The Flower Seller. Linda Finlay
do, of course. All mucks in together,’ her uncle replied, looking her up and down. ‘I hope you’ve brought some sensible clothes with you. Them fancy threads’ll be no good for working the land.’
‘Working the land?’ she gasped.
‘Ah,’ he nodded. ‘Come the morrow you’ll be pitching in too. Got to earn your keep, girl.’
As Isabella stared at her uncle in dismay, a hush fell over the room.
‘I’m not sure what my chaperone has packed for me.’
‘Well, don’t worry about that now, my dear,’ her aunt said quickly. ‘You must be fair parched after all your travels. I’ll set the kettle to boil and Dotty can show you where you’ll be sleeping.’
‘Me too,’ Alice cried, springing to her feet and scurrying over to a flight of steep steps that led straight off the kitchen. Gingerly Isabella followed them up the narrow staircase and into a small room where three mattresses topped with yellow coverlets lay side by side on the floor. There was a cast iron fireplace on one wall and a small closet squeezed into the corner with a fly-spotted mirror hanging up beside it.
‘Mother got Father to put that up ’specially. We’ve never had our own looking-glass before,’ Alice proudly declared.
‘He said you’d be used to tiddyvating,’ Dotty said knowingly. ‘And it means I can see to frizz my hair,’ she added, patting her sleek braid.
‘Why would you do that?’ Isabella asked, staring at her in astonishment.
‘To puff it up, of course. Father says he’s seen thicker rats’ tails,’ Dotty laughed.
Charming, Isabella thought, turning towards the window. Like the rest of the cottage, it was tiny and hung with yellow curtains that, although clean, had definitely seen better days. A single candlestick stood alone and forlorn on the windowsill. She knew just how it felt, she thought, remembering her comfortable chamber at home.
‘Not what you’re used to?’ Dotty guessed, seeing her expression.
‘Don’t you like it?’ Alice asked. ‘We’ve squeezed up so you can get your mattress in and Mother’s made you a new cover just like ours.’
‘It’s a lovely room and I appreciate you making space for me,’ Isabella assured her. ‘Where are the facilities?’
‘The facil—you mean the privy?’ Dotty frowned. Isabella nodded. ‘Out the back in the yard and there’s a tin bath in the shed which Mother brings in each Saturday night. It’s quite cosy with the range lit.’
‘You mean you bathe in the kitchen?’ Isabella shuddered. Before Dotty could reply, William staggered into the room, set her trunk down with a thud then turned to face her.
‘There’s no room left in here so where would you like the boy to put the rest of your things, your ladyship?’ he asked, venom sparking in his dark eyes.
‘Look, I . . . ’ she began, but he was already thundering down the stairs. The two girls stared after him in dismay.
‘William isn’t usually rude like that,’ Dotty frowned.
‘It’s my fault. When your father said he hadn’t brought the boy with him I assumed he was referring to your servant,’ Isabella explained. ‘I had no idea you didn’t have staff until your mother explained just now.’
‘Be good if we did, though,’ Dotty laughed. ‘We wouldn’t have to wash the dishes or sweep the floor. Don’t worry about William, he’ll get over it. Boy is what Father calls him, by the way.’
‘Doesn’t it get confusing when you have two other brothers?’ Isabella asked. Dotty shook her head.
‘He always called me the girl and when William came along he was the boy. Then Joe was born and Father realized he couldn’t call him boy as well so had to use his name, though he always says Joseph, of course.’
‘And he calls me Alice Band, ’cos he says I’m like Alice in Wonderland,’ the girl added proudly. ‘But I can’t say Isa—, Isba—your fancy name so I’ll call you Izzie.’ Isabella opened her mouth to protest then saw the girl’s eager expression and smiled.
‘Why not,’ she conceded. After all, it was only going to be for a short time. Maxwell was bound to arrive soon.
‘Tay’s up.’ As Mary’s voice sounded up the stairs, Alice turned to Isabella.
‘Come on, Mother’s baked Devon splits ’specially for your arrival.’
‘That’s the boys’ room opposite,’ Dotty told her, as they made their way back down the stairs. Isabella was about to ask where her parents slept when she heard her uncle’s voice bemoaning the extent of her luggage.
‘I tell you, Mother, I don’t know where we’ll put it all. The boy says there’s no space left in the girls’ room. She’ll have to hang her work clothes in the closet and leave the finery in that fancy trunk.’
‘Hush,’ Mary warned when she saw Isabella. ‘There you are, dear. Come and sit down,’ she added, shooing a large tabby off the chair beside her. As the cat yowled in protest, her aunt laughed and returned her attention to pouring tea from the large brown earthenware pot. ‘Don’t mind Tibbles, he thinks it’s his right to sit nearest the range. Now you maak a tay,’ she added.
‘Sorry?’ Isabella frowned.
‘Mother means tuck in, eat as much as you can,’ Dotty told her.
‘Hurry up, I’m starving,’ William grunted. Isabella stared at everyone squashed together around the table, quickly brushed the hair-covered seat with her hand, and took her place beside them. A steaming mug was placed in front of her but the thick dark liquid made her stomach heave, and it didn’t help when Dotty proffered a plate of sponge cakes spread lavishly with cream and strawberry jam. Forcing a smile, she took the smallest then looked in vain for a knife to cut it with. There didn’t appear to be any napkins either. Unaware of her predicament, the others tucked in as if they hadn’t seen food for weeks.
‘Well, Mother, you’ve done us proud,’ her uncle declared, licking cream from his fingers. ‘That’ll keep us going til supper. Come on, boys, there’s still work to be done.’ He got to his feet then noticed Isabella had hardly eaten anything. ‘Didn’t you like Mother’s baking?’ he frowned.
‘Doesn’t do to let good food go to waste,’ William said, snatching it from her plate before she could reply.
‘Will . . . ,’ her aunt began, but she was talking to his departing back. ‘Sorry about that. There’s more in the pantry if you’d like.’ Isabella shook her head.
‘Thank you but I’m not really hungry. Perhaps I could freshen up?’ she asked, getting to her feet.
‘Of course. Dotty, you show Isabella where everything is. Alice, the teddies need boiling and bashing for supper.’
‘You boil and bash teddies?’ Isabella exclaimed, her eyes widening in surprise.
‘How else do you get mashed spuds?’ her aunt asked.
‘Spuds? Oh, you mean potatoes,’ she smiled.
‘Of course. Goodness me, maid, I can see you need an eddy-f’cation,’ her aunt tutted.
‘But I want to go outside too,’ Alice protested, interrupting them.
‘Sorry, pet, I need your help. You know Father insists we eat on time,’ Mary replied.
‘See you later then, Izzie,’ Alice sighed.
‘Her name’s Isabella,’ her mother remonstrated.
‘But