Mrs Boots

‘We did visit a few.’ Florence recalled only too well those pleasant, sunny days with Jane. It wasn’t hard to imagine her and her brother getting along well; both seemed such friendly people. ‘But there are many more we didn’t explore.’

‘You’re very lucky to live on such a beautiful island,’ he said, as they passed several pretty gardens with the glistening sea in the background.

‘What’s Nottingham like? I’ve never been.’ She wanted to know more about this man and where he came from.

‘It also has its beauty, but a different one to this place. I particularly admire the red-brick buildings in the town. I enjoy the hustle and bustle of the streets. I find it inspirational.’ He gazed at her for a moment. ‘There’s a lot of green open space around the city, and if I’m not working, I’ll go for a ride in my carriage to take in the air.’

‘It sounds wonderful,’ she said, trying to picture the place. The largest town she had ever experienced was St Helier and she doubted that was anything like the size of Nottingham. ‘And of course, Nottingham is where such beautiful lace mostly comes from. We have a customer who will only wear lace sourced from there.’ She recalled the last time Mrs Wolstenholm had boasted about the fine lace on the sleeves of one of her dresses.

‘It is a thriving industry,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘However, with that comes its own issues and pitfalls. On the one hand the industry provides work for many of the populous, but the hours are long, and a lot of the factories provide little in the way of benefit for their staff. We have a lot of poverty in many areas and the poorer people of Nottingham suffer as all do who have very little.’

She had witnessed the slums in St Helier a few times when her father took her and her siblings to deliver food from their church a couple of times around Christmas time. He believed it was a valuable part of their education and had wanted them to see how sheltered their lives were. She had never forgotten it and was grateful to live with her family in their little flat above their shop. She had so much compared to those with very little.

‘I feel rather ungrateful to have moaned about being a shop assistant after hearing about these poor workers in the factories.’

‘You shouldn’t. You’re ambitious, and, as I’ve said, there is nothing at all wrong with that. I don’t want you to form the wrong idea about Nottingham; it does have its slums and overcrowding and occasionally there have been riots.’ Florence gasped at the thought. ‘However, it is a vibrant place, and I do enjoy living there.’ He hurriedly added, ‘That’s not to say I think any less of your island. I only wish I had thought to visit here before now.’

‘At least you’ve discovered it now.’

A silence descended on them and, surprised to be caught without any idea what to say next, Florence stared out of the window. It was disconcerting to not feel in control for once. Wasn’t she the one who always knew what to say? The person her friends relied upon to take the lead when conversation dried up? What was wrong with her that she felt so empty-headed now?

‘It really was very kind of you to come out with me today on your day off,’ he said, breaking the silence and putting her at her ease once more. ‘I hope I didn’t disrupt any other plans you might have had.’

She shook her head. ‘No.’ She usually spent her days off going for a walk to the sea and finding somewhere peaceful to read the latest novel she had chosen from W. H. Rowe. The thought reminded her of the book she must now return to the shop display before her father discovered it was missing.

The train came to a halt and several passengers exited. Florence spotted one of congregation from their Wesleyan chapel stepping onto their carriage and suppressed a groan. She was a particularly nosy woman and Florence suspected that she would stay in their carriage just to find out more about her companion.

‘Good morning, Miss Rowe,’ she said, not looking at her, but at Mr Boot instead. ‘And you’re with a friend today, I see. Sir, I’m Mrs Bisson. We attend the same church in Grove Street.’

Mr Boot stood and doffed his hat. ‘Good morning, Mrs Bisson,’ he said, his tone friendly.

‘Do you mind if I take this seat?’

Florence quickly scanned the rows of empty seats nearby. She wasn’t surprised that the woman was so insensitive, merely disappointed to have their journey interrupted.

‘No, please,’ Mr Boot said politely, giving Florence an apologetic glance. He sat back down, his breath catching slightly as he did so, Florence noticed. ‘Let me introduce myself.’ He took Mrs Bisson’s hand. ‘My name is Mr Jesse Boot. I’m on holiday on the island and Mrs Rowe has kindly offered to show me some of the sights you’re lucky to enjoy here in Jersey.’

She seemed charmed by his friendly way. ‘We are particularly lucky, I’m told. Although I’ve never left the island. Never felt the need.’ She studied him for a few seconds. ‘Will we see you at chapel on Sunday then, Mr Boot? As a guest of Mr and Mrs Rowe?’ she added pointedly. ‘Miss Rowe’s family and mine are practising Wesleyans, which is how we are acquainted.’

His look of surprise when he stared at Florence concerned her. Did he have negative views about their faith? She hoped not.

‘My faith is important to me,’ she said. ‘I know we’re seen as non-conformists in the Protestant church, but it’s all I’ve known, and I believe it’s the right way to worship. I see no reason to change my views.’

‘I hadn’t realised, Miss Rowe,’ he said. ‘I would love to accompany your family on Sunday, if I may, for I, too, am a practising Wesleyan.’

Stunned, Florence opened her mouth to speak, but failed to produce any words. She pressed her lips together, trying to gather herself. ‘Yes, we would be delighted if you would join us,’ she said eventually.

This man was becoming more intriguing and appealing by the minute, she decided. It was confusing to feel such affinity with a man she barely knew. It unnerved her slightly.

‘That is good news,’ Mrs Bisson said. ‘How long are you planning to stay here?’

Florence could see he could not have heard the woman’s question as his eyes were still locked on hers. ‘Mr Boot?’

He blinked several times. ‘Sorry? I, um, was thinking.’

‘I asked—’ Mrs Bisson’s irritation was barely veiled ‘—how long you were planning to stay on the island?’

‘I had initially planned on a fortnight. However, I can see that there is much more to see here than I had assumed on such a small island. I may therefore delay my departure a little.’

Florence could tell Mrs Bisson’s interest had been piqued, so decided to distract her. ‘How is your daughter now?’ Florence asked, aware that by asking this question, the woman would give them chapter and verse about her daughter’s new marriage to a wealthy farmer in St Mary. Hopefully Mrs Bisson’s chatter would last the entire length of her journey, so Mr Boot and she could be left to their own thoughts.

As the woman told her things she had already heard several times, Florence watched the rolling waves as the train moved on. Her instincts told her that meeting the man sitting opposite her had been an important occurrence in her life. She wasn’t sure exactly how it would manifest itself, but something in her changed. For the first time in her life she liked the idea of spending time with someone over the thought of being alone with her books. The thought stunned her … excited her.

Florence realised Mrs Bisson was standing up and that the train had come to a halt. ‘This is my stop,’ the lady said. ‘Well, it has been very pleasant speaking with you, Mr Boot. I do hope you enjoy your time on the island.’

They waved to Miss Bisson through the window as the train moved on.

‘I’m not certain she learnt much about me at all,’ Mr Boot said, smiling.

‘I know, but she’s happy to chatter and tell us all about her family.’

‘You’re a Wesleyan too?’ he asked after a moment’s silence. ‘Jane never mentioned that to me.’

Florence smoothed down a non-existent crease in her skirt. ‘I don’t think it was something we ever discussed,’ she said, thinking it strange that if Jane had been a Methodist, she had not thought to ask Florence which chapel she might attend on Sundays. ‘We were more interested in visiting the library, taking tea at some of the hotels and taking strolls in the countryside.’

‘That sounds like Jane,’ he said thoughtfully.

They sank again into a comfortable silence. It seemed strange to Florence not to feel the need to find something to discuss, but she felt that simply being in each other’s company was pleasant enough. This really was a new experience in many ways.

The train pulled into the station at Grouville. Florence followed Mr Boot, taking his proffered hand as she stepped from the carriage onto the platform.

‘I thought we could stop for a cup of tea before taking a stroll around the area. I would like to take you on to Gorey, with its busy harbour, but the train line doesn’t extend that far. I believe there’s talk about doing so at some point. We could take a carriage if you would like to go there.’

He looked around. ‘This is very pretty. I’m happy to spend time here for now and come back for some refreshment a little later.’

Florence was happy to agree with him. They walked slowly, taking in the warm sea air, neither feeling the need to speak for several moments.

When they were a few feet onto the common, Mr Boot finally asked, ‘Do you enjoy working at Rowe’s? Or is there something else you would rather do?’

She wondered if he was referring to motherhood. Surely not. That would be far too forward a question for anyone to ask her, especially a man of Mr Boot’s standing. To be safe she said, ‘I’m happy at Father’s shop. I love books and now we’ve branched out into art supplies, there’s even more to enjoy and share with our regular customers.’

‘You are very happy there then?’

Florence smiled. ‘Yes, although I wish my father would allow me to arrange the shop a little differently. I’m sure I could make it work better than it does now.’ Embarrassed to be thought of as complaining – or even worse: being disloyal to her father – she quickly added. ‘Not that the shop doesn’t do perfectly well.’ She wondered if what she was saying could be construed as vulgar. ‘Or that Father doesn’t listen to me on occasion. Recently he agreed to let me order a couple of gold pen holders and holiday cards.’

‘Holiday cards?’

‘Yes, post cards.’ She stumbled slightly and he caught her elbow, helping her right herself. ‘Thank you. What I meant to say was that I merely wish for a little more freedom to try out a few new things.’