Mrs Boots. Deborah Carr
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I hear Mrs Wolstenholm’s dulcet moaning?’ Amy whispered.
Florence covered her mouth to stifle her giggles. ‘You did. I can’t fathom how that poor maid of hers can stand hearing her constant insults to everyone she meets.’
‘We’re very lucky to be shop assistants for someone as dear as Father.’ Amy peered around Florence at the offensive woman. ‘I overheard our parents speaking the other evening when I passed the living room. They were saying how that woman in there is only a shopkeeper’s daughter. She’s no better than we are.’
Florence widened her eyes, stunned. ‘You’d never know it to watch the way she treats people of a lower station than her own, would you?’
‘No. She’s from the same background as we are. Her father was a shopkeeper too, so you would think she wouldn’t speak down to Father like she does.’
Florence mulled over her sister’s words. Somehow it seemed even more appalling that this woman who spoke to their father so abruptly had come from a similar background. What right did that woman think she had to talk down to decent people like her father? Somehow, this woman’s rudeness seemed worse coming from someone who, Florence assumed, must have also been on the receiving end of another’s patronising behaviour. She surely must remember how it felt to have less than others and have to silently accept their ill manners simply because she was not in a position to put them in their place.
‘Do you know, Amy,’ Florence said, having to remember to keep her voice down despite her anger, ‘when I get my own shop, I’m going to remember this particular customer and how she makes me feel when she addresses our father in the way that she does. It’s shameful the way she is putting him down. How dare she?’ Florence knew full well that the woman dared because she could afford to go elsewhere to spend her money, whereas their father could not afford to lose his best client. ‘I’ll never forget where I’m from. I’ll also never speak down to people like her. Ever!’
‘Florence, where are you? Mr Boot will be here at any moment.’
She could hear her mother calling but didn’t answer immediately. She only had half an hour before the end of her lunch break when she was expected back at her father’s shop below their flat. Why couldn’t her mother leave her in peace to read? Just this once.
Florence flicked through the pages of her book in frustration, forgetting momentarily that she had only borrowed the book from her father’s shop. There were only a couple of pages left until the end of the chapter. Desperate to discover what happened next, Florence read on, entranced by the new book from Mr Thomas Hardy. She couldn’t bear to wait a moment longer to absorb this book.
Biting the side of her fingernail, she read on, shocked by the unforgiveable behaviour of Michael Henchard drunkenly selling his wife and baby daughter for five guineas at a country fair.
‘Horrible man,’ she mumbled, gasping in shock and almost dropping the book when her bedroom door burst open and her sister Amy walked in.
‘I might have guessed you were hiding in here with a book,’ she said with a knowing smile on her face. ‘Didn’t you hear Mother calling for you? Father’s guest is arriving soon, and he wants us to meet him.’
Florence closed her book slowly and sighed. ‘I don’t know why he wants us to meet the man. Isn’t he a chemist? What could we possibly have to say to him?’
Amy snatched the book from Florence’s hands and read the description. ‘Actually, he’s a druggist.’
Florence was surprised her sister knew this about Mr Boot, but, determined to distract her sister from telling her off about borrowing the book, she asked, ‘That’s as maybe, but I still don’t see why we need to spend time with him. Anyway, how do you know this about him?’
Amy stared at her and Florence could see she was amused to have surprised her in this way. ‘I heard Father speaking about him to Mother earlier.’
‘What’s the difference between the two jobs then?’ she asked, intrigued.
‘Apparently a druggist manufactures and sells drugs and medicines, whereas a chemist specialises in the science behind the chemistry.’ She thought for a moment. ‘I think that’s what Father meant.’
‘I heard he owns shops,’ Florence said, trying to work out why this man was so important to their father. ‘Maybe that’s why he wants us to meet him when he arrives.’
Amy stared down at the cover of the book in her hand before glaring at Florence. ‘Father will be furious if he discovers you’ve taken this from the new stock. You know we are forbidden to read the new stock. And there’s a long waiting list for this title.’
Typical Amy not to allow her to get away with doing something she shouldn’t.
Florence couldn’t help feeling embarrassed. She hated being caught out borrowing the books. Her father didn’t mind too much if they were from old stock but insisted that she and Amy never bought the new books to read, at least until the rush from their customers had ended.
‘I’m aware of that,’ she said trying to defend herself, ‘but I’ve heard so much about The Mayor of Casterbridge and I simply couldn’t wait any longer to read it.’
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