The prospect of being able to drop into the shop whenever she needed something was a far cry from her life on the ship. A life on land brought with it conveniences that she would never take for granted.
She called into the drapery next door and was delighted with their selection of fabrics. A pretty blue and cream floral pattern caught her eye and she decided it would be perfect for curtains.
All those little feminine touches that go to creating a home.
After making a quick perusal of the display garments, including a ready-to-wear collection, Poppy resolved to come back another day and try on one or two of the simple but functional gowns. Her woolen trousers and knee-length skirts were going to be relegated to the past—only brought out on the rare occasions when she might need to work on board one of the company ships.
While most other women were skilled with a needle and therefore able to make their own clothes, sewing garments and fancy stitches were not Poppy Basden’s forte. She could, however, repair a sail in the middle of a storm.
Catching a glimpse of herself in the shop window, she sighed.
I don’t think I own a single article of clothing which isn’t salt-stained.
On her way back to the docks, baking ingredients in hand, Poppy crossed the road and stopped at a display outside a general trade shop. Four large ceramic pots had caught her eye.
“Good morning,” said the shopkeeper, coming out to greet her.
He looked exactly the same as every other store owner Poppy had encountered in her world travels—short, rounded, and with ruddy cheeks. The only difference she could discern was the language they spoke. It was as if God had decided that this was the perfect template for a man who worked in a shop.
“A good morning to you too.” Poppy pointed at the nearest of the pots. “Are these for sale?”
The portly man smiled. “Of course. Everything in my shop is available for purchase. I also have a range of plants and herbs for sale if you are interested.”
And a cheery smile for a customer. How could I have forgotten that?
Herbs would be the most practical use for the large pots, but Poppy had something else in mind.
“What about flowers? I am thinking daisies or something with a little color. I have spent a long time at sea and want to see yellow, or even purple buds when I step out my front door. But they must be hardy.”
It was a small indulgence. But as far as she was concerned, she had well and truly earned it.
As she stared at the empty pots, Poppy could just picture them full of blooms. They would look a treat standing either side of the warehouse entrance, creating a pretty welcome to her new home.
Hopefully they will also help to solve the problem of Mister Pompous Saunders and his stupid barrels.
Even he wouldn’t be so petty as to block her plants from the sunshine. Could he?
“I can arrange for whatever sort of plants you would like, miss. We also deliver if you live close by,” replied the shopkeeper.
Poppy nodded. “Yes, I live in one of the warehouses at the London Docks, so it’s very close. Would tomorrow be too soon to have them brought over?”
The man motioned toward the door of his shop. “If you would like to come inside, we can easily make all the arrangements right now. If we do, then this time tomorrow your home will be gaily decorated with flowers. I also have some planter boxes which I think you might find of interest.”
A delighted Poppy followed the man through the door. True to his word, within a matter of minutes, he had written up her order for the four large pots and two planter boxes. They were to be delivered along with some pansies early the day after tomorrow.
Her heart was light as she stepped out into the street and resumed her journey home. Very soon, I shall have a garden. Or at least the beginning of one.
She would have to wait until her father arrived in England for them to buy a proper house and for her to have a real garden. But Poppy was well versed when it came to waiting for what she wanted. She had infinite patience in being able to hold her heart’s desire at bay.
Glancing down at the bag of flour, fresh eggs, and pat of wrapped up butter in her hands, Poppy’s thoughts turned back to her plans for the morning. She wouldn’t have to wait long to savor the taste of freshly baked biscuits.
A contented smile found its way to her lips. It was still there when she turned off Nightingale Lane and headed through the gateway which led into the London Docks. Poppy’s happy mood disappeared the moment she passed by the superintendent’s office.
Oh, no. Not him.
Coming toward her, striding with great purpose and clear self-importance, was Mister Francis Saunders. His shock of white hair was mostly hidden by his top hat, but Poppy recognized him in an instant. The insolent look he had gifted her the previous night had burned itself deep into her psyche. She would recognize that face anywhere.
She hesitated, unsure as to what to do. The temptation to confront him over his behavior was tempered by the fear of what he might decide to do in retaliation. If he had already been to the port authorities about her, who was to say what else he might do if she crossed him? Experience had taught her the prudency of keeping her powder dry—of waiting for the right moment to confront someone like Francis.
