Mrs Boots

by Deborah Carr

She hurriedly wrote his address on the envelope. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ she said, as she pinned on her hat and pulled on her coat and scarf, hoping to catch the post that would take this card with her love to Jesse.

  Fifteen minutes later she was back at the shop, blowing on her cold hands. ‘I made it,’ she said to Amy glancing around to shop relieved to find her father had still not come back. ‘Shall I make us some tea?’

  ‘Good idea.’

  *

  The following week she received a letter from Jesse.

  16–20 Goose Gate

  Nottingham

  15 February 1886

  Miss Florence Boot

  27 Queen Street

  St Helier

  Jersey

  My dearest Florence,

  Thank you for my touching Valentine card. I have to admit that the one I sent to you was the first one I have ever bought. Up until meeting you it had never occurred to me to take part in this romantic occasion. I had thought it an occasion for young people only. However, now I find myself of a different mindset and this, my love, is entirely down to you.

  The days and weeks are passing slowly, but very surely, and soon our time will come when we can be together and in charge of our own destinies.

  My love, As ever,

  Jesse

  Florence could sense his delight at the card she had hurriedly sent to him and was relieved that she had given into her instincts and finally sent him the Valentine card. How guilty she would have felt not do have done so, especially when he took the time to choose such a perfect card for her.

  After supper she retired to her room to reply to his brief letter with one of her own.

  27 Queen Street

  St Helier

  Jersey

  19 February 1886

  Mr J Boot

  16–20 Goose Gate

  Nottingham

  Dearest Jesse,

  I am delighted that you liked my Valentine card to you. To be honest, I wasn’t certain that you would appreciate a card, but am now happy that I thought to send one to you. I was thrilled with mine and once the time is right and I need to take it down from my bedroom mantelpiece, I’ll place it together with your other letters in my wooden writing slope.

  The time is certainly passing, not as quickly as I would like, but soon it will be spring and then summer.

  It’ll soon be time to harvest the delicious Jersey Royal potatoes that you mentioned during your stay here last summer. My brother Willie assures me that he will buy a batch of the tastiest ones to be found on the island, so that I may post them over to you in Nottingham. They taste buttery without the addition of any butter and I look forward to hearing from you, once you have sampled the batch that I will send to you, for your thoughts.

  My love to you,

  As ever,

  Florence

  Chapter 29

  ‘I’ve bought you that batch of Jersey Royals,’ Florence’s brother Willie shouted as he strode up the hall stairs one afternoon in early April. ‘I’m assured that they’re the very best on the island, but all the farmers say that about their spuds.’

  ‘Thanks for fetching these for me,’ she said, taking the box of potatoes from him. ‘I can’t wait for Jesse to receive them and have them for supper. I’ll send a note with strict instructions not to add mint, or butter. I believe they must be eaten with as little added to them as possible.’

  ‘I agree,’ Willie said. ‘You can’t improve on perfection, so why try.’

  Florence laughed. Her brother was right. She was yet to eat a creamier, tastier vegetable than the Jersey Royals her island was so famous for. A thought came to her.

  ‘Do you think it would be a nice touch to include Jersey Royals in our wedding breakfast menu?’ she wondered out loud.

  Her brother screwed up his face as he thought through her idea. ‘I don’t see why not. In fact, I think it would be odd if you didn’t. You should take the opportunity of having your first meal together as husband and wife to introduce local delicacies.’

  ‘Like Jersey cream, butter and milk, you mean?’ she asked, liking the idea very much.

  ‘Exactly.’

  She noticed the time on the mantel clock and gasped. ‘Do you think I have time to take them to the post office before it closes?’

  He shrugged. ‘Maybe. If you do manage it, they might get them to the harbour in time for tonight’s boat. It’s worth a try.’

  It was. She quickly pulled on her jacket and, grabbing her purse, picked up the box and hurried down to the post office, making it with minutes to spare.

  She had to wait several days for a letter back from Jesse regarding her gift to him.

  16–20 Goose Gate

  Nottingham

  9th April 1886

  Miss Florence Rowe

  27 Queen Street

  St Helier

  Jersey

  Dearest,

  I have not only received your delightful food parcel, but after giving Cook your strict instructions about how to prepare them, have eaten a sumptuous meal with them as the only added vegetable. I have to admit that I am unable to imagine ever tasting any other potato that would come up to the taste of those that you have sent me.

  Initially Cook was unimpressed to be given advice on how to prepare the meal, but, having insisted she try one and receiving her assurance that she now has a new favourite potato, she has confirmed that you were right to send them with your note.

  Once you are living here, I believe that Cook will want to impress you with her knowledge on specialities of her own making. It is not often that someone is able to teach her something new about cooking or baking. I think she found the whole experience quite refreshing.

  Thank you again. You were right; the Jersey Royal potatoes were delicious.

  My love, as ever,

  Jesse

  Florence was thrilled to have made such an impression on Jesse’s cook and relieved that the woman had not been insulted in any way by her instructions for the Jersey Royals. Knowing how particular her own mother was about the produce she bought and how she prepared it and also how upset she could be if anyone was to question anything that she had prepared for them, Florence had been a little concerned that she might upset one of the people she would have to deal with once she married Jesse.

  Thinking of her mother and cooking, it occurred to Florence that maybe if she included her mother in some of her wedding plans that maybe she might soften towards Jesse and the thought of him being her husband.

  That night, when her mother was boiling a pan of milk to make them all a cup of cocoa, Florence went to join her in the kitchen.

  ‘Let me get those for you,’ she said, seeing her mother about to reach for four cups and saucers from the wooden rack and hooks on the wall beside her. She took the tin of cocoa from the small larder and spooned in some of the powder into each of the cups.

  Her mother continued to stir the warm milk with her wooden spoon. She narrowed her eyes at Florence. ‘Is there something you wanted to speak to me about? Is something wrong?’

  ‘Yes and no.’ Florence smiled, trying to lighten the atmosphere in the kitchen. Her mother was wary; she could see that much. She doubted she had come around to accepting Jesse as her husband, but Florence was going to try and make things between her mother and her future husband as amicable as possible. ‘I wanted to ask your advice about my wedding breakfast menu. Do you mind?’

  Her mother blinked rapidly a few times and Florence could see that her mother was taken aback by her question. She forgot to stir for a moment.

  ‘I would be very happy to help you. I’ve been waiting for you to ask me.’

  Florence couldn’t hide her surprise. ‘You have? Even though you are against me marrying Jesse?’

  Her mother lifted the pan from the heat and stirring slowly, she poured an even amount into each cup. She placed the pan into the sink and sighed.

  ‘I don’t have anything against Mr Boot as a person. I�
�ve discovered more about him in the past few months and, apart from being a hard-working man, he seems loyal and thoughtful to his staff. It’s you that I worry for, but we’ve had this conversation several times now.’

  ‘We have,’ Florence agreed, wishing the outcome of the conversation changed.

  ‘You might think me strange, but I’ve made my decision and I stick by it. However, if you insist on going through with the wedding, then I would like to ensure that everything is perfectly arranged for you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Florence wished her mother would change her mind, but knew better than to rely on it happening. She was a proud woman who, when she decided something, felt the need, more often than not, to stick to her decision. However, if she had softened towards the wedding to the point of helping arrange certain areas that was very welcome to Florence.

  ‘What were you thinking of including?’ Her mother wiped a drop of spilt milk with a damp cloth.

  Florence told her mother about wanting to include Jersey Royals, butter, cream and milk. ‘I thought it was a good way of bringing Jersey into my first meal as a married woman.’

  ‘I like that idea.’ Her mother rested a hand on Florence’s. ‘I’ll make your wedding cake, if you wish.’

  This was far more than Florence had dared hope her mother might do. ‘That would be incredible,’ she said, hugging her mother. ‘Thank you.’

  They parted and Florence didn’t care that she still had a grin on her face.

  Her mother stared at her momentarily. ‘I know that you can cook certain meals and assume that Mr Boot has his own cook?’

  ‘He does.’

  ‘Pass me a tray,’ her mother said, lifting each cup and saucer and placing them on to the tray Florence now held. ‘I will go through a few more recipes with you before your wedding,’ she said. ‘Now, let’s take these cups of cocoa through to your father and sister before they cool.’

  Florence carried the tray out to the living room where her sister and father were chatting quietly. Both stopped the instant Florence and her mother walked in and she couldn’t help thinking that they had been swapping guesses as to what she and her mother had been discussing in the kitchen.

  ‘Cocoa’s ready,’ she said, giving her sister a knowing smile.

  Chapter 30

  Florence was relieved to be putting on a lighter jacket for her walk to walk to the post office. She couldn’t believe it was already nearing the end of May. Jesse’s thirty-sixth birthday was on the second of June and she had no idea what to buy him. She thought back to his most recent letter to her, which she had received the previous day.

  16–20 Goose Gate

  Nottingham

  19 May 1886

  Miss Florence Rowe

  27 Queen Street

  St Helier

  Jersey

  Dearest Florence,

  You are as thoughtful as ever thinking about my birthday. However, and I mean this, I do not wish for you to fret about what to buy me. I am scolded each Christmas and birthday by Jane about how impossible I am to buy gifts for. She tells me that I need to read more widely, then she could buy me a book. She also admonishes me, telling me that in the months preceding Christmas or my birthday that should I discover a book, or item that I wish to purchase, I am not to. I am instead, she insists, to write down whatever it is and pass it to her, so that when the time comes she will know what gift to purchase for me. I am yet to do as she asks.

  So, my dearest love, I am well aware how difficult the act of buying gifts for me is and, to be perfectly honest, the only thing that I truly wish for in this world is for you to be my wife. Hopefully I only have to wait for another couple of months for this to happen. Until then, please, do not worry to buy me anything. A card, if you wish, from you will be a delight.

  As always, your loving,

  Jesse

  Florence could not let the occasion of his birthday pass without her sending him something to commemorate the occasion. She was still, however, at a loss as to what that gift should be. She had found the perfect birthday card, so that was something at least.

  The months had passed slowly, she mused, as she picked up her bag from the table in her bedroom and checked it contained her change purse. At least now the weather was warm.

  She was lost in thought, imagining the summer months that would soon be here and Jesse’s arrival, when she walked out of her bedroom and slammed into her mother coming along the hallway.

  ‘For pity’s sake, Florence,’ her mother cried, grabbing hold of the doorframe to steady herself. ‘Why don’t you look where you are going? You always seem to have your mind elsewhere these days.’

  Florence apologised, noticing the letter she had been holding in her hand had fallen and landed on the wooden floorboards at her feet. She had been posting letters to Jesse as quietly as possible, not wishing to antagonise her mother.

  Her mother glanced down seconds later, her expression darkening.

  ‘I know you think I was being unkind about Mr Boot and not wishing you to marry him?’

  Florence wasn’t sure if her mother was asking a question or merely making a statement. ‘I understand that we all see people differently.’ She bent to pick up the envelope and took a deep breath to steady her temper as she stood back up to face her mother.

  ‘I’m sure you know that I don’t dislike him, Florence,’ she insisted, looking hurt. ‘You are my priority, as is your happiness, and I had to do what I believed right for you.’

  ‘I know, Mother,’ she said, feeling guilty for snapping. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to be mean. But I assumed that when you agreed to help with my wedding breakfast and make the cake for the occasion that you had changed your mind, almost.’

  ‘I want you to be happy, but I haven’t changed my mind about the wedding itself.’ She appeared to be as sad as Florence suspected she felt. ‘You’re still writing to each other,’ her mother said thoughtfully, almost to herself. ‘And we’ve discussed your wedding breakfast. I’m aware you still intend to marry him this summer.’

  Florence was confused by her mother’s words. Then it occurred to her for the first time that her mother still held out a little hope that she and Jesse would grow tired of each other and cease their correspondence and with it their plans to marry. The realisation shocked her.

  ‘I do and I would love you to feel happy for me.’

  ‘I would love nothing more than that and for my reservations to be proved wrong. ‘Don’t forget though,’ her mother said quietly, ‘he still needs to ask your father’s permission for your hand.’

  Panic coursed through Florence. She wished her father was there with them right now. She would ask him to reassure her that he would not go back on his word. Could he ever be persuaded to? she wondered nervously. Her mother had, after all, persuaded him to retract his approval of she and Jesse marrying the previous year. Surely though, he would stand by his compromise that should they still wish to do so after these long months of keeping apart, he would grant them permission to marry. Wouldn’t he?

  ‘I trust Father to do as he promised,’ she said more assuredly than she felt. ‘Now, if you are all right after our collision, I need to hurry to the post office and mail this letter to Mr Boot.’

  Florence waited for her mother to move. Eventually she went to leave, stopping before she entered the next room, and turned to Florence.

  ‘You can stop off at John Cory’s on Snow Hill on your way home and bring half a dozen of his best pork sausages,’ she said, as if their conversation about Jesse had never happened, before continuing on her way into the living room.

  ‘Yes, Mother,’ Florence called before leaving the flat.

  She wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, but the people she passed in the streets seemed much more cheerful than they did during the winter. Florence stopped to chat to several people and for a while she almost forgot how strained her relationship was becoming with her mother.

  As she exited the post office, she crossed
the road to walk a little way along Bond Street, deciding that on such a lovely day, she would walk through the Town Church and admire the flowers. As she reached the metal railings, she saw a young girl selling bunches of daffodils and decided to buy some for her mother, her sister Amy and for her own bedroom. They were the perfect pick-me-up, and might go some way to cheer up her mother, she thought hopefully.

  ‘Three bunches, please,’ she said to the young girl whose face immediately brightened at the thought of a sale. ‘How much are they?’ The girl told her and, taking her change purse from her handbag, Florence took out a few coins and handed them to her. ‘Thank you,’ she said smiling. ‘These are delightful.’

  ‘They remind me of sunshine,’ said the little girl, who, Florence thought, could not be much older than ten. For a split second she wanted to ask her why she was not at school, then, thinking how difficult it was for Lily to care for her family, decided to mind her business.

  She held up the bunches and studied them. They were the brightest yellows. ‘They remind me of that, too,’ Florence said, wistfully. ‘Goodbye.’

  She stepped up through the open gate and into the church yard. Despite this being in the middle of several roads, she always found this place to be more peaceful than most other places in town. She desperately tried to think of a suitable gift for Jesse as she walked slowly around the side of the granite church to the lawn. She gazed at the flowerbeds with their primulas and primroses giving a colourful creamy yellow, purple and pink display, the sight cheering her slightly.

  She stared at the delightful display as two women walked nearby in conversation.

  ‘He was very good, I thought,’ the older woman said. ‘Your father’s family will be very happy with the cartes de visite when we send it to them.’

  The younger woman laughed. ‘Father only had the photograph done to show off to them.’

  ‘Hush now. You shouldn’t say such things.’

  ‘Well, it’s true. He’s always wanting them to know how well he’s doing since we all came to live on the island.’

  A photograph. Florence had to hold back from laughing. It was the perfect gift to send Jesse for his birthday. He had said he didn’t want a present; well, this was not one, exactly. She walked up to the two women.