The Flower Seller

by Linda Finlay

  ‘Well, Grandmother’s in good spirits today, Izzie,’ Mary said. ‘You can take her luncheon in later if you like. Ah good, William’s picked the violets, though the poor things look so draggled, cooking’s all they’re good for. Have you got everything else ready, Dotty?’

  Isabella smiled at her aunt’s seemingly endless energy, then carefully began her cutting out. It’d been ages since she’d done any needlework, or painting come to that, and she realized she missed being creative. Whilst she’d employed dressmakers for her couture outfits, she’d always enjoyed making her own things for informal wear.

  ‘Oh, you have made a good job of that,’ Mary said when she’d finished. ‘Now, you sit by the window to catch the light while you sew it up. It’s time I got on with the jam. Have you finished that sugar yet, Dotty?’

  To the sound of stems being snipped from flower heads, Isabella began to stitch. As she sewed, she thought how much her life had changed since she’d left London. Although she desperately missed dear Papa and still thought of him often, her days here were so busy that the time just flew by. Her new family had made her so welcome and she was determined to have that conversation about her dear mama soon. Her thoughts turned to Maxwell but instead of steely grey eyes that analysed and assessed, a vision of warm, green ones that listened and encouraged popped into her head, making her heart flip. Despite her vow never to let another man into her life, she realized Felix had found his way into her affections. Now she’d had time to think about William’s earlier words, she couldn’t believe Felix would use her in the way he’d suggested. However, she’d be on her guard not to let out any family secrets. Not that she knew many, she thought with a shake of her head.

  A wonderful aroma wafted across the room and she inhaled appreciatively. Although similar to the smell at the seance, this was sweeter and more appetizing. It was a shame she had to wait so long to see the sisters again for she really was impatient to find out if Agnes had absorbed her mama’s aura from the pearls and would be able to invoke her spirit.

  Turning the material to sew the other seam, she began humming softly. As ever, the music of a cradlesong evoked snatches of words and that elusive fragrance from the past which, even in this violet-growing place, she’d yet to find. Lost in her memories, she began to sing:

  Goodnight, sleep tight, while the angels watch o’er

  My darling delight, scent of violets will soar

  All mingled with dum, de dum

  Oh, why couldn’t she remember all the words? She gave a sigh of frustration then realized her aunt and Dotty had stopped what they were doing and were watching her curiously.

  ‘Sorry, I know my tones are anything but dulcet,’ she said, grinning sheepishly.

  ‘No, it wasn’t your voice, more the words,’ Mary murmured, looking uncomfortable. ‘Oh heck, me jam’s boiling.’ Quickly, she turned back to her pan, stirred furiously, then took a spoonful and placed it on a cold plate.

  ‘Why do you do that?’ Isabella asked.

  ‘To see if it’s reached setting,’ Dotty answered, lining the jars along the table. ‘You wait a moment then push it with your fingers and if it crinkles, like this, then it’s done. If you boil the mixture too long it’ll go bitter then no one will eat it.’

  ‘Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help?’ Isabella asked, conscious that they’d been toiling while she’d been sewing and musing.

  ‘You can pen the labels if you like. Dotty’s writing’s worse than mine,’ Mary laughed, pushing her hair back under the day cap she was wearing. ‘But that can be done this afternoon. While Dotty helps me bottle this lot, you can prepare luncheon and take Mother’s into her. She’s asking for more of them tiny bite-sized morsels. It’s funny the things she remembers,’ she added with a smile. Isabella stared at her aunt in surprise, for usually she insisted they went in together.

  Although the rain had eased, the yard was filled with puddles and Isabella gingerly made her way round to next door and let herself in. As she carried the tray through to the living room, she heard music playing. It couldn’t be, she thought, staring at her grandmother in surprise. The music came to a stop and she was just thinking she must have imagined it after her recent reminiscing, when the woman turned the key of the box on her lap. Sure enough, it was the same tune and Isabella nearly dropped the tray as the woman began singing the lyrics. When she reached the words Isabella had forgotten, she felt the tears welling up. As the music box ran down again, the woman stared at Isabella and smiled.

  ‘Violets and roses, that’s what my Ellie used to mix. Used to love that scent, she did. Cors, when she went to London, she had it made up proper. Only came back once after, but she smelled like a field of flowers,’ the woman beamed.

  ‘She was my mama,’ Isabella prompted, excitement fluttering in her breast.

  ‘I know that girl, I’m not daft,’ she tutted. Then her eyes dimmed and she stared into the fire. Scared she was about to retreat into her own world again, Isabella knelt down and took her hand.

  ‘She used to wear that all the time. Weren’t worth much but he give it her, see,’ her grandmother sighed as she pointed to the locket at Isabella’s throat. ‘It were all so long ago.’ As she lapsed into silence again and closed her eyes, Isabella bit her lip and waited. Please come back, she willed. The rain started again, lashing the window and trickling down the chimney where it landed on the glowing embers with a hiss. Suddenly, the woman’s eyes snapped open.

  ‘What’s your name?’ she asked, her rheumy eyes focused on Isabella.

  ‘Isabella,’ she replied.

  ‘That figures,’ the woman laughed. ‘Always had grand ideas, did Ellie. That’s why she married who she did.’

  ‘Papa was a good man,’ Isabella assured her grandmother.

  ‘You’re the spit of him, you know.’

  ‘Really?’ she asked, frowning. Nobody had ever commented on that before. Quite the reverse, in fact.

  ‘Roger, that were ’is name. Roger the Dodger,’ she snorted then closed her eyes.

  Chapter 27

  ‘Everything all right, dear?’ Mary asked as Isabella came back into the room. ‘Did Grandmother eat her luncheon?’

  ‘No, she didn’t even look at it. She was playing her music box. Then she spotted Mama’s locket and seemed to understand who I was, saying I looked like Papa.’

  ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’ Dotty asked, pushing her plate aside.

  ‘I thought so, but then she got muddled again because she called him Roger,’ Isabella sighed.

  ‘Oh,’ Mary gasped, ‘I knew I shouldn’t have let you go by yourself.’ Then as Isabella looked askance, she quickly began clearing the dishes. ‘Sadly, that’s how she is these days, in the past most of the time, then something triggers her memory and back she comes, albeit fleetingly. It was probably that music this time.’

  ‘When I went in, she was singing along to it and they were the same words Mama used when she sang to me. Do you think it was hers when she was a child?’

  ‘I don’t know, Izzie. You’ll have to ask your uncle. Oh, I do wish you’d hurry up and have that chat,’ she sighed. ‘I’d better slip next door and make sure everything’s all right. Dotty, you get those lemons squeezed ready for steeping the rest of the flowers William’s picking. Izzie, perhaps you could make a start on those labels.’ Before Isabella could ask any further questions, Mary had disappeared out of the door.

  ‘At least the juice will clean all this blue off,’ Dotty grimaced, staring down at her stained hands. ‘Did Grandmother get a spark in her eyes when she spoke about your mother? I love it on the days she comes back to life, if you get my meaning. You get a glimpse of what she used to be like, don’t you? I reckon she was a right character.’

  ‘I just wish she’d been with it for longer,’ Isabella sighed, wondering why her aunt had been so furtive. Why shouldn’t she see her grandmother by herself?

  ‘Grandmother might have another good day tomorrow, you know,’ Dotty
said, giving her a smile. ‘We’ll both take her breakfast in and play her music box again. Must dash outside before I start on the tablet.’

  ‘What is tablet exactly?’ Isabella asked.

  ‘Candy cake, and it’s scrummy,’ Dotty replied. ‘Have you never tasted it?’

  ‘No, I don’t believe I have. And I still can’t believe you make all these things from violets.’

  ‘Beg a piece from Mother when it’s set, then you can see for yourself. Now, I definitely must go.’

  As Isabella settled down at the table and began penning the labels, she couldn’t help humming the cradlesong. She was so engrossed in her task that when William appeared and stared over her shoulder, she jumped.

  ‘Might have known yer writing’d be as fancy as yerself,’ he sneered, putting the baskets of wet flowers on the table right beside her writing paper. ‘S’pose you ’ad some posh governess eddy-f’cating yer.’

  ‘Can you put those on the floor before water drips over the labels?’ she asked.

  ‘Anything else, my lady?’ he sneered, grudgingly placing them on the floor.

  ‘Yes, can we stop this continual backbiting? I can’t help how I was brought up. Besides, I didn’t get taught anything about market gardening,’ she told him.

  ‘And your point is?’ he muttered.

  ‘That we all need to be shown how to do things, and we find some subjects harder than others. You, for example, are obviously a competent flower grower.’

  ‘And you’re definitely not,’ he grinned.

  ‘Well, I still haven’t spotted any blue mice roaming the gardens,’ she murmured. The gleam in his eyes encouraged her to continue. ‘However, I’d love to learn and if you were to help rather than hinder, then perhaps I could repay the favour.’

  ‘Don’t see how,’ he replied, staring at her suspiciously.

  ‘I could show you how to write your letters, if you’d like me to,’ she offered. He stared at the pen and paper on the table then nodded.

  ‘Suppose I could see what you know,’ he conceded, then clammed up as Dotty returned.

  ‘I see you’ve brought in the flowers, William. Help me tail the stalks then I can steep the heads in the lemon juice so Mother can boil them up with sugar.’

  They set to work but minutes later heard the cart clattering to a halt outside. There was the sound of voices and then Frederick and Bill strode into the room closely followed by Mary. They were looking sombre and Isabella feared the meeting at the bank hadn’t gone well.

  ‘As we’ve a full house, you might as well know the bank would only grant a loan if I put the cottages and gardens up as collateral,’ Frederick muttered.

  ‘And did you?’ Mary asked, worry clouding her face.

  ‘Did I heckers, like. Risk losing our home? Over my dead body, which is useless anyway as I’m not insured.’

  ‘Father please,’ Mary cried. ‘We’ll manage, we always have.’

  ‘Exactly what I told that old buffoon of a manager,’ he added, throwing his hat onto its peg on the wall. ‘Bill here offered to put his house up as surety but, of course, I refused.’

  ‘Don’t know why,’ Bill shrugged. ‘’Tisn’t as if I’ve a wife and family of me own to care for.’ As a heavy silence fell, Frederick stared at Isabella.

  ‘Hear Grandmother’s been back so it’s high time we had that chat, girl. Mother says she’s sleeping now, so we’ll go next door where it’s quieter. You’d best come too, Bill.’

  ‘You’d better sit in the kitchen so you don’t disturb her,’ Mary suggested. ‘Take your mantle, Izzie. It’ll be chilly as we daren’t light the range in there.’

  For the second time that day, Isabella found herself in the adjoining cottage with butterflies skittering in her stomach.

  ‘Sit down,’ Frederick said, indicating the ladder-back chairs placed round the scrubbed table.

  ‘Now girl, what we have to tell you will come as a shock but, as you’ve already gathered, there are things you need to know about your mother.’

  ‘First of all, I think we should say how much we loved her,’ Bill said, smiling at Isabella. ‘Being the girl in the middle of us two lads, Ellie had us wrapped around her little finger. She adored your uncle here – worshipped him, in fact – and used to follow him about.’

  ‘Til she got older and took to following others about,’ Frederick growled.

  ‘Whilst I, being the youngest, got bossed about something awful,’ Bill smiled, ignoring Frederick. ‘It will probably help you understand if you realize Ellie always aspired to the nice things of life, Isabella.’

  ‘Is that why she called herself Eleanora and associated with Lord Lester?’

  ‘She was always known as Ellen round here, although I understand she changed her names after she moved to London,’ Bill smiled sadly.

  ‘Names?’ she frowned.

  ‘Look, let’s just tell you what happened or we’ll be here all night. You can ask questions later,’ Frederick sighed. Seeing how uncomfortable he looked, Isabella nodded.

  ‘Lord Lester always had an eye for the ladies and Ellen thought she was in with a chance. She fancied herself as lady of the manor, but of course he was just toying with her. A man of his standing marries someone of his own class and wealth, not the daughter of a poor farmer like your mother was.’

  ‘Poor Mama, she must have been heartbroken,’ Isabella cried.

  ‘Ellie were made of sterner stuff, and he was only one of her targets,’ Frederick laughed. ‘Loved a good time, she did, and went out with anyone who’d provide it. Until she fell in love, that is.’

  ‘With Papa, you mean,’ she smiled, feeling her heart flutter. ‘And then I suppose they married and he took her to London, where I was born.’

  ‘That would have been the idyll,’ Bill agreed, looking serious now. ‘However, life’s not like that.’ He stared at the empty range and Isabella knew he was thinking of the wife he’d adored.

  ‘The man your mother fell for was also out for a good time,’ Frederick said, taking up the story again. ‘There were those who said that Ellen got her just desserts when he upped and left her in the family way.’

  ‘You mean, I have a brother or sister?’ Isabella gasped, her hand going to her chest.

  ‘No, Isabella, you were that child. As you can imagine, Grandmother couldn’t bear the shame of having a bastard in the family, especially around these parochial parts. Your grandfather had friends in London and arranged for Ellen to stay with them until after you were born. The plan had been for her to return under the guise of a widow and raise you here.’ He stopped and cleared his throat.

  ‘Only she never came back. She met the man you knew as your father and that was that. Grandmother never got over the shock of it all,’ Bill said. Isabella stared wide-eyed at both her uncles, trying to take in all they’d said.

  ‘Are you saying that Papa wasn’t really my father?’

  ‘Not biologically, no,’ Frederick agreed. ‘But there’s more than one way to be a father. To my mind, the man who raised and protected you is the true paternal figure. And Cameron Carrington did all those things, did he not?’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed, tears welling at the thought of the wonderful man she’d adored.

  ‘Did you never wonder why he was so much older than your mother?’

  ‘I can’t say it ever occurred to me. I was so young when she died, my memories of her are hazy,’ she murmured. In truth, until recently, all she’d really been concerned about was a plentiful wardrobe and full social life. How futile it seemed now.

  They sat in silence, pondering on the past, until they heard the faint strains of music coming from the next room.

  ‘Grandmother’s awake. Do you want to see if she’s still lucid?’ Frederick asked.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Isabella cried, jumping to her feet. ‘For nothing’s really changed, has it?’

  ‘Well,’ Frederick began. The men exchanged looks then Bill declared he needed to get back to work and hastily left.<
br />
  Isabella rushed into the next room to find her grandmother sitting in her customary chair, muttering away to the now silent music box.

  ‘Hello, Grandmama,’ she cried. When the woman didn’t respond, Isabella gently eased it from her hands and turned the key. As the music began to play, the woman looked up.

  ‘Ellie?’ she asked, her eyes widening in surprise.

  ‘It’s me. Isabella.’ The woman’s eyes brightened for a moment and Isabella’s heart leapt, but instead of saying anything, she started singing the lullaby. Isabella joined in, tears rolling down her cheeks as the familiar words from long ago rang around the room. When the music died away, Isabella looked at her grandmother expectantly. The woman stared back blankly before turning towards the fire, the music box still clutched in her hand.

  ‘Oh Grandmama, please don’t go now,’ she cried. But there was no reply.

  As her uncle tentatively patted her shoulder, Isabella turned to him. ‘Do you think she’ll come back?’ she asked.

  ‘No telling,’ her uncle said, bending and tucking the blanket back over the woman’s knees. ‘We’ll let her rest for now. Mother will come and check she’s all right later.’

  ‘Auntie really takes care of her, and all of us, doesn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, she does,’ he replied, staring thoughtfully at the old woman.

  ‘Thank you for telling me about Mama,’ she added.

  ‘I’m sorry if it came as a shock but you need to know the truth especially . . . ,’ he broke off as Mary hurried into the room.

  ‘Just came to make sure everything is all right,’ she said, looking anxiously from one to the other.

  ‘Yes, thank you, Auntie,’ Isabella replied, trying to smile.

  ‘And what about you, dear?’ Mary asked, her voice soft as she took hold of her husband’s arm. He nodded, staring at his wife as though seeing her for the first time.

  ‘Talking about Ellen made me realize just how much you do for Grandmother, and all of us,’ he replied, clearing his throat.