too well at first, then they realized there was a good demand for the flowers in London. Men buy them for their ladies to decorate their evening gowns, can you believe?’ Dotty exclaimed, raising her brows in amazement.
‘They are called corsages and I have worn them myself,’ Isabella replied, remembering how Maxwell had purchased some from the flower girl outside Claridge’s. Had it really been only the previous day?
‘Coo, father said you were used to having money but you must have been filthy rich before . . . ,’ Dotty clamped her hand over her mouth. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t meant to mention it.’ Isabella started to say they still were, then remembered her father’s disclosure.
‘Funny how things change, isn’t it?’ Dotty said, smiling sympathetically. ‘Once Father couldn’t even pay his bills and now we have all this,’ she cried, spreading her arms out wide. Isabella frowned, surprised her cousin should be content with so little. ‘And of course, you being family, we’re happy to share it with you,’ the girl added.
Isabella stared at her cousin, nonplussed. Although Dotty meant well, Isabella had no desire to be some kind of charity case. Not wishing to hurt her cousin’s feelings, she forced a smile.
‘Thank you, that is kind.’ Seeking to regain her equilibrium, she turned back towards the flowers where her uncle and cousins were moving between the plants, wielding long sticks.
‘What the . . . ,’ she began.
‘They’re hoeing the weeds,’ Dotty explained. ‘You have to keep them down or they choke the plants.’
‘Supper in ten,’ Mary called.
‘Coo, I’d no idea we’d been out here so long,’ Dotty exclaimed. ‘Better go, Mother’ll be wanting me to take Grandmother’s meal in to her.’
‘Your grandmother?’ Isabella asked.
‘Yours too,’ Dotty pointed out. ‘She lives in the house next door. No doubt you’ll get to meet her, though be warned, she’s away with the pixies most of the time.’
Isabella stared at Dotty in surprise. Until then, she hadn’t even thought about having a grandmother. Would she look like her mama? How wonderful it would be to meet this woman and find out about her.
‘Perhaps you could introduce me after supper?’ she asked eagerly. Dotty frowned.
‘I’ll speak to Mother. She’ll probably say it’d be best to leave it until Grandmother’s having a good day, though they’re as rare as hen’s teeth.’
‘I must meet her before I leave, though,’ Isabella insisted.
‘But . . . ,’ Dotty began. Then, hearing her mother call again, she shrugged.
As they squashed into their seats round the table, a delicious smell wafted from the large pot on the range.
‘Here you are, dear,’ the woman said, passing her a dish of stew surrounded by a mound of mashed potatoes.
‘Goodness me, I shall be enormous if I eat all this,’ Isabella protested, then seeing her uncle frown, hastily picked up her knife and fork.
‘Mother is a fine cook,’ he said, causing her aunt to blush. ‘And we need sustenance for our work tomorrow.’
‘We don’t usually get this much meat, so I likes you coming to live with us,’ Thomas piped up.
‘Actually, I’m not . . . ,’ Isabella began, but her uncle interrupted.
‘No talking at the table.’ Isabella blinked in surprise. Surely this was the very time for genial conversation? Obediently the others turned their attention to their food and the only noise was the scraping of cutlery on dishes.
‘That was very nice, thank you,’ Isabella said politely, pushing aside what she couldn’t eat.
‘Fancy words don’t butter no parsnips, Isabella,’ her uncle grunted. ‘And talking of fancy, there’s no room for all your luggage in here, so unpack what you need and we’ll store the rest in Grandmother’s barn.’
‘A barn,’ Isabella exclaimed.
‘Perhaps her spare room would be better?’ Mary ventured.
‘I’ll help you go through your things, Izzie,’ Alice cried. ‘I bet you’ve got lots of lovely dresses.’
‘I have,’ Isabella agreed thinking of her silks and chiffons. ‘Although I’ve left many behind in London,’ she added seeing the look on her uncle’s face. ‘If you tell me what you do around here in the evenings, I’ll have a better idea of what to unpack. Are there many balls or concerts . . . ?’ her voice trailed away as she saw their astonished expressions.
‘This be Doulis not London,’ William grunted.
‘Even so, you must have some form of entertainment,’ she persisted.
‘We have a harvest hop next month,’ Dotty volunteered.
‘And the church put on a splendid concert at Christmas,’ her aunt chipped in. ‘The choir sing lovely.’
‘There’s the Violet Ball in May,’ Dotty added.
‘May? But that’s months away,’ Isabella said, her heart sinking.
‘We don’t have much time for socializing, what with the long hours we work,’ her uncle told her.
‘Surely picking a few flowers doesn’t take all day,’ Isabella replied. Her uncle gave a snort.
‘You’ll see, Isabella. Market gardening is more than just picking a few flowers, as you put it. It’s a way of life. As well as sorting the violets into bunches and packing them up ready for market, there’s the cleaning to be done, meals to be cooked.’
‘Oh but . . . ,’ Isabella began. However, her uncle carried on as if she hadn’t spoken.
‘And you’ll pitch in and help, starting with breakfast in the morning.’
‘But I’ve never cooked anything in my life before,’ she frowned.
‘Then it’s time you learned. When your father sent that communication asking us to take you in, we didn’t hesitate.’
‘But I’m only staying a short while,’ Isabella pointed out. Her uncle gave a long sigh.
‘For as long as you are here, you’ll help Mother with the chores.’ Seeing the challenge in his eyes, something stirred in Isabella.
‘Of course, Uncle,’ she replied. She’d show him, she thought.
‘Now, go and sort some suitable clothes for the morning,’ he grunted. ‘Come along, boys,’ he ordered, going outside.
‘Don’t worry, my dear, we’ll show you what to do,’ her aunt told her as the door closed behind them. ‘Best stow those fine jewels in your trunk. You don’t want them getting dirty or damaged,’ she said, pointing to the pearls around Isabella’s
