3. What a View
CHAPTER 3
What a View
N ever in her life had Louise been tongue-tied, but she was now. When it came to qualities she wanted in a man, this man was perhaps the first she had ever met who fulfilled all of them. He was distractingly good looking, making her heart stammer and her muscles twitch, as if she needed to suddenly run the length of High Street to burn off energy. Another quality was how smart he was. He’d quickly seen her mistake in the numbers whilst looking at it upside down in dim light. And now she watched him complete the sums, with an audience, as if it was no bother. That was swoon-worthy in Louise’s opinion.
He’d also noticed their fire insurance shingle was awry. She made a mental note to see to that. The coup de grace though, was spotting Crafty’s entrails - how she hadn’t stepped in it and slipped over was utterly baffling. This was a very observant man.
They’d checked and cleaned this morning as part of the routine, but for some reason Crafty had deposited another one. Was this a new development in her habits? Louise hoped not. Then again, Pie was picking up his mother’s skills; it was probably the younger cat who’d left the mess.
But the most outstanding part of this man was how large he was. Louise had become so used to being at eye-level with men, or often being taller. She’d inherited her father’s tall and stocky build, rather than her mother’s slighter frame. Which was never really a problem, except that compared to most men, she was considered ungainly. A giantess. This lovely man before her was at least a head taller than she, and for the first time in her life, she felt delicate.
“I thank you,” she said, looking up at him with what she hoped might be a delicate look. There weren’t any mirrors immediately nearby to know whether she’d achieved that or not.
“My pleasure,” he said, giving her a nod. He didn’t exactly give her a smile, but the corner of his mouth quirked so attractively it had the same power as one. If he gave her a real smile, she might even faint.
That would be a new experience.
“Where are you from?” she asked indelicately. “I haven’t seen you in Hatfield before. Are you moving to town?”
“I’m passing through,” he said with a shrug.
Her heart dropped as her flirting failed. “A man of few words.”
“Force of habit. From my time in the army.”
Louise looked up at him more directly as he volunteered the information, enjoying this new sensation of tilting her head up to see eye to eye. “You’re a returned soldier?”
“Aye,” he said. “And to answer your earlier question, I’m not really from anywhere, not any more. My family came from Yorkshire originally, up Halifax way, but they’re all gone now. I was away with the army for the last few years but I sold my commision and now I need to … figure out what to do next.”
It was the longest sentence she’d heard from him, and it explained so much. She’d wanted to get him talking so she could discern his accent, and there it was, a hint of northern burr that revealed itself every now and then. He had the speech of a gentleman, though, and the clothes to match, her experienced eye assessed. Not flashy or fashionable, but of quality make, even if his coat was quite wet through at the moment.
“So you’re coming back from Yorkshire and heading to London? Lets see about getting you some novels to help pass the time. Come right this way,” she said, carefully stepping over the entrails as she came around the counter and led him to the novels. “We have a good selection of titles. My father is in France at the moment, sending us occasional crates of books. That was one of his you brought in, most kind of you.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said, as they reached the shelves of novels featuring bold adventures at sea or discoveries in far-off lands.
“This is an amusing read,” Louise said, grabbing a copy of The Diverting History of John Gilpin . “It’s popular in our lending section, so we always have copies to purchase for travellers as well.”
She handed it to him, and he measured it against his coat pocket. It fit, and he nodded with satisfaction.
“I’ll keep an eye out for you, for more like this, if you give me your forwarding address I can let you know when similar titles come in.”
“Well,” he scratched his head. “Not quite sure what that address will be. Not even sure where I’ll be staying tonight for that matter.”
Instantly she said, “I highly recommend the Red Lion next door, you should get a room before they’re out. I do not recommend The Swan, which is a few streets away. The last person who stayed there caught bed bugs.”
An expression of horror crossed his face, and he nodded thanks for the recommendation. “I’ve slept in ditches while in the army, but now that I’m out, a little comfort is always welcome. Let me pay you for the book and I’ll head to the Red Lion and seek a room.”
They completed the transaction and he headed out the door. Bernadette returned at the same time and easily ducked under his elbow.
He lightly stepped back, scanning the room. Louise immediately realised he was checking for the cat before he turned and left. Louise imagined there was a hint of longing or some form of regret in the look he gave her as he left.
“Who,” Bernadette’s voice startled Louise from her wistful stare at the door, “was that ? He was a veritable giant!”
“Just a traveller passing through. Watch out!” Louise exclaimed, almost too late as Bernadette caught her toe on the edge of one of the crates.
“Ow, ow.” Bernadette hopped on one foot around the counter, and Louise hastily grabbed her shoulders and stopped her before she landed in the mouse entrails.
“What the… Crafty!”
“I think it might have been Pie, actually.” Louise guided Bernadette to sit down on the stool while she gathered the mouse-cleaning equipment. “Is your toe all right?”
“I think so.” Bernadette wiggled her foot around. “A good thing I was still wearing my boots. What’s in the crates?”
“One of them’s from Pa.” Louise smiled to see her sister’s eyes light up with this good news. “I didn’t have time to search it for a letter yet.”
“Just one of them? There are two…”
“The other one is the latest delivery of novels from Minerva Press.” It was the larger of the two, the one the burly former soldier had carried in. A slight blush stained Louise’s cheeks at the thought of him carrying a crate of romance novels; she’d hastily closed the lid again before he could see the contents.
“Well, we’d better unpack them before anyone else comes in and falls over them. Brutus and Ruth, are you still here?” Bernadette called out.
Ruth appeared like a ghost from behind the shelves, nodding shyly. Brutus was right behind her, a book in his hands.
Louise smiled indulgently. Neither of the youngsters had a chance to read much at home; they were often found singly or together in some quiet corner of the shop with their noses in a book. She didn’t mind in the slightest, because they completed their work quickly and were always ready to assist when needed. The rest of their time they could be at leisure.
“We need to get these crates unpacked and out of here. Can you help? And then I’ll walk you both home.” This late in the year, it was already dark outside, and she didn’t think either of the youngsters should be out on their own at night.
With four pairs of hands, they made quick work of unpacking the crates, stacking all the books on the counter in neat piles ready to sort through further on the morrow. There were no letters to be found in the crate of books from their father, and Louise and Bernadette shared a frustrated glance. Would it really be so difficult for their father to pen a brief note?
The church clock struck five, and Ruth straightened up. “I need to get home, Miss Baxter,” she said apologetically.
“Of course you do, let’s be off.” Louise would not for a moment have Ruth be late, knowing the girl would likely bear the brunt of her father’s wrath if she was. “Get your coat. And you, Brutus.”
“I could stay and help,” Brutus offered.
“Thank you for the offer, but I shall walk you home too. I also need to call at the printer before they go home for the evening, so let’s go.” Louise chivvied him towards the door.
“Can I come tomorrow?” Brutus begged.
“It’s Saturday, we will be closed.” Louise relented as he gave her a pleading look. “If your parents have no need of you, yes. You can help me sort some more books and carry out the empty crates.”
It was a short walk to the vicarage where Ruth hurried inside, and only another two streets to the rather grand house where Brutus’ parents Joshua and Phoebe Baxter lived. Joshua was her father’s first cousin, but being the son of the older brother he had inherited the bulk of their mutual grandfather’s estate and was consequently much wealthier than Louise’s branch of the family. Not that it seemed to deter Joshua from wanting even more, Louise thought grimly as she walked Brutus to the door.
“Good night, Cousin Louise,” Brutus said, before shaking his head. “I’m sure this is all backwards, I’m sure it’s me who should be walking you home.”
She resisted the urge to ruffle his hair; he was growing up and would not thank her for the gesture. “When you’re taller than me, you can walk me home.”
“But that might be never!” Brutus protested, and she grinned at him.
“Then you’ll never need to walk me home. Good night!”
Walk her home, indeed. Louise laughed quietly to herself as she turned and walked back up the street. Turn one corner and she’d be at the printer, two more and she’d be home at the bookshop. There were plenty of folk about, hurrying home, but even if the streets had been quiet, she wasn’t afraid. She knew everyone in Hatfield and everyone knew her; knew she was quite capable of knocking heads together if someone was silly enough to misbehave.
A door slammed behind her somewhere, but Louise paid it no mind, marching briskly onwards through the chilly evening.
Arriving at the printer, she tapped lightly on the locked door and was granted entrance by Mr Horace Black, one of the middle-aged brothers who ran Black and Sons.
“Evenin’, Miss Louise,” Horace said amiably. “Mite chilly out, eh?”
He led her deeper into the shop, with its mingled scents of ink, paper and oil. One of the other brothers was setting print, the typeset rattling under fast fingers, while yet another was aligning stacks of papers under the biggest printing press. Black and Sons was the largest printing press in Hertfordshire, almost as big as some in London or Oxford, and always busy, preparing to print the local newspaper, innumerable pamphlets every month, books and more.
“Ten sets of full folios, as you requested,” Horace said, guiding Louise over to some paper stacks on a bench. “Unbound, of course.”
“Of course.” Louise considered the heavy stacks. “I’ll take three tonight and stop by for the rest tomorrow, if that’s all right?”
“I’ll have one of the boys run the rest around in the morning.” Horace smiled at her warmly and helped her load three stacks carefully into a box.
There had been a time, fairly recently, when the printers hadn’t been quite so obliging, but that was when Baxter’s Fine Books hadn’t had quite such an ability to pay their bills on time. Of late, thanks to some very rare and expensive books their father had sent back from his travels in France, that had eased, and Estelle’s marrying Mr Yates had put paid to their biggest money worries. Mr Yates had even paid several months’ worth of their loan from the bank in advance, as well as Mrs Poole’s and Rosie’s wages, just in case he and Estelle might be delayed returning from Ireland.
“Thank you, and good night!” Louise called as Horace Black let her back out of the print shop. It was getting even colder outside and she shivered, picking up her brisk pace again. She didn’t think it would snow again tonight, but more bad weather was surely not far off. Best to be home tucked up warm in front of the fire.
Footsteps thumped on the cobbles behind her, and it didn’t take long for Louise to realise they were keeping pace with her. They turned the corner onto Market Street ten paces behind her, and were the same ten paces as she made the turn onto the High Street.
Louise wasn’t the kind of girl to look over her shoulder or panic about being followed. Her eyes narrowed, however, and she deliberately slowed her pace, as though perhaps she was tired from carrying the heavy box. The footsteps behind her slowed too, and Louise measured the distance between herself and the bookshop’s door with her eyes. She had to pass through a darkened spot of shadows just before the bookshop where no lit windows poured light, and it was on the edge of that spot that she stopped dead and whirled around, putting herself in the shadow but leaving whoever was following her exposed, right in front of a bright window in the building next door.
“Benjamin Baxter!” She recognised her young cousin immediately. Joshua’s eldest son was one of the few men in Hatfield who was as tall as Louise, though he was only sixteen and still had a boy’s lanky frame. “What are you doing following me?”
He froze, then scowled at her. “Mind your business,” he said.
“It is my business, young man. You’re loitering about outside my family’s shop, not to mention that you’re my cousin. Do your parents know you’re skulking about in the dark following ladies home?”
His scowl only deepened.
“Go home, and stop bothering me,” Louise snapped, far more angry than afraid. This was Joshua’s fault. His disrespect and continuous harassment of the Baxter sisters had led to this; to his son starting to bother them as well. And since Joshua was the local magistrate, Benjamin was no doubt quite unafraid of any possible reprisals for his terrible behaviour.
Confronted, and given a direct order, Benjamin scuffed at the cobbles with his toe for a moment and then turned around, slouching away. Louise watched him go, all the way along the street until he was out of sight. He didn’t make the turn that would have led him home, she noted, and shook her head. A boy of his age shouldn’t be wandering about after dark alone. Up to no good, indeed.
Her arms were beginning to ache from the weight of the box, so she turned and made for the bookshop door, confident that even running at a full sprint Benjamin couldn’t possibly catch her before she got inside. Once there, she checked the fire shingle and it was indeed crooked. She’d best fix that in the morning. She locked and bolted the door firmly behind her and left the folios on the counter to deal with tomorrow before making her way upstairs.
The kitchen was an oasis of light and warmth after the cold, dark December night outside and Louise sighed with pleasure, making her way over to the stove to warm her hands before removing her coat.
“Dinner’s ready, Louise, do sit down,” the housekeeper Mrs Poole urged. A motherly widow, Mrs Poole had come to live with the Baxters when their mother had died and the girls all looked on her as family.
“Smells good,” Louise said with an appreciative sniff as Mrs Poole ladled a bowl of stew for her and placed it on the table beside sliced crusty bread already spread with fresh butter. “What’s in it?”
“Rabbit.” Bernadette smiled at Louise from her own place at the table. “Mr Warrener dropped them off earlier. As thanks for helping his wife.”
It was quite normal for their table to be supplemented by such offerings. Bernadette’s knowledge of herbs, learned at their mother’s knee, was second to none in the area, and the poorer local folk regularly came to her instead of the doctor or apothecary, both of whom required payment in cash. Louise wasn’t sure what ailment Mr Warrener’s wife had suffered, but she had no doubt Bernadette would have helped even if the man hadn’t had so much as a potato to give them in exchange.
“It tastes wonderful,” Louise said after one bite of the deliciously savoury stew. So good, in fact, that she had to restrain herself from gulping it down. She settled for the slightly unladylike action of wiping the crust of her bread around the bowl to soak up the delicious gravy, and finally sat back, replete.
“If you need to go out at night, Bernadette,” she said, choosing her words carefully so as not to frighten her sister, “would you let me know so I can go with you?”
Bernadette set down her own spoon and fixed Louise with a perceptive stare. “Why?” she asked.
“Well, the fires, my love!” Mrs Poole answered before Louise could. “There was another one just last night.”
Louise hadn’t heard about this latest fire, and looked at Mrs Poole with interest. “Another fire?”
“Yes, indeed!” Mrs Poole nodded sagely. “A hay barn, belongs to Lord Ferndale, it does. Not a stick could be saved!”
Louise was aghast. “And nobody knows who did it?”
“Bitterly cold last night, nobody was about. The barn was well ablaze before anyone saw the glow. I’m sure Lord Ferndale is furious, he’ll have to buy more hay for his cattle for the winter now.”
“What a waste,” Louise murmured, while also calmed by the fact the fire had to be a good distance from Ferndale Hall if nobody saw it until it was well alight.
“I don’t see what that has to do with me not going out alone after dark,” Bernadette pushed, and Louise sighed.
“I wasn’t talking about the fires, actually. Benjamin followed me home from the printer, and I don’t think it was because he wanted to see me safely to my door.”
“What do you think he was about?” Bernadette asked after a moment, surprise warring with curiosity on her face.
“I don’t know, but he’s a silly young thing full of boyish fearlessness, and Joshua’s attempts to abuse us might make him think he can do the same. He might try to do something to impress his father.” Louise shrugged. In truth, she didn’t think Benjamin was really capable of doing anything serious, but she did know that she wouldn’t want it to be Bernadette who discovered the hard way that Louise was wrong in that assessment.
“All right,” Bernadette acquiesced, looking thoughtful. “I really don’t go out much at night anyway. The ailments I attend to aren’t usually urgent, I leave those to the doctor and the midwives.”
Louise nodded, pleased with Bernadette’s answer, and sipped at her tea. Her sister’s next remark made her shoot straight upright in her chair, almost spilling the tea in her lap.
“Now, Lou, you really must tell Mrs Poole all about that gigantic man who was in the bookshop this afternoon. I could have sworn he was flirting with you when I came back!”
Sensing gossip, Mrs Poole put down her own cup, eyes alight. “What’s all this then, Louise? A giant of a man?”
Louise shot a glance full of daggers at Bernadette, who smiled serenely back at her. “It’s nobody, Mrs Poole. Just a traveller. He stopped in and bought a book to read on his journey, that’s all.”
“If that’s all, why are you blushing?” Bernadette asked with a teasing grin.
“Just you wait until I catch you looking twice in a man’s direction,” Louise warned her sister. “Fine, yes, he was… rather attractive,” she admitted to Mrs Poole, who looked absolutely gleeful. “But please don’t make anything of it. He was on his way to London, and doubtless I’ll never see him again.”
She tried to ignore the pang of regret she felt at the thought.