Isabella ran until her breath was coming in gasps and the nagging stitch at her side forced her to stop. As she slumped against a tree, trying to regain her composure, her terror turned to anger. How dare the man intimidate her like that? Alley cat indeed. Flowers or not, there was no way she would set foot inside the big house again. If Dotty still wasn’t strong enough to make the journey next week then Uncle Frederick would jolly well have to take them himself. ‘Hell and damnation to all men,’ she shouted but the screeching of the gulls was her only response.
She stamped along, glaring down at the path, heedless of the hedge-banks closing in on either side. Only when she realized it had grown darker did she pause and look up. To her surprise, she had passed through a short dark tunnel and ahead there was water on either side. Where was this place, she wondered, stopping and taking in her situation for the first time. In her haste to get away she must have headed in the wrong direction.
Even though it was the beginning of November, the long grass beneath her feet was dotted with pink and white flowers. A sweep of red sandstone cliffs rose to one side of her and she could hear the shooshing of the waves on the shore close by. The wind blowing in from the sea cooled her flushed cheeks and before long she felt her anger dissipating. After all she’d heard that morning, she had much to mull over and the fresh air would help clear her mind.
All thought of selling the remaining flowers forgotten, she made her way down to the shore and began walking briskly along the sand, which like the soil and cliffs in the area was of a red hue. Fancy Mrs Tripe being at school with Mama, and how annoying that haughty housekeeper had interrupted their conversation. For all the difference in their stations, she’d felt the first real connection with her dear mama since she’d arrived in Devonshire.
As for Lord Lester, she couldn’t believe the refined, gentle woman she remembered singing lullabies to her would ever associate with someone so utterly repulsive. Lord Lewd more like, or Lord Lecherous, Lustful, Libidinous, Lascivious. Thinking up as many befitting names as she could, Isabella paid little heed to where she was walking until she heard a shout.
‘Watch out, girl, you’ll be getting a drenching in a moment.’ Snapping out of her reverie, she saw she was right at the water’s edge, waves lapping around her boots.
‘Oh, thank you,’ she called, jumping back and heading to where the woman, basket over one arm, was trudging out of the water and up the compacted damp sand. It was only then that she became aware of other people at the water’s edge. They were all bent over, rakes in their hands and wicker baskets by their sides.
‘I seen people caught by the incoming tide before, but never the ebb,’ the woman tutted, gold hoops at her ears swaying as she shook her head. A red headscarf was keeping her long dark curls from her face, and she had a matching woollen shawl over her shoulders. Her skirt was tucked up around her thighs, exposing bare legs and feet as she rested on the handle of her rake, surveying Isabella with eyes so dark Isabella was reminded of the ebony keys on her piano back home.
‘You’re not from round these parts then?’ the woman asked, eyeing Isabella’s attire with great interest.
‘No, er, that is, I have recently come to reside here.’ For some reason, the woman seemed to think that funny and for the first time she smiled, the weather-beaten skin around her eyes crinkling like a fan.
‘What are you doing?’ Isabella enquired, gesturing to the net.
‘Me and the bairns are cockling. A full pail will fill their bellies and keep the wolf from the door.’
‘Shouldn’t they be in school?’ Isabella questioned, thinking of Alice and Thomas.
‘Pah,’ the woman spat onto the sand. ‘Learnin’ won’t keep ’em fed. What about you? You don’t look like a flower girl and yet you’re carrying those,’ she said, peering inquisitively into Isabella’s basket.
‘I was supposed to be selling them, but seem to have lost the town,’ she murmured. The woman hooted with laughter.
‘My, you’re a one and a half. Just so happens, I’m going there myself later. Perhaps I could do you a favour and sell them for you. How much do you charge?’
‘Penny ha’penny a bunch,’ Isabella replied, her heart soaring at this unexpected piece of luck.
‘That’s a shame,’ the woman shook her head again, sending the hoops swaying. ‘I can’t afford to buy them from you at that price.’ As the woman resumed her cockling, Isabella’s heart plummeted. There was no way she could walk all the way back to the town but she could imagine her uncle’s look of disdain if she returned home with her basket still half full.
‘What could you pay?’ she ventured. The woman slowly straightened, then darting Isabella a knowing look, slowly took her purse from her pocket. Frowning at its contents, she sighed.
‘Just about manage ha’penny a bunch to take the lot off your hands.’ Isabella thought quickly. That might be less than she should get for them but, even if she could face the walk back to the town centre, there was no guarantee she’d sell them all when she got there.
‘I accept your offer,’ Isabella replied. The woman grinned then, as if worried Isabella would change her mind, hastily transferred the flowers into her own basket.
Coins jangling, and feeling happier, Isabella made her way off the beach. It was high time she tackled her uncle about her mama’s past and asked about her papa’s effects. If she arrived back with money in her basket, hopefully he would be more amenable to answering her questions. And she would insist he gave her some answers, too.
Looking around she saw she’d rejoined the lane that ran parallel to the railway line, and knew if she continued her route she would come to the entrance leading to the big house. Loath to risk bumping into Lord Lester again, she darted down a turning to her left instead, passing a couple of whitewashed cottages, where to her surprise chickens strutted around and vegetables grew in the front gardens. How strange, she thought, skirting the woodland that surrounded the big house to her right. Hearing a shot followed by a squawk, she shuddered and quickened her step until she reached a stile beyond which stretched a ploughed field. The church tower rising in the distance was a familiar landmark and she knew she had no option but to make her way across the red furrows that were covered with seemingly hundreds of seagulls.
Her worn boots did little to protect her feet from the stony soil, and wincing she picked her way towards the hedge. She was halfway across when she saw a man with a battered hat ahead. He was staring directly at her, his arms open wide. Heart in mouth, she glanced over her shoulder. Should she make a run for it? Yet she’d come so far, the thought of running back over the sharp earth was more than she could bear. She’d just have to brazen it out. Heart beating wildly, she advanced but strangely the man didn’t move, he just stood staring at her with that funny grin on his face. Even the birds weren’t scared as they perched on him. It was only when she got nearer that she realized it wasn’t a real man but some kind straw-stuffed effigy mounted on a stick. Would she ever understand this strange country life, she wondered, clambering wearily over the stile.
The winding lane with its tumbledown sheds looked vaguely familiar, and it took her a moment to realize it was the one that Uncle Bill had pointed out the day he’d rescued her from the rhyll. Dear Uncle Bill, how kind he was and how sad he’d looked that morning when he’d driven her to the big house. Recalling his invitation to visit, she decided now would be a good time to accept. She could check he was alright and perhaps he would answer some of her questions. Returning to the cottage this early in the day would only further arouse her aunt’s suspicions of how she’d sold her flowers.
The way was long and kept snaking back on itself, yet spreading out around her like a beautiful blue carpet were hundreds of violets, their heady aroma filling the air. With Uncle Bill’s land laying between Uncle Frederick’s and the Furneaux’s, these flowers must extend for miles, she realized, taking in the beautiful sight. By the time she reached his farmhouse, she was parched, her feet were aching and she was longing for a cool drink.
Tapping briskly on her uncle’s door, she stared around the gardens. Everywhere looked immaculate and it was evident he took great pride in his work. When there was no answer, she walked round the side path and tried the back door. It was opened almost immediately by her cousin Joseph who stared at her in surprise.
‘Hello, Joseph. Sorry to bother you but Uncle Bill invited me to call in and as I just happened to be passing, well, here I am,’ she smiled.
‘You just ’appened to be passing?’ he asked, frowning down at her muddy boots. ‘Uncle’s still up at Father’s but you’re welcome to come in. We’re just having our noontime piece,’ he explained, opening the door wider. Kicking the dirt from her boots, she followed him into a large kitchen where the range emanated a welcome heat. Everywhere was neat and tidy, with china stacked on the huge dresser that dominated the room and a picture of a young woman adorning one shelf.
‘It’s lovely and warm in here,’ she said, slipping off her aunt’s turnover. Then she felt a prickle creep up her spine and saw Felix watching her from the deal table. Grinning, he jumped to his feet and she couldn’t help thinking how good-looking he was.
‘Miss Carrington, how lovely to see you again,’ he said, perfecting one of his little bows. ‘And looking very elegant if I might be so bold.’
‘Oh, please don’t let me interrupt your luncheon,’ she murmured, his emerald gaze making her feel flustered. ‘And it’s Isabella, as you well know.’ He inclined his head in acknowledgement then went back to his meal. There was a fresh loaf, ham and pickles set out on the table, and Isabella suddenly realized how hungry she was. Seeing her looking, Joseph pulled out a chair.
‘Want some?’ he asked. Before she could answer, he set about cutting a thick slice of bread.
‘Thank you,’ she said, eagerly accepting the invitation. He added a generous slice of meat then passed over the jar of pickles.
‘Lemonade?’ he asked, pouring a glass from a pitcher.
‘Oh yes, please. This is so kind of you,’ she said.
‘There’s plenty,’ Joseph replied politely. ‘Haven’t seen much of you since you arrived. Liking Deb’n are you?’ As two pairs of eyes awaited her answer, Isabella forced a nod. ‘Expect you’re finding it different to London, though,’ Joseph persisted.
‘Oh, you’ve been there, have you?’ she asked, her eyes lighting up. He shook his head and pulled a face.
‘Nah, too much smoke from them manufactories. I likes the sea air.’
‘I’ve just been walking along the beach actually,’ Isabella replied. As they both stared at her in surprise, Isabella realized she’d revealed more than she should have and turned her attention back to her food. As she ate, she was conscious of Felix glancing at her across the table but he waited until she’d finished her meal before speaking.
‘Forgive me, did you say you’d been walking along the beach?’
‘I did, but that was after I’d visited the big house and sold my flowers,’ she replied truthfully.
‘I don’t wish to appear rude, but don’t you think you’re a little overdressed for the role of a flower girl. I mean, there are some men who might, er, get the wrong idea if they see you cavorting around looking like that.’
‘I’ll have you know that I do not cavort, Mr Furneaux. Besides, I am in mourning for Papa and lavender is an appropriate colour to wear,’ she told him, wishing he wouldn’t stare at her so intently. She took a sip of her drink. ‘This is delicious,’ she said, changing the subject.
‘Was he French?’ Joseph asked.
‘Who? Oh, you mean Papa? No, he wasn’t, why do you ask?’
‘Well, you always refer to your parents as Mama and Papa and she were Father’s sister so she couldn’t be French.’
‘Oh, I see what you mean. Do you know I’ve never really given it a thought? They’ve always been . . . I mean I always called them that,’ she frowned.
‘I expect you’re wondering what I’m doing consorting with the enemy?’ Felix asked, sensing her discomfort.
‘Well, to be honest, I was surprised to see you here,’ Isabella replied.
‘As you know Father and I recently set up our new market garden venture. Both Joseph and his uncle have been very generous with their advice on how to grow the best blooms to sell,’ Felix told her.
‘We’re ’appy to pass on our tips ’cos Uncle Bill says there’s business enough for us all. Best not tell Father, though,’ Joseph added quickly. ‘I was telling Felix we’d be planting teddies in the spring after we’ve cleared out the old plants.’
‘Why potatoes?’ Isabella frowned.
‘Violets take no phosphates from the soil but teddies absorb it, so it be ben’ficial to plant some and rotate everything, like.’
‘I see,’ Isabella replied, not really comprehending yet not wishing to appear stupid. Feeling Felix’s gaze on her once more, she looked up to see him grinning knowingly.
‘You needs to really understand the soil,’ Joseph continued unaware. ‘Uncle Bill grows lots of his flowers between the fruit trees which be good for naturalizing, see. If you’re taking them to market, you need to grow great blooms or it’s a waste of time,’ he smiled.
‘You seem very knowledgeable,’ Isabella replied, thinking how pleasant he was compared to his taciturn brother.
‘Uncle Bill’s the best teacher and he says when he’d old, even older than he is now, I’ll be in charge,’ he said, proudly.
‘And meantime, Joseph and his uncle are generously passing on their wisdom to Father and I, for which we are extremely grateful, I might add,’ Felix told her.
‘You’ll ’elp us if we ever need it,’ Joseph shrugged philosophically. ‘We were going to take a look around the gardens and talk about yield. You can join us if you want, Izzie?’ he invited, getting to his feet.
‘Please don’t feel you have to come, though,’ Felix added. ‘You might prefer to rest whilst you’re waiting for Bill to return.’
‘I’d love to see them,’ she replied, flushing as their gaze met and held. Steady, Isabella, men are fickle, she reminded herself. Turning quickly away, she retrieved her turnover.
For the second time that day, Isabella was pleased to feel the breeze cooling her cheeks as she followed them outside. The gardens wrapped around the house and were planted with violets in differing states of growth. They strolled on until they came to an orchard where mauve heads peeped out between the tree trunks.
‘We’ve just picked all the apples and pears and stored them in the shed,’ Joseph explained. ‘Mother would appreciate some Bramley’s if you could take them back with you,’ he told Isabella. ‘She makes a mean fruit pie and hopefully will have one made by the time we come for luncheon on Sunday,’ he said rubbing his stomach appreciatively. Isabella smiled at his expression but he had turned back to Felix. ‘What was it you wanted to know?’ he asked.
‘How much yield we could expect? We’re thinking of planting up another two acres.’
‘That’s a goodly amount,’ Joseph nodded, stroking his chin thoughtfully. ‘Should get about 100 to 150 pounds’ weight of flowers from that, I reckon. Best check with Uncle Bill, though.’
‘No need, Joe, you know your stuff and I’m mighty grateful for you taking time out of your busy day to explain everything.
Now, I’d better help you finish packing up your violets or you won’t have them ready for when Bill returns.’
‘I’ll help if you like,’ Isabella offered.
‘Never look a gift horse . . . ,’ Joseph began, then looked embarrassed. ‘Not that I was suggesting you look like one, of course.’
‘I should hope not,’ she exclaimed, laughing despite herself.
Joseph led the way into a huge barn which was laid out in a similar manner to Frederick’s but much tidier. Pails of violets were lined alongside a long trestle, waiting to be posied and packed and Isabella set about counting out the flowers.
The three of them worked well together and Isabella found herself enjoying the congenial atmosphere. From time to time, though, she caught Felix glancing at her and couldn’t help smiling back. By the time the job was finished Bill still hadn’t reappeared and Joseph was looking anxious.
‘Better pack them onto my cart and I’ll give you a lift to the station,’ Felix offered.
‘Thanks. Can’t afford to miss the train,’ Joseph replied. ‘Go and get your basket, Izzie, and we’ll fill it with apples for Mother before we go.’
Isabella did as he suggested, welcoming the kitchen’s warmth after the cool air of the afternoon. She stared around the room, marvelling at its order compared with the general clutter of her aunt’s kitchen. Then her attention was drawn to the portrait on the dresser and she went over to have a better look. The pretty young woman had her glossy hair falling in waves around her shoulders, and her sparkling eyes seemed to light up the room. Isabella thought how vivacious she was.
‘Here’s the apples.’ Joseph appeared beside her, making Isabella jump.
‘I was just thinking how happy the woman looks,’ she said, replacing the picture on the shelf.
‘That were Uncle Bill’s wife.’
‘Goodness, I never realized he was married,’ she gasped.
‘Love of his life, she were. Died in childbirth some years back now. Uncle blames himself,’ Joseph told her, dropping the large green fruits into her basket.
‘Poor Uncle Bill,’ she sighed.
‘I know. Sometimes he finds the memories too painful and goes on a bender to forget. Probably what he’s done today. Father gets right mad at him.’
‘Cart’s all packed,’ Felix said appearing in the doorway. ‘That basket looks heavy. We’ll drop you home on our way back from the station, Isabella.’
Isabella nodded, her attention returning to the young woman in the picture. Poor, poor Uncle Bill, she thought.