Mrs Boots

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.

‘How dare you enter my shop in such a fashion?’

‘It isn’t your shop, miss,’ he snarled, saliva shooting out between the gap in his front teeth. He seemed only slightly unnerved by her stance, she realised. He stepped to the side to look past her, but Florence moved in front of him once more.

‘It is my shop while my father is not here.’

‘I want my daughter back. Now.’

She could see his fists clench and hoped it was simply to frighten her. The smell of drink hung around him, mingling with the unmistakeable stink of someone who had not washed for a long period of time.

‘Sir, I do not know your daughter, although I have to admit that I pity the poor girl. She is not here and if you do not vacate these premises immediately, I will call for the centenier.’ She knew that there would be a police constable or maybe one of the Honorary Police nearby who would soon assist her.

‘Is that right?’

Albert slipped in behind the man and went to stand next to Florence. ‘Yes, and if he doesn’t come, I shall evict you from this shop myself.’

Florence wasn’t sure how her skinny friend would manage such a thing against a drunken man twice his size.

The girl’s father glanced from one to the other before opening his mouth to speak and being overcome by a coughing fit. They waited as he collected himself, wiping his mouth on the back of his mucky sleeve.

‘If she comes this way, you tell her to get ’erself ’ome. She’s got chores to be gettin’ on with.’

‘We will tell her, if we see her.’ Florence moved to stand next to the door, waiting next to it for him to leave. After another glance around the room, no doubt to satisfy himself that his unfortunate daughter wasn’t there, he grumbled something Florence couldn’t make out and left.