The next morning, Isabella floated downstairs on a haze of happiness, only to be met with the grim faces of the family as they sat hunched round the table.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, taking her seat and noting they were back to having beastly brewis again.
‘William and I have been out to assess the storm damage and it’s much worse than we feared,’ her uncle told her. ‘The whole of the big barn has been affected, which means we can’t do any work in there. Not that there will be many flowers worth picking for a while anyhow. Can’t send bedraggled blooms to Covent Garden,’ he added gloomily. ‘Completely ruin my reputation, that would.’
‘Which will leave the way clear for lover boy to take our share of the market,’ William spat. ‘No wonder he was looking so jubilant yesterday.’
‘What does jubilant mean?’ Alice asked, but Isabella hardly heard her, for she was remembering Felix examining the damage to their flower fields and asking about the contents of the barn. Had he been using her as a foil for his own plans, she wondered, her dreams turning to dust.
‘Why, you didn’t think he was looking so happy because of your company, did you?’ he taunted.
‘William, that’s not nice,’ Mary chided.
‘I shall ask Felix when I see him on Saturday,’ she said.
‘Oh?’ Frederick asked.
‘He was telling me about making perfume. When I expressed a desire to know more, he invited me to see his gardens,’ she admitted, ignoring her uncle’s disapproving look.
‘Makes a change from etchings,’ William snorted.
‘That’s quite enough of that, William,’ Mary scolded. ‘Come along, Izzie, eat your breakfast. We’ve a lot to do today.’ Isabella stared down at the mush of milk and crusts and felt her throat constrict.
‘We need to have a chat before you next meet him, girl. There’s things you need to know and things you mustn’t tell,’ Frederick told Isabella.
‘Like what?’ she asked but he was already studying the pad he’d been scribbling on.
‘Right, Alice and Thomas, get yourselves off to school now. There’ll be plenty for you to do when you get home, so no dawdling,’ Mary ordered. ‘Don’t forget your lunchtime pieces, and put your capes on, it’s raining again,’ she told them, ruffling Thomas’s hair affectionately as he scrambled down from the table.
‘Aw, Mother,’ he groaned, flattening again it with his hand.
The door closed behind them then opened again as Dotty came in carrying a tray.
‘Still blooming raining,’ she moaned, setting it down on the sill and shaking the drops from her shawl. ‘Grandmother’s feeling better today. She even asked me to wind up her music box so she could listen while she ate. Said a little melody was good for the soul, can you believe.’ Frederick nodded distractedly, then gestured for her to take a seat.
‘Right, listen up,’ he ordered, staring at each of them in turn. ‘I’ve been working out the cost of the storm damage and it’s not good. Mother’s come up with the helpful idea of using the damaged heads for making jam and tablet to sell, which will bring in some money as well as not wasting the violets.’ Dotty brightened.
‘I’ll take them into town and sell them after I’ve been to the big house. There will be flowers for them, won’t there?’ she asked anxiously.
‘Might be enough by Thursday,’ Frederick replied. ‘William, I want you to go out now and pick all the violets that can be used for cooking. You girls will help Mother in the kitchen,’ he said, looking at Isabella and Dotty.
‘What will you be doing, Father?’ William asked.
‘Seeing the bank manager for a loan,’ he replied grimly. ‘Money’ll be tight for the next few weeks until we’re back on our feet so there will be no allowance for anyone,’ he added, getting to his feet and pulling on his hat and coat. Isabella noticed that for once he didn’t put a bunch of violets in his buttonhole.
‘But Father, I’m trying to save for new material . . . ,’ Dotty began.
‘And I’m trying to save our business and home,’ he snapped. ‘Now, Isabella, do you have your pearls?’ Isabella stared at him in dismay. What could she say? If she told him she’d left them with the sisters she’d have to come clean about the seances. ‘I don’t intend pawning them, if that’s what you’re worried about,’ he snorted. ‘With Mother fretting about them being secure, I was going to deposit them in the bank’s safe but I can see from your face you still don’t trust us.’ As Isabella opened her mouth to protest, he turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
‘But I didn’t mean . . . ,’ she began.
‘He was only trying to help,’ Mary said quietly.
‘Wouldn’t hurt you to let him pawn them anyway, being as how he saved you from the workhouse,’ William muttered, scowling at Isabella before slamming out of the door behind his father. Bewildered, Isabella stared after him. That she might have ended up in the workhouse had never occurred to her.
‘Would it help to pawn them?’ Isabella asked, turning back to her aunt.
‘We wouldn’t dream of it, dear, so don’t even think about it,’ she replied, patting Isabella’s hand.
‘But William’s right. You did take me in and . . . ,’ she began.
‘We did it willingly,’ Mary cut in. ‘Father’ll get things sorted out. He always does. I looked out that grey material earlier,’ she added, turning and taking a length of woollen fabric from the dresser. ‘As it’s so wet outside, why don’t you cut it out and sew that dress we were talking about?’
‘But shouldn’t I be helping you with . . . ’
‘I need to find my receipts and gather everything together, so you can use the table while I’m doing that. Believe you me, dear, I’ll feel much happier when you have a respectable frock to wear out. And I can’t tell you how relieved I am you’re wearing that locket instead of them pearls. I take it they’re in a safe place upstairs?’ she asked, fixing Isabella with her gimlet stare.
‘Yes,’ Isabella replied, crossing her fingers behind her back.
‘Now, if you’re not finishing that breakfast, go and get your lavender dress to use as a pattern. Dotty, clear away then you can help me take the stalks off the flowers.’
As Isabella went upstairs, she could hear her cousin bewailing the lack of allowance. Poor Dotty, she thought, remembering how the girl wanted to impress Alfred. Perhaps she had something suitable in her trunk. She would suggest they took a look later. There might even be things she could give the family, she thought, still upset that the pearls had caused such a bad atmosphere. As soon as she got them back she’d suggest her uncle take them. Feeling better about her decision, she took her dress from the closet and went back downstairs.
‘Just look at the state of that,’ her aunt said, pointing to the mud stains. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself, Isabella. Why ever didn’t you sponge them off?’
‘I never thought,’ she admitted.
‘Well, girl, it’s time you did. Regrettably for you, the days of having servants to do these things are over. Brush off the worst then you can wash it in the outhouse later,’ her aunt told her, placing the clean dishes back on the dresser.
Isabella did as her aunt suggested, then spread the grey material over the table. Using her dress as a guide, she began pinning out the shape.
‘Right, I’m off to see if Mother needs anything,’ Mary said, grabbing her turnover. ‘Although it’s good she’s having a better day, it does mean she requires more attention. While I’m gone, Dotty, you can get out the stone mortar and sugar loaf from the pantry.’
‘I’m never going to save enough in time for the party now,’ Dotty moaned as soon as her mother had gone.
‘We could take a look at the things I brought with me. See if there’s anything you’d like to wear or adapt,’ Isabella told her.
‘Coo, that’d be great,’ Dotty cried, brightening.
‘Perhaps you should have this material instead of me,’ she suggested, gesturing to the table.
‘That’d hardly be festive, would it?’ she snorted. ‘Now, if you’ve got any more like this?’ she added, running her finger over the satin fabric.
‘There’s a matching jacket which could be fashioned into a blouse,’ Isabella mused. They jumped as the door opened and William stomped into the kitchen carrying two baskets.
‘I see Madam High and Mighty’s looking after herself, as usual,’ he muttered, dumping the flowers on the floor. ‘Shouldn’t you be helping with the cooking rather than making something fancy to wear when you go out with lover boy?’
‘Actually . . . ,’ she began, but found she was talking to his back. ‘Oh dear.’
‘He never used to be like that,’ Dotty said. ‘Reckon he’s got a thing for you, Izzie,’ she grinned. ‘Oops, here comes Mother,’ she added, scuttling over to the pantry.
‘Well, Grandmother’s in good spirits today, Izzie,’ Mary said. ‘You can take her luncheon in later if you like. Ah good, William’s picked the violets, though the poor things look so draggled, cooking’s all they’re good for. Have you got everything else ready, Dotty?’
Isabella smiled at her aunt’s seemingly endless energy, then carefully began her cutting out. It’d been ages since she’d done any needlework, or painting come to that, and she realized she missed being creative. Whilst she’d employed dressmakers for her couture outfits, she’d always enjoyed making her own things for informal wear.
‘Oh, you have made a good job of that,’ Mary said when she’d finished. ‘Now, you sit by the window to catch the light while you sew it up. It’s time I got on with the jam. Have you finished that sugar yet, Dotty?’
To the sound of stems being snipped from flower heads, Isabella began to stitch. As she sewed, she thought how much her life had changed since she’d left London. Although she desperately missed dear Papa and still thought of him often, her days here were so busy that the time just flew by. Her new family had made her so welcome and she was determined to have that conversation about her dear mama soon. Her thoughts turned to Maxwell but instead of steely grey eyes that analysed and assessed, a vision of warm, green ones that listened and encouraged popped into her head, making her heart flip. Despite her vow never to let another man into her life, she realized Felix had found his way into her affections. Now she’d had time to think about William’s earlier words, she couldn’t believe Felix would use her in the way he’d suggested. However, she’d be on her guard not to let out any family secrets. Not that she knew many, she thought with a shake of her head.
A wonderful aroma wafted across the room and she inhaled appreciatively. Although similar to the smell at the seance, this was sweeter and more appetizing. It was a shame she had to wait so long to see the sisters again for she really was impatient to find out if Agnes had absorbed her mama’s aura from the pearls and would be able to invoke her spirit.
Turning the material to sew the other seam, she began humming softly. As ever, the music of a cradlesong evoked snatches of words and that elusive fragrance from the past which, even in this violet-growing place, she’d yet to find. Lost in her memories, she began to sing:
Goodnight, sleep tight, while the angels watch o’er
My darling delight, scent of violets will soar
All mingled with dum, de dum
Oh, why couldn’t she remember all the words? She gave a sigh of frustration then realized her aunt and Dotty had stopped what they were doing and were watching her curiously.
‘Sorry, I know my tones are anything but dulcet,’ she said, grinning sheepishly.
‘No, it wasn’t your voice, more the words,’ Mary murmured, looking uncomfortable. ‘Oh heck, me jam’s boiling.’ Quickly, she turned back to her pan, stirred furiously, then took a spoonful and placed it on a cold plate.
‘Why do you do that?’ Isabella asked.
‘To see if it’s reached setting,’ Dotty answered, lining the jars along the table. ‘You wait a moment then push it with your fingers and if it crinkles, like this, then it’s done. If you boil the mixture too long it’ll go bitter then no one will eat it.’
‘Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help?’ Isabella asked, conscious that they’d been toiling while she’d been sewing and musing.
‘You can pen the labels if you like. Dotty’s writing’s worse than mine,’ Mary laughed, pushing her hair back under the day cap she was wearing. ‘But that can be done this afternoon. While Dotty helps me bottle this lot, you can prepare luncheon and take Mother’s into her. She’s asking for more of them tiny bite-sized morsels. It’s funny the things she remembers,’ she added with a smile. Isabella stared at her aunt in surprise, for usually she insisted they went in together.
Although the rain had eased, the yard was filled with puddles and Isabella gingerly made her way round to next door and let herself in. As she carried the tray through to the living room, she heard music playing. It couldn’t be, she thought, staring at her grandmother in surprise. The music came to a stop and she was just thinking she must have imagined it after her recent reminiscing, when the woman turned the key of the box on her lap. Sure enough, it was the same tune and Isabella nearly dropped the tray as the woman began singing the lyrics. When she reached the words Isabella had forgotten, she felt the tears welling up. As the music box ran down again, the woman stared at Isabella and smiled.
‘Violets and roses, that’s what my Ellie used to mix. Used to love that scent, she did. Cors, when she went to London, she had it made up proper. Only came back once after, but she smelled like a field of flowers,’ the woman beamed.
‘She was my mama,’ Isabella prompted, excitement fluttering in her breast.
‘I know that girl, I’m not daft,’ she tutted. Then her eyes dimmed and she stared into the fire. Scared she was about to retreat into her own world again, Isabella knelt down and took her hand.
‘She used to wear that all the time. Weren’t worth much but he give it her, see,’ her grandmother sighed as she pointed to the locket at Isabella’s throat. ‘It were all so long ago.’ As she lapsed into silence again and closed her eyes, Isabella bit her lip and waited. Please come back, she willed. The rain started again, lashing the window and trickling down the chimney where it landed on the glowing embers with a hiss. Suddenly, the woman’s eyes snapped open.
‘What’s your name?’ she asked, her rheumy eyes focused on Isabella.
‘Isabella,’ she replied.
‘That figures,’ the woman laughed. ‘Always had grand ideas, did Ellie. That’s why she married who she did.’
‘Papa was a good man,’ Isabella assured her grandmother.
‘You’re the spit of him, you know.’
‘Really?’ she asked, frowning. Nobody had ever commented on that before. Quite the reverse, in fact.
‘Roger, that were ’is name. Roger the Dodger,’ she snorted then closed her eyes.