Despite her aunt’s misgivings and the damp, dismal weather, Isabella left the house the next morning wearing her lavender outfit, complete with matching hat. Working-class she might now be, but after the episode in the draper’s she absolutely refused to look or act like it. Standards would be maintained at all times, she vowed. Not only that, she would work hard so that one day she’d be in a position to return to the social standing she was used to.
Still unused to being out at such an hour, the early-morning chill caught her unawares and gratefully she pulled her aunt’s turnover tighter around her shoulders. It was the one concession to which she’d agreed in order to appease the woman, and one for which she was now thankful. She hefted the heavy basket over her arm and strode purposefully down the road, giving the appearance of one who had not a care in the world. Her insides, though, were wobbling like one of the jellies her nanny used to make for her birthday.
‘Morning, my dear.’ Lost in thought, she hadn’t seen the cart approach, and looking up she saw Uncle Bill waving at her.
‘Good morning, Uncle,’ she called.
‘Yer looking prettier than ever, though a bit smart for working, I’d have thought. Care for a lift?’ he asked, drawing up alongside.
‘But you’re travelling in the opposite direction,’ Isabella said. He grinned then stepped down from the cart and guided the pony backwards into the field he had just passed. Pulling the animal forward again, he turned to Isabella.
‘I be going the right way now,’ he chuckled. ‘Come on.’ Climbing back up, he patted the seat beside him, then while he waited for Isabella to settle herself, eased a clay pipe from under his cap and a box from his capacious pocket. Tamping tobacco from pouch to bowl, he expertly lit it. Taking a puff, he sighed contentedly. ‘First smoke of the day’s always the best. Best not tell Fred, though. He’s forever moaning it’s a waste of money,’ he said, tapping the side of his nose with his finger. ‘Now then, how yer feeling this morning?’
‘Sick to my stomach, Uncle,’ she replied.
‘Best to face your fears head-on. Once you done that there’s nothing left to dread,’ he told her.
‘You sound like you’re speaking from experience,’ she said.
‘It’s what I do every day, dear,’ he sighed and lapsed into silence. His bereft look was such a contrast to his normal demeanour that after a while she felt compelled to ask him what was wrong. He looked at her bleakly.
‘Sometimes, things happen in life you just have to overcome,’ he murmured. ‘Now, here we are,’ he added, before Isabella could ask what he meant.
‘Oh,’ she cried, staring at the boxed hedge he’d stopped beside. ‘I should have told you I was on my way to the big house.’
‘I know that, dear, and here we are. See that gap there?’ Isabella looked to where he was pointing and saw a double green gate discreetly placed in the dark shrubbery where the lane widened.
‘That be the back entrance. Only servants and trade use it, so if you go in that way there’s no chance of his Lordship seeing you arrive. ’Tis what you’re worried about, isn’t it?’ he asked. Isabella nodded.
‘Oh Uncle Bill, you’re wonderful. Thank you so much,’ she said, jumping down onto the track. ‘I can’t tell you how much better I feel now.’
‘Chin up,’ he smiled. She watched in surprise as he turned his cart right around and went back the way they’d come. Clearly he had been on his way to see Uncle Frederick and had altered his route just to give her a lift. Dear Uncle Bill, he’d known she was nervous and set out to help. She couldn’t wait to visit him and hear what he had to say about her mama.
Remembering her earlier resolve to maintain standards, she shrugged off the worn turnover and put it over her arm. She lifted the heavy iron latch, walked briskly up the path and tapped on the back door. It was opened by a young girl wearing a white apron and mob cap. She blinked at Isabella in surprise.
‘Good morning,’ Isabella smiled.
‘You needs the front entrance, Miss,’ she squeaked, shutting the door in Isabella’s face.
Isabella frowned. Last week, she’d not only been chastised for using the front door but commanded to use the trade entrance. Yet now, when she did, it appeared that was also wrong. Well, she couldn’t stand here dithering all day, she thought, lifting the knocker and trying again. This time the door was opened by a plump woman of middle years wearing a white apron and cap, a smudge of flour smeared across one cheek. The little maid was peering out from behind her skirts like an inquisitive child.
‘Good morning. I have brought violets for Mrs Tripe,’ Isabella said.
‘I see the flowers but who is bringing them, I ask myself,’ the woman replied.
‘Forgive me. My name is Isabella Carrington and I am here on behalf of my cousin Dorothy who has hurt her ankle and is indisposed.’
‘Well, I be begger’d. You’re Dotty’s cousin?’ she asked, looking Isabella up and down. ‘Why didn’t you say so? I’m Mrs Tripe, the cook. Come wayin, we’re due a skatt,’ she said peering up at the leaden sky. ‘Molly you chump, didn’t you see her flower basket?’
‘But she talks lah-di-dah like the toffs,’ the maid squeaked. ‘And look at ’er posh frock.’
‘Stop gawpin’ and get back to your work. Them pots won’t wash themselves.’ She watched as the maid scurried into a room leading off the kitchen then shook her head.
‘Bout as much sense as a sausage, that one. Still, it keeps her out of the workhouse,’ she said, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘Now sit yerself down and tell me how Dotty is,’ she added, pulling out a chair.
‘Thank you,’ Isabella replied, sinking gratefully into it.
‘Dotty always has a drink and a nubbie, so I dare say you’d like the same? Or perhaps a glass of elderflower cordial would be more to your taste?’ she said uncertainly.
‘A cup of coffee and one of your delicious nubbies would be most welcome,’ she replied, remembering the heavenly cup she’d been served the previous week.
Whilst the woman bustled about, Isabella stared around the room, taking in the signs of frantic activity. The row of gleaming copper pans above the range, steam rising from a bowl of something delicious-smelling cooling on a work surface, the half-rolled-out pastry on the table beside the floury rolling pin, and a luscious Victoria sandwich awaiting decoration on a shelf above.
‘His nibs is entertaining today, so we’re up to our eyes in it,’ Mrs Tripe said, placing a cup and plate in front of her. Isabella smiled her thanks then lifted the cup, inhaling the aroma in happy anticipation. However, it smelled like the coffee her aunt made. Swallowing down her disappointment, she took a bite of the nubbie.
‘Delicious,’ she cried. The cook smiled.
‘That’s what Dotty always says. How’s her ankle?’
‘It still pains her but she did say this morning she could put it to the ground better,’ Isabella told her.
‘Good, good. Dare say it won’t be long til she calls again, which will be a relief to us all, what with Alfie going round with a face longer than an eel.’
‘I have a note for him from Dotty actually,’ Isabella said, retrieving it from her pocket.
‘I’ll see he gets it. Might cheer him up,’ she said, giving a wink as she placed it in her drawer. ‘Now, Isabella, before we get down to business, tell me how you’re settling in?’
‘Everyone’s been so kind,’ she replied diplomatically.
‘But you feel like yer wings have been clipped, eh?’ the cook replied, staring at her with knowing eyes.
‘That’s exactly it,’ she cried. ‘I don’t wish to appear ungrateful, but everything is so regimented.’ The cook chuckled.
‘Long for freedom, eh? Ellie were just the same.’
‘You knew my mama?’ Isabella stared at the woman in surprise.
‘Gawd love us, yes. We was at school together.’
‘Really?’ she gasped. ‘But you’re a cook and old . . . oh,’ she said, her hand flying to her mouth in embarrassment. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude, but I only remember Mama as a young lady.’
‘Ah, she always aspired to better things,’ the woman nodded with a smile. ‘Used to lead his Lordship a merry dance.’
‘You were all at school together?’
‘Why, love us, no. He were privately tutored. Fancied Ellie something chronic, he did, but she were having none of it. Right sore he was when she told him she’d fallen for someone else.’
‘That would have been my papa,’ Isabella cried, hardly able to contain her excitement. The woman stared at her for a moment, then nodded.
‘Guess it must have been.’
Isabella leaned forward in her seat, eager for more information, but before she could ask anything else the door burst open and the housekeeper strode into the room, starched skirts swishing.
‘What is the meaning of this? I’m surprised you have the time to entertain, Mrs Tripe, what with his Lordship expecting a houseful of important guests.’ Although her strident voice addressed the cook, it was Isabella she was glaring at.
‘That’s the very reason I asked for Miss Isabella here to bring extra flowers today,’ Mrs Tripe told her. Although Isabella’s stomach had flipped at the sound of the housekeeper’s voice, clearly the cook wasn’t fazed.
‘I see. Well, I trust they are of a better standard than last time,’ she sniffed. Seeing Isabella bridle, the cook intervened.
‘These are perfect.’
‘Tell me how much the girl needs paying then get back to your duties,’ she snapped. Deliberately the cook picked up Isabella’s basket and counted out twenty bunches. ‘That’s an awful lot of flowers, Mrs Tripe.’
‘No doubt his Lordship’s guests will be bringing their daughters so he’ll be expecting an awful lot of cake, all with his signature crystallized violets on top,’ the cook countered. There was a sharp intake of breath and Isabella feared the woman had gone too far.
‘Wait here, girl. I will get your money,’ the housekeeper finally replied, her clipped voice showing her annoyance.
‘Okerd old bissom,’ the cook muttered as the door closed behind her.
‘Thank you, Mrs Tripe, that’s nearly half my flowers you’ve bought there,’ Isabella said, taking back her basket.
‘Don’t you worry, maid. His Lordship’s guests makes short work of my fancies especially when he’s trying to impress them. Cors, now I’ll have to spend all afternoon de-stemming, washing and drying them before beating up egg and sugaring them. Still, it was worth it to see the look on ’er face.’
‘I’d be pleased to help. I can’t believe you went to school with my mama,’ Isabella said, shaking her head.
‘Ah, we had some larks, I can tell yer,’ she said, a faraway look in her eye. ‘You’ve the daps when you smile even though . . . ’ To Isabella’s frustration, the door opened and her voice trailed away.
‘You will find the correct coinage inside,’ the housekeeper announced, striding back into the room and slapping a brown envelope down on the table. ‘Now I’d be obliged if you would let my cook resume her duties.’
‘Of course,’ Isabella replied politely and pocketed the money. With a swish of her skirts, the housekeeper left and the cook let out a long sigh.
‘Always gets her corsets crinkled when his nibs is expecting guests. Fancies herself as the next Lady Lester, I reckon. Can’t see him being attracted to a wrinkled old prune like that when it’s the young ’uns he likes. Well, I’d best get on,’ Mrs Tripe said, wiping her hands on her apron again. ‘Tell Dotty I’ll make sure Alfie gets her note and I hopes to see her soon. It’s been real nice to meet you, maid. Oh, you didn’t drink your coffee,’ she said, holding out the cup. Isabella stared down at the bitter-looking liquid now coated with crinkled skin and felt her stomach heave.
‘Thank you, Mrs Tripe, but I mustn’t detain you,’ she replied, quickly opening the back door.
It had stopped raining and the air smelled fresh. Even a few birds were singing as, swinging her now half-empty basket, Isabella tripped lightly down the path. She was just closing the gate behind her when a voice sent a shiver snaking down her spine.
‘Behold, a beautiful sight to brighten the day.’
‘What are you doing here?’ she gasped, finding herself face to face with Lord Lester who was holding the reins of a heavily lathered horse.
‘I believe I live here, my dear,’ he replied, giving a snort of derision. Catching sight of the half-empty basket, he gave her a speculative look. ‘From the look of things, you have given one of my suggestions due consideration. I am relieved because, between you and me, I would have hated to switch allegiance, nice chap though I believe Furneaux to be. As for you, Miss Isabella Carrington, you have surely had enough of living in squalor by now, so how about my other proposition?’ he asked, eyeing her slowly up and down like she was a prize filly.
Isabella swallowed hard, wishing she’d left a few moments later. If only she’d forced herself to drink that frightful coffee, she would have avoided him. She glanced down the lane, but it was empty.
‘Only trade has cause to come around this way,’ Lord Lester grinned, clearly enjoying her predicament. ‘But then, you know that, don’t you. I have to say, despite your circumstances, you are looking far more fetching than you did last week,’ he said, moving closer. Realizing she was trapped between him and the gate, she tried dodging to his right, but he anticipated her move, for his hand snaked out and grabbed her arm.
‘Not only is the lady spirited, she likes to fight like an alley cat,’ he smirked, pulling her close. Desperately, she tried to pull away but he tightened his grip. ‘Your mother did too, you know. Such a shame she chose the wrong man. You’d do well to learn from her mistake so you don’t find yourself in the same predicament.’
‘And what would that have been?’ Isabella asked, forcing a smile. Perhaps if she humoured him, he would let her go.
‘A rather large one,’ he leered, leaning closer. As his lips sought hers, Isabella saw red and her knee came up and delivered a sharp kick to his nether regions. He gave a groan, his legs sagged and he went glassy-eyed. Seizing her opportunity, she snatched her hand away and slapped his cheek as hard as she could.
‘Why, you little . . . ,’ he wheezed but, seizing the moment, Isabella turned and shot off down the lane. ‘You’ll pay for this, Miss High and Mighty Carrington. And so will your family.’