Mrs Boots

by Deborah Carr

  He frowned. ‘Opinions about what?’

  She didn’t want to offend him; he was older than her, after all, and she suspected slightly more old-fashioned than her friends. He had asked though, and she wanted to be honest with him. ‘Mrs Beeton says in her Book of Household Management that the mistress of the house should consider herself as “the commander of an army”. She believes that women running their homes should feel as important as men do going out to work.’

  ‘Is there anything wrong with that sentiment?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. It’s just that it is not my ambition to simply run a household.’

  He thought for a moment. ‘Surely, though, a well-run house is extremely important.’

  She was enjoying herself immensely. It was fun being able to debate with this man in such a way. ‘Yes, it is very important, and I would love to keep my own home at some point; however, I hope to have more for myself.’

  ‘Such as what, may I ask?’

  She spotted a twinkling in his hazel eyes but knew it wasn’t due to amusement, but she suspected that he was enjoying their conversation as much as she. ‘I would like to run my own business. I don’t believe that being in charge of a home will be enough for me.’

  His eyes widened. ‘Do you know something, Miss Rowe? I believe you will find a way to achieve your ambition.’ He tilted his head. ‘What’s more, I feel certain you will be successful at it.’

  She was taken aback by his confidence in her. ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘I do. You have intelligence, you work hard, and you seem very determined. There is no reason why you should fail.’

  She smiled at him, delighted with his reassurances. ‘People do fail though, and maybe I could be one of them.’

  ‘That is always a possibility. I’ve failed at some of the things I’ve attempted to do, quite a few times,’ he said, surprising her with his honesty, ‘but to me, a successful person is not someone who falls at the first hurdle, but who dusts themselves off, rethinks their strategy and tries again. And sometimes has to keep on trying until they find a way of achieving what they set out to do.’

  She gazed at him in awe of his open-mindedness and frankness. ‘You make a lot of sense. Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me.’

  ‘It is my pleasure. For now, though, you assist your father at Rowe’s. He must enjoy having you and your sister working for him?’

  Florence agreed. ‘He does. I think he would have preferred my brother to work for him, so that he could train him to take over from him when he retires, but Willie hasn’t never been interested in the shop.’

  ‘That’s a shame,’ he said, looking a little unsure. ‘Although I don’t see why you and your sister wouldn’t be any less successful at running the business. My mother took over from my father when he passed when I was ten years old. She was a good business-woman too, and I learnt everything I know from her.’

  Florence liked his attitude to women and business. It gave her hope that in this world where man was king of all he possessed, that maybe Mr Boot wasn’t the only man to believe women were capable of much more than was usually expected of them.

  The train moved off once again. ‘I don’t know why but I hadn’t realised there would be so many stops on such a small island,’ he said.

  ‘We’ll reach Pontac soon and you can see the coast from there. It’s one of my favourite stops,’ Florence explained. ‘When I do come this way, I love to look out at the rocks in the bay. I’m told it can be very dangerous for the fishermen’s boats, but the bay is very pretty for those of us looking out from a carriage window.’

  ‘My sister tells me that this island is blessed with many bays worthy of inspection.’ He laughed. ‘She also said that she believes you and she visited most of them during her time here.’

  He had a wonderful laugh. Deep and rumbling, infectious.

  ‘We did visit a few.’ Florence recalled only too well those pleasant, sunny days with Jane. It wasn’t hard to imagine her and her brother getting along well; both seemed such friendly people. ‘But there are many more we didn’t explore.’

  ‘You’re very lucky to live on such a beautiful island,’ he said, as they passed several pretty gardens with the glistening sea in the background.

  ‘What’s Nottingham like? I’ve never been.’ She wanted to know more about this man and where he came from.

  ‘It also has its beauty, but a different one to this place. I particularly admire the red-brick buildings in the town. I enjoy the hustle and bustle of the streets. I find it inspirational.’ He gazed at her for a moment. ‘There’s a lot of green open space around the city, and if I’m not working, I’ll go for a ride in my carriage to take in the air.’

  ‘It sounds wonderful,’ she said, trying to picture the place. The largest town she had ever experienced was St Helier and she doubted that was anything like the size of Nottingham. ‘And of course, Nottingham is where such beautiful lace mostly comes from. We have a customer who will only wear lace sourced from there.’ She recalled the last time Mrs Wolstenholm had boasted about the fine lace on the sleeves of one of her dresses.

  ‘It is a thriving industry,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘However, with that comes its own issues and pitfalls. On the one hand the industry provides work for many of the populous, but the hours are long, and a lot of the factories provide little in the way of benefit for their staff. We have a lot of poverty in many areas and the poorer people of Nottingham suffer as all do who have very little.’

  She had witnessed the slums in St Helier a few times when her father took her and her siblings to deliver food from their church a couple of times around Christmas time. He believed it was a valuable part of their education and had wanted them to see how sheltered their lives were. She had never forgotten it and was grateful to live with her family in their little flat above their shop. She had so much compared to those with very little.

  ‘I feel rather ungrateful to have moaned about being a shop assistant after hearing about these poor workers in the factories.’

  ‘You shouldn’t. You’re ambitious, and, as I’ve said, there is nothing at all wrong with that. I don’t want you to form the wrong idea about Nottingham; it does have its slums and overcrowding and occasionally there have been riots.’ Florence gasped at the thought. ‘However, it is a vibrant place, and I do enjoy living there.’ He hurriedly added, ‘That’s not to say I think any less of your island. I only wish I had thought to visit here before now.’

  ‘At least you’ve discovered it now.’

  A silence descended on them and, surprised to be caught without any idea what to say next, Florence stared out of the window. It was disconcerting to not feel in control for once. Wasn’t she the one who always knew what to say? The person her friends relied upon to take the lead when conversation dried up? What was wrong with her that she felt so empty-headed now?

  ‘It really was very kind of you to come out with me today on your day off,’ he said, breaking the silence and putting her at her ease once more. ‘I hope I didn’t disrupt any other plans you might have had.’

  She shook her head. ‘No.’ She usually spent her days off going for a walk to the sea and finding somewhere peaceful to read the latest novel she had chosen from W. H. Rowe. The thought reminded her of the book she must now return to the shop display before her father discovered it was missing.

  The train came to a halt and several passengers exited. Florence spotted one of congregation from their Wesleyan chapel stepping onto their carriage and suppressed a groan. She was a particularly nosy woman and Florence suspected that she would stay in their carriage just to find out more about her companion.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Rowe,’ she said, not looking at her, but at Mr Boot instead. ‘And you’re with a friend today, I see. Sir, I’m Mrs Bisson. We attend the same church in Grove Street.’

  Mr Boot stood and doffed his hat. ‘Good morning, Mrs Bisson,’ he said, his tone friendly.

  ‘Do yo
u mind if I take this seat?’

  Florence quickly scanned the rows of empty seats nearby. She wasn’t surprised that the woman was so insensitive, merely disappointed to have their journey interrupted.

  ‘No, please,’ Mr Boot said politely, giving Florence an apologetic glance. He sat back down, his breath catching slightly as he did so, Florence noticed. ‘Let me introduce myself.’ He took Mrs Bisson’s hand. ‘My name is Mr Jesse Boot. I’m on holiday on the island and Mrs Rowe has kindly offered to show me some of the sights you’re lucky to enjoy here in Jersey.’

  She seemed charmed by his friendly way. ‘We are particularly lucky, I’m told. Although I’ve never left the island. Never felt the need.’ She studied him for a few seconds. ‘Will we see you at chapel on Sunday then, Mr Boot? As a guest of Mr and Mrs Rowe?’ she added pointedly. ‘Miss Rowe’s family and mine are practising Wesleyans, which is how we are acquainted.’

  His look of surprise when he stared at Florence concerned her. Did he have negative views about their faith? She hoped not.

  ‘My faith is important to me,’ she said. ‘I know we’re seen as non-conformists in the Protestant church, but it’s all I’ve known, and I believe it’s the right way to worship. I see no reason to change my views.’

  ‘I hadn’t realised, Miss Rowe,’ he said. ‘I would love to accompany your family on Sunday, if I may, for I, too, am a practising Wesleyan.’

  Stunned, Florence opened her mouth to speak, but failed to produce any words. She pressed her lips together, trying to gather herself. ‘Yes, we would be delighted if you would join us,’ she said eventually.

  This man was becoming more intriguing and appealing by the minute, she decided. It was confusing to feel such affinity with a man she barely knew. It unnerved her slightly.

  ‘That is good news,’ Mrs Bisson said. ‘How long are you planning to stay here?’

  Florence could see he could not have heard the woman’s question as his eyes were still locked on hers. ‘Mr Boot?’

  He blinked several times. ‘Sorry? I, um, was thinking.’

  ‘I asked—’ Mrs Bisson’s irritation was barely veiled ‘—how long you were planning to stay on the island?’

  ‘I had initially planned on a fortnight. However, I can see that there is much more to see here than I had assumed on such a small island. I may therefore delay my departure a little.’

  Florence could tell Mrs Bisson’s interest had been piqued, so decided to distract her. ‘How is your daughter now?’ Florence asked, aware that by asking this question, the woman would give them chapter and verse about her daughter’s new marriage to a wealthy farmer in St Mary. Hopefully Mrs Bisson’s chatter would last the entire length of her journey, so Mr Boot and she could be left to their own thoughts.

  As the woman told her things she had already heard several times, Florence watched the rolling waves as the train moved on. Her instincts told her that meeting the man sitting opposite her had been an important occurrence in her life. She wasn’t sure exactly how it would manifest itself, but something in her changed. For the first time in her life she liked the idea of spending time with someone over the thought of being alone with her books. The thought stunned her … excited her.

  Florence realised Mrs Bisson was standing up and that the train had come to a halt. ‘This is my stop,’ the lady said. ‘Well, it has been very pleasant speaking with you, Mr Boot. I do hope you enjoy your time on the island.’

  They waved to Miss Bisson through the window as the train moved on.

  ‘I’m not certain she learnt much about me at all,’ Mr Boot said, smiling.

  ‘I know, but she’s happy to chatter and tell us all about her family.’

  ‘You’re a Wesleyan too?’ he asked after a moment’s silence. ‘Jane never mentioned that to me.’

  Florence smoothed down a non-existent crease in her skirt. ‘I don’t think it was something we ever discussed,’ she said, thinking it strange that if Jane had been a Methodist, she had not thought to ask Florence which chapel she might attend on Sundays. ‘We were more interested in visiting the library, taking tea at some of the hotels and taking strolls in the countryside.’

  ‘That sounds like Jane,’ he said thoughtfully.

  They sank again into a comfortable silence. It seemed strange to Florence not to feel the need to find something to discuss, but she felt that simply being in each other’s company was pleasant enough. This really was a new experience in many ways.

  The train pulled into the station at Grouville. Florence followed Mr Boot, taking his proffered hand as she stepped from the carriage onto the platform.

  ‘I thought we could stop for a cup of tea before taking a stroll around the area. I would like to take you on to Gorey, with its busy harbour, but the train line doesn’t extend that far. I believe there’s talk about doing so at some point. We could take a carriage if you would like to go there.’

  He looked around. ‘This is very pretty. I’m happy to spend time here for now and come back for some refreshment a little later.’

  Florence was happy to agree with him. They walked slowly, taking in the warm sea air, neither feeling the need to speak for several moments.

  When they were a few feet onto the common, Mr Boot finally asked, ‘Do you enjoy working at Rowe’s? Or is there something else you would rather do?’

  She wondered if he was referring to motherhood. Surely not. That would be far too forward a question for anyone to ask her, especially a man of Mr Boot’s standing. To be safe she said, ‘I’m happy at Father’s shop. I love books and now we’ve branched out into art supplies, there’s even more to enjoy and share with our regular customers.’

  ‘You are very happy there then?’

  Florence smiled. ‘Yes, although I wish my father would allow me to arrange the shop a little differently. I’m sure I could make it work better than it does now.’ Embarrassed to be thought of as complaining – or even worse: being disloyal to her father – she quickly added. ‘Not that the shop doesn’t do perfectly well.’ She wondered if what she was saying could be construed as vulgar. ‘Or that Father doesn’t listen to me on occasion. Recently he agreed to let me order a couple of gold pen holders and holiday cards.’

  ‘Holiday cards?’

  ‘Yes, post cards.’ She stumbled slightly and he caught her elbow, helping her right herself. ‘Thank you. What I meant to say was that I merely wish for a little more freedom to try out a few new things.’

  ‘I understand. My mother tended to see me as her child despite my advance in years and experience doing the work.’

  She was relieved that he understood what she was trying to convey.

  ‘Amy mentioned that you were a druggist,’ she said, ‘but you also have quite a few stores. Which work do you prefer?’

  He thought for a moment and pausing picked a daisy from the high bank next to them, twirling it round between his right thumb and forefinger thoughtfully. ‘I enjoy the creating of new medicines.’

  Her face reddened, aware she had admitted some interest in him. ‘Have you always wanted to do this work?’

  He nodded. ‘I have. I inherited this need from my father. He was concerned with helping improve living conditions in the lace market area. He realised that herbal remedies were cheap and over thirty years ago he opened an establishment at Goose Gate in a poor area of the town to provide herbal remedies to those who couldn’t afford to pay for physicians. He learnt from his mother and he passed his knowledge down to me.’

  She was fascinated by his story. ‘So, it’s very much a passion of yours then?’

  ‘It is.’

  What an incredible man this was.

  He handed the daisy to Florence with a friendly smile. ‘I am ambitious, but I find I am rewarded with much satisfaction by being able to help others.’

  As her gloved hands took the daisy from his, the thin stem slipped through her fingers.

  ‘Oh, I’ve dropped it,’ she said, embarrassed by her clumsiness.


  ‘No matter, there are many more.’ He reached out to pick another one from the sloped bank, placing the flower in the palm of his other hand and waiting for her to take it.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I love daisies, don’t you? So pretty, yet not at all … what’s the word I’m trying to find.’

  ‘Ostentatious?’ Mr Boot suggested.

  Florence mulled over his suggestion as she gazed at the plain white petals fanning around the egg-yellow middle. ‘Yes, that’s perfect.’

  It was hotter than Florence had anticipated, and her corset was uncomfortable. One part of her longed to get back to her bedroom and remove the restrictive garment, but she was also enjoying herself much more than she had imagined.

  ‘This common has the best view of any I’ve seen,’ Mr Boot said, gazing at the view ahead of them. ‘I presume events are held here at times?’

  ‘Yes,’ Florence said. ‘There’s horse racing occasionally, and the military come here to carry out training and exercises sometimes.’

  ‘There’s certainly the space for it.’ They walked on a few more yards. ‘Your father has invited me to dine with your brother and his wife,’ Mr Boot said. ‘It really is very kind of your family to make me feel so welcome. I appreciate it.’

  ‘We enjoy meeting new people. It gives us something different to discuss in the evenings.’ She was joking, but only a little. ‘Your life seems so different to ours and it fascinates us.’

  His step faltered and he widened his eyes. ‘Really? Why so?’

  Florence hoped he would not think her forward or talking out of turn by saying such things. Her parents often scolded her for her forthright way of speaking to people they insisted she had no right addressing or giving her opinions to.

  ‘You come from the mainland and the Midlands at that,’ she said, hoping to show that she had paid attention to what he had been saying. ‘You’re a druggist; that is something unusual in itself. You also run factories and chemists. Not like the small chemist next to Rowe’s at number twenty-nine. It’s diverting for us to think about these things.’