The Flower Seller

by Linda Finlay

  Indeed he has, Isabella thought grimly, her spirits plummeting once more.

  Chapter 34

  Although no further mention was made of her faux pas, Isabella couldn’t help noticing she hadn’t been invited back into the potting area. In fact, she’d been encouraged to go out more.

  ‘Fresh air will do you good,’ Aunt Mary said, handing her a basket full of flowers and tablet to sell. ‘Getting to know people will help you settle in,’ she insisted. ‘You can ask the ladies if they’d be interested in purchasing violet soap. If they are, we’ll look at that receipt this afternoon.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ Isabella smiled, for the idea really interested her. ‘Do you have a sample I could show them, only I’ve already used mine so much it has worn down.’

  ‘Good idea,’ her aunt said, going to the dresser and taking a tissue-wrapped bar from the drawer.

  While Dotty skipped off to meet Alfie, Isabella, sample soap in her pocket, took up her usual place in the Strand. It was too early for the ladies of the town to be out, but business for flowers and tablet was surprisingly brisk. She was beginning to recognize many of the locals and, to her delight, they greeted her like a friend, even asking if she knew about the violet ball that was held in May. Although it was months away, it appeared to be the highlight of the year.

  The day was warm and dry for January, and later in the morning the ladies began appearing for their constitutional. Many stopped to purchase corsages and Isabella, now adept at making them, smiled as she added the bows which had proven popular. Then she showed them her soap and enquired whether they would be interested in placing an order.

  ‘It smells divine,’ she told them, holding it up for them to test themselves.

  ‘I agree,’ one lady said, nodding so enthusiastically the ostrich feathers on her hat fluttered and flapped. ‘However, it does look rather plain.’

  ‘Yes,’ her companion agreed. ‘I prefer something more decorative, myself.’

  ‘We will, of course, be adorning each tablet with pressed flowers,’ Isabella assured them, wondering where the notion had come from.

  ‘Well, in that case, I may well be interested,’ the first lady replied.

  ‘We are repairing to Bath tomorrow but will return in a fortnight, so will drop by to inspect some samples. Good day to you.’

  Isabella watched as they crossed over to the green opposite, excitement fluttering in her chest. Most of the ladies were pleasant when you got to know them, although she was mindful that these days she needed to remember her place. To her surprise, she rather enjoyed the challenge of trying to secure orders, although the extra enquiries took time and it was midafternoon before she could make her way back to the cottage.

  Thankfully the two malicious gossips hadn’t shown up, for she couldn’t bear hearing any more of their tittle-tattle. As far as Felix Furneaux was concerned, he could string himself up by his violet stems. She would concentrate on learning how to make soap.

  Just then she saw white little drops like pearls clustered under the hedgerow. Snowdrops meant hope and consolation, her governess had told her on one of their walks around the park. Well, she could certainly do with some hope in her life.

  To her surprise, she arrived home just as her uncle was returning from the station. With a jubilant grin on his face, he ushered her inside. Throwing his hat on its peg, he turned and kissed a surprised Mary on the cheek.

  ‘Well, Mother, divine justice has been done,’ he cried.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’ve been wagering on a horse, Frederick Northcott?’ she snorted.

  ‘Better than that,’ he grinned, rubbing his hands gleefully. ‘Furneaux’s got red mite all over his plants.’

  ‘Oh, the poor man,’ Mary murmured.

  ‘What is this red mite?’ Isabella frowned.

  ‘Red spider, the most dreaded pest of all,’ Mary replied. ‘It results in mottling of the foliage, which disfigures and discolours the flowers.’

  ‘In severe infestations, the whole flower is covered in a mesh of webbing,’ Uncle Bill said, coming into the room with Joseph.

  ‘Can’t think where it came from. You don’t usually get red mite in winter,’ Joseph added, shaking his head.

  ‘Perhaps Furneaux’s brought in diseased specimens from outside,’ Uncle Bill said. ‘We’ve checked all our violets and thankfully there’s no sign of red spider yet, but we’ll be keeping a regular eye out.’

  ‘Ours seem all right too,’ William announced, arriving with Alice and Thomas hanging onto his arms.

  ‘Well, we must be vigilant, ’cos it spreads rapidly,’ Frederick told them. ‘It’ll mean ruination for Furneaux, of course.’

  ‘Can’t anything be done?’ Isabella asked.

  ‘The only way is to strip all the affected leaves, burn them and spray the rest with a solution of soft soap and water,’ Uncle Bill told her. ‘Trouble is, Furneaux’s got so much land, it’ll take him longer to do it than it takes those darn mites to spread.’

  ‘Not if everyone assists, surely,’ Isabella replied.

  ‘What? Help our rivals?’ Frederick roared. Isabella stared at him in disbelief.

  ‘I can’t believe you said that, Uncle. When Papa’s business was in trouble, none of his so-called friends lifted a finger to help. They disappeared and let him sink. You can’t let that happen to neighbours, rival or not, surely?’ she cried.

  ‘She’s right, Fred. And they did help here when that tree came down,’ Bill pointed out.

  ‘Mary?’ he asked, turning to his wife.

  ‘You’re a good man . . . underneath all that bluster,’ she told him, patting his shoulder. He let out a long sigh.

  ‘Very well, we’ll take both carts and see what can be done,’ he muttered.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he asked Isabella as she snatched her mantle from the hook.

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ she insisted. ‘Even I can check the leaves, if I know what I’m looking for.’ She stared meaningfully at William, who flushed.

  ‘Make sure you wear thick gloves,’ Frederick told her. ‘Alice and Thomas, you stay here. Doubtless Dotty will be back soon, when she can tear herself away from that Alfred. Explain what’s happened and that you’re all to check the plants hourly.’

  ‘Oh, must we?’ they groaned.

  ‘Yes, you must,’ he insisted.

  ‘I’m sure Father will find some pocket money for you this week,’ Mary assured them. ‘I’ll come too. You’ll need hot drinks and something to eat,’ she added, packing bread and cheese into her basket.

  It was growing dark by the time they reached the Furneaux residence but flashes of light moving up and down the garden revealed the two men frantically tearing up plants and tossing them onto a growing pile ready for burning.

  Lantern in her gloved hand and hood over her head to keep out the wind, Isabella followed the men while Mary went inside the house.

  ‘Don’t worry, Furneaux, the cavalry’s here,’ Frederick called.

  ‘I’ll show you what we’re looking for, Izzie,’ William offered. ‘Although, by the state of these leaves, it’ll be obvious.’

  Methodically, they worked the rows of violets, checking, stripping and throwing affected foliage onto the ever-growing pile. From time to time, the moon peeped out from behind the clouds, but Isabella hardly noticed as she followed her cousin. Even when her back was aching, such was the sense of urgency that she refused to give up.

  Then the fire was lit and a cheer went up as the devastated plants began to burn. It was only a brief respite before they moved onto another section of the gardens.

  ‘Bet Furneaux wishes he didn’t have so much land now,’ William whispered. ‘By the way, now you showed me them other letters, I can write both me names now.’

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ Isabella smiled. ‘Next I’ll show you how to write your address.’

  ‘Father’ll be gobble smackled,’ he grinned.

  They worked their way to the bottom
of the garden by the orchard, where they found healthy-looking plants unaffected by the mite.

  ‘I’ll dig a trench round these, Furneaux,’ Frederick called. ‘You light the other fire.’

  ‘Will do,’ Matthew replied. ‘Think we’ve got the worst of it stripped now.’

  ‘Right, Izzie, you look all in. Go up to the house and tell Mother to prepare hot drinks and som’t to eat,’ Frederick said, coming over to where Isabella was still searching for signs of the dreaded red mite.

  ‘I can’t see any more here,’ she told him, putting her hand to her back and easing herself into a standing position. Amazingly the sky was lightening to grey, the moon a fading crescent as she plodded up the path. Her eyes were hot from squinting and she felt as if she was covered in dirt. Goodness only knows what she looked like, she thought.

  ‘Isabella, is that you?’ Felix cried, crunching up the gravel behind her. ‘I had no idea you were here. Why, I hardly recognized you,’ he gasped. Isabella fixed a smile on her face.

  ‘No reason why you should after all this time,’ she said tightly, although her pulse was racing. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to relay a message to my aunt.’ As she turned and continued her way towards the house, he hurried after her.

  ‘What’s the matter, Isabella? I’m sorry I didn’t come and see you as soon as I returned but the past few days have been a nightmare.’

  ‘Really? And where, may I ask, have you come back from?’

  ‘Up country. Father dispatched me on Boxing Day.’

  ‘And how is Miss Swanson?’ she asked.

  ‘Ruth? Fine when I dropped her off, why?’

  ‘So, you admit you’ve been seeing her, then?’ Isabella said tightly, hardly able to credit his insouciant manner.

  ‘Yes, I did see her. Why?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, somebody mentioned it,’ she shrugged, not wishing to show how much it bothered her. ‘Have you known her long?’

  ‘Years. We went to school together but she moved to Plymouth after she married. She came up on the train to visit her grandmother and when I saw her laden with provisions, I offered her a lift.’ So this Ruth was married, she thought, her spirits rising.

  ‘You said you’d been away?’ she asked, the ice around her heart beginning to thaw.

  ‘Father dispatched me to collect more of the plants he’d ordered. Only it seems they were all diseased. We had one hell of a row on Christmas Day because I hadn’t found out the name of your uncle’s cultivars. I told him to go ahead and disinherit me because nothing would stand in my way of seeing you.’

  ‘Really?’ she cried, her heart singing. He nodded.

  ‘He finally admitted he’d been irrational and agreed to back down if I went and collected his plants immediately,’ he sighed, and even by the dimming light of her lantern she could see how fatigued he looked.

  ‘I didn’t even know you’d been away,’ she murmured.

  ‘You mean you didn’t get my note?’ he asked, frowning. ‘I asked Father to deliver it, but by then I suppose he’d had a few,’ he groaned.

  ‘But surely you could have come and told me what you were up to?’ she insisted.

  ‘Father said a bit of space would give me time to reflect on my feelings for you,’ he admitted.

  ‘So you weren’t sure?’ she goaded, conveniently forgetting her own decision.

  ‘Of course, I was, positive in fact. But I thought if I went along with him, he’d be more amenable. I told him this feud between our two families was infantile and had to stop, you see. He said there was more to it than I realized.’

  ‘Oh?’ she asked, intrigued despite her tiredness.

  ‘It began when Frederick was courting the girl who eventually became my mother. Apparently, her parents thought he wasn’t a good enough prospect. My father on the other hand had a much bigger farm, and she was encouraged to receive his attentions instead. It didn’t work out, of course, as you know she left when I was young.’

  ‘Oh, poor Auntie Mary. She has no idea,’ Isabella cried.

  ‘It was long before she came on the scene. She’s a shrewd biddy, though, so I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t suspect,’ he replied. ‘I told Father I had no intention of being held to ransom. But of course, all this is irrelevant because you had no idea I’d gone away. Oh Isabella, what must you think of me?’

  Seeing his anguished expression, all she could hear was the thumping of her heart, feel the racing of her pulse. Be still my beating heart. Unbidden the lines she’d learned by rote popped into her mind and she smiled wearily.

  ‘At this precise moment, Felix Furneaux, I think you’re one muxy man.’

  ‘While you, my lady, are pristine,’ he countered, a gleam sparkling in his eyes. ‘Oh Isabella, I’ve missed you so much,’ he groaned, leading her to the veranda. He held out his arms and for a moment she hesitated but then, as she moved towards him, footsteps crunched on the path.

  ‘Come on, you two,’ Frederick called, and their moment was lost.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ Felix groaned.

  ‘Ah well, Mr Furneaux, you know what they say about good things coming to those who wait,’ she teased. Feeling happier than she had for weeks, she hurried inside.

  ‘Oh, so that’s the way things are, is it?’ her aunt said when she saw Isabella’s flushed face. ‘And here’s me working my fingers to the bone while you’re canoodling outside. Go and wash yourself, then help me get these hungry men fed. And as for you,’ she said, wagging her finger at Felix. ‘I’ll not ask where you’ve been hiding these past weeks but again, please be more considerate of my niece’s feelings. She’s been going around like a wet weekend in high summer.’

  ‘Of course, Mrs Northcott. You can rest assured I have no intention of ever letting her out of my sight in future,’ he replied solemnly.

  ‘Now you’re being stupid,’ she snorted. ‘Make yourself useful and pass these round,’ she added, handing him a tray of drinks as the men stamped wearily back into the house.

  As they tucked into the breakfast Mary had prepared, Felix and Isabella grinned at each other across the table. The atmosphere around them was almost convivial. Relief that the crisis had been averted mingled with awareness that they needed to be vigilant the mite hadn’t spread to their neighbouring gardens. At one end of the room, Frederick and Matthew were deep in conversation.

  ‘They seem to be getting on well. Do you think their feud over the flowers might be at an end?’ Isabella asked.

  ‘Not sure about that,’ Felix mused. ‘But I think they might have buried the hatchet after all these years. He gestured to Mary who was watching them, a smile hovering on her lips. ‘She knows she’s his real true love, as I hope you know you are mine.’

  ‘Shh, Felix,’ she demurred. ‘Everyone’s listening.’

  Chapter 35

  ‘I see you’re wearing your brooch,’ Felix smiled, gesturing to the silver star on Isabella’s lapel. ‘Did you wish when you opened it?’

  ‘Yes, I did. It’s a lovely present,’ she replied, running a finger over the shiny surface.

  ‘And significant, I hope. Did you remember our kiss?’

  ‘Felix, really,’ Isabella protested, staring around the little café. It was two days after the discovery of the red spider mite and they were celebrating their victory over afternoon tea at Mrs Veale’s.

  ‘Everyone’s too busy discussing their own affairs to worry about ours,’ he grinned. His unfortunate choice of words rankled, immediately transporting her back to her relationship with Maxwell. ‘What is it?’ he asked, seeing her stiffen. ‘What have I put my clumsy size tens in now?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she replied. ‘I guess I’m still a bit tired after the other night,’ she added.

  ‘Too tired to discuss your birthday? It’s only a couple of weeks away and being your twenty-first, I thought we could use it to announce our intent, if you get my meaning. With your permission, I should like to speak with your uncle. Father has come around and
. . . ’

  ‘Please stop, Felix,’ she urged, feeling a dreaded sense of déjà vu. ‘You’re taking things for granted. I mean everything’s happened so quickly and . . . ’ Her voice trailed away as she saw his hurt expression. Ever the gentleman, he nodded.

  ‘Forgive me, Isabella, I’ve obviously assumed too much too soon.’ Grateful for his understanding, she nodded.

  ‘I do like you, Felix,’ she admitted.

  ‘Glad to hear it. Wouldn’t want to waste good money buying cake for a lady who didn’t like me,’ he quipped.

  ‘Oh Felix, so much has happened recently,’ she sighed. ‘And you need to know something about me.’

  ‘I know you’re beautiful, intelligent, if a little too serious at times, caring and . . . ’

  ‘Illegitimate,’ she broke in. ‘My mama never married my papa and so my name isn’t Carrington but Northcott. I’m a bastard, Felix,’ she whispered.

  ‘Ah, well, a rose by any other name,’ he smiled.

  ‘Don’t make light of this, Felix. It’s important.’

  ‘But does it change anything?’ he asked. ‘I mean, when we marry you’ll be taking my name anyway. Don’t glare at me, you know I’m hoping you’ll agree one day. Although I must confess patience is not one of my virtues.’

  ‘Oh Felix,’ she groaned. ‘I just need time,’ she said, unconsciously echoing her papa’s words from the previous year.

  ‘Well, you can’t ignore your birthday. I expect you’ll be celebrating with your family, along with all those new friends you seem to have made. Honestly, it took us ages to get through the park this afternoon with everyone stopping to greet you.’

  ‘Really, Felix, you do exaggerate,’ she laughed. Privately, though, she was pleased she seemed to be fitting in at last. Selling flowers wasn’t nearly as bad as she’d thought, and the soap they’d made the previous day was already hardening nicely. Her aunt had even showed her how to press the flowers ready to decorate each tablet.

  ‘Felix to Izzie,’ Felix said, clicking his fingers and bringing her back to the present.