by Linda Finlay
‘His nibs is entertaining today, so we’re up to our eyes in it,’ Mrs Tripe said, placing a cup and plate in front of her. Isabella smiled her thanks then lifted the cup, inhaling the aroma in happy anticipation. However, it smelled like the coffee her aunt made. Swallowing down her disappointment, she took a bite of the nubbie.
‘Delicious,’ she cried. The cook smiled.
‘That’s what Dotty always says. How’s her ankle?’
‘It still pains her but she did say this morning she could put it to the ground better,’ Isabella told her.
‘Good, good. Dare say it won’t be long til she calls again, which will be a relief to us all, what with Alfie going round with a face longer than an eel.’
‘I have a note for him from Dotty actually,’ Isabella said, retrieving it from her pocket.
‘I’ll see he gets it. Might cheer him up,’ she said, giving a wink as she placed it in her drawer. ‘Now, Isabella, before we get down to business, tell me how you’re settling in?’
‘Everyone’s been so kind,’ she replied diplomatically.
‘But you feel like yer wings have been clipped, eh?’ the cook replied, staring at her with knowing eyes.
‘That’s exactly it,’ she cried. ‘I don’t wish to appear ungrateful, but everything is so regimented.’ The cook chuckled.
‘Long for freedom, eh? Ellie were just the same.’
‘You knew my mama?’ Isabella stared at the woman in surprise.
‘Gawd love us, yes. We was at school together.’
‘Really?’ she gasped. ‘But you’re a cook and old . . . oh,’ she said, her hand flying to her mouth in embarrassment. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude, but I only remember Mama as a young lady.’
‘Ah, she always aspired to better things,’ the woman nodded with a smile. ‘Used to lead his Lordship a merry dance.’
‘You were all at school together?’
‘Why, love us, no. He were privately tutored. Fancied Ellie something chronic, he did, but she were having none of it. Right sore he was when she told him she’d fallen for someone else.’
‘That would have been my papa,’ Isabella cried, hardly able to contain her excitement. The woman stared at her for a moment, then nodded.
‘Guess it must have been.’
Isabella leaned forward in her seat, eager for more information, but before she could ask anything else the door burst open and the housekeeper strode into the room, starched skirts swishing.
‘What is the meaning of this? I’m surprised you have the time to entertain, Mrs Tripe, what with his Lordship expecting a houseful of important guests.’ Although her strident voice addressed the cook, it was Isabella she was glaring at.
‘That’s the very reason I asked for Miss Isabella here to bring extra flowers today,’ Mrs Tripe told her. Although Isabella’s stomach had flipped at the sound of the housekeeper’s voice, clearly the cook wasn’t fazed.
‘I see. Well, I trust they are of a better standard than last time,’ she sniffed. Seeing Isabella bridle, the cook intervened.
‘These are perfect.’
‘Tell me how much the girl needs paying then get back to your duties,’ she snapped. Deliberately the cook picked up Isabella’s basket and counted out twenty bunches. ‘That’s an awful lot of flowers, Mrs Tripe.’
‘No doubt his Lordship’s guests will be bringing their daughters so he’ll be expecting an awful lot of cake, all with his signature crystallized violets on top,’ the cook countered. There was a sharp intake of breath and Isabella feared the woman had gone too far.
‘Wait here, girl. I will get your money,’ the housekeeper finally replied, her clipped voice showing her annoyance.
‘Okerd old bissom,’ the cook muttered as the door closed behind her.
‘Thank you, Mrs Tripe, that’s nearly half my flowers you’ve bought there,’ Isabella said, taking back her basket.
‘Don’t you worry, maid. His Lordship’s guests makes short work of my fancies especially when he’s trying to impress them. Cors, now I’ll have to spend all afternoon de-stemming, washing and drying them before beating up egg and sugaring them. Still, it was worth it to see the look on ’er face.’
‘I’d be pleased to help. I can’t believe you went to school with my mama,’ Isabella said, shaking her head.
‘Ah, we had some larks, I can tell yer,’ she said, a faraway look in her eye. ‘You’ve the daps when you smile even though . . . ’ To Isabella’s frustration, the door opened and her voice trailed away.
‘You will find the correct coinage inside,’ the housekeeper announced, striding back into the room and slapping a brown envelope down on the table. ‘Now I’d be obliged if you would let my cook resume her duties.’
‘Of course,’ Isabella replied politely and pocketed the money. With a swish of her skirts, the housekeeper left and the cook let out a long sigh.
‘Always gets her corsets crinkled when his nibs is expecting guests. Fancies herself as the next Lady Lester, I reckon. Can’t see him being attracted to a wrinkled old prune like that when it’s the young ’uns he likes. Well, I’d best get on,’ Mrs Tripe said, wiping her hands on her apron again. ‘Tell Dotty I’ll make sure Alfie gets her note and I hopes to see her soon. It’s been real nice to meet you, maid. Oh, you didn’t drink your coffee,’ she said, holding out the cup. Isabella stared down at the bitter-looking liquid now coated with crinkled skin and felt her stomach heave.
‘Thank you, Mrs Tripe, but I mustn’t detain you,’ she replied, quickly opening the back door.
It had stopped raining and the air smelled fresh. Even a few birds were singing as, swinging her now half-empty basket, Isabella tripped lightly down the path. She was just closing the gate behind her when a voice sent a shiver snaking down her spine.
‘Behold, a beautiful sight to brighten the day.’
‘What are you doing here?’ she gasped, finding herself face to face with Lord Lester who was holding the reins of a heavily lathered horse.
‘I believe I live here, my dear,’ he replied, giving a snort of derision. Catching sight of the half-empty basket, he gave her a speculative look. ‘From the look of things, you have given one of my suggestions due consideration. I am relieved because, between you and me, I would have hated to switch allegiance, nice chap though I believe Furneaux to be. As for you, Miss Isabella Carrington, you have surely had enough of living in squalor by now, so how about my other proposition?’ he asked, eyeing her slowly up and down like she was a prize filly.
Isabella swallowed hard, wishing she’d left a few moments later. If only she’d forced herself to drink that frightful coffee, she would have avoided him. She glanced down the lane, but it was empty.
‘Only trade has cause to come around this way,’ Lord Lester grinned, clearly enjoying her predicament. ‘But then, you know that, don’t you. I have to say, despite your circumstances, you are looking far more fetching than you did last week,’ he said, moving closer. Realizing she was trapped between him and the gate, she tried dodging to his right, but he anticipated her move, for his hand snaked out and grabbed her arm.
‘Not only is the lady spirited, she likes to fight like an alley cat,’ he smirked, pulling her close. Desperately, she tried to pull away but he tightened his grip. ‘Your mother did too, you know. Such a shame she chose the wrong man. You’d do well to learn from her mistake so you don’t find yourself in the same predicament.’
‘And what would that have been?’ Isabella asked, forcing a smile. Perhaps if she humoured him, he would let her go.
‘A rather large one,’ he leered, leaning closer. As his lips sought hers, Isabella saw red and her knee came up and delivered a sharp kick to his nether regions. He gave a groan, his legs sagged and he went glassy-eyed. Seizing her opportunity, she snatched her hand away and slapped his cheek as hard as she could.
‘Why, you little . . . ,’ he wheezed but, seizing the moment, Isabella turned and shot off down the lane. ‘You’ll pay for th
is, Miss High and Mighty Carrington. And so will your family.’
Chapter 19
Isabella ran until her breath was coming in gasps and the nagging stitch at her side forced her to stop. As she slumped against a tree, trying to regain her composure, her terror turned to anger. How dare the man intimidate her like that? Alley cat indeed. Flowers or not, there was no way she would set foot inside the big house again. If Dotty still wasn’t strong enough to make the journey next week then Uncle Frederick would jolly well have to take them himself. ‘Hell and damnation to all men,’ she shouted but the screeching of the gulls was her only response.
She stamped along, glaring down at the path, heedless of the hedge-banks closing in on either side. Only when she realized it had grown darker did she pause and look up. To her surprise, she had passed through a short dark tunnel and ahead there was water on either side. Where was this place, she wondered, stopping and taking in her situation for the first time. In her haste to get away she must have headed in the wrong direction.
Even though it was the beginning of November, the long grass beneath her feet was dotted with pink and white flowers. A sweep of red sandstone cliffs rose to one side of her and she could hear the shooshing of the waves on the shore close by. The wind blowing in from the sea cooled her flushed cheeks and before long she felt her anger dissipating. After all she’d heard that morning, she had much to mull over and the fresh air would help clear her mind.
All thought of selling the remaining flowers forgotten, she made her way down to the shore and began walking briskly along the sand, which like the soil and cliffs in the area was of a red hue. Fancy Mrs Tripe being at school with Mama, and how annoying that haughty housekeeper had interrupted their conversation. For all the difference in their stations, she’d felt the first real connection with her dear mama since she’d arrived in Devonshire.
As for Lord Lester, she couldn’t believe the refined, gentle woman she remembered singing lullabies to her would ever associate with someone so utterly repulsive. Lord Lewd more like, or Lord Lecherous, Lustful, Libidinous, Lascivious. Thinking up as many befitting names as she could, Isabella paid little heed to where she was walking until she heard a shout.
‘Watch out, girl, you’ll be getting a drenching in a moment.’ Snapping out of her reverie, she saw she was right at the water’s edge, waves lapping around her boots.
‘Oh, thank you,’ she called, jumping back and heading to where the woman, basket over one arm, was trudging out of the water and up the compacted damp sand. It was only then that she became aware of other people at the water’s edge. They were all bent over, rakes in their hands and wicker baskets by their sides.
‘I seen people caught by the incoming tide before, but never the ebb,’ the woman tutted, gold hoops at her ears swaying as she shook her head. A red headscarf was keeping her long dark curls from her face, and she had a matching woollen shawl over her shoulders. Her skirt was tucked up around her thighs, exposing bare legs and feet as she rested on the handle of her rake, surveying Isabella with eyes so dark Isabella was reminded of the ebony keys on her piano back home.
‘You’re not from round these parts then?’ the woman asked, eyeing Isabella’s attire with great interest.
‘No, er, that is, I have recently come to reside here.’ For some reason, the woman seemed to think that funny and for the first time she smiled, the weather-beaten skin around her eyes crinkling like a fan.
‘What are you doing?’ Isabella enquired, gesturing to the net.
‘Me and the bairns are cockling. A full pail will fill their bellies and keep the wolf from the door.’
‘Shouldn’t they be in school?’ Isabella questioned, thinking of Alice and Thomas.
‘Pah,’ the woman spat onto the sand. ‘Learnin’ won’t keep ’em fed. What about you? You don’t look like a flower girl and yet you’re carrying those,’ she said, peering inquisitively into Isabella’s basket.
‘I was supposed to be selling them, but seem to have lost the town,’ she murmured. The woman hooted with laughter.
‘My, you’re a one and a half. Just so happens, I’m going there myself later. Perhaps I could do you a favour and sell them for you. How much do you charge?’
‘Penny ha’penny a bunch,’ Isabella replied, her heart soaring at this unexpected piece of luck.
‘That’s a shame,’ the woman shook her head again, sending the hoops swaying. ‘I can’t afford to buy them from you at that price.’ As the woman resumed her cockling, Isabella’s heart plummeted. There was no way she could walk all the way back to the town but she could imagine her uncle’s look of disdain if she returned home with her basket still half full.
‘What could you pay?’ she ventured. The woman slowly straightened, then darting Isabella a knowing look, slowly took her purse from her pocket. Frowning at its contents, she sighed.
‘Just about manage ha’penny a bunch to take the lot off your hands.’ Isabella thought quickly. That might be less than she should get for them but, even if she could face the walk back to the town centre, there was no guarantee she’d sell them all when she got there.
‘I accept your offer,’ Isabella replied. The woman grinned then, as if worried Isabella would change her mind, hastily transferred the flowers into her own basket.
Coins jangling, and feeling happier, Isabella made her way off the beach. It was high time she tackled her uncle about her mama’s past and asked about her papa’s effects. If she arrived back with money in her basket, hopefully he would be more amenable to answering her questions. And she would insist he gave her some answers, too.
Looking around she saw she’d rejoined the lane that ran parallel to the railway line, and knew if she continued her route she would come to the entrance leading to the big house. Loath to risk bumping into Lord Lester again, she darted down a turning to her left instead, passing a couple of whitewashed cottages, where to her surprise chickens strutted around and vegetables grew in the front gardens. How strange, she thought, skirting the woodland that surrounded the big house to her right. Hearing a shot followed by a squawk, she shuddered and quickened her step until she reached a stile beyond which stretched a ploughed field. The church tower rising in the distance was a familiar landmark and she knew she had no option but to make her way across the red furrows that were covered with seemingly hundreds of seagulls.
Her worn boots did little to protect her feet from the stony soil, and wincing she picked her way towards the hedge. She was halfway across when she saw a man with a battered hat ahead. He was staring directly at her, his arms open wide. Heart in mouth, she glanced over her shoulder. Should she make a run for it? Yet she’d come so far, the thought of running back over the sharp earth was more than she could bear. She’d just have to brazen it out. Heart beating wildly, she advanced but strangely the man didn’t move, he just stood staring at her with that funny grin on his face. Even the birds weren’t scared as they perched on him. It was only when she got nearer that she realized it wasn’t a real man but some kind straw-stuffed effigy mounted on a stick. Would she ever understand this strange country life, she wondered, clambering wearily over the stile.
The winding lane with its tumbledown sheds looked vaguely familiar, and it took her a moment to realize it was the one that Uncle Bill had pointed out the day he’d rescued her from the rhyll. Dear Uncle Bill, how kind he was and how sad he’d looked that morning when he’d driven her to the big house. Recalling his invitation to visit, she decided now would be a good time to accept. She could check he was alright and perhaps he would answer some of her questions. Returning to the cottage this early in the day would only further arouse her aunt’s suspicions of how she’d sold her flowers.
The way was long and kept snaking back on itself, yet spreading out around her like a beautiful blue carpet were hundreds of violets, their heady aroma filling the air. With Uncle Bill’s land laying between Uncle Frederick’s and the Furneaux’s, these flowers must extend for miles, she realized, taki
ng in the beautiful sight. By the time she reached his farmhouse, she was parched, her feet were aching and she was longing for a cool drink.
Tapping briskly on her uncle’s door, she stared around the gardens. Everywhere looked immaculate and it was evident he took great pride in his work. When there was no answer, she walked round the side path and tried the back door. It was opened almost immediately by her cousin Joseph who stared at her in surprise.
‘Hello, Joseph. Sorry to bother you but Uncle Bill invited me to call in and as I just happened to be passing, well, here I am,’ she smiled.
‘You just ’appened to be passing?’ he asked, frowning down at her muddy boots. ‘Uncle’s still up at Father’s but you’re welcome to come in. We’re just having our noontime piece,’ he explained, opening the door wider. Kicking the dirt from her boots, she followed him into a large kitchen where the range emanated a welcome heat. Everywhere was neat and tidy, with china stacked on the huge dresser that dominated the room and a picture of a young woman adorning one shelf.
‘It’s lovely and warm in here,’ she said, slipping off her aunt’s turnover. Then she felt a prickle creep up her spine and saw Felix watching her from the deal table. Grinning, he jumped to his feet and she couldn’t help thinking how good-looking he was.
‘Miss Carrington, how lovely to see you again,’ he said, perfecting one of his little bows. ‘And looking very elegant if I might be so bold.’
‘Oh, please don’t let me interrupt your luncheon,’ she murmured, his emerald gaze making her feel flustered. ‘And it’s Isabella, as you well know.’ He inclined his head in acknowledgement then went back to his meal. There was a fresh loaf, ham and pickles set out on the table, and Isabella suddenly realized how hungry she was. Seeing her looking, Joseph pulled out a chair.
‘Want some?’ he asked. Before she could answer, he set about cutting a thick slice of bread.
‘Thank you,’ she said, eagerly accepting the invitation. He added a generous slice of meat then passed over the jar of pickles.