Mrs Boots: A heartwarming, page-turner inspired by the true story of Florence Boot, the woman behind Boots (Mrs Boots, Book 1)

by Deborah Carr

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Would it be so different? I didn’t think it was too far away from here?’

  Florence realised that most people would find it strange that on an island five miles by nine in size that there would be different temperatures. ‘It’s not much of a distance. The lighthouse is on a small peninsula adjoining two bays. The one to its right is a tiny bay, but that leads on to a larger expanse of beach. St Ouen’s Bay faces west and there usually is more of a sea breeze in that part of the island. Odd, I know. My parents have friends who run a farm out that way and they never like coming into town on hot days, preferring to remain out there instead.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to going there,’ he said, a smile on his slightly pink face. ‘The lighthouse is only a few years old, isn’t it?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, and it’s the first concrete lighthouse in the British Isles. We’re very proud of it here in Jersey. Apparently, on a clear night, the light can be visible up to eighteen miles away.’

  The reached St Aubin, and Florence told him a little about the area, with its small harbour and busy waterfront.

  ‘This is a new terminus building,’ she said. ‘It only opened at the beginning of this month.’

  He gazed over to where the old shabby building stood.

  The train took a sharp bend to the west and entered the tunnel.

  ‘Not too long now,’ she said, looking forward to reaching the next sea view. Florence didn’t like tunnels, and this bit always made her slightly uncomfortable. Then, once again, they were back in the daylight and she relaxed.

  They passed farmland and Florence pointed out a large herd of Jersey cows. ‘They have to be the prettiest cows, don’t you think?’

  ‘I imagine you are right. Their faces are very pretty.’

  ‘We’re almost there,’ she said, excited to reach their destination. ‘I hope the journey wasn’t a disappointment.’

  ‘Not at all,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘I’ve enjoyed myself immensely so far. Thank you, Florence. It is very kind of you to accompany me here today.’

  The train slowed, stopping at the station. Mr Boot lifted the hamper and disembarked, turning and proffering his hand, waiting for her to take it as she stepped down.

  They walked away from the station and crossed over to the beach side of the road stopping at the top of the rocks and looking across the causeway to the splendid lighthouse standing proudly on the rocks at the end of the peninsular.

  ‘What do you think of our lighthouse, Mr Boot?’

  ‘Impressive, and well worth a visit.’

  ‘Would you like to take a walk now?’

  ‘Or we could find somewhere to sit and eat,’ he said, ‘and then take a stroll later when we’ve finished.’

  ‘And then the hamper won’t be as heavy.’ She laughed.

  ‘Then it’s agreed. We’ll eat first.’

  Having scanned the area for a few moments, Florence pointed to a space at the top of the rocks where no one was yet sitting.

  ‘We could sit over there,’ she said, hoping they’d reach the area before any other visitors to the area would. She walked slowly so as not to rush Mr Boot, aware that he would be embarrassed if she made her slowness obvious.

  They arrived at the spot she had chosen. He placed the hamper down next to two low boulders. ‘These would make good seats, don’t you think?’

  She agreed, thinking that maybe he would find it easier to stand once more if he wasn’t seated on the grass, but on something a little higher. ‘It looks perfect.’

  She lay the hamper on its side. Florence then unbuckled the soft leather straps holding the hamper closed, hoping to find the food in the same state it had been in when she had packed it. Raising the lid, she lifted the red and white picnic cloth and smiled.

  ‘It looks as if everything has survived the journey here.’

  ‘That’s a relief,’ he said, taking the cloth from her and opening it, lowering it until it was on the grass. Then, carefully lifting the open hamper he placed it on one side of the cloth.

  Florence thanked him and knelt down next to the food to inspect it. She unclipped the two plates and took out her mother’s second-best condiment set, placing it down.

  ‘Would you like me to put some of the food on a plate for you?’

  ‘That would be very kind.’ He undid his jacket.

  She was aware that he was watching her. ‘I’ve made the food, so please don’t expect it to be too delicate,’ she explained, not wishing his expectations to be high, and then for him to be disappointed when he saw what she had brought for their lunch.

  ‘I’m certain it will be delicious,’ he said smiling at her. ‘What have you brought for our lunch, if I may ask?’

  She sat back and studied the tins of food. ‘I’ve made us beef sandwiches, with a touch of horseradish. There are some cucumber ones also, in case you don’t like the meat.’

  ‘That sounds wonderful.’

  Boosted by his enthusiasm, she added, ‘I’ve also baked some scones this morning. Mother let me bring a small jar of her best strawberry jam and I bought some Jersey cream to go with it. We also have crackers with a small wheel of Brie.’

  ‘You have thought of everything,’ he said, breathing in deeply. ‘This air is intoxicating.’

  Florence thought so too. She was pleased that he was happy with her basic picnic. She took the two glasses from the hamper and placed them on to the lid, in case the grass was too soft, and they tipped.

  ‘I made us lemonade,’ she said, unsure of her choice. ‘I tried some at home before leaving and I’m worried it’s a little too tart.’

  ‘Then it will be perfect for this weather.’

  She handed him a glass, and, pulling the cork out of the top of the lemonade bottle, poured a little into the glass for him to try.

  Mr Boot took a sip and blinked a few times, despite keeping a smile on his face.

  Florence couldn’t help being amused by his reaction. ‘I told you it probably wasn’t very good.’

  ‘It’s delicious,’ he fibbed, taking another mouthful. ‘Truly.’

  Unable to help herself, she laughed loudly at his attempt at saving her feelings.

  ‘I don’t believe you but thank you for being kind. I’m no cook, baker, or whatever you call a lemonade maker, but hopefully the food will be more palatable than the drink.’

  Chapter 6

  A week later, Florence thanked the postman as he handed her the mail in the shop. She exchanged pleasantries with one of their customers and opened the door for them as they left.

  ‘Any interesting mail?’ Amy asked, as she finished dusting the shelves and walked over to join Florence by the counter.

  ‘Why?’ Florence teased. ‘Are you expecting something in particular?’

  Amy scowled, peering at the letters in Florence’s hand. ‘No, but by the look of the top letter, you’ve received something?’

  Florence turned her attention to the envelopes. Her sister was right; the top one was addressed to her. She didn’t recognise the writing and inspected the other side, but there was no return address on the back.

  ‘Who’s it from?’ Amy asked.

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  Amy took the rest of the mail from Florence and sorted it out, putting it into small piles for her father, which included his personal and shop mail and one for her mother. She nudged Florence. ‘Are you going to stare at it all day, or will you be reading it?’

  Florence wasn’t sure, but she hoped the letter was from Mr Boot. He had asked if he could write to her, but she knew his business took up most of his time and had not expected him to do so this quickly. If her intuition was correct, then he had enjoyed their outing to the west of the island as much as she had. Even her hopeless attempt at preparing a tasty picnic hadn’t ruined their time together.

  However, she wasn’t sure that she wanted to be in company when she opened this letter, just in case it was from him. She pushed the letter into her skir
t pocket just as the shop door jangled and announced the arrival of another customer.

  The rest of the day passed achingly slowly. Finally, Florence finished her work for the day. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand to stifle a yawn, then tidied the last of the books and locked the shop door.

  Amy chatted with their father as Florence stared out of the window at the street where people hurried to shops before they closed for the day. She turned the sign to ‘closed’, so that no more customers would think to try and enter Rowe’s. She was desperate to read the letter that seemed to weigh down her pocket.

  Unable to wait any longer, she said, ‘Do you mind if I go and freshen up for supper now?’

  Her father frowned at her question. She could understand his reaction, as she never usually asked to leave as soon as they had closed for the day.

  ‘You are quite well?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Perfectly.’

  ‘Of course, you may go.’

  She began walking to the back of the shop, catching an amused smile from her sister as she passed her. She didn’t have time for Amy’s teasing, not right now.

  She reached her bedroom, closed the door and unlaced her Boot, kicking them off as she sat on the cushioned chair next to a small table by her bedroom window. Pulling the letter from her pocket she opened it and withdrew the single piece of good quality paper.

  It was from Mr Boot, she noted with relief. She stared at the writing for a moment thinking how distinctive it was in a slightly untidy way. Florence was nervous, yet excited to read what he had to say.

  16–20 Goose Gate

  Nottingham

  1 September 1885

  Miss F Rowe

  27 Queen Street

  St Helier

  Jersey

  My dear Miss Rowe,

  Thank you for permitting me to continue our friendship through correspondence now that I have returned home to Nottingham.

  I was sorry to cut short my trip and miss further outings with you to experience more diverse parishes in Jersey. I am still taken aback by the beauty and the difference in settings on such a small island. From the pretty cobbled back streets in your town to the expanse of sand and sea from the bays of Grouville and St Ouen. I can understand more fully now the reasons why my sister Jane enjoyed her visit so very much.

  I was sorry to have to say goodbye to you and your parents. You and your family were very gracious in welcoming me and ensuring that my stay on the island was such a memorable and life-affirming one.

  The business that I returned to Nottingham to deal with is now well underway. We have been developing our manufacturing facilities on Island Street and have come up against a few issues. It is a little more serious than I had presumed, but that is nothing unusual. Business always has its ups and downs, and very often unexpected events happen when you least foresee, or wish, them to.

  I fully intend to travel back to Jersey as soon as I am able to take time away from my business. I hope that I may enjoy the pleasure of your company when I do. I have so much yet to experience of the island, and maybe we could attend a concert or a dance, or, if you would prefer, I could ask your father’s permission to take you out to dinner.

  Yours sincerely and very best wishes,

  From your good friend,

  Mr Boot

  It had only been two days since Mr Boot had left on the ferry but already she missed his company. She had only known him a short time and hadn’t expected him to make such an impact on her life. She needed to write a reply to him but hadn’t managed to finish a letter that she was happy enough to post.

  Florence had turned down a couple of invitations from Albert since Mr Boot’s departure but was beginning to feel unkind to cancel their latest pre-arranged engagement to visit the Theatre Royal to attend one of the shows.

  Albert was a kind man and a good friend. She didn’t want to let him down again, so when he had popped in from the tea merchants earlier that day to deliver some tea for her mother, she had agreed to go with him and several other friends to a poetry reading.

  Florence went up to the living room and offered her mother some assistance making supper.

  ‘No, thank you,’ her mother said. ‘That won’t be necessary. We’re only having pork chops and boiled potatoes. It won’t take a moment to prepare and will be ready shortly.’

  Her mother came out of the kitchen, drying her hands and taking off her apron. ‘Amy mentioned that you received a letter in today’s post.’ She didn’t look very happy and Florence knew that her mother assumed it could be from Mr Boot.

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ she said. ‘I’ll quickly go to my room and freshen up.’

  Not wishing to wait a moment longer, she ran upstairs. She wasn’t sure what to write in reply but did not want to delay her letter to him in case he thought her uninterested in their correspondence. If she hurried and wrote back to him, he would probably receive it in the next day or so. She sat at her desk. Taking a piece of her favourite cream writing paper, she picked up her pen and began to write.

  27 Queen Street

  St Helier

  Jersey

  Channel Islands

  4 September 1885

  Mr J Boot

  16–20 Goose Gate

  Nottingham

  Dear Mr Boot,

  Thank you very much for your letter. I, too, enjoyed our outings and wish that you did not have to cut short your holiday on the island and go home to the mainland at such short notice.

  I am happy to hear that you plan to visit us again. I will endeavour to make a list of the places you might like to see and the best places to enjoy a pleasant meal, or a dance. But there is still so much of the island that I have yet to show you.

  You also haven’t been to the north of the island, which is a little more dramatic than the south, with cliff faces that are breathtaking to look at. We could probably take a horse-drawn taxi out to the splendid breakwater at St Catherine’s.

  Please send my best regards to Jane; I hope that she is well.

  With best wishes,

  Yours sincerely,

  Your friend, Miss Florence Rowe

  She heard her sister leave her bedroom next door and walk down the creaky attic stairs to the main landing for supper. Then her mother’s voice called for her to join them. She was unsure if her sister would come into her room for a quick chat before they went out for the evening. Florence quickly folded her letter and slipped it into an envelope, and wrote Mr Boot’s name and address on the front.

  She met up with Albert and her friends for their evening out. It was pleasant enough, although her mind kept wandering to Mr Boot and his letter. She had posted her letter on the way out and could barely wait for his reply to reach her.

  Several days later, after surreptitiously checking the post each day, Florence was delighted to spot a letter on the mantelpiece. Her father would have opened his own mail by lunchtime and her mother rarely received mail from anyone. Excitement bubbled in Florence’s stomach. This letter had to be either for either herself or Amy. She walked over to the mantelpiece and picked up the envelope. It was indeed addressed to her.

  She couldn’t help feeling surprised that his letters to her had come to mean so much and so quickly.

  Florence didn’t want her mother to see that he had written again. She didn’t like to keep things from her family but didn’t see the point in causing her mother any consternation if it wasn’t necessary. She and Mr Boot were merely friends after all, weren’t they? she thought.

  Finally, it was her half an hour lunch break, and Florence made an excuse and raced up to her room to read her correspondence.

  16–20 Goose Gate

  Nottingham

  7 September 1885

  Miss Florence Rowe

  27 Queen Street

  St Helier

  Jersey

  My dear Miss Rowe,

  How splendid of you to reply to my letter so quickly and with so much information abou
t your beautiful jewel of an island.

  I hope you won’t be offended if I ask you to consider if I may perhaps address you by your first name in future? Please do not hesitate to dismiss this request if it bothers you at all; I would fully understand. If, though, it sits comfortably with you, then please may I ask that you call me Jesse and maybe I may refer to you as Florence?

  I am trying to find a time in my calendar where I might have a week or so away from the office to visit Jersey once again. As soon as I do have anything planned, I shall let you know and then maybe we can make further plans about how to spend those carefree days.

  My very best wishes, to you Miss Rowe.

  Yours very sincerely,

  Mr Boot (Jesse)

  Florence checked her old mantel clock. She didn’t have time to write her reply, so put aside his letter for consideration later. She had no qualms about them using their first names to address each other. Weren’t they good friends by now? A niggling thought crept into her mind. How would her parents take to this knowledge, especially her mother? She, Florence was sure, would not be as keen to think of her daughter being on first-name terms with a man she had not known for very long. After all, it wasn’t as if they were courting.

  Going back to the shop, she approached her father with an idea that she had been brooding over for the past few days.

  ‘I was wondering if you would let me rearrange the back of shop display table. I thought I could move it further forward and change the way we arrange the display slightly.’

  He looked askance at her. ‘Whatever for? It’s always been in the same place.’

  She didn’t like to offend him by arguing but was determined to try out her plan. ‘I can’t help thinking that if we moved it further forward and pushed the one in front slightly to the right, that it would make it easier to see from the window. It would also be easier to walk around and look at the books from each side of the table.’

  She braced herself for his annoyance, surprised when it didn’t come. ‘Why not? Those books have always been the one to sell the least, even when they are the more appealing to the customers. Amy can help you move the table after closing and you can then redo the display in whatever way you choose.’