22
When they sat on the window seat, Aurelia smiled to see a puff of word-strewn mist rise up as Cuff touched it, reminding her of the very first time they’d sat there together.
“It’s so good to see you!” Aurelia said eagerly. “How’ve you been?”
“Oh, just the same. Cultivating my roses and watching the days of my retirement drift past.”
“Right.” Aurelia nodded. “I suppose not much has changed for you, then?”
“Not at all. In fact, it feels like hardly any time has passed since my last visit here.”
“Well, it’s been about two years, actually. A few things have changed, but mostly I’ve been clicking along just as you left me. Let’s see… there’s Oliver—do you remember me talking about him?”
“I do, yes. He’s the one in the publishing line of business?”
“Yes, that’s him!”
Aurelia was about to tell Cuff that they were engaged, but then remembered that, since she might let slip that they were living together, she’d have to use her old stand-by. “Um, well—we’re married.”
“I had deduced that, of course,” Cuff said smugly, nodding to her ring. “Best wishes to you, Aurelia.”
“Thank you, Sergeant. What else… I’m working on another book. Oh, and I helped another character with her ending—though she wound up writing her story herself.”
“Have you done all that?” Cuff made it a statement more than a question, and there was a look of pride on his face that made Aurelia feel a prickle of tears in her eyes.
He’d seen her go from reluctant shop owner to published author during his last visit to the shop, and had been both a friend and guide as she’d navigated those changes.
Once again she found herself wishing she could touch the characters who appeared in the shop since she would have liked to give Cuff a very big hug.
“I’m so happy you’re here,” she said instead.
“I see you’ve got some intriguing events unfolding.”
Downstairs, Julia was attempting to keep the circle of women entertained with stories about her life, which was eliciting gasps and exclamations of shock.
Aurelia didn’t usually like to give the characters too much information about modern life—she’d never shown them her laptop or the internet.
She wanted to call out to Julia to be careful, but she also wanted a few minutes alone with Cuff and would have to focus her attention on him to get the answers she needed.
“Intriguing is one word for it. You’ve just met Julia—actually seen her and talked to her—which is exactly why I was hoping you’d visit tonight. Do you have any idea why she can see all of you?”
Cuff considered for a moment, then asked, “Have you any other nieces?”
“No, she’s the only one.”
Cuff nodded knowingly.
“What?” Aurelia asked. “Do you think the shop knows it’s going to be hers one day?”
“I do,” Cuff said matter-of-factly. “Lucy and Marigold visited characters together before Marigold took over. There is precedent, you see.”
“You never told me that!”
“You never asked.”
“But Lucy had two nieces—Marigold and my mother,” she began.
“If I recall, your mother had no intention of taking over the shop.”
“That’s true… She was working on her Ph.D. when Lucy retired. Then it’s not some fluke—nothing’s wrong with me, or Julia, or the shop?”
“I shouldn’t think so.”
“That’s a relief.” Aurelia sighed, relaxing for a moment before sitting up straight again. “Oh, but there’s something else. I set out the books before Julia got here and certain characters appeared. Then, a few days after she’d been in the shop, the characters changed. What do you think happened?”
But before Cuff could hazard a guess, raised voices interrupted them from downstairs, where Julia, Mrs. Jamieson, Kitty, and Blanche were now speaking together in French while Miss Clack was stubbornly raising her voice and continuing to throw out observations in English.
“Never learned French, Miss Clackett?” Blanche asked, her lip curling.
“It’s Clack. And I live in France. One can hardly get by without speaking some of the language. Fortunately, however, my social circle is English.”
“You live in France but only know English people?” Julia asked disapprovingly.
“Yes, well—the locals’ society leaves something to be desired.”
“I can sympathize,” Blanche said. She stared down Clack, who either didn’t register the insult or was ignoring it.
Meanwhile, Julia was gaining steam: “I’m half French, you know. So I’m one of the locals.”
“Perhaps we ought to intervene?” Cuff suggested. “That will give us an opportunity to speak with Julia and resolve your question.”
They climbed back down the spiral staircase and walked over to the Recommended Reads table. Cuff began inspecting it as Julia and her circle of characters joined them.
“The table looks very clean, very tidy,” Cuff observed.
“I dusted it a few days ago,” Julia said.
“Just as I thought. And did you remove the books from the table as you dusted?”
“Aunt Aurelia said I had to do that or I would just be moving the dust around,” Julia said defensively.
“When you completed your task, did you put the books back on the table?”
“Yes, exactly where they are now. Did I do it wrong or something?” Julia asked.
“No, but it does explain the phenomenon your aunt spoke of,” Cuff said, smiling at her.
Aurelia raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to explain.
“Julia removed the books from the table and placed them back there herself. She was making a new selection—as a different aunt or niece associated with the shop—and thus different characters appeared for her.”
“Even though they were the same books?” Aurelia asked skeptically.
“They are the same books, yes, but a different person made the selection and the table responded to her.”
“The table ‘responded’ to me? Well… Hello back, Table,” Julia said facetiously, waving a hand at it.
Kitty laughed and the two girls shared a smile.
“What do you mean, ‘responded to her’?” asked Blanche.
Aurelia looked around and realized that everyone was waiting for Cuff’s answer.
“It is a hypothesis only,” he began, “but it is built on a wealth of experience in the shop.”
“You haven’t steered me wrong yet, Sergeant Cuff. Let’s hear it.”
“When you first visited us, Aurelia, you were a writer who was not writing. You were grieving your mother and aunt. In addition, I think I may safely observe that you were also unattached. Romantically,” he clarified.
Aurelia nodded.
“You met a collection of characters who inspired you to write, helped you through your grief, and encouraged you to open your heart to someone new.”
“They did,” she said softly, remembering once again just how much that first group of characters had meant to her.
“In that same way, I suspect that these ladies may have appeared to Julia because they have some role to play for her.”
Cuff regarded the women and looked quite pleased with himself, as though he were waiting for them to pat him on the back for his cleverness. Instead, silence filled the shop as all eyes—some accusing, some curious—turned to Julia.