The Flower Seller. Linda Finlay

as if she’d been up for ever. She’d go upstairs and write to Maxwell and Papa. There was no way she could stay here with this strident man and his strict routine. As for the food, she thought, glaring down at her bowl . . . why, she’d seen Cook put better offerings in the pig swill.

Chapter 8

      As the family carried out their father’s wishes, knowing her presence on the small holding was temporary, Isabella tried her best to fit in. While she applauded her uncle’s determination and tenacity, she was still smarting from the way he’d spoken to her on their journey back from Starcross. If he noticed her coolness he ignored it, treating her the same as the others during the day, then disappearing through the door at the end of the barn after supper each evening.

      ‘What’s through there?’ Isabella asked her aunt as they stood side by side bunching up the violets a few days later. Dotty, wearing her best bonnet, had departed earlier for the big house, a large willow basket filled with flowers over her arm, and the letters she’d promised Isabella she’d post in her pocket.

      ‘That’s Father’s domain,’ she replied. ‘He’s bringing on a new strain of plant. Between you and me, it’s a bit risky financially but very exciting. He’s keeping it under his hat so nobody’s allowed inside.’

      ‘You don’t mind him taking a chance with your money?’ Isabella asked, thinking of all the shabby things in the house that needed replacing. The woman chuckled.

      ‘Once Father gets something in his mind, there’s no stopping him. He’s no fool, though. Put everything into this market garden, he has, and if he wants to expand the range of flowers he can offer, who am I to stand in his way?’ Isabella nodded and concentrated on tying up the posies, but as she worked her mind was busy processing what her aunt had told her. Finally, she had to ask the question that was uppermost in her mind.

      ‘Auntie, when I arrived here, I handed Uncle an envelope from Papa that I’m guessing contained money for my keep?’ Her aunt stared at her in surprise.

      ‘He never mentioned it, but then he’s had a lot on his mind,’ she frowned. ‘Not that we expected anything for having you here. You’re family, after all.’

      ‘Thank you, Auntie,’ she replied, touched by the woman’s kindness. The more she thought it about it, though, the more she was convinced that the envelope would have contained money. Quite a lot too, judging by the thickness of it. Could her uncle have kept it for himself? Perhaps to purchase these new flowers?

      ‘Oh, well done, dear. You’re really getting the hang of this now, aren’t you?’

      Isabella stared down at the posy she’d been fashioning and, with a jolt, realized it was true. All the flower heads were facing the same way and she’d even managed to tie their stems neatly with raffia. Feeling ridiculously pleased by her aunt’s praise, she beamed and started on another one. It was peaceful in the barn and, as the boxes filled up, she was proud to see the progress she was making. All thought of money forgotten, she let out a sigh of contentment.

      ‘Enjoying yourself?’ her aunt asked.

      ‘I am actually,’ Isabella replied, surprised to find it was true. ‘It’s so calm in here, although I still find it funny that you can’t smell any of the flowers after a while.’

      ‘Father might have a scientific reason for that, but I like to think it’s nature playing one of her jokes on us. I must admit, it’s a good time for thinking. Flowers don’t criticize or judge, do they?’ her aunt said, giving Isabella a wink. ‘And it’s rewarding to see the results of your labours, isn’t it?’

      ‘It is, but you must get tired with everything else you have to do. What with looking after your house and Grandmother’s, taking care of the family and teaching me to cook, you never have a moment to yourself, Aunt Mary.’

      ‘And why would I want one? My family and home mean everything to me, Isabella,’ she said.

      ‘But you don’t have any hired help,’ Isabella protested. Her aunt smiled.

      ‘It might surprise you to know that I take a pride in running both homes and bringing up the children. I was raised in an orphanage, you see.’ Isabella stared at her aunt in surprise. ‘Oh, we were well looked after, but with thirty of us sharing a dormitory and all our clothes cast-offs and hand-me-downs, I soon learned what mattered in life. Having my own home and family is like a dream come true.’

      ‘Goodness, I never realized,’ Isabella murmured, her eyes widening in shock. ‘Didn’t you know your parents at all?’ Her aunt shook her head.

      ‘I was left in a chapel porch on Dartmoor. Still, I thank my lucky stars whoever abandoned me knew I’d soon be found by folk that cared. They made enquiries but . . . ,’ she shrugged. ‘Anyhow, at least I was placed in a home . . . of sorts, anyhow,’ she added.

      ‘That’s terrible,’ Isabella frowned.

      ‘Your uncle’s the best thing that ever happened to me.’

      ‘How did you meet?’ Isabella asked.

      ‘I was in service at a big house on the edge of Moretonhampstead and met him at the town market on my half day. We got talking and just sparked. Couldn’t believe it when he called the next day and asked my employer if he would agree to my having a follower. Always been a man who knows his own mind, has Frederick,’ she smiled. ‘After we wed, he brought me back here with him.’

      ‘How romantic,’ Isabella gushed, feeling a sharp pang that her own plans for the future had been deferred.

      ‘Don’t mind me and my ruminations, dear,’ her aunt said quickly. The rosy flush staining her cheeks made her look softer somehow, and Isabella realized she wasn’t as old as she’d thought.

      ‘But I’d like to know more,’ she protested, seeing this as an ideal time to discover something about her own family. ‘Did you know you’d have to look after Grandmother as well?’ Isabella asked, pausing mid-posy.

      ‘Of course. Father told me about the shock . . . ,’ her voice trailed off and she quickly resumed her counting. Isabella wasn’t going to let the opportunity pass, though.

      ‘Am I right in guessing it had something to do with my mother?’

      ‘Well . . . ,’ her aunt began, looking flustered. Then William appeared, two laden baskets over his arms and, looking relieved, she said: ‘Oh my, you’ve picked yet more, I see. Father will be pleased. Good job Mrs Pudge let you have all those boxes.’

      Grinning, he carefully placed them in the buckets they’d spent the past few hours emptying and it was all Isabella could do not to groan.

      ‘This little lot are from Grandmother’s garden. I’m off to dig over the wild patch at the back so we can plant more. We’ll be swimming in blue mice soon,’ William said, grinning at Isabella’s look of dismay. ‘Finding it hard to keep up, are you?’ he crowed. ‘No sign of your knight in shining armour coming to your rescue then?’

      ‘Now then, William. Your cousin’s doing a fine job and I for one am pleased to have her here. It’s nice to have a bit of intelligent conversation for once,’ she added.

      As William snorted and loped from the barn, taking Isabella’s good humour with him, her aunt patted her shoulder.

      ‘Don’t mind him, dear. He might be my son but he’s all the sensitivity of a pumpkin.’

      ‘I’ve written to Maxwell again, as he might not have received my original note.’ Isabella could see the scepticism in her aunt’s eyes.

      ‘Well, suppose we’d better get on it like a bonnet,’ she joked. Knowing the woman was trying to make her feel better, Isabella forced down her frustration and reached for another box.

      ‘I hope this is the last lot, my back’s killing me,’ she winced. Having been in