the hook and placing it firmly on his head.
‘Oh, yes please,’ Isabella replied, brightening at the thought of getting answers about her mama.
‘Best get your shawl and bonnet, it gets nippy when the sea breeze blows in.’
‘Yes, of course,’ she said, jumping to her feet and going up to the room she was sharing with Dotty and Alice.
Taking out her things from the closet, she grimaced down at the smock and shapeless dress she was wearing. Hoping the mantle would cover most of it, she threw it around her shoulders before squinting into the fly-spotted mirror to tie the ribbons on her bonnet. The murmur of voices rose from downstairs, but she couldn’t make out what was being said.
It was evident she’d been the topic of conversation for as soon as she came back into the kitchen, they fell silent.
‘Ready then?’ he asked, seizing the violets from the jug on the table and thrusting them through the hole in his lapel.
‘Why do you do that?’ she asked.
‘What, wear these flowers?’ he asked.
‘And that funny hat?’ she added, then clamped her hand over her mouth.
‘I should think you would look embarrassed, girl,’ he rebuked, the twinkle in his eyes belying his stern manner.
‘’Tis the mark of Father’s trade,’ her aunt told her. ‘Diehard the undertaker wears a black topper, Bunty the baker his tall white one, and your uncle wears his straw hat. Everyone recognizes them then, see?’
‘And the violets let them know what you sell?’ Isabella smiled, gesturing towards his buttonhole.
‘That’s it, girl. And if we don’t hurry we’ll miss the train then no flowers will get sold. Come on.’
She followed her uncle outside where William was loading the last of the boxes onto the trap.
‘Why you all dolled up like a dog’s dinner?’ he scowled.
‘Isabella’s coming to the station with me today so you can get on with the hoeing while we’re gone,’ her uncle told him in a voice that brooked no argument. Clearly put out, William shot Isabella another glare.
‘See you later, William,’ she said, smiling sweetly at him. ‘Don’t forget to watch out for those blue mice.’
‘Come along, girl,’ her uncle called. Mindful of the stacked boxes, she gingerly climbed up onto the cart. ‘Right, Silver, get a move on, we’re running behind time,’ he called. As the old donkey plodded placidly out into the lane, Isabella turned towards him.
‘Why do you call him that? I mean he’s grey and moth-eaten . . . ,’ her voice trailed away as she realized that once again, she was in danger of appearing rude.
‘Full of questions, aren’t ye, girl? ’Tis like this. When farming went into decline, I had to sell me horses to pay the bills. Now, you can’t bring up a family on fresh air, so I decided to have a go at growing and selling them violets. Did it locally at first but then heard I could get a better price in London.’
‘Auntie was telling me about that earlier,’ Isabella nodded.
‘Right,’ he nodded. ‘So, I needed a means of getting them to the station. By chance, I bumped into a man taking this poor creature to the knacker’s yard. Did a deal, and for a few coppers I got myself a donkey and he got himself a new life. Reckoned it was our silver-lining day, didn’t we, old boy?’ he chuckled, leaning forward and patting the donkey’s flanks, prompting a loud bray.
‘He sounds like he’s responding to you,’ she laughed.
‘That’s ’cos he is. Understand each other perfectly, Silver and me, which is more than can be said for some humans round these parts,’ he muttered, lapsing into silence.
As they rumbled along, Isabella glanced at her uncle from under the brim of her bonnet. Clearly appearances were deceptive, for beneath his bluff exterior beat a soft heart. Could that be why her father had asked him to look after her whilst he was sorting out his business affairs? She wondered how he was getting on, for already she missed him dreadfully, Maxwell too.
The trap lurched, breaking into her thoughts and she grabbed at the wooden strut as the donkey turned left and began descending a steep hill. To one side was an orchard underplanted with the little mauve flowers that were so abundant around these parts. The branches were devoid of fruit, the leaves the golden hue of autumn.
‘Best plums in Devon come from they trees,’ her uncle declared, tapping into her thoughts. ‘Mother makes a fair few tarts with them, not to mention jars of jam.’ Thinking he was referring to her grandmother, Isabella stared at him in surprise then she remembered that was what he called his wife. They certainly had strange ways in this part of the world, she thought, blinking in surprise as a church rose majestically before them. Then she glimpsed a row of headstones to one side and, although she knew her mama wasn’t buried there, she shivered.
‘Someone treading on yer grave?’ her uncle chuckled, as she pulled her mantle tighter round her. ‘Be back in the sunshine again soon,’ he added. Sure enough, moments later they were out of the shade, passing pretty pink cottages that were spaced further apart than those she’d seen the previous day.
‘How do they get the walls that hue?’ she asked, thinking how lovely it would be to paint them.
‘Gives it a wash of lime mixed with pig’s blood,’ her uncle told her, laughing as she wrinkled her nose. Then she noticed ornamental birds staring down at her from their thatch.
‘Goodness,’ she gasped.
‘Clever, eh?’ her uncle said, seeing her fascination. ‘Started when a thatcher decided to put his mark, a biddle – that’s beetle to you – on a roof he’d finished. Before long, others were asking him to fashion birds to denote their dwellings. Some think it pretentious but each to their own,’ he shrugged.
‘Perhaps you should have some blue mice on yours,’ she joked.
‘Ah, the boy been teasing you, has he? Don’t you let him niddle you, girl, it’ll do him good to have someone stand up to him. The Sod.’
‘Pardon?’ Isabella gasped, staring at him in surprise. Certainly, William had been a pain but he hadn’t really been that bad. Then she realized her uncle was gesturing ahead.
‘That’s what they call this harbour. ’Tis the only one in the whole of the country to be on the inside of a railway line,’ her uncle told her, grinning knowingly at her expression. Clearly, he’d sensed the atmosphere between William and herself, but before she could pass comment, he was speaking again. ‘Now breathe in some more of that ozone, girl, you’ve got a fair pallor about you this afternoon.’
Isabella gazed out over the expanse of shimmering bluegreen water which was flowing out through a tunnel under the railway. Nearby, weatherbeaten fishermen were unloading the day’s catch from their boats and stacking the boxes onto the sea wall while gulls swooped and squawked hopefully overhead. It was a world away from the hustle and bustle of the city and for the first time since she’d arrived, she felt herself relax. She watched as a group of small children, string dangling from sticks, wading in the
