The Flower Arrangement

Adelaide Cole

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I came into the Riggs household in the winter of 1903, when I was seventeen years old. I’d done nicely selling flowers in the London markets for a year, but a cold, wet summer had wreaked havoc on all the farmers, and I couldn’t buy any decent blooms to sell. The big sellers snatched them up and left the rest of us with naught. Sachets of dried lavender and hyssop hardly paid the rent. I resorted to dirty char work, which paid little. I could barely pay for my room and certainly had no money to heat it. Then my luck changed. I had sold roses and sweet pea in Covent Garden Market with a girl named Margaret, and it was thanks to her that I found a new undertaking. Margaret had been hired to cook for a household, and she brought me there.

After Margaret left Covent Garden we still had a pint together sometimes. She knew that I was on my own and she thought me a hardworking girl, which I was, and she knew I needed a better wage. In fact, I considered my industriousness my best quality, alongside pretty, brown curls, of course. She gave me a stellar reference when Missus Riggs began looking for a live-in house servant. I am forever grateful. Being taken into that household changed my fortune.

I hadn’t wanted to return to the countryside, where I had some family. A village was no place for an independent girl. I would be expected to marry and that would be that. I simply knew that I would lose all the pleasures and freedoms of my life. I’d likely be treated as a maid, but without the earnings!

I was happy in London. The working girls in the city markets were a delight, and we were truly family to one another. The city wasn’t without its perils, and some surely fell to those hazards, but I was careful in every way. I had lost my mother to pneumonia, and my brother had left the city to apprentice as a stonemason. Our father had abandoned us many years before. I suffered losses to be sure, but on the other hand I was free to decide my life quite by myself. I could make my own successes—and failures!—and I had only myself to answer to. I needn’t worry about a family reputation, or of pleasing others.

I tried to be careful and clever, as a girl had to be in order to avoid the dangers and pitfalls of the city. I’d seen other girls led into drink and drugs, disease, begging and even prostitution. I was determined to stay independent and childless. I wanted a better life, and I needed to secure savings for my goal: a flower shop of my own. The world was opening up to women, and I knew I had a chance.

I had advantages. I was pretty. I had big green eyes and a lovely ivory skin tone. I had a good, round bosom, which I took advantage of for flower selling. And my beauty wasn’t just good for my livelihood, but for fun as well! Like my girlfriends, I loved a romp with the lads. I enjoyed lifting my skirts for a hot, wet fuck with a handsome boy.

Delicious! We working girls could do such things. We didn’t have family reputations to concern ourselves with, but we had to have our wits about us in every way. Who knew that my job in the Riggs household would combine two of my talents: flowers and a good fuck.

So I was introduced to the household by Margaret. Missus Riggs was involved in charitable causes about town, and she needed to have the house kept up. Her three small children were looked after by the nanny, Olive. We three working girls shared a room beside the kitchen, which suited us nicely. Our small space was warm and clean and I had nothing to complain about. Margaret and Olive were chatty, and the household was a friendly place and there was enough to eat. We were lucky, indeed. I cleaned, did the washing, ran errands, served meals and dealt with the tradesmen. It was a lovely house on a quiet, tree-lined street, and I dreamed of living like that one day. I knew I could if I applied myself and worked hard.

Master Riggs was an officer in the Royal Navy. He had served abroad and now was stationed in London. I saw him occasionally, as he came and went, and only by a glance when I served the meals. He cut a powerful figure in uniform, and was a handsome man. I liked to sneak a look at him. His starched white shirts fell off his shoulder blades and emphasized strong shoulders; and I could see the shape of his slim ass under his trousers. He had deep blue eyes and thick, dark hair. But in any case, I answered to Margaret or the Missus and my path crossed little with his.

Doing chores, I imagined running my hands over hard muscles…his hands squeezing my ass…his full lips on mine…undoing his trousers and taking his hard cock into my mouth. I would take a deep breath, squeeze my pulsing cunt between my thighs and beat a rug very hard to relieve myself of such frustration. “What energy you have, my girl!” said Margaret, standing at the kitchen window, seeing me return inside with freshly beaten carpets.

Sometimes, on an evening out, I would stop by one of my lads in a pub in the market. I’d twirl a soft, brown curl with my finger, and run my tongue over my open lips just enough to encourage a sweaty romp in his room. We would roll about, his sweaty flesh to mine. I imagined it was Master Riggs caressing and squeezing my tits.…and that it was his cock diving into the warm, pink flesh of my pussy.

The devil makes work of idle hands, and over the months those excursions allowed me to stay out of any trouble and concentrate on work. And I wasn’t only drawn to Master Riggs, but I also had to keep myself from the handsome tradesmen who came to and fro. A simple effort with the fat butcher and the scrawny milkman, but by the summertime it was not so easy to leave off the virile carpenter who was around the yard for days on end, with his shirt off and the summer sun making sweat glisten off firm, undulating muscle.

“Why did you close the curtains, Emma?” Cook asked, looking at me as though I were mad. “It’s not even midday. Besides, summer sun is fleeting.”

“Sorry, Margaret,” I replied. “I was dusting there. I must have forgotten to open them again,” I replied. Why, indeed? I could hardly tell her that the sight of the olive-toned flesh of the half-naked tradesman in the yard was making me lose my breath, could I?

Time passed like that, and I was proud of my work. By the time autumn turned to winter I was given more responsibility and a raise in my salary from the Missus. I saved my earnings and envisioned a day when I might have my shop. The idea even began to regularly occupy my thoughts. My own shop! Such independence!

One gray and wet autumn afternoon I was sweeping the floors and polishing woodwork in the Master’s study, when he came in. “Good afternoon, sir,” I said, continuing my work.

“Yes…good day, Emma…” he replied in a preoccupied way. He stood in the doorway, seeming to look at his own feet. My heart began to beat hard as I felt his presence on the red Persian carpet. The sounds amplified in my head, of the rain hitting the windowpanes and of my heart beating. Silly girl, I thought, he’s taking no notice of you. No need for such theatrics! I continued my work.

Then I heard the door close and the key turn in the lock. I stole a quick glance and saw that he was inside. Indeed, he was preoccupied with something. He went to his desk. Where was everyone? I wondered. In fact, the Missus was at the dressmaker’s, and Cook would have been quite occupied at that hour with lunch preparations. The children were at the park with Nanny. I realized that Master Riggs and I were quite alone.

But when I gathered my things and turned to leave, I turned and found him looking straight into my eyes. Our eyes locked together for the first time ever, but he was quite silent. “Uh…” I stammered out. “Can I do something for you, sir?”

“Draw the curtains, Emma, if you would,” he replied, betraying nothing. My cunt began to pulsate and I swallowed hard.

“Yes, sir,” I replied. I went to the window. Outside, the rain still poured. I drew the curtains closed. Pale light was all that remained in the room.

“Emma,” he said quietly, “will you sit down?” He motioned to a nearby chair. I sat in the straight-backed chair, keeping his gaze. “I’m led to understand that you are an ambitious girl.” He seemed to want a reply. He stood calmly but straight, with his hands in his pockets.

I returned a breathless, “Yes, sir…I suppose that could be said of me…” My heartbeat still reverberated in my chest.

“You know you’re a lovely-looking girl, don’t you…?” His voice was low and intoxicating. “And you must know you’ve a comely figure as well. I’ve watched you for some time.”

He stopped, but I didn’t know what, if anything, to say.

“What would you say if I asked you to open your dress…?”

I felt the blood rush into my pussy. My nostrils flared with excitement, but I felt that I needed to keep my wits about me. “Sir…I might comply, sir…” My head swam. Was this some sort of trap? Was my job in jeopardy if I refused? Would he think me wanton if I did as he wanted? But I wanted him! I didn’t know how to answer, or what to do.

“Then would you open your dress, please?” We held eye contact as my fingers unbuttoned my bodice. He could see that he had his willing partner. “Open wider,” he said. He moved behind me. He slipped his hands inside my dress, on my bare shoulders. He pushed my dress off my shoulders and shoved the fabric off of me. I was exposed. He slid his hands from my bare shoulders and cupped my breasts. Slowly, even calmly, he lifted the round weight of them, squeezed them gently, pinched my nipples and palmed them with open hands. I caught my breath, but tried to keep from moaning aloud. Then he began to speak.

“So you’re ambitious,” he breathed softly in my ear. “I think ambition is a worthy attribute and ought to be rewarded along with hard work. And I’m told you are indeed very industrious as well. Would you raise your skirts and open your legs…?” he whispered. I pulled my skirts up till they sat high on my thighs. “Push your knickers down and open your legs…”

I raised my ass off the chair just enough to push my kickers down, then I kicked them to the floor. I spread my thighs open. “I’ll bet you have a beautiful pussy,” he said calmly, sotto voce. His hands left my breasts. One hand grazed my thigh, and the other skimmed the dark hair on my pussy, petting it like a cat. I moaned out loud. His fingers ran lightly from my ass, up to the top of my aching, hungry cunt. His finger slipped stealthily through the slippery, wet folds of my sex into my cunt.

“Sir…” I said quite pointlessly. His other hand returned to my tits, and he pinched my nipples and rolled them between his thumb and fingers. My body warmed and quivered.

He continued speaking quietly. My senses could barely process both the sensations on my flesh and the words coming in my ears. “I have a business proposition for you, Emma.” He paused. “An opportunity to fulfill an ambition, which I’m told might include opening a small flower shop.” My head swam with the sensation of his fingers rolling my red, erect nipple, and his other hand fingering my pussy. “And I might have something I need, as well…” His voice trailed off.

“And here’s what I need now…” and his hands left me as he moved around to be in front of me. “Undo my trousers,” he said. His crotch was at my face. His thigh brushed my nipples. I clumsily unbuttoned his trousers, and his hard cock strained against the fabric. I didn’t wait for instructions. I took his sex out, and it was like the stamen of a flower about to burst with seed. I looked up at him and he looked at me, breathing hard. He ran his fingers through my curls and pushed my head to him. I took his cock in my mouth and pumped it, making it wet with my spit. I licked it like a sweet from the shaft to the head. He moaned. I licked his balls and ran my hands along his thighs that I’d fantasized about for so many months.

“Down on your hands and knees,” he whispered urgently. I came off the chair and dropped to all fours. In a moment he was behind me. He pushed my skirts up to my waist. My pussy wetness dripped out of me. He held my hips and I felt the head of his big sex slip through my opening and slide into me, firing every nerve in its path. My cunt exploded in waves of pleasure deep inside. I panted and cried out, but his hand covered my mouth. “Shhhhhh!” He moaned low and fucked me, pumping my cunt. My body shivered in ecstasy.

His arm encircled my hip, and his other hand ferociously kneaded my tits. Then he pulled himself out of me, held me to him and groaned as he came in my skirts. After a moment, he caught his breath, then, “We don’t want you in the family way, do we?” he said, panting.

We were both spent. He let go of my waist and got himself up. He wiped his brow and buttoned his trousers. Disheveled and sweaty, I picked myself up and sat in the chair. He stood and gathered himself.

Finally, he spoke again. “So then let’s talk about an arrangement, my dear.” An arrangement? I thought. “You’re clearly a respectable girl,” he said with a coy wink, “if a bit wicked…” His voice subdued and more serious, he continued, “Of course, this would be an entirely secret proposition…and a benefit to us both. We can ‘meet.’” He said the word with a sly smile. “And over time you’d be in a financial position to leave us for a more independent venture.”

A domestic prostitute? I thought to myself, horrified at the word, and it came out of my mouth. “But I’m no prostitute, sir!”

“Oh, my,” he said with an indignant tone. “I wouldn’t have one under my roof, dear…It’s an arrangement,” he repeated. “The terms of the deal are secrecy and great care. You don’t seem like you mind the ‘work’ too much,” and he said this with a smile, “and you can view it as a financial dividend.” He put his hand in his pocket and removed some pound notes. He placed a generous sum on the desk. “Do we have a deal, Emma?”

I looked at him and replied as demurely as I could muster, “Why, yes, sir. I believe we do.”

“Then good day, dear,” he said, and turned to the door. He unlocked it, and left. In the hallway he took his hat and coat, and I heard the front door open and close with a bang that shook the brass knocker. I straightened myself and went downstairs to the kitchen.

“Margaret,” I said to the cook, “I forgot to run to the butcher’s this morning. Do you mind if I fetch the roast now? Would it be a bother for you to serve lunch?”

“Not a bother, dear,” Margaret said, not even looking up from her turnips. “You go right ahead.” I took my coat and cape and left, more than happy to have a reason to walk in the fresh air and clear my mind of the strangest event I could ever have imagined!

In the weeks and months that followed I went about my work and didn’t utter a word to a soul. Nobody in the house suspected, nor should they if I were to keep my job. It was surely a prosperous adventure for me, a pleasurable one for Master Riggs. Earning the money for my own shop and all the while frolicking around the house with this gentleman? An offer I could not have refused!

Springtime arrived and I asked the Missus if I could take over the flower and bedding plants from the gardener. Missus Riggs may not have known how I was earning my extra pay, but she knew I had in my head to open a flower shop, so she let me at the garden. That spring I planted purple iris, primrose, daffodil and wallflower. When the summer came, I did orange marigold, blue geranium, pink meadowsweet and mullein. My buttercups did nicely, as did the red campion, honeysuckle and lily. I learned which seeds did better in certain soils, and which needed more sun or less.

My flowers and posies now regularly sat in vases on the Missus’s tables. Cook helped me improve my reading, and I learned about flowers and plants from botanical books. And I couldn’t have been bored, since every so often I’d be surprised by a visit from Master Riggs.

He took me where he liked, though he was always careful of two things: that no one should find us; and that he shouldn’t make me pregnant. But still, he often surprised me with an adventuresome appetite. One afternoon, he brought home another gentleman. I didn’t think a thing of it until he called me to his study. “Emma!” he called, and he rang the bell in his study.

“Yes, sir,” I said, and noticed a gentleman with him. I took their hats and coats and went to leave.

“Then return, please,” he said.

I half wondered…

And when I returned, the Master did indeed turn the key in the study door. “How would you like to earn a bit extra for your pot, dear?” he asked. I was taken aback. I didn’t know quite what he was wanting, but at the same time his friend was a fine-looking man, and I couldn’t refuse a little well-paid adventure. What a wicked girl! “Sirs…” I replied, not wanting to refuse but not wanting to appear as if I anticipated any pleasure out of what might transpire.

The gentleman looked at Master Riggs as if to get permission, then he looked at me. “Let me see your titties, my girl…” I also looked at Master Riggs, but he revealed nothing. I looked at them as I undid my bodice and opened my clothes, freeing round breasts and hard, pink nipples.

“Mmm…” the gentleman moaned immediately. He stepped right to me and turned me around so that I faced the desk. There, he bent me over the Master’s desk, pushed up my skirts and dove his cock right into me. He held my shoulder and fairly slammed into me. My breasts bounced and slapped against me, and he grabbed them as though they were pieces of ripe fruit. Master Riggs enjoyed the whole sight. He worked his sex with his hand till he came with a moan in a handkerchief.

The gentleman pulled himself out of me and his hot, white cream spilled over my ass and down my thighs. “What a girl!” he said, and he smacked my bottom hard with his hand.

“Ouch!” I cried, and he laughed. And though I liked a quick fuck also, his manner didn’t please me and I was satisfied when he was gone. I was paid very well for that time, and was glad for it.

When I wasn’t working I began to spend time at Kew Gardens, where I learned more about trees, bedding plants and flowers. At the Riggses’, I even planted herbs in pots in Cook’s kitchen. And since the small glass conservatory had become a bit of a fashion in London, Missus Riggs had one built. I worked on roses, violets, irises and other plants out of season. Margaret was glad to see my kitchen herbs out of her windows and into the glass house.

And as I began branching out with my interests and ambitions, so, apparently, did Master Riggs. One afternoon, he told me that the Missus required me to fetch a dress from a seamstress she didn’t normally do business with. I had no reason to doubt the veracity of his request, as I was often sent out for various household errands. He gave me the address and told me I was to go immediately. He had a carriage for me, which wasn’t odd since I had far to go.

It was well out of the Riggses’ neighborhood, but still a respectable corner of the city. I rang the bell and was seen into a lovely apartment. A well-dressed woman came to the door. “You’re Emma, from the Riggs household? I’m Miss Hazel,” she said. I replied, and she escorted me in, and asked me to wait while she put Mrs. Riggs’s order together. I sat down in the drawing room and waited patiently.

It couldn’t have been more than a quarter hour’s wait when the doorbell rang. I imagined a seamstress’s flat would be very busy, with people coming and going throughout the day. But who came into the room but Master Riggs himself! “Hello,” he said calmly. He took off his own hat and coat and put them over a chair as if he was quite familiar with the flat.

“M-Master Riggs…!” I stuttered, “Whatever are you doing here?”

“Oh, I had an errand myself in this neighborhood. I thought I would escort you back home,” he replied, and sat down. It was odd, I thought, but not outlandish. We sat in comfortable silence for some minutes. Eventually the dressmaker returned from down a corridor.

“Emma, come now, please,” Miss Hazel summoned me. I followed her down the corridor into a bright, sunlit workroom. A dressmaker’s dummy stood near a window, and fabric lay everywhere. On a table were dress pins, measuring tape and all sorts of tailoring tools.

A package wrapped in brown paper sat on a corner of a table, marked RIGGS, which I took to be the Missus’s. I was about to pick it up when the seamstress said, “Listen, dear, would you do me a favor? Before you take your mistress’s dress, would you be a dear and try something on for me? I have a client about your size, and instead of calling her here for a fitting when I’ve only just basted, you could try this on and save us all much bother.” This request seemed odd, but I simply wasn’t in a position to refuse a reasonable request. But I was beginning to have some doubts…

“Happy to help, ma’am,” I offered.

“There’s the fitting room, there.” She pointed to a smaller room off of the workroom. She handed me a dress filled with basting stitches. I undressed with some trepidation and put the dress on. When it was on I called to her, and she did indeed fit it on me for some minutes, under the arms, around the waist, measuring the length. I felt badly for having had suspicions, and when she sent me to take it off I was thinking of what I needed to do when we returned to the house. I had been polishing silver when I was called to this errand. I needed to finish the silver before midafternoon, and the dressmaker’s reminded me that I had mending of tablecloths to do.

But my thoughts were interrupted by Master Riggs’s voice in the workroom. “Emma, will you come out?”

“But I’m not yet dressed, sir,” I replied.

“Yes, I realize as much,” he said.

The rascal! He did it again! Was this woman even our Missus’s dressmaker? Who else was here I didn’t know about?

“Sir, I’m only half dressed,” I said. He opened the door to the fitting room and led me out by the hand. The dressmaker wasn’t in the room at all. He held my hand and led me out of the workroom, across the hall and into another room. There, I saw the dressmaker, also in her underthings, on a big bed. She was smiling, and apparently waiting.

Master Riggs closed the door behind us. So it was a ruse, I thought. How wicked and strange. I certainly hadn’t imagined a thing like this. “A surprise for us, Emma, and some special payment for a very special errand…”

“Come here, dear,” said the dressmaker in the calmest tone of voice I’d ever heard. “Let’s all take a spot of sherry,” and she motioned to a tray with a bottle of tawny port and glasses.

Master Riggs poured three glasses. He handed them to us and took one for himself. “Here’s to new adventures, ladies…” and we all drank.

It was a lovely port, indeed, like a liquid red gem. I felt a bit relaxed and it sparked a little flame in my pussy, as wine always did.

“Arthur tells me you’ve got a real knack for gardening, is that true?” she asked, taking a sip. My, she was clever, I thought. I truly loved to talk about my flowers.

“Yes, well I certainly hope so, ma’am. I read as much as I can and I experiment with bulbs and seeds. Every time I learn something new about a plant I just have more questions. And the Master’s new conservatory has given me whole new varieties of plants to work with?” I stopped, thinking I was running on overexcitedly. But she continued, and beckoned with her hand for Master Riggs to pour again. Mmm, it was delicious, this sherry.

“Do you mean to apprentice with a florist, eventually?”

“Why, yes, ma’am,” I told her, realizing as I spoke that she had the loveliest hazel-colored eyes I’d ever seen. “My aim is indeed to secure such a position, if I can find it.”

“Well, she said, gazing into my eyes as she spoke, “I know some people in gardening, and many shop owners. I myself apprenticed with a milliner in Chelsea when I was younger. I’ll ask around for you, my dear.”

By this time the port had gone not just to my head but through my whole body. Master Riggs had been quite quiet till then, but when I glanced at him I saw he’d removed his jacket, collar and tie. I’d never seen him appear so relaxed, and it made me feel that way, as well.

Miss Hazel sat up from where she was reclining, reached over and gently touched my curls. “Undo this…” She began removing pins from my hair, and brown curls tumbled down over my shoulders. “You have such lovely hair,” she said, combing her fingers through it. And then she pulled my head swiftly but gently toward her and kissed my lips. I stopped for a moment but then I instinctively returned her kiss. I’d never touched such soft, giving lips. I wanted more, and she could feel it. She licked my lips gently, then pushed her soft tongue slowly inside my mouth.

The port swam through my body, and I could have kissed her for hours. Soft kisses, then urgent, passionate kisses where our tongues met in a sea of softness and sensation. She stopped for a moment and took her glass of port, tipping it first to her lips and then to mine. We both drank, and then kissed again, tasting our mouths and the sweet, ruby port. Heaven! I swooned to myself.

I touched her hair, and it was soft as lamb’s ears’ leaves. Her skin smelled of lavender. I was drunk as much with her as with the port. She pulled me to her and we were pressed together. She opened my shift and then she opened her own. Our naked breasts brushed each other, our nipples touched. Her breasts were round, her brown nipples erect. I was heady with these new sensations.

She pushed me down onto the bed and put her mouth to my nipple. I moaned as she sucked and bit me. Then her hands roamed over my tits and I took her breasts, hanging in orbs over me, and kneaded them, pulling her nipples, rolling them over the palms of my hands. Where was Master Riggs? I half wondered, but not really caring. I didn’t care if he watched or didn’t, I was heady with this steamy seamstress.

And as I thought of him his body was suddenly on the bed with us. Miss Hazel made room for him and I felt his hands pulling my knickers down. As Miss Hazel and I kissed and sucked and caressed, I felt him parting my thighs and moving over me. He slid his fingers into me, and I was wet with port and excitement. He pushed his sex into me and all my nerves burst like pistons in a steam engine. I shuddered and cried, and as he kept pumping I shuddered again. What a ride!

He moved out of me, and Miss Hazel and he moved to each other, where she bent and took him in her mouth. That beautiful mouth, I thought. And I bent down, too, and we shared our mouths and Master Riggs’s hard cock. When she came off of him we kissed with passion again, our lips and tongues inseparable. I tasted port and felt Master Riggs dribbling it between our mouths. Every taste was delicious, whether it was her mouth, or his hard, craving cock.

Then her mouth left mine and she lowered herself; her lovely orbs bubbled out of her muslin shift. She opened my thighs with her hands. Her fingers parted the folds of my cunt as if they were the petals of a rose. And then her red, round mouth was on my sex! Her soft tongue brushed the length of the crimson folds of my pussy, and I thought I would take flight with pleasure. While she licked and sucked the hidden bulb inside my cunt folds, I shook and moaned. Master Riggs moved again and mounted Miss Hazel from behind, and I raised myself on my elbows to look. What a sight, his big sex between the perfect white globes of her ass.

He slid himself in and out, in and out, and she purred and moaned, her eyes closed as she licked me and slid her fingers in and out of me. We were a purring machine of pleasure, we three. I’d never imagined such a thing. Then she came and came in moans and cries, and when it was done he took his member out of her and worked his cock with his own hand until he spurted his white seed over her ass, spreading it over her skin with his other hand.

We were all spent and happy. Miss Hazel drew herself up to me and kissed me again. “Let’s pour a little glass to an afternoon of nice surprises, shall we?” And Master poured glasses. The port was still lovely to taste, as I hadn’t been so drunk as to have felt poorly. Our underclothes were in disarray, and Master Riggs had nothing on but his shirt, which hung open. I had never seen him as naked, and he was a nice thing to look at with his tawny, muscular chest.

“Oh, my dear,” Miss Hazel said as she swept up some of my disheveled hair with her hand. “You are a sight. Did you think you’d have such an errand for your employer? Arthur, take some money out of my drawer and let’s sweeten her pot of honey.” She motioned to a desk drawer and Master Riggs went to it and took out some pound notes, counting them.

“I am serious, Emma,” she said as Master Riggs handed her the money. “I’ll be happy to help you find an apprenticeship.”

“Well, I would be most grateful, ma’am,” I said.

Master Riggs smiled at me proudly, as if I was a successful junior protégée. “You’re a clever girl,” he said, beaming. “You’ll do well for yourself.”

“I’ll make us all a strong cup of tea,” Miss Hazel said as she got up off the bed and put on a covering. “We’ve all got work to do today! Can’t waste our whole day puttering about,” she laughed. She left the room, and Master Riggs began to dress. I realized that he had been in the bedroom, waiting for such a mischievous event while Miss Hazel was fitting her client’s dress on me. I was excited to think such a plan had been laid, in secret, about me. Alone, across the hall in the dressing room, where I had left my clothes, I mulled over the images of what had transpired. Such an adventure! I thought, and smiled to myself.

After a cup of tea, Master Riggs indeed took the package with his name, and we left in a carriage. “Sir, is Miss Hazel really your seamstress? I’ve been sent to a dressmaker’s often, and never to her,” I said.

“Yes, she does my things, not my wife’s. You’ve always reminded me a bit of her, you’re both independent girls with an adventurous streak, eh?” he laughed, giving me a little poke with his elbow. And then he reached into his jacket and gave me a pile of notes. My eyes widened, for I’d never received such a handsome sum. Just as well, I thought, since I was taken by surprise after all!

Life continued for some months until one day Master Riggs announced that his friend, Miss Hazel, had indeed found an apprenticeship for me at a large conservatory outside the city. That position took me out of London and so I left behind my sensual adventures with Master Riggs.

Two years later I entered a horticultural college for women and used my earnings to pay my tuition. However could I not be grateful to Master Riggs, who helped me along my garden path? Today, I’m the assistant to the head gardener at an important conservatory; and I spend my time designing the gardens, a kind of job I didn’t even know existed when I was seventeen. I didn’t open a shop after all, though I may wish to do so one day. I never did tell a soul about how I went from selling bunches and sachets from a basket on my arm to where I am today, altogether happy and independent. And, I think it will always remain one secret in my own garden of secrets.

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ISBN: 978-1-4268-3049-5

The Flower Arrangement

Copyright © 2009 by Adelaide Cole

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