Chapter TWELVE
Mr. Grimm missed their 2 o’clock tea break.
This was unprecedented. Teatime was, in its way, as important as both Opening and Closing time. No matter what was going on, the minute the clock struck 2, Mr. Grimm always turned the sign on the door to CLOSED, and he and Luna spent a good quarter-hour together. Sipping tea. Catching up. It was part of the vital rhythm of each day, and Mr. Grimm was nothing if not a man of rhythms.
But at 2 o’clock, he called out from the passage, “I’m just ducking over to Mrs. Goddard’s, Miss Talbot. I have business to discuss with her. Keep an eye on the shop, will you?”
“Yes, of course, Mr. Grimm,“
Luna called back, even as she frowned. Her gaze flicked to the clock, noting the time with some disappointment. Part of her had hoped teatime would fix everything, would get them back onto proper footing. But apparently not. He was going to keep on avoiding her throughout the day. And for how much longer besides?
As the shop was empty at the time, she closed up and took her break anyway, brewing a pot of chamomile-lavender just for her. While she waited for it to steep, she folded her arms and leaned her hips back against the counter. “I really messed things up, didn’t I?“
she murmured, addressing the Wolf Brittlebum in its vase. “He’s not going to forgive me for making a fool of myself over the countess like that. And that stupid, stupid dance!”
The Wolf Brittlebum looked at her with compassionate ugliness from its spider-leg carpel.
“It might not be over yet, either,“
Luna continued, looking down at her own fingers, gripping her upper sleeve. “Lord Bruxley might remember what happened. He was tipsy last night, but that tipsy? I don’t know. He might come back, bring the SSSD with him. He’s probably down with a hangover today, but . . .“
She chewed her lower lip. “It could get bad.”
The Wolf Brittlebum waved a leaf vaguely.
“Yes, thank you,“
Luna said, then reached out with one finger to stroke a waxy petal. “It’s good of you to say.“
She sighed then, however, and tucked her arms tight, shoulders hunching. “But something tells me, Mr. Grimm will never look at me the same again.”
Her employer did not return for nearly an hour, by which time Luna had reopened the shop and served several customers. He didn’t greet her, but went directly to the storage room and rummaged around inside.
When he emerged, he was toting the stepladder.
“Is everything all right, Mr. Grimm?“
Luna called, watching him carry the ladder through the shop. Flowers ducked to avoid precipitous beheading, casting him disapproving glares from their bright little faces.
“Yes, everything’s fine, Miss Talbot,“
Mr. Grimm called back over his shoulder. And nothing more.
Luna watched through the shop windows as he set up the ladder just outside the front door. While he was at work, Mrs. Iolanthe Smythe and her three, well-bred daughters, Imperia, Isadora, and Imogen, appeared under the awning and frowned at the obstruction blocking their way. Luna hastened to greet them, opening the door and beckoning them under the ladder and into the shop.
“One would think,“
Mrs. Iolanthe Smythe declared imperiously, clutching her little handbag close to her genteel bosom, “that one would schedule repairs for afterhours, wouldn’t one?”
“Oh, I’m sure Mr. Grimm has his reasons,“
Luna said, though she was inclined to agree with the lady. But she busied herself with brewing, serving, and scrying for the Smythe women over the next half hour, and was glad for the distraction. By the time their teas were drunk and their fortunes read, Mr. Grimm had come and gone from the storage room several times. He now perched up on the very top of the stepladder doing . . . something. To the sign?
Luna held the door open to emit the Smythe women, who navigated under and around the ladder with little, “Oohs!“
and “Eeps!“
until finally achieving the safety of the sidewalk. Once they were well on their way, Luna called, “Got it well in hand up there, Mr. Grimm?”
“Yes,“
he replied. “Well in hand, Miss Talbot.”
“Can I help you with anything?”
“Just keep the shop running, Miss Talbot. That’ll be all.”
Summarily dismissed, Luna retreated into the shop. She tidied up a bit, served a few more customers. Then, during a lull, she fetched some of her dried plant bundles from the kitchen and busied herself at the counter with arranging combinations of tea ingredients in tins. She’d had an idea for something she wanted to try: vanilla, honeysuckle, and orange llarmi. It might be good. Or disgusting. Time would tell.
She smiled a little. “I should try it out on Ward,“
she muttered. “He’d hate it! Serve him right too, after asking for seconds of Limpty’s.”
With a great creak of protesting hinges, Mr. Grimm folded up the ladder outside and carried it on his shoulder back into the shop. He did not meet her searching look as he passed the counter on his way to storage.
“Everything shipshape now, Mr. Grimm?“
Luna asked when he emerged once more, straightening his cufflinks and jacket.
“Yes,“
he answered. “Yes, it’s all . . . shipshape.“
He approached the counter then from the far side, gazing down at her assorted tea tins. He picked one up, smelled it idly, but she could tell he wasn’t concentrating on what he was doing. His whole manner was distracted, nervous even.
“I’ll be stepping out for the rest of the afternoon,“
he said rather abruptly. “Won’t be back until closing.”
“Oh?“
Luna blinked, uncertain what to make of this information. She had never known Mr. Grimm to leave the shop during the day. Yes, he’d disappear into Garden for long stretches, but that was hardly the same as leaving the shop. He never ventured out into Ballycastle. She couldn’t imagine why he would.
“Is something the matter, Mr. Grimm?“
she asked.
“No. Everything is . . . yes.“
He flicked a glance her way. “Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know. You seem a little . . .“
Luna bit the inside of her cheek, then shrugged. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”
He pushed away from the counter, backing up and shoving both hands into his pockets. “I was wondering,“
he said, looking at his feet rather than at her, “if you might stay late this evening? I require assistance. Moving the displays to the edges of the room.”
Luna’s brow crinkled. “Whatever for?”
“It’s deep cleaning night. We need to clear the floor, for . . . for the deep cleaning machine.”
Luna cast her gaze across the shop. The floor was quite thoroughly cleaned—she did it herself most days, when Mr. Grimm didn’t get to it first. And what sort of deep-cleaning machine had he gone and ordered? “All right,“
she said a little uncertainly. “Bryony’s not working tonight. She can let me in after curfew, if you think it’ll take that long.”
“Yes. Yes, it might.“
Mr. Grimm nodded and ran a hand down the back of his neck. “That’s good. That’s—yes. Good.”
With that and nothing more, he left, darting in a tinkle of bells out onto Addle Street and striding away. Leaving her alone. Again.
Luna slumped over, elbows on the counter, and watched through the front windows as he hastened across the road and disappeared around a bend in the sidewalk. “What are you up to, Mr. Grimm?“
She turned her gaze sideways to Debbie, perched on her skull-pot. “Is this normal for him?”
Debbie ruffled her wings. “Never mind,“
she said, but in a distinctly, “don’t get me started!“
tone of voice.
“Yes, well. It seems a bit more than usual,“
Luna said. Then, sighing, she busied herself with her teas until the next round of customers arrived.
Mr. Grimm did not return until closing time. She heard him entering through the back way and moving around in the kitchen even as she turned the sign to CLOSED and locked the front door. She went about the regular closing duties, then knocked at the kitchen door. “Are you ready to move those displays now?“
she asked.
“Ah!“
his voice said from the inside. “Yes. Yes, very good, Miss Talbot.“
He emerged from the kitchen, his face a bit flushed from some mysterious exertion, but his expression more closed than ever. “Shall we then?”
It took some doing. Together they hauled plants and pots hither and thither, lifted and shoved tables and shelving to the edges of the room, then replaced the plants and pots. The display floor looked oddly bare by the time they were done, while the walls positively mounded with flowers. It occurred to Luna, as she surveyed their handiwork, that she had suggested something rather like this once.
“We’ll push the flower displays back to make a dance floor,“
she’d said, while Mr. Grimm held her in his arms at Saint Jollify Fair, weeks ago.
Heat rose in her neck as she flashed a swift glance her employer’s way. Did he remember? Did he, like she, suddenly think to himself: You know what, this would actually make for a nice little dance floor?
Well, she sure as hecks wasn’t going to ask him.
“I suppose that’s done then,“
Luna declared brightly, and swiped a strand of hair back from her forehead. “I’d best be getting off. Happy Year’s End, Mr. Grimm.”
She stepped behind the counter to fetch her coat and hat, but her boss stopped her. “A moment, Miss Talbot.”
She looked his way, her hand just lifting her coat down from the peg.
“Erm.“
He removed his apron, hung it up, then donned his linen suit jacket, all without meeting her gaze. Was it just her imagination or was he acting more nervous than usual? It reminded her of the man she’d first met, back in late-summer. Shy, uncertain. Cute.
She bit her lip and looked down at her feet.
“Before you go,“
he said, “there was something I wanted to speak with you about. In the kitchen.”
She frowned. “In the kitchen?”
“Yes.”
“What’s in the kitchen?”
“The, erm, thing I wanted to speak with you about?”
“You don’t sound sure about that.”
“Don’t I?”
“Is something wrong, Mr. Grimm?”
“Wrong?”
“Yes. Are you . . . are you upset with me? About last night?”
He paled. “Last night?”
“I know I made a big mistake,“
Luna rushed on. Now the can of worms was opened, best to dump them all out on the floor and get it over with. “Going to Bruxley Hall, I mean. And then the wardsmen with their sensors, and . . . and it all got so out of hand! It’s been eating away at me all day, and I feel so bad about it, and—”
“Miss Talbot.”
She stopped. Forced herself to meet his gaze.
“Please,“
he said, “just step back into the kitchen. It won’t take a moment.”
Luna drew a slow breath. Finally, she gave a little nod and, leaving her coat where it was, followed him out from behind the counter. Her heart hammered strangely, for she had no idea what to expect. His manner was so odd, so mysterious! And everything had been so strange between them ever since . . . well, ever since Green Yule, to be honest. If she could have one wish for the coming year, it would be that they could somehow get back to where they were before all that nonsense. She missed the comfort, the ease of their dynamic, missed the certainty she’d felt about her place here at the shop. She missed—
Luna stopped in her tracks, frozen in the kitchen doorway.
Sitting in the middle of the kitchen table on a small, white dessert plate was—a single cupcake. Chocolate. With pink frosting. And a little candle.
Her mouth dropped open.
Mr. Grimm moved to stand at the far side of the table. He pulled a matchbox from his pocket, struck a match, lit the candle. Then he waved a hand in an uncertain gesture. “Erm. Happy birthday, Miss Talbot,“
he said shyly.
Luna gasped. Then she pressed a hand to her mouth as though to push back the rising giggle of surprise, of relief, of pure shock. He’d gotten her a birthday cake? A tiny, perfect, pink-frosted birthday cake?
“Mr. Grimm!“
she exclaimed, shaking her head and blinking, as though the image would vanish if she blinked hard enough. “You . . . you didn’t have to do that!”
“Oh, it was nothing.“
He shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I couldn’t get spice cake. I called around to all the local bakeries, but no one had it. I hope chocolate is an acceptable substitute?”
“Absolutely it is!“
Luna declared. Then she looked at him. “You will share it with me, won’t you? It won’t feel like a celebration if I’m eating alone.”
His brow puckered. “It’s very small.”
“That’s all right. I promise not to eat more than my fair share.”
“That’s not what I—”
Luna laughed at his fluster and moved swiftly to fetch an extra plate, two forks, and a knife. “Here, have a seat,“
she told him.
He chose the chair next to hers and sat very upright, his back straight, his hands on his knees. As though cake was dangerous, and he’d best be ready for action. “Will you make a wish?” he asked.
Luna closed her eyes. Then she leaned forward and blew out the candle. Smoke curled in delicate coils, like incense in a chantry house. Maybe her wish would act like a little prayer to the Green Mother? Maybe . . . maybe everything would turn out all right.
She cut the cupcake down the middle. “Oh, it’s soft!“
she exclaimed. Heavenly aromas of sugar and butter filled her nostrils. She carefully placed half the cupcake on the extra plate and pushed it toward her boss. Then she took a forkful of chocolate and pink frosting. Mr. Grimm did the same and raised his fork in salute.
“To a prosperous New Year?“
Luna suggested.
“And many happy returns,” he added.
“One can always hope!“
Luna trusted her smile would cover any darkness lacing those words. She clinked her fork against his and popped her bite into her mouth. “Mmmm!“
She groaned, closing her eyes. It had been years since she’d enjoyed anything so decadent. Luxuries like cake simply weren’t in the budget.
She opened her eyes to catch Mr. Grimm looking at her with an odd sort of expression. He looked away quickly and took his own bite. His eyelids blinked rapidly. “Sweet,“
he commented, around his mouthful.
“Perfectly sweet,“
Luna agreed, then eyed him. “But you’re not used to sweet things, are you?”
“Oh, you know.“
He shrugged as he swallowed. “I never got into the habit of them, as it were. We didn’t eat sweets growing up. Dad believed they rotted the brain.”
Luna snorted. “Well, if they do, let my brain positively decay.“
She took another bite then licked stray frosting from the fork tines before asking, “Did you never have cake for your birthday then?”
He cleared his throat and stabbed his fork into his half-cupcake, making crumbs. “We never celebrated my birthday, actually.”
“Oh?“
Luna frowned and, before she could think better of it, asked, “Whyever not?”
A shadow fell across his face. Something dark, something deep. Something which had haunted him a very, very long time. “Well, you see, for Dad . . . it wasn’t such a happy occasion.“
He flicked a glance her way then down at his cake again. “My mother . . .”
He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.
Luna set down her forkful of cake, her stomach knotting uncomfortably around the first several bites she’d taken. “Mr. Grimm,“
she said softly. “I’m so sorry.”
The impulse was strong to reach out to him, to take his hand. But Luna stopped herself. Somehow it felt too much, too intrusive into the vulnerability he’d just displayed. She opened her mouth, wishing more words would come, the right words, something that might give him ease. But that particular magic was beyond her.
Mr. Grimm nodded, however, accepting what little she offered. Then, with a swift shake of his head, he picked up his fork. “But that’s not today’s concern, is it?“
he said and took another bite. “It sounds to me,“
he added, “as though you had birthday traditions enough for any three people. Let me see if I’ve got it right: spice cake, games until midnight, kisses on the stroke of twelve.“
His cheeks pinked faintly, and he took another swift bite. “Anything else I don’t know about?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but there was a sudden knock on the door. Not the back door, leading to the alley behind the shop. The front door, under the awning. “That’s odd,“
Luna said, turning in her seat. “Who could that be? I’ve clearly posted the CLOSED sign, and it’s well after hours by now.”
“I’ll get it,“
Mr. Grimm said, pushing back his chair and springing to his feet. He darted from the kitchen, and she listened to the sound of his footsteps. After that, all went rather silent. Strangely silent.
Luna frowned.
Then, shrugging, she ate another bite of cake. Her mind wandered off to years gone by and a little boy, who sat through his birthday, uncelebrated. Unloved. Unseen. He wasn’t difficult to envision: he had Mr. Grimm’s sad blue eyes and floppy yellow hair, his pretty facial features as yet unhardened by life and experience. It was the sort of face one couldn’t help loving completely at first sight, filling one with the urge to gather up that little person and hold him close.
Only the child was long since gone. And the present version, the one who grew up under the stern guardianship of a perpetually-disappointed father? Sometimes it seemed as though his heart was shut fast, imprisoning a host of bad feelings and pain so that they could not escape to wreak havoc on the world. But what did all those pent-up hurts do to him in the privacy of that locked-away space? Was he destined to suffer behind that closed door, alone, to the end of this days?
What would happen if he . . . let someone else in?
Luna was still contemplating this question when the kitchen door opened, and Mr. Grimm stepped back inside. “What was it?“
she asked, hoping her voice wouldn’t betray where her thoughts had carried her. “A delivery?”
“Something like that.“
He stepped over to the stove and held up the ancient kettle. “Shall I put this on?”
Luna hesitated, her gaze flicking to the wall clock. Curfew was coming up, but . . . well, she suddenly felt so inexplicably cozy. Besides, as she’d told Mr. Grimm earlier, Bryony wasn’t working tonight. She should be able to sneak in after hours without too much difficulty.
“That sounds lovely, Mr. Grimm,“
she said, rising from her seat. “But I’ll make the tea.“
She fetched a tin from the cupboard, one of her new blends. “I’ve got something I want to try,“
she said, gathering up the Royal Bastian teapot and cups. “That’s the other birthday tradition I haven’t told you about yet: every year, I pick a new tea that will be my personal Tea of the Year. While I don’t drink it to the exclusion of all others, it will be my favored blend, the one I keep on hand for easy grabbing in the mornings. The flavor profile will determine much about the next twelve months.”
“And what was your tea of this year past?“
Mr. Grimm asked.
“Chamomile-lavender.”
“Ah!“
It was an oddly knowing sort of sound, almost a chuckle. He took his seat at the table again, reclaiming his fork. “And will you drink no more chamomile-lavender in the coming year?”
“Oh, no, I’ll still drink it, for sure. It simply won’t be the Tea of the Year. That’s all. Not the auspicious tea, as it were.”
His brow wrinkled slightly. “You do realize how completely nonsensical this sounds?”
Luna laughed. “Why yes! I do so love nonsensical things, don’t you?“
She picked up her tin and shook it at him. “This is a vanilla, honeysuckle, and orange llarmi blend. I suspect it will be just the thing for the coming year. Will you try it with me? See if you approve?”
“Do you usually get input from others for this momentous choice?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “Only those whose opinions matter.”
Mr. Grimm flushed at this, cleared his throat, and nodded. “Then by all means. Pour the tea!”
Luna primed the pot, spooned in the selected blend, poured in the hot water, and snugged on the tea cozy. Then, resuming her seat beside Mr. Grimm, she took another tiny bite of cupcake, determined to make it last.
Something thumped. Something loud, out in the shop. Luna frowned and lifted her head. “Did you hear that, Mr. Grimm?”
“Erm. No.“
He leaned an elbow on the table and spoke in a slightly louder voice than before, “So, tell me, do you have a particular favorite memory from birthdays past? With the aunties, I mean.”
Suitably distracted, Luna began to chuckle to herself. “Oh, do I ever! There was the year of my tenth birthday—a momentous occasion, the ascension to double digits. I considered myself quite the lady, and I was determined to have a much more grown-up sort of party to celebrate. A formal tea, with all my best friends invited.”
“Friends from school?”
“No, indeed. I wanted Gwendolyn Astoria—our horse, you know. And Antoinette, the sow, and Jessamine Puddle Duck, and Pearline Pompadouria, the goose. Oh, and our one gentleman of the hour, the dearly beloved Archduke of Barksdinny.”
“Let me guess,“
Mr. Grimm said, raising his eyebrows. “The dog?”
“A dignified and ancient hound of very good breeding. The best of all my friends.”
“And did Ratterson Von Ratpswitch merit an invitation?”
Luna blinked, surprised. Who would have thought Mr. Grimm would remember that name from some long-ago story she couldn’t even remember telling him? “No, this was, alas, long after dear Ratterson’s departure.”
She glanced at the clock. The tea should have steeped long enough by now. Hopping up, she fetched the pot and poured out a dark stream of steaming liquid into each Royal Bastian teacup. Deftly adding a splash of milk, she set Mr. Grimm’s serving in front of him, maintaining a flow of chatter all the while. “I wanted everyone wearing their Sunday best, of course, and all seated round the table with me. They must have their favorite things to eat, served on the finest porcelain.”
“And how did your aunties take to this plan?”
“Auntie Arabella was in fits of fear for her porcelain, and Auntie Aurora kept insisting it was probably a sin against the Green Mother to let beasts of the yard into the house. But Auntie Apolonia was determined to make it happen. She is quite the formidable person, Auntie Apolonia. When she puts her mind to something, things happen. So she prepared delicacies for each of my guests. Carrot cake for Gwendolyn Astoria and Antoinette, a selection of snails imported from southern Plym for Jessamine and Pearline Pomadouria, and a nice, hearty muttonbone for the Archduke of Barksdinny.”
“Impressive.”
“It was, rather! I, meanwhile, made them fit to be seen in the house. My best Sunday bonnet graced Antoinette’s head, and my nice lace collar ruffled about Pearline Pompadouria’s long neck. There were ribbons. There were sashes. There may even have been a pair of lacy pantaloons utilized in most unexpected ways.”
Mr. Grimm smiled into his teacup. Luna caught it, despite the valiant attempt to hide it. Gods, but it did something funny to her insides!
She shook her head and went on to tell her story as brightly and blythly as she could, describing the arrival of each guest and the eventual crashing of the party by Sylvester, the cat, who brought with him an even more undesirable guest in the form of a dead mouse.
“And why was poor Sylvester ostracised from the merrimaking to begin with?“
Mr. Grimm asked with some concern.
Luna sniffed. “He had very bad manners for a cat. This was supposed to be a grown-up and dignified event, remember? I didn’t want someone there who might come over with the sudden urge to wash his own bum in the middle of the tea table!”
At this, Mr. Grimm clapped a hand over his mouth, once again not quite fast enough to hide his smile. “Yes,“
he said, clearing his throat with the effort it took to swallow back a more spontaneous reaction. “Yes, I can . . . I can see that.”
Luna carried her tale on to its disastrous conclusion. How the dog lunged for the cat, who in turn knocked the teapot onto the pig, scalding her hide. How the pig then bolted, very fat but very fast, and spooked the horse, who kicked the table, and sent the fancy porcelain flying . . .
“It was all a bit of a catastrophe,“
Luna sighed with mock despair. “It turned out all right in the end, though. Auntie Apolonia had visited Sorcerer Biddercombe in advance and purchased sorcery spells to protect the porcelain. Not one of Auntie Arabella’s beautiful dishes was so much as dinged!”
“Proving that sorcery does have its uses,“
Mr. Grimm said dryly, lifting his teacup.
“I’ll drink to that,“
Luna agreed and took a sip. She closed her eyes, enjoying the smooth blend of tea and milk gliding down her throat. Sweet on the surface, but with dark undertones brought on by llarmi, and the honeysuckle added depth and complexity. “And what do you think of this tea?“
she asked, opening her eyes and catching Mr. Grimm’s gaze. “Is it a worthy choice for the coming year?”
“It is surprising,“
he admitted. “But . . . yes. I do rather think it’s you.”
“That’s settled then,“
Luna said with a satisfied smile. “My auspicious tea!”
Mr. Grimm set his cup back in his saucer and turned his attention to the last bite of cupcake. She watched him scrape up the little dab of pink frosting and pop it in his mouth. “Oh,“
she said and pointed with one finger. “You’ve got a bit of frosting. There.“
He went to dab it with a napkin, but chose the wrong side. “Nope, missed it!“
Luna laughed and reached over to wipe it away. Only to realize, suddenly, what she was doing.
Touching his lips.
With her thumb.
She froze, her hand still outstretched. A strange spark of heat shot up her arm, but she did not move. Merely sat there, staring into his wide, blue eyes.
Then, with a little gasp, she withdrew her hand, scooted back her chair with a loud scrape, and declared, “Well! That was lovely!“
as she sprang to her feet. “I really must be going now. If I get a boogie on, I can still make it home by curfew. Thank you for the—”
Words were still tumbling from her mouth as she made for the door. By then, Mr. Grimm was out of his chair as well, hurrying around the table. “Miss Talbot, wait,“
he said and grabbed for the door handle just as she reached for it. His hand came down on top of hers.
Luna stopped. Looked at him.
He stood very close. Close enough to inhale that scent of sandalwood and cinnamon and the faintest trace of earthy greenness which still lingered over him.
“Before you go . . .“
he said, not removing his hand from hers.
“Yes, Mr. Grimm?“
she breathed.
“I . . . I . . .“
He swallowed hard. “I just wanted to say, I hope your coming year will be full of . . . many wonderful surprises.”
Luna looked searchingly into his eyes. She found herself almost overcome by the sudden and tremendous impulse to lean forward and kiss him. Right then. Right there. To simply close that little space between them, plant her lips on his. And see what happened.
It could be disastrous. He could jerk back from her in absolute horror, exclaiming, “Miss Talbot? What are you doing?”
But then there was the other possibility. That he might reach out, grab hold of her hair in the same way she’d seen him grab the hair of the woman in that tea mug vision, months ago. His mouth might take command of hers, forceful and demanding, a consuming need she wasn’t truly prepared for and yet, in that instant, longed more than anything to experience, to inspire. She might feel those arms of his wrap around her, pulling her close, might know that the unexpected safety she’d felt in those arms once before needn’t ever end, and—
Someone coughed.
Someone . . . not in the kitchen.
Luna blinked, shook her head. Then she frowned. “Was that Debbie? Out in the shop?”
Mr. Grimm’s eyebrows puckered. “Erm.”
With a little jerk, she shook his hand off hers, grabbed hold of the handle, and yanked the door open. The next moment she was in the passage. The very dark passage. All the lights were off, both here and out on the main display floor. Which was odd. Mr. Grimm usually left the lights on right up until he retired for the night, and . . .
“Debbie?“
Luna called softly, padding up to the head of the passage. She took a step out into the darkness, hand reaching for the thaumatic light switch. “Is that you?”
All the lights popped on at once.
“SURPRISE!”
A number of things happened, all before Luna even had a chance to scream. An eruption of music burst upon her ears, the classic “Happiest of Birthdays!“
played on a vigorous violin. Her dazzled eyes took in many lights, not just the swinging thaumatic bulbs, but innumerable fairy lights, strung up across the ceiling pipes. And bunting, actual bunting, in all the colors of the rainbow.
A sea of faces swam before her startled vision. There was Bryony, clad in a form-fitting party dress, laughing out loud and shaking her red curls. There was John Ward, still in his uniform, and several wardsmen friends of his, clapping their hands with great enthusiasm. There was Mrs. Whimsley in her purple layers, Miss Eugenia Lambert with two young men, one on each arm, Mrs. Goddard with her son, Tobias. There were numerous Silly Young Things, whom she recognized from her weekly readings, not to mention half a dozen Young Women of Good Character from Mrs. Boggs’s boardinghouse. So many faces, all smiling and laughing and singing the old song lyrics which everyone knew so well.
Luna gaped, open-mouthed. She couldn’t seem to breathe.
Then she turned on heel, looking back at Mr. Grimm, who stood in the shadowed passage still, out of sight of the others. “You did all of this?“
she whispered, her voice lost beneath the singing and the laughter and the violin. “For me?”
He gazed at her from those sad blue eyes. His face softened into a gentle smile.
“Oh, Mr. Grimm—“
she began.
Just in that moment, “Happiest of Birthdays“
finished, and the street fiddler struck up the “Duck Soup Boogie.“
A great cheer went up from all those gathered. Ward stepped forward, shouldering his way magnificently through the crowd, and took Luna’s hand. “Come on, birthday girl!“
he cried, swooping her out of the passage and onto the empty shop floor. “Time to show this mob how they boogie down in the Crimble Mountains!”
He whirled her into a spin. As Luna’s skirt flared out about her knees, she lost sight of Mr. Grimm.