Mrs Boots

‘Sorry, Mother.’ Florence stood up and went to lean over the banister. She gave her mother an apologetic look. ‘Amy and I are on our way down now.’

‘This is Mr Boot,’ her father said, one hand holding the lapel of his waistcoat and the other indicating a man with a friendly smile that reached his eyes. ‘He’ll be staying in Jersey for a few weeks.’

Florence watched her parents greet the new guest. He was handsome in his own way, she mused, with his greying hair and piercing hazel eyes. She presumed him to be about ten or fifteen years older than her. There was something about him that she couldn’t help liking, which seemed odd as he hadn’t even opened his mouth to say anything yet.

He took her sister’s hand and gave a slight bow before coming to Florence.

‘This is my daughter, Florence. She and Amy assist me at Rowe’s, our stationer’s downstairs.’ He regarded his family. ‘Please, take a seat everyone. Mr Boot is also in retail,’ he explained. ‘He has several shops of his own. Mainly in Nottingham, I believe?’

Mr Boot smiled. ‘That’s correct. I ran them with my mother up until last year when she sadly passed.’

It dawned on Florence who this man was and why the name seemed familiar. ‘You’re Jane’s brother?’

He nodded, his smile widening.

Her father gave her a questioning look. ‘You know Mr Boot’s sister?’

‘Yes, Father. We met last year when she was on the island. We attended functions together. I introduced you and Mother to her.’

‘I met her, too,’ Amy said. ‘Several times. She came to the shop and bought—’ she thought for a moment ‘—an artist’s pad, some watercolours and brushes, if I remember correctly.’

Mr Boot laughed. ‘Yes, that’ll be Jane. She was most upset to have left her paints behind when she travelled. She wrote to me during her stay here recounting visits to Rowes. She insisted that if I visit Jersey, I must look up your family and introduce myself to her good friend, Miss Florence Rowe.’ He stared at Florence thoughtfully for a brief time, as if recalling his sister’s words. ‘She told me that you showed her much of the island and ensured her time here was thoroughly enjoyable.’

Florence recalled the friendly, charming woman who she’d befriended and how well they had got along. ‘She told me about your mother’s passing,’ she said, unsure whether she should be mentioning it, but aware that Mr Boot and his mother had worked closely together in their shops since his father’s death when he was only ten. ‘I was sorry to hear of your loss.’

His expression darkened and for a moment she thought she’d been too personal. Then, he cleared his throat. ‘It was. I think it was doubly difficult as we’d also worked together. Jane insisted I take time away from the business to visit Jersey for a holiday. She thought the sea air would do me good.’ He laughed. ‘I’ve only been here a couple of hours and already I feel somewhat refreshed.’

‘You haven’t been to Jersey before, Mr Boot?’ Amy asked.

‘This is my first time. I haven’t thought to take time away from my business before now.’ He smiled. ‘I’m told the weather is always sunny in Jersey, and the milk and new potatoes are the best in the world.’

Everyone laughed. She thought back to the stormy weather they had experienced for the previous few days, which had cut the island off from the mainland and France when the ferries to Southampton and St Malo had to be cancelled.

‘And you wouldn’t be wrong thinking that, most of the time,’ her father said. ‘Although, maybe not so much about the weather. I believe it’s slightly warmer than on the mainland but it can rain here just as much when it chooses to.’

‘Usually when you least wish it,’ Florence added.

Mr Boot smiled at her. It was a friendly smile; she noticed something more behind his eyes than she had expected. Then her father began discussing aspects of Mr Boot’s visit and Florence listened as their guest chatted to her parents. She liked the sound of his voice. She recalled Jane explaining that her accent was an East Midland’s one. It was gentle and different to the voices she usually heard each day. Although, she mused, a lot of those were French, or the locals speaking Jèrriais. It wasn’t surprising, therefore, that they did sound different.

If what her father was saying were true, which she assumed it was, she had never met anyone as successful as Mr Boot. She liked that he wasn’t boastful or arrogant. He seemed very matter-of-fact, and, by what Jane had said, he didn’t take much time to do anything other than work very hard. Her thoughts were interrupted hearing her father mentioning her name.

‘… day off tomorrow and I’m certain she would be delighted to show you some of the sights here on the island. Wouldn’t you, Florence?’

All thoughts of finishing The Mayor of Casterbridge vanished; however, she found that she didn’t mind nearly as much as she would have expected.

‘Yes, that would be lovely,’ she said, smiling at Mr Boot. ‘We could, um—’ she thought quickly, recalling how Jane had mentioned that her brother was sometimes troubled by an ailment, which she believed might be rheumatoid arthritis. If that was the case, then she assumed that walking far would not be something he would wish to do ‘—take the Jersey Railway to St Aubin, if you wish? Or, maybe the Jersey Eastern Railway to Gorey. Whichever you prefer.’

He rested his hands on his legs and nodded. ‘I will leave the choice to you. Maybe we could do one trip tomorrow and the other on another day?’

Florence had hoped for some time alone after such a busy early summer at the shop, but expected that time with Mr Boot could also be enjoyable. She did like showing friends who were new to the island the places that she particularly liked.

‘I would enjoy that,’ she said. It was only a slight fib, because she would rather have been alone, and she instantly felt mean for her thoughts.

The mantel clock chimed the hour and Florence and Amy stood. ‘We should return to the shop,’ Amy suggested.

Mr Boot winced slightly as he stood up. ‘I apologise. I have taken up more of your time that I intended. When would be convenient for me to call on you tomorrow, Miss Rowe?’

Hoping to make his day as relaxed as possible, Florence said. ‘If you call on me at ten o’clock, then we could make our way the short distance up the road to Snow Hill and catch the train from there to Gorey.’

The eastern terminus was so much closer than the one for the westbound train. Let the poor man rest as much as possible on his first days here, she thought; after all, it was what he had come to the island to do.

He gave a slight bow with his head. ‘I shall look forward to our adventure, Miss Rowe. Thank you.’

Florence stared at him thoughtfully. There was something different about this man, but she couldn’t work out what it might be. She was surprised to realise that she was looking forward to their outing, too. ‘As am I, Mr Boot.’

She followed Amy from the living room and down to the shop. Father rarely permitted the shop to be closed during the daytime and already Florence could see five disconcerted customers waiting anxiously by the front door.

Amy rushed over and unlocked it, turning over the closed sign to mark the place open, once again. ‘My apologies for making you wait,’ she said sweetly.

‘Anything wrong?’ one of their regular customers – a short, sour-faced elderly woman with an overly large hat – had grumbled.

‘Father has an unexpected guest,’ Amy explained, widening her eyes over the woman’s head as the lady marched past her to the display of postcards Florence had put together that morning.

‘I hope this isn’t going to be a regular occurrence; I’ve been waiting ten minutes to buy a map from you. This really won’t do.’

Florence was tempted to give the woman a snappy retort. Their father never let his clients down and would be mortified to think he had upset anyone by his actions. Without having known about Mr Boot’s arrival prior to his appearance, even Florence could tell, simply by her father’s temporary closure of the shop, that he had thought him important.

She opened her mouth to speak, and just then Amy said, ‘I doubt it will happen again any time soon.’ Her sister looked at the brown wrapping in the lady’s basket. ‘I suspect you were able to choose some nice material from the haberdashers while you waited?’

The lady beamed at Amy, her complaint forgotten. ‘I did, as a matter of interest. I spotted a fine fabric in their window display and simply had to have it.’

‘All is well then,’ Florence said, wanting to be sure the woman didn’t take her complaint to their father when he returned to the shop. She would hate for his day to be ruined by someone else’s criticism.

‘It is.’ The woman held up a copy of The Mayor of Casterbridge in her gloved hand. ‘My daughter tells me this book might be something I’d enjoy. What do you think?’

Florence’s thoughts had been consumed by the unusual man she had met earlier. Hurriedly thinking of a reply, she wondered if the daughter had yet read the book, not minding so much that she had been held back from being able to read more of it by now. ‘I’ve read a little,’ she admitted, ‘and I enjoyed it very much. I’m afraid I’ll need to check we have your name on the list of customers who have ordered the book.’

She hoped the woman was on the list; the thought that she would have something else to grumble about worried Florence. She took the lady’s name and went to check.

Movement by the store-front window caught her eye. The front door to their flat was open and she could see her father and Mr Boot speaking outside. She stepped forward into the shadows behind the counter, hoping to watch Mr Boot unobserved. There was a kindness about him that emanated from him as he chatted to her father. For someone who had come to the island to recover from the loss of his mother and overwork, he still displayed a positivity about him that made her smile.

Mr Boot turned to walk away and, spotting her, waved.

Mortified, Florence waved back, before lifting her father’s order book diverted her attention back to checking for the customer’s name.

Florence couldn’t understand why she was acting so strangely. She was usually so contained and sure of herself. There was something about him that intrigued her though. Was it because he was so successful? No, she was never impressed by that sort of thing. Or simply, she wondered, could it be that he came from a different background to any of the men she had previously come across in her social life? Most of the men she knew worked for a living, and most of them were around her age. Mr Boot had already done very well for himself and was over a decade older than her. Could it be that he was more interesting than the men she knew? Possibly. She wasn’t certain. Either way, she realised she was looking forward to her outing with him the next day, very much so.

Chapter 3

They sat opposite one another on the train. Florence was relieved the weather had remained warm and sunny and she had been able to wear her new straw hat for the outing. Not that she expected Mr Boot to have any interest in the latest fashions like she did. Or, maybe the fashions were different in Nottingham; it was a city, after all and not a small island whose connections were mostly closer to France than England.

Mr Boot seemed more relaxed today, she decided happily. The train slowed to a halt at the Georgetown stop. She realised he was staring at her, and as he smiled at her she couldn’t help thinking what kind eyes he had.

He cleared his throat. ‘How long does the journey take to Gorey?’ he asked, turning his attention out of the window to the passengers waiting for others to alight before stepping onto the carriage.

‘About twenty minutes,’ Florence replied. ‘To be honest it’s a few months since I came this way.’ As she admitted this fact, she couldn’t help wondering why she hadn’t made the effort before now. ‘If I want to walk to the sea front, it’s only a couple of minutes from our flat to Havres des Pas. My father doesn’t like me walking alone by the shipyards along that way though, so I temper my outings there, too.’

‘I had never thought what it must be like to have daughters before, but I can imagine it must be worrisome for a father when they are independently minded.’

For a second she wasn’t sure if he was criticising her, then saw the gentle twinkle in his eyes and knew that he was merely thinking of something that had just occurred to him.

‘Yes, Father does worry about me and Amy sometimes. Our older sister Adelaide is married now. She’s a teacher. However, I don’t think Amy and I are probably as compliant as the daughters of some of his friends.’

He looked confused. ‘In what way, may I ask?’

‘I suppose in that—’ she considered her words, delighted with his interest ‘—we aren’t as timid as maybe most of them are. We have opinions and share them more openly than Father would like.’

He frowned. ‘Opinions about what?’

She didn’t want to offend him; he was older than her, after all, and she suspected slightly more old-fashioned than her friends. He had asked though, and she wanted to be honest with him. ‘Mrs Beeton says in her Book of Household Management that the mistress of the house should consider herself as “the commander of an army”. She believes that women running their homes should feel as important as men do going out to work.’

‘Is there anything wrong with that sentiment?’

She shook her head. ‘No. It’s just that it is not my ambition to simply run a household.’

He thought for a moment. ‘Surely, though, a well-run house is extremely important.’

She was enjoying herself immensely. It was fun being able to debate with this man in such a way. ‘Yes, it is very important, and I would love to keep my own home at some point; however, I hope to have more for myself.’

‘Such as what, may I ask?’

She spotted a twinkling in his hazel eyes but knew it wasn’t due to amusement, but she suspected that he was enjoying their conversation as much as she. ‘I would like to run my own business. I don’t believe that being in charge of a home will be enough for me.’

His eyes widened. ‘Do you know something, Miss Rowe? I believe you will find a way to achieve your ambition.’ He tilted his head. ‘What’s more, I feel certain you will be successful at it.’

She was taken aback by his confidence in her. ‘Do you really think so?’

‘I do. You have intelligence, you work hard, and you seem very determined. There is no reason why you should fail.’

She smiled at him, delighted with his reassurances. ‘People do fail though, and maybe I could be one of them.’

‘That is always a possibility. I’ve failed at some of the things I’ve attempted to do, quite a few times,’ he said, surprising her with his honesty, ‘but to me, a successful person is not someone who falls at the first hurdle, but who dusts themselves off, rethinks their strategy and tries again. And sometimes has to keep on trying until they find a way of achieving what they set out to do.’

She gazed at him in awe of his open-mindedness and frankness. ‘You make a lot of sense. Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me.’

‘It is my pleasure. For now, though, you assist your father at Rowe’s. He must enjoy having you and your sister working for him?’

Florence agreed. ‘He does. I think he would have preferred my brother to work for him, so that he could train him to take over from him when he retires, but Willie hasn’t never been interested in the shop.’

‘That’s a shame,’ he said, looking a little unsure. ‘Although I don’t see why you and your sister wouldn’t be any less successful at running the business. My mother took over from my father when he passed when I was ten years old. She was a good business-woman too, and I learnt everything I know from her.’

Florence liked his attitude to women and business. It gave her hope that in this world where man was king of all he possessed, that maybe Mr Boot wasn’t the only man to believe women were capable of much more than was usually expected of them.

The train moved off once again. ‘I don’t know why but I hadn’t realised there would be so many stops on such a small island,’ he said.

‘We’ll reach Pontac soon and you can see the coast from there. It’s one of my favourite stops,’ Florence explained. ‘When I do come this way, I love to look out at the rocks in the bay. I’m told it can be very dangerous for the fishermen’s boats, but the bay is very pretty for those of us looking out from a carriage window.’

‘My sister tells me that this island is blessed with many bays worthy of inspection.’ He laughed. ‘She also said that she believes you and she visited most of them during her time here.’

He had a wonderful laugh. Deep and rumbling, infectious.

‘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.