9. A Budding Romance
CHAPTER 9
A Budding Romance
T he happy expression did not leave Louise’s face for the next few days. It might have been getting colder outside, but a warm inner glow radiated from her for all to see. Shaun called in regularly each morning, his presence welcome and calming as gossip about fires swirled around the town. Louise had no doubt at all Mr Jackson would succeed in his investigations. The approval of Lord Ferndale further confirmed her high opinion of the man. If that was even possible.
He would come into the shop, always checking first to prevent the cats running out to the street and scaring the horses.
“That reminds me, we really must find a home for Pie,” she mused as he wished her good morning.
“He truly deserves his name, he does appear to have run all the mice out of town,” Shaun said, avoiding stepping in entrails as he approached the counter.
“Oh dear, is there something on that side?” Louise asked.
“There is, although this one has feathers,” he said.
Oh dear, the cats must have run out of their regular mouse supply if they were bringing in birds now. Pie really needed to be on a farm somewhere. After she cleaned it up, she set to the ledger again and then stopped herself.
“I do feel nervous doing the sums, they’re really not my thing,” she said. “Would you mind ever so much?”
“I’d be glad to,” he said, turning the ledger about and checking the numbers. “Also, the fire shingle looks sturdy on the wall out the front.”
Brutus, who was helping Ruth dust the shelves, piped up. “Thank you, Mr Jackson.”
“Oh, hello there lad,” Shaun said, looking around and greeting Brutus. “You did a fine job, the glue is an excellent addition.”
Brutus beamed with pride. “Miss Louise’s idea. But I helped.”
“You are always a great help. I have some more folios we can bind this afternoon,” Louise said warmly.
“Shakespeare?” Brutus asked with a cheeky grin.
Louise shrugged. “Alas.”
The two of them laughed in a shared joke.
Shaun finished with the ledger and asked, “You’re not fond of Shakespeare?”
Louise grinned to herself. “I really do love Shakespeare, and I should not complain, because the bound folios provide steady income. But it does feel like that’s all people want, and it’s either red or green leather…” She couldn’t even muster up a dramatic sigh though, because Mr Jackson had finished the ledger and was here in the shop and all was right with her world.
Brutus asked, “Can we do some binding now?”
She would much rather stay and chat with Shaun, but Brutus was right to encourage them to get through their tasks.
“I’ll need to be off in any case,” Shaun said, “But before I go … would it be all right if I joined the lending library? Now that I’m staying in town awhile?”
Music to Louise’s ears! “Of course you can, I think Ruth is dusting those shelves now.” Then she grabbed the library ledger from behind the counter and opened it to the latest page. “I’ll write the book details in, when you find something you like.”
They stood there making calf eyes at each other, until Brutus coughed theatrically and said, “Miss Louise, we probably should get on with the binding.”
“Oh, of course!” Lousie and Shaun said over the top of each other, remembering they had an audience.
It was lucky she had Brutus to help her today, as her concentration was in tatters and they had several orders for binding and repairs to fulfill.
Her concentration was no better the next day, and the day after that it was even worse. Mrs Poole had no doubt informed the entire town of her emotional attachment by now, and she found herself rather enjoying that thought.
It meant the rest of the single ladies of Hatfield would know he was spoken for.
More or less.
A letter then arrived from Marie, which had her suddenly paying attention to the world outside her loved-up bubble.
Her elder sister had arrived at the Earl of Renwick’s estate, which was welcome news. She hadn’t called him Demanding, but Louise could hear their pet name for him in her head. Even better, the books were all in excellent condition and had not been damaged in transit.
However, Marie had badly sprained her ankle falling on slick ice and was now stuck in Cumbria until she could cope with the rigours of travel again. Louise’s heart ached for Marie, who must be feeling dreadfully alone and would not be home in time for Christmas now. And the money for those valuable books would not arrive until she came home either. Silently Louise prayed her sister would recover quickly and not be too miserable. Selfishly, she couldn’t wait to tell Marie everything about Mr Jackson.
A man wearing a dark suit and clerk’s attire walked into the bookshop the next day, with the classic appearance of a traveller who’d just stepped off the mail coach. He was rumpled and walking slightly stiffly, as if his joints had been cramped.
“I’m looking for Miss Louise Baxter,” he said upon entering.
Her stomach fell. It could only be bad news. With a shaky voice, she replied, “I am she,” and then sent Ruth to call down Mrs Poole and Bernadette for reinforcements. If this was bad news about her father, she needed family around her.
Mrs Poole definitely counted as family these days.
“Then I am in the right place,” he stepped forward with what looked like folded papers. Official-looking papers that might contain terrible news about their father.
Bernadette and Mrs Poole arrived quickly with worried expressions. Brutus stepped out from behind the shelves as well, his face showing not curiosity but concern.
“It is good news,” the man said, suddenly paying attention to their fretful expressions. “Lord Renwick has sent me, with instructions to pay his accounts in full.” He pronounced it ‘Rennick’ and it took Louise a moment to match the name to the Earl of Demanding.
“Oh!” Louise said, suddenly able to breathe again. “Thank the Lord for that!”
The man winced. “The Earl always pays his bills, why would you ever have doubts?”
“No, no, you misunderstand!” Louise gushed, hugging Bernadette and Mrs Poole with relief.
Ruth and Brutus exchanged glances and returned to their quiet tasks.
“We thought it was bad news about our father. He’s in France at the moment and we feared something had happened.”
“Oh, I see,” the man said, his expression clearing. “I had no idea a clerk’s uniform was so funereal.”
“It is dark in here,” Bernadette said, “And you looked like you’d travelled a great deal.”
“That I have,” he agreed. “Because Lord Renwick was keen to clear his account with you. His message required speed so that he was not in arrears.”
“It is a boon to have the accounts taken care of,” Bernadette said, accepting the papers. “We have been waiting to hear from our father for several months, you see, and… anyway, I thank you.”
Louise had been so caught up in her romance with Mr Jackson, she’d quite let that worrisome aspect of their lives go to pasture. “I shall write up a receipt for Lord Renw- Rennick for you,” she said.
It was true they were no longer as desperate for funds as they once had been, but the handsome pile of money would pay several bills that would fall due between now and the New Year, and leave them with plenty to spare.
She called Brutus over and handed him the money to pay the bakery account, and sent him off with permission to return with currant buns. The printers she would visit herself. It would be so satisfying to settle that account in full and early, with a little on top to thank them for sending work their way. The butcher was next on her list, but she would visit him later, along with the tanner who supplied her leather, as she didn’t want to be carrying around so much money in one purse. Shaun would be too busy investigating the arsonist to accompany her about town paying accounts. And although he might have hired some returned soldiers to help him, there were still too many of them in town who lacked gainful employment and income.
The rest of the money she placed in a small tin and hid under the floorboards in her bedroom, dragging the heavy bed frame to put one foot on the loose board. Nobody could move it easily - it had taken all of her strength - and certainly not quietly!
That afternoon while the shop was calm, Louise sat at the counter and wrote back to Marie, choosing her words carefully to appear bracing and confident. She told Marie not to worry about a thing, just rest up and recover from her injury with as much forbearance as she could muster. With the money Renwick’s man had delivered, they were more than flush for some time now.
Nibbling on her lip, Louise wondered if she should mention the fires in Hatfield, which hadn’t started until after Marie departed. Best not, she decided. It wasn’t as though Marie could do anything but worry about it, being so far away. Certainly Louise had no intention of mentioning that the arsonist might have tried to burn down their family bookshop.
Which also meant she really had no cause to mention Mr Jackson, either. Although, how could she even put into words how Shaun’s continued presence in town was affecting her? She wasn’t sure even Lord Byron could have managed poetry heartfelt enough to express such feelings.
Marie might think Louise had taken leave of her senses if she tried, too. She signed the letter, sanded it to dry the ink and then sealed it.
“Ruth, would you watch the counter for a few minutes? I’m just stepping over to the Red Lion to get this letter in the mail,” she said.
“Yes, Miss Louise,” Ruth said obediently. The girl still looked nervous every time Louise asked her to take charge, but she had to learn sometime. Bless Brutus, he always came and sat behind the counter too so that Ruth didn’t have to manage alone.
In the busy inn yard, Louise found Mr Jackson talking with one of the returned soldiers he’d hired to help him, a thin dark man who had the unfortunate name of Riot Jones. Short for Sobriety, Shaun had informed her; Mr Jones was from a Welsh Methodist family. He didn’t speak particularly fluent English, but Shaun was full of surprises and had admitted that he spoke Welsh quite well.
Riot Jones tipped his hat politely to Louise as he saw her coming, and slipped away with a murmured “Bore da, miss.”
“Good day,” she replied politely, trying to remember if they had a book of Welsh phrases in the shop. It really was such a pretty-sounding language.
“And what brings you out? Though Riot just told me he’s seen you all over town this morning, at the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker.” Shaun grinned down at her.
“Well, Brutus went to the baker, but I did visit the butcher and the printer.” She smiled back. “We had a visitor. A clerk from the Earl of Renwick, paying the account for the books my sister Marie delivered.”
“The one in Cumbria, who hurt herself?” Shaun had been the one to hand her Marie’s letter yesterday, had seen her face drop and heard her concerns.
“The very same. We were a little concerned we wouldn’t get the money until she returned, but the earl organised everything, so I have been keen to settle our bills.” She waved the letter. “And now I have to send this back to Marie, to reassure her that we are quite all right and she is not to worry.”
“Very good.”
Shaun’s forehead was creased, Louise noticed, and he seemed a little distracted, even as he walked with her over to the post-counter.
“Is everything all right, Mr Jackson?” she asked.
Shaun hesitated, before he leaned closer and murmured, in a voice meant for her ears only, “There’s been another fire.”
Louise immediately wanted to ask questions, but there were too many ears surrounding them. She handed her letter to the post-clerk and put her hand into the crook of Shaun’s elbow, leading him firmly back to the bookshop. He developed a half-smile on his face, walking with her.
“What fire?” Louise hissed, once the bookshop door was safely shut behind them and she’d peered around to check that they were alone but for Ruth and Brutus. “Mrs Poole hadn’t heard anything…”
“Only just heard about it myself. It’s bad. A remote cottage.”
From the expression on his face, and the way he was still speaking very quietly, Louise knew that this time, the property hadn’t been abandoned.
“Was anyone hurt?” she asked, her voice shaking a little. “Whose cottage?”
“A retired schoolteacher and his wife, Mr and Mrs Flyte.” Shaun shook his head slowly, his eyes holding hers. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”
Louise’s eyes filled with tears. She remembered the couple; Mr Flyte had taught quite a few of the boys in town their letters over the years, and had been a regular customer at the bookshop. His wife was a sweet lady who was on several of the committees in town with Mrs Poole. “They didn’t make it out?” she whispered.
The slightest shake of his head was the confirmation Louise dreaded. A sob caught in her throat and she automatically leaned against Shaun for comfort. His warm arms wrapped gently about her shoulders and she breathed in his strength. “It’s not fair. It’s simply not,” she said.
“I know,” he said, his voice croaking as he agreed with her. “I will catch the blackguard who did this. Excuse my language.”
Ruth and Brutus appeared, staring, and she gently broke the news to them. “If you need to go home, I’ll understand,” she said kindly. They were both just children; tragedies like this were a shock.
“My mother might need comfort,” Ruth said, her eyes filling with tears. The poor girl probably needed some comforting herself.
“Yes, your mother will need you, and I suppose your father will need to prepare a service for the Flytes too. Brutus, would you be an angel and walk Ruth home?”
“Yes, of course, Miss Louise.”
He was not looking as upset as Ruth, because the names were probably not as familiar to him. “I suppose you were too young to have Mr Flyte as a teacher?”
“I never had him, but I think Benjamin might have known him. Miss Louise, after I take Ruth home, may I come back here after?”
“If that’s what you’d like to do. Maybe we’ll mix up some fresh glue when you get back, to keep us busy?”
The lad was obviously delighted, but tried ever so hard not to smile at his personal good fortune at such a time.
Shaun stepped away from Louise and she felt the loss of his warm, reassuring presence.
“I can walk Ruth home, if you like? It’s on the way to the Flytes’ cottage. I will need to examine the scene. I’ll take Mr Jones with me.”
It meant an end to their embrace for now, which filled Louise with shame that she’d experienced something wonderful as a result of something so awful.
Making a big pot of stinky glue would be exactly the penance she should perform.
Ruth made a little bobbed curtsey, “Thank you, Mr Jackson.”
“Do you have sturdier boots, Miss Millings?” Shaun asked her, looking at her feet. “They don’t look warm enough for this time of year.”
She looked up in shock at his noticing such a minor thing, and said, “I have thick socks on.”
“Right then,” he said, nodding to Brutus and Louise in farewell.
He left the shop with Ruth and would be gone until he ran out of daylight, most likely. Louise sighed a little wistfully. “Brutus, I’ll need to tell Bernadette and Mrs Poole, and we’ll have a cup of tea first. I’ll be back down in half an hour, but call up straight away if anyone comes into the shop, all right? And then we’ll get to making that glue.”
“I’m happy to sit at the counter and wait,” he said, holding up a book from the lending library that he’d been reading. “This is a bully adventure, and I was just getting to the good bits.”
“Right you are,” she said, and headed up the stairs to the kitchen with the solemn duty to bear terrible news.
The French word for stairs popped into her head as she climbed them. L’escalier . Mr Jackson had been correct in his prediction; the culprit, whoever he was, had very much escalated things.
She was glad Mr Jackson was investigating, but all the same, a shiver of cold fear ran through her that the turnip-head lighting the fires had escalated to murder.