The Flower Seller. Linda Finlay

in the City, for hadn’t he mentioned there’d been a big takeover in the offing? Maybe he was involved in it and unable to leave his office. Well, she’d soon know when he replied to her note. She hoped dear Papa would respond quickly too, for she longed to find out how he was, and surely by now he would know how much time he needed to sort everything out.

      ‘Come along, Daisy Daydream, as soon as we finish this lot we can break for luncheon.’

      ‘Shall I make a start on it?’ Isabella offered.

      ‘Please. There’s some of my brawn left so perhaps you could cut some bread to go with it and lay out pickles.’

      ‘Brawn?’ Isabella frowned.

      ‘Yes, from the pig’s head. I’ll show you how to make it if you like.’ Isabella gulped, her appetite vanishing completely. Oblivious, her aunt continued. ‘You’ll find it in a dish on the cold slab in the pantry. And I’m that parched, a nice strong brew would go down well,’ she said. Realizing it was her aunt’s tactful way of reminding her of her uncle’s preference, she forced a smile.

      ‘Don’t worry, Auntie, I’ll make strong tea in mugs with milk this time. And I’ll remember not to cut the crusts off the bread.’

      ‘You’re learning, dear,’ her aunt chuckled. ‘Keep your man’s stomach filled and he’ll be happy. Dotty won’t be back until later so there’ll just be the four of us. Perhaps you could make one of those dainty sandwiches for Mother. She so enjoyed hers the other day.’

      ‘I’ll take it in to her, shall I?’ she asked eagerly.

      ‘Best we go in together, dear, she’s that unpredictable,’ her aunt replied before returning to her counting.

      To Isabella’s surprise, when she entered the kitchen, her grandmother was standing by the range. She was waving a spill in the air above the hob, her white curls bobbing wildly as she chatted away.

      ‘Got to get this lit.’

      ‘Hello, Grandmama,’ Isabella said cheerily, looking around to see who she’d been talking to. To her surprise there was nobody else in the room.

      ‘Who are you?’ the woman asked, staring at Isabella blankly.

      ‘I’m Isabella, your granddaughter,’ she explained. ‘We met a few days ago, don’t you remember?’ The woman narrowed her eyes.

      ‘Never see you afore in me life,’ she muttered. Then to Isabella’s horror, tears began rolling down her cheek. ‘Can’t abide strangers in my kitchen,’ she sobbed. Isabella moved to put a reassuring arm around her, but the woman backed away and cowered in the corner. At a loss to know what to do, she was relieved when William hurried into the room.

      ‘It’s all right, Grandmother,’ he soothed. ‘You’ve wandered into Mother’s kitchen by mistake. I’ll take you home, eh?’ Gently he put his arm around the woman and led her towards the door. ‘Don’t look so worried, she often gets like this,’ he whispered as he passed Isabella. ‘Put the kettle to boil, eh?’

      She stared at William, hardly able to believe this was the terse person who’d delighted in taunting her ever since she’d arrived. Hands trembling, she did as he said then began setting out the luncheon. As she worked she began to feel calmer and couldn’t help puzzling over the old lady’s outburst. How could her grandmother not remember they’d met? And why was she crying? By the time her aunt came in, Isabella was pouring hot water into the big brown teapot.

      ‘I’ve just seen William. He’s sitting with Mother until I take her luncheon through.’

      ‘I’ll come with you,’ Isabella replied. Her aunt shook her head.

      ‘Best not at the moment. She’s in a bit of a state and needs to settle. What did she say to you exactly?’ she asked, scrutinizing Isabella closely.

      ‘That she’d never seen me before, which is strange when you introduced us only the other day.’

      ‘I know, dear, but she’ll have forgotten that,’ her aunt replied, looking strangely relieved. ‘Some days she remembers things, mostly she doesn’t. It’s the unpredictability that catches us unawares. That’s why we keep her door locked,’ she sighed.

      Just then Dotty breezed in looking happy and carefree. Seeing the table spread with food, her face lit up.

      ‘Oh goody, I’m in time for luncheon. I’ve had a really good morning, Mother. Lord Lester is entertaining at the weekend so Mrs Pride bought lots more violets than usual,’ she announced proudly, sitting down and spreading brawn thickly on a slice of bread.

      ‘Does she arrange them around the house, then?’ Isabella asked.

      ‘Some are to be made into posies for place settings, but mostly Cook crystallizes the flower heads for decorating her cakes. You should see them, they’re a work of art.’

      ‘Oh yes, I’ve eaten similar at Claridge’s,’ Isabella replied, remembering her last meeting with Maxwell.

      ‘Coo, lucky you,’ Dotty sighed, staring around the room. ‘Where’s Father and William? It’s not like them to be late for luncheon.’

      ‘Father’s checking on his new plants and William’s sitting with your Grandmother. You forgot to lock her door before you left and she found her way in here. William said she was trying to light a spill from the range,’ her mother informed her, giving her a reproachful look.

      ‘Oh glory,’ Dotty said, slapping her hand to her head. ‘I was in that much of a hurry to leave, I forgot to check her door was secure. Sorry, Mother,’ she murmured.

      ‘Luckily no harm was done this time, but you must be more careful in future, Dotty. We don’t want her burning the house down. It’s not like you, though,’ her aunt said, giving her daughter a searching look. Dotty quickly stared down at her plate. ‘I’ll take Mother’s tray in to her then William can come and get a bite to eat,’ Mary sighed, getting to her feet.

      ‘Phew,’ Dotty exclaimed, as soon as the door had closed behind her mother. ‘That was close.’

      ‘At least no harm came to your grandmother,’ Isabella said. ‘Did you manage to post my letters?’

      ‘I did. Good job you had stamps, though, ’cos Mother would have known if I used some of the money I got from the big house.’

      ‘Luckily I just had two in my reticule. I’d love to see the manor. Can I come with you next time?’

      ‘No, Izzie, you can’t,’ she shouted, shaking her head emphatically. ‘And you must promise not to ask Mother or Father either,’ she added, jumping to her feet.

      ‘But why?’ Isabella frowned. ‘I can help, carry extra flowers and . . . ’

      ‘No, I can’t risk it, you’re far too pretty,’ her cousin cried as she flounced up the stairs, leaving Isabella staring after her.