LITMIR.BIZ

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was safely back at home where Maisie would be filling her bathtub with hot water and setting out rose-scented soap petals from the cut-glass jar on the shelf. Then she would sink into her soft feather bed and wait for a bowl of Cook’s consommé to be brought to her on a tray. Instead she’d spent a horrible day in this godforsaken place where, even though she’d tried to help, nothing she did was right. She hated it here and she hated Uncle and William as well. Oh Maxwell, where are you?

      Then a thought struck her so forcefully, she sat bolt upright. Instead of writing, why didn’t she make her own way home now? If she slipped out whilst the family were having supper, they wouldn’t even notice she’d gone. Excitement flooding through her, she made to climb out of bed but a flash of lightning lit up the sky. It was closely followed by a deafening clap of thunder that seemed to shake the whole cottage. She’d hated storms since the violent one they’d experienced the night her dear mama had died. All thought of going outside disappeared as, stifling a scream, she pulled the cover over her head and closed her eyes.

      She must have slept, for the next thing she knew Dotty was shaking her awake.

      ‘Come on, Izzie, Father’s called a meeting.’

      ‘What time is it?’ she muttered.

      ‘Almost five o’clock.’ Isabella groaned and closed her eyes again.

      ‘Please get up, Izzie, or Father’ll get mad,’ Alice pleaded.

      ‘Yes, do hurry and dress,’ Dotty urged. ‘I’ve got your clothes here. They’re dry now as I put them on the pulley above the range overnight.’ Reluctantly Isabella opened her eyes again and saw the two girls were already dressed, their hair neatly braided. How could they look so awake at this unearthly hour, she wondered?

      ‘All right, I’m coming,’ she muttered, taking the proffered garments. Clambering from the mattress, Isabella winced and put her hand to her back. She felt stiffer than the housekeeper’s starched petticoats. She couldn’t bear to sleep on the floor any longer.

      ‘Girls.’ At the sound of their father’s roar, Dotty and Alice fled down the stairs. Not wishing to fuel his anger, Isabella quickly donned the coarse clothes, tidied her hair and followed them.

      ‘Are you feeling better, my dear? Come and sit by me, Father’s holding a family meeting.’ Although her aunt was smiling, Isabella noticed she looked strained.

      ‘Well, if it’s a family matter, I’ll leave you to it,’ she replied.

      ‘Like it or not, you are part of this family now, so sit yourself down. That’s an order not an option,’ her uncle barked, seeing her hesitate.

      ‘But I’ve told you, Uncle, I’m only staying until Maxwell comes for me.’

      ‘Not exactly hurrying himself, is he?’ William sneered.

      ‘That’s enough, William,’ her aunt said, shooting him a stern look. ‘Right Isabella, I’ve poured you a mug of tea and we’re having brewis to break our fast. We can eat whilst Father tells us his plan.’ Reluctantly, Isabella took her place, but as she stared at the soggy mess in the bowl, her stomach turned over.

      ‘Maybe not what you’re used to, girl, but it’ll save Mother cooking whilst we’re extra busy, so eat up,’ her uncle instructed, giving her a stern look. ‘Right, pay attention, everyone.’ Isabella felt a rush of relief as he turned to address the others. Picking up her spoon, she moved the mush around the dish to give the impression of eating. Not that her uncle was watching, for he was in full flood.

      ‘As you know, Furneaux’s going into competition with us. I were right cross when I heard but, as your Uncle Bill pointed out, the man has as much of a right to turn his land over to flower growing as us. We all have a living to earn, after all. But I’ve worked darn hard to get this business up and running and don’t intend to lose my market share.’

      ‘Market share, that’s good, Father,’ William chortled. ‘Market garden, market share, get it?’

      ‘Very funny, boy, but it won’t be no laughing matter if the price drops, which it will if the market’s saturated with violets. ’Tis all about supply and demand, and from today we are going to double our efforts to provide Covent Garden with the finest blooms at the best price. By the time Furneaux’s violets are ready for sale, we will have proved to the buyers that Northcott’s can fulfil their needs.’

      ‘But we work hard enough as it is, Father,’ Joseph said, waving his spoon in the air.

      ‘I know, boy, and that’s why your uncle and I have come up with a plan. But in order for it to succeed, each of you must play your part.’ He took a sip of his tea then stared at each of them in turn. ‘From now on, we will be working towards doubling our output.’

      ‘But Father . . . ,’ Mary began but her husband held up his hand to silence her.

      ‘No buts. As I said, Bill and I have worked out a way. First of all, Joseph, you will team up with your uncle and as it’s too far for you to travel there and back each day, you’ll move into his cot. Afore you complain, Mother, Bill will bring Joseph for Sunday lunch each week, so you will see him then.’ From the grin that met this statement, Isabella guessed that Joseph was happy with the news.

      ‘William, you’ll turn the rest of your grandmother’s garden over to growing violets. There’s a large patch down the bottom going wild and we might even dig up her yard, seeing as how she never uses it now.’ He leaned forward and patted William’s hand. ‘I’m putting you in charge of this part of the business, so it’s a good chance for you to prove yourself.’

      ‘Dotty, as well as taking violets to the big house on Thursdays then selling the rest in town, you will attend the Saturday market as well.’

      ‘Yes, Father,’ Dotty smiled, and again Isabella could see his idea had gone down well.

      ‘Perhaps I could come with you,’ Isabella offered, her spirits lifting at the thought of escaping for a few hours.

      ‘Don’t take two of you,’ her uncle growled. ‘You’ll stay here and help Mother.’

      ‘But . . .’ She looked at Dotty, hoping she would concur, but the girl stared quickly down at her dish.

      ‘If we’ve all got to do extra work, does this mean Alice and me don’t have to go to school no more?’ Thomas asked hopefully.

      ‘No, it does not. Eddy-f’cation’s everything,’ his mother said.

      ‘Didn’t do William any good, did it?’ Alice grinned. ‘He can’t read nor write proper, Izzie,’ she told her gleefully. Isabella stared at William in surprise.

      ‘Least I can add up, and the word is properly anyway,’ William retorted, but Isabella could tell by the way his face flushed that he was embarrassed.

      ‘That’s enough,’ his father said, banging his fist down on the table. ‘We’ve got enough to do without bickering. Alice and Thomas, you will get up an hour earlier every day to help Mother with the chores then pick the extra flowers we’ll be growing.’ This was met with groans but their father ignored them.

      ‘Mother, Dotty, and you girl – for the time you are here,’ he added as Isabella opened her mouth to protest, ‘will have extra flowers to pack. And as Dotty will be out more, you can watch how Mother prepares our meals then take over in the kitchen. I’m sure even you can manage to make brewis,’ he added.

      ‘What?’ Isabella gasped.

      ‘Of course she can, Father,’ her aunt said quickly, smiling encouragingly at Isabella.

      ‘As long as you remember to use the crusts and not just the bread,’ William smirked. Knowing it would be foolish to retaliate, Isabella bit her tongue. When he realized she wasn’t rising to the bait, William turned to his father. ‘So, what will you be doing then?’

      ‘Managing the extra orders and invoices. Then after supper I’ll spend the

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