The Lady's Slipper by Deborah Swift Page A

lightness of heart, before it withered under his scrutiny. He would wait until he saw an improvement before sending money. There were too many charlatans about, and he had supped his fill of quacks and their promises.
    As soon as he had sorted out the estate orders, he would call on Mistress Ibbetson. There had been a dispatch from her to say she had found a rare wild flower–an orchid. She would have the orchid waiting for him. It was rare but, he suspected, not very showy. He weighed up the potential profits in his mind. She had said it was possible to cross-breed orchids, the way farmers cross-bred cattle. In that case she would be able to cross it with the flame-red orchid he had bought from the Portuguese, and then he would have a unique and showy plant suitable for temperate conditions. The Portuguese orchid was magnificent; landowners would pay handsomely–it would be a sensation.
    He needed the botanical skills of Mistress Ibbetson. She was an excellent gardener, he knew, but it would be inconvenient dealing with a woman in business. And it would have to be soon; flowers don’t last forever. She must be persuaded somehow to show him the breeding technique, then he would have no need of her.

Chapter 5
    Alice did not often get to Kendal town, to her regret. Hiring a hackney was expensive, and could only be done once in a while. But today she had a number of errands to run that could not be trusted to anyone else. She had Thomas’s letters to deliver to the post and was to collect some other documents from the notary. It was chilly, and she was wearing a closed bonnet and a black woollen cape, but she was anxious not to be away from her work or the lady’s slipper for too long, so she made haste down the narrow streets, clutching the bundle of letters in her cold hands.
    The town was thronging. Today was the meat market, and there were many horses and carriages from neighbouring villages, anxious to secure salt beef and bacon for the coming winter. She side-stepped a man carrying a shoulder of mutton, and headed down the cobbled hill towards the notary’s office.
    On the counter in front of the ironmonger’s board, a bright copper kettle caught her eye and she paused to look at it, idly contemplating the other items–flat irons, crimpers, goffers, and tongs, scoops and ladles. She picked up a pretty doorknocker embossed with a rose and held it up into the light to see the pattern. As she did so, she caught sight of a familiar figure in a brown felt hat, just rounding the corner. He was striding purposefully up the hill, his head bent down into the wind, a bulging canvas bag slung over his shoulder.
    She bolted inside the shop, the doorknocker still in her hand, and turned her back to the door, feigning interest in the hanging scuttles, brushes and pokers. The shopkeeper followed her inside.
    ‘Yes, mistress?’
    She kept one eye fixed on the road outside as she held out the doorknocker and asked, ‘Have you more of these?’
    ‘More?’ He looked at her as if he did not understand.
    Of course, people usually only needed one doorknocker. She saw Wheeler’s tall figure flash past the open awning.
    ‘Well, yes, I do have more, mistress. How many would you like?’
    Distracted, she said, ‘No thank you. Nothing at all. Good day.’ And she put the doorknocker down on the table, leaving the shopkeeper staring down at it, nonplussed.
    Scanning left and right as she came out of the dingy interior of the shop, she saw Wheeler’s broad back wending uphill between the other pedestrians. She crossed the road, for she did not want a battle of wits with him again if she could avoid it, and made her way quickly to where the overhanging buildings provided a shadow. She set off walking in the opposite direction.
    She stopped briefly at the hosier’s, where she had ordered some new stockings in knitted silk. The weave was very fine, practically transparent. She put her hand inside one of them and admired the white silk