8. Chapter 8- Lily #2
“I’ll be fine. I’m only meeting Michael.”
“Have fun.” Lily’s hidden smile quickly turned into a hidden grimace when she glanced out the doorway. “And send the carriage right back around. I don’t like the looks of this neighborhood.”
Lily stepped onto the street and adjusted her gloves as she took in her surroundings. There might have been cobblestones beneath all the squishing muck, but it was impossible to tell. Seagulls cried overhead and two stray dogs squabbled over an unknown something further down the street.
The building that her sisters had disappeared into had once been painted a lovely french blue, but the relentless offensive of brackish air and salt had faded it well past anything that could be called a charming patina.
The narrow store was wedged between two dock houses that were far more obvious about their unwelcoming state—they were boarded up.
Lily picked her way across the several steps to the rather derelict front door, grateful for Mabel’s intrepid presence close at her back and the groomsman who took up his post next to the door, one hand hovering over the flintlock pistol hidden beneath his coat, his eyes wary.
Lily was not the only one wondering what on earth they were doing at such a place.
When she ducked into the shop, she was pleasantly surprised to find it well lit and clean.
Several other patrons—gentlemen, all—perused the tightly stacked shelves.
The front of the store had been deceiving.
It was much larger than it had appeared—a long, narrow space filled with all sorts of curiosities.
Lily held a knuckle beneath her nose for a moment, adjusting to the aroma of pepper and cardamom. Her eyes flicked over to the shelves behind the register and found the source—spices, some in tins, some in jars, stacked all the way to the ceiling.
The other wall was dominated by books of all shapes and sizes.
Lily shook her head, wondering again at the practicality of having a bookstore so close to the ocean.
Still, the inside of the shop was warm and dry, owing to the white-and-blue-tiled stove in the corner that suffused heat through the room and belched wood smoke into the pipe threaded through the ceiling.
Lily had never seen anything quite like it.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Beatrice said, appearing at Lily’s elbow. She nodded toward the stove. “The shopkeeper brought it back from the Kingdom of Sweden.”
“It’s a very interesting shop—much more than a bookstore. How did you hear about it?”
“Abeer told me. I asked where he got his slippers, you see.”
“Ah.”
Lily was suddenly distracted by the multitude of paper lanterns and kites hanging from the rafters.
They were all different shapes and colors.
In the corner, an enormous red-and-yellow dragon kite loomed, jaws open, over a fanciful blue butterfly.
By the time Lily had recovered enough to ask Beatrice another question, her sister had disappeared.
Lily wandered amongst the colorful wares for the next hour. It was as if all the wonderful detritus of the world had somehow washed up in one place. Here there were beads from India and Africa, tea sets from the Orient, an entire rack of handmade papers for wrapping very special gifts.
Lily finally found Margaret frowning in concentration and flipping through a stack of journals in one aisle. In the next, Beatrice examined delicate porcelain ornaments hanging from a tree branch on satin ribbons. Beatrice’s maid patiently strained under a stack of books behind her.
Lily inclined her head at the girl. “I’m sure the shopkeeper would hold those at the register. Mabel and I will accompany Beatrice until you return.”
The girl gave a grateful nod and headed toward the front of the store.
“I should have thought of that myself,” Beatrice said, blinking after her.
“No matter.” Lily nodded at the ornaments. “These are certainly beautiful. Whatever are they for?”
“I’m not quite sure, but they’re lovely. I was trying to decide if Reginald might enjoy one.”
“Rachel’s bird?” Lily blinked. “You do know that he’s stuffed, right?”
Miss Rachel Warrington was a recent acquaintance of the family who’d quickly become a close friend to Margaret and Beatrice.
She was unpredictable and intelligent, a combination that delighted her sisters but made Lily feel a bit wary.
Not that Lily didn’t like the young lady—she did—but Lily felt she’d experienced enough adventure that she didn’t need to seek it out in a friend.
“Well of course, but that’s what makes it funny.” Beatrice selected a porcelain swan from the branch and it dangled from her finger. “It’s really a gift for Rachel, but she’ll enjoy it twice as much if I say it’s for Reginald.”
“Then I think it’s a very nice gift, indeed.”
“Do you think Reginald would prefer a swan or a deer?”
Lily was suddenly grateful for her months as a governess. Spending that much time with a child made one an expert at answering fanciful questions delivered with all the gravitas of a sermon.
“I think Reginald would like the company of another bird,” she said after a moment’s consideration.
“The swan it is, then.” Beatrice bustled off toward the front counter, the swan swinging on its ribbon from her fingertips.
Suddenly alone again, Lily found herself staring at the display next to the porcelain ornaments.
It was a large dollhouse filled to the brim with furniture and miniature items. Lily drew a small gasp when her eyes flitted to the nursery of the house.
Hanging in the corner was a tiny papier-maché hot air balloon. And it was yellow.
The inclination to buy it and send it to Rebecca was so strong that Lily’s hand moved toward the case before she knew what she was doing. She considered it for a moment, then her hand dropped limply to her side. The letters were one thing; a gift would be another thing altogether.
Each time Lily wrote to the girl, she swore it would be the last. She knew that it would be best for Rebecca to forget about her, to move on.
She undoubtedly had a new governess by now.
Besides, children’s minds were like the spring—always growing, always changing.
Lily should let Rebecca’s memories of her fade, let them be choked out by fresh ones.
If Lord Hayes had any sense—which Lily knew he did—he wouldn’t have shown the letters to his daughter at all. Which meant what—that she was truly only writing such nonsense to him? Ridiculous.
Lily turned her stiff back to the dollhouse display and walked toward the front of the store.
Margaret and Beatrice were already gathered there, showing each other their purchases.
The sight of them enjoying the family’s restored wealth should delight her.
Lily knew she should be content—she should be happy.
For the hundredth time, she resolved to be.
Lily straightened her back and her smile and rejoined her sisters.