Mrs Boots. Deborah Carr

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      Amy closed the bedroom door and leant against it, lowering her voice. ‘That’s as maybe, but we can’t spare any copies of this one. You know only half the shipment arrived and we need every spare copy for those who’ve been waiting to read it.’ She shook her head. ‘I thought I’d spotted you taking a peek at the beginning of the story earlier when you were supposed to be unpacking the delivery.’

      Florence felt her face reddening. ‘I had intended returning it by tomorrow.’

      ‘You shouldn’t have borrowed it in the first place. It won’t be new if it’s already been read.’

      ‘Yes, I know,’ Florence replied, irritated. ‘Stop being so pious. We both know you’ve done the same thing, many times. Anyway, I can’t see that I’ll have the opportunity to read it by tomorrow now. I’m meeting friends to see a play at the Theatre Royal later this evening.’

      Amy narrowed her eyes. ‘And will Albert be one of those friends?’

      Florence hated it when her sister teased her Albert. Amy knew well enough that they were merely friends and had been since childhood. He was fun to be with and made her laugh. She knew her mother suspected they were secretly courting, or maybe she simply hoped it was the case. Florence hated deception, but on this occasion if it kept her mother happy and also from trying to persuade her to find someone to marry, then it was worth it.

      And Albert was fun to be with. He treated her as an equal and she knew they both enjoyed their mini debates on current events and novels. How many of her friends’ husbands could she honestly say that about, she mused. None, she was certain of that.

      She thought of the downtrodden women of her age and younger that she’d seen coming into Rowes. Initially unmarried, then excited to be courted by a man they had hopes for. Florence thought of the many of them with fake smiles, hiding their disappointment of the future they had hoped to enjoy. Or she was being cynical, as Amy had hinted she might be.

      She loved her father very much, but he was definitely the head of the household, as he should be, but the older she became the harder it was to be told what she could and could not do each day. Why would she swap one man controlling her life for another? It didn’t make any sense. As far as she was concerned, marriage was not a state to which she aspired.

      She realised her sister had been speaking. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’

      ‘Will Albert be attending the play with you at the Theatre Royal tonight?’

      She suspected she had missed something else her sister had said, but didn’t say so. ‘Yes, he will be.’

      Amy handed the book back to her. ‘I think you and Albert are well suited. I know Mother is secretly pleased that you’ve finally seen sense about your intention to stay a spinster.’

      Florence narrowed her eyes at her sister. ‘Stop it. You know there’s nothing of the kind going on between us.’

      ‘I do. However, you two shouldn’t forget that his mother is one of our mother’s oldest friends,’ she said, her tone one of warning. ‘When either of them do finally discover that there’s less to your friendship than they imagine … well, you’ll probably be facing a bit of trouble.’

      She didn’t like to think of her mother being upset due to something she had done, but, as her mother kept reminding her, at twenty-three she was at risk of ‘being left on the shelf’. It was somewhere that did not concern Florence; the prospect of being married and dictated to by a man horrified her far more than an unmarried status.

      ‘You know full well that I have no intention of ever marrying.’ She scowled. ‘The thought of being any man’s chattel is too dreadful.’ She stared at her unmarried sister only one year younger than herself. ‘Why doesn’t Mother make such a fuss about you? It’s always me she seems to worry herself about. I don’t understand it.’

      ‘Because I wouldn’t mind finding a beau and she knows that. She simply worries about your need for independence.’

      Florence couldn’t help feeling a little guilty for the concern she gave her mother, but she had made up her mind long ago that marriage wasn’t for her. The thought of asking permission from a man in order to make decisions was too ghastly. It was bad enough having to be told what to do by her parents.

      ‘Come along,’ Amy said, handing the book back to her and opening the bedroom door; ‘I can hear Mother’s voice getting more irate.’

      Florence knew when she was beaten. She raised the book to her nose and breathed in the familiar scent. Surely there was no smell more heavenly than that of a book? Hearing her sister mumble something under her breath, she picked up the new bookmark that she had treated herself to from her previous week’s wages and slipped it between the pages. The Mayor of Casterbridge would have to wait.

      ‘Florence, answer me,’ her mother shouted, sounding, Florence thought, more het up than usual. She stood up and went to check her hair in the mirror.

      ‘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.’

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