Mrs Boots. Deborah Carr
questions; it had been bad enough having to answer her mother’s.
The customer left and her father turned his attention to the post. ‘Anything of interest this morning?’
‘Nothing very much, no,’ she said lifting one of the small trunks. ‘I’ll take these through to the back and unpack them.’
She had to resist the temptation to run into the storeroom and walked sedately as her father followed behind her. She did not wish to give him reason to suspect anything; it was unlike her to be secretive but Florence felt she had little choice.
16–20 Goose Gate
Nottingham
14 September 1885
Miss Florence Rowe
27 Queen Street
St Helier
Jersey
My dear Florence,
It was wonderful to receive your most recent letter and to be able to now address you by your first name.
I was delighted for you that your father agreed to try out your plans for the shop display and am not surprised that they were a success. You have a natural instinct for retail, it seems, and I am glad that you are able to express your ideas at Rowe’s Stationers.
It is not often that I have come into contact with a friend who holds the same interest as I when it comes to my work, and although our businesses cater for the different needs of the populous, we do, it seems, share the same wish to satisfy their needs.
I am brought to mind of a customer from some years ago. She was a young mother with a sickly child. She had already lost three of her infants to various ailments and was panic-stricken that she would also lose this child. Like a lot of people in the poorer areas of the town, she did not have the funds to pay for a doctor, but came to my Goose Gate store, desperate for help. I was lucky to have the means to help and took her to the back of the shop to my mother who gave the woman the herbs needed to assist the child.
We still took payment, because we were too concerned about setting a precedent not to, but only took what she could afford. Not having any children, I could only imagine how terrified she must have felt having to find a way to keep her child alive. I can still sometimes hear her panicked voice and can recall the fear on her face. I decided there and then to find a way to provide health to my customers for the cost of a shilling.
Enough talk of business. This is a letter to a friend and, as mentioned in my previous letter, I am planning once again to visit your beautiful island. I believe that should matters go according to plan, that I will be able to travel to Jersey at the end of September. I would therefore be grateful if you could possibly agree to accompany me on outings, so that I may explore further the bays and interests that I was unable to enjoy during my previous holiday.
Work is, as always, busy, but satisfying. Last year I took on my first pharmacist, a Mr Edwin Waring. I had the idea to do this after a change in the law at the start of this decade that allowed limited companies to sell poisons and dispense prescription medicines. Mr Waring is a young man of 27 years and his hard work and vision has helped me make the move into the dispensing business for my company. With him at Goose Gate, we have halved the cost of prescription drugs and updated the packaging.
As a retailer I am sure you can see that this has not made me very popular, but it has made medicines more affordable to the public and that, to me, is a vital necessity. My father believed that everyone deserves the best healthcare possible and it is something that I have continued to work towards since his, and now my mother’s, death. Customers should not receive preferential treatment simply because they have the means to pay more than others. My aim is that medical aid is available to all, no matter where they stand in society, or where they live in the country.
My apologies. Again, I am discussing my work. Jane is always telling me that I need to step away on occasion and to at least try to focus on a life for myself. Talking of Jane, she came to my office to see me the other day and asked that I forward her best wishes to you and your family.
Until next time,
My very best wishes,
Your friend,
Jesse Boot
Florence sighed and pressed the letter to her chest. He had been pleased for her, as she had known he would. How many other men did she know who would express any interest in her working day, let alone care that she had come up with an idea and be impressed that it had succeeded. How many people cared as much as he did about those he didn’t know? Jesse Boot was different, and very much someone with whom she wanted to keep contact.
She heard footsteps and quickly folded Jesse’s letter and stuffed it with the envelope into her skirt pocket. She had enough time to open the trunk containing a delivery of coloured inks and stationery, and was lifting out a red leather writing folder when her father entered the storeroom.
‘What is taking you so long?’ He glanced at the paper in her hand. ‘Are these from the new firm we ordered from last week?’
She nodded. ‘I think so.’
‘Good, hand that to me and get a move on unpacking the rest. I need to step out for a while after this customer has left.’ He went to walk away then changing his mind, turned to face her. ‘Amy is still out on deliveries, so I will need you to cover the shop.’
‘Yes, Father. I won’t be long now.’
Ten minutes later Florence watched her father put on his hat and walk out of the shop. It was a relief to have a moment to herself in between visits from customers to have time to absorb Jesse’s most recent letter.
She was about to retrieve it from her pocket when she heard a commotion outside. A man’s voice yelling for someone named Lily to ‘come back here’ resonated along Queen Street. Aware that her father would like her to remain inside the shop, but unable to resist from looking, Florence walked around the counter to the shop door and opened it.
She had barely peeked outside when she spotted a skinny young girl of about fourteen running as fast as her tatty shoes would allow her along the street from the direction of Snow Hill. Seeing Florence, she swerved and ducked inside the shop, stopping briefly to look around her before running breathlessly to the back of the shop and disappearing into the storeroom.
Florence was stunned for a moment. She saw the terrified girl staring back at her from around the storeroom doorway, a silent plea from her large brown eyes unmistakeable. Florence put a finger up to her lips to indicate that the girl remain silent and closed the door quickly.
‘Lily! Where is that damn girl?’ she heard a man’s voice ask someone nearby.
She stared out of the window and saw an elderly woman pointing in the direction of her shop. ‘Nasty woman,’ Florence mumbled, hearing a whimper from the storeroom. She didn’t want to alert the man who was now glowering in her direction. Carefully and without making it obvious, she didn’t look at the girl but barely moved her lips and whispered, ‘Shh, stay still.’
He marched up to the door, his fists clenched. Florence’s heart pounded, although she felt sure it wasn’t pounding nearly as heavily as the young girl in her back room.
He opened the door, glared at Florence and bellowed, ‘Lily, damn you, where are you?’
Florence stood in front of him. She was tall and her father had often said that when she took a mind to it, she could scare those less brave than herself with one look.