Mrs Boots. Deborah Carr
Читать онлайн книгу.
"u28fed2c7-627f-51f0-aa3b-0b0bb56a21f8">
Mrs Boots
DEBORAH CARR
One More Chapter
a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2020
Copyright © Deborah Carr 2020
Cover design by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020
Cover images © Richard Jenkins Photography
Deborah Carr asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008363314
Ebook Edition © February 2020 ISBN: 9780008363307
Version: 2019-11-12
Table of Contents
About This Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Author Note
Acknowledgements
Also by Deborah Carr
About the Author
About the Publisher
This ebook meets all accessibility requirements and standards.
I’d like to dedicate this book to Florence Boot and to all strong women who help others to recognise the best in themselves
August 1885 – 27 Queen Street, St Helier, Jersey
Florence Rowe waved at Emile, the boarder from the chemist at number 29 who had raised his hat in a friendly salute. As usual at this time of day, Queen Street was bustling with shoppers and shop assistants out on their errands. She didn’t mind waiting for her good friend, Albert, to finish wrapping the packet of tea she had been sent to buy for her father’s stationer’s shop, which was situated between the chemist and the tea merchants. She loved her job in her father’s shop, on the bustling street, but it was always nice to step away for a few minutes to catch up with Albert’s news and share her own with him.
‘I had a customer in here yesterday,’ he said, tidying away the small weights he had used to calculate the correct amount of tea leaves. ‘He’s an artist from Birmingham. He came to the island last week to stay with relatives for the rest of the summer. He was telling me that it was reported in his local newspapers about a poor young woman on a roof.’
‘Sorry,’ Florence asked, confused. She was used to Albert’s catastrophising, but this story was a little odd. ‘What did you say?’
‘Someone heard screams in the middle of the night.’
‘Where, here?’
‘No, in Kidderminster.’
Florence realised she had no idea what Albert was talking about. ‘Maybe you should start again. From the beginning.’
‘The artist told me that just before he came to the island he read about a local woman, a young lady somnambulist, dressed only in her night clothes. She was still asleep when she climbed out of an upstairs window and onto the roof of her family home.’
‘How do your customers come to share such stories with you.’ She was struggling not to giggle. ‘They only come in to buy tea.’
‘Maybe they can see that I need a little drama in my life.’ A customer entered the shop just then and Albert lowered his voice and added, ‘We’ve been friends since we were children, Florence; can you remember a time when we had something worth being excited about?’
‘Apart from going to the theatre, or such like?’ she asked,