and she found her way in here. William said she was trying to light a spill from the range,’ her mother informed her, giving her a reproachful look.
‘Oh glory,’ Dotty said, slapping her hand to her head. ‘I was in that much of a hurry to leave, I forgot to check her door was secure. Sorry, Mother,’ she murmured.
‘Luckily no harm was done this time, but you must be more careful in future, Dotty. We don’t want her burning the house down. It’s not like you, though,’ her aunt said, giving her daughter a searching look. Dotty quickly stared down at her plate. ‘I’ll take Mother’s tray in to her then William can come and get a bite to eat,’ Mary sighed, getting to her feet.