Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
The old-fashioned bell jangled cheerfully as Lark pushed the bookshop door open, the inimitable smell of books hitting her nostrils.
‘Hiya, Lark.’ She looked over to the counter to see the bookshop’s assistant, Leah, smiling at her. The fresh-faced young woman was dressed in her Happy Hartes Bookshop hoodie, her brunette hair scraped back in a ponytail, festive earrings flashing in her ears.
‘Hi, Leah. How’re you?’ She noted a few customers lingering along the aisles, a couple at the central display where the Christmas tree made of books was set out.
The bookshop looked ready for the festive season, with garlands festooned along the top of the bookshelves, trimmed with miniature books and twinkling with fairy lights.
She spotted a sign directing customers towards “Santa’s Grotto” at the back of the shop where children could see Father Christmas.
Florrie embraced the season wholeheartedly and seemed to add more book-themed decorations every year.
‘Good, thanks.’
Gerty, the resident black Labrador, whose black leather collar had been switched for one in berry-red fabric printed with holly leaves, heaved herself up from her bed by the counter and trotted over to greet Lark, her tail wagging happily.
‘Hello, Gerty, I’m loving that festive collar.’ She gave the Labrador a quick scratch between the ears.
‘It’s been getting lots of compliments,’ Leah said, casting a fond look Gerty’s way. ‘Oh, and Florrie says to tell you she’s waiting for you in the tearoom.’
‘Thanks, Leah. I’ll head up there straight away.’
As she walked across the shop floor, Lark bumped into Jean Davenport whose face broke out into a warm smile. As usual, Jean was looking smart in a hand-knitted cardigan in a flattering shade of lilac that matched her checked skirt, her grey hair trimmed into a neat bob.
‘Hello, lovey, what’s the weather like out there?’ Jean asked, her hands filled with a small selection of books.
‘Still bitterly cold, I’m afraid, Jean.’
‘I thought as much. Let’s hope it warms up a bit for the festive window reveal. We don’t want folks to get frozen to the spot,’ she said, chuckling.
Jean worked part-time at the bookshop as well as helping out Maggie who owned The Micklewick Bear Company. She was also mum to Jack Davenport, the local author who was officiating at the unveiling of the window displays.
‘Well, I’d better dash, lovey, we’ve got a class from the infant school coming in for a story session this afternoon. We’re expecting them to be very excited,’ Jean said happily. It was no secret she adored her time at the bookshop, particularly reading stories to the local school children.
‘Nice to see you, Jean. Hope it goes well.’
Having a teashop within the bookshop had been a dream come true for Florrie, who’d been keen on the idea ever since her old boss had owned the bookshop.
But Mr H, who was also Ed’s grandfather, had stubbornly dug his heels in, as he had with all her suggestions; he’d do anything to avoid change.
Thankfully, his grandson didn’t share Mr H’s reluctance to try new ventures, and when Ed had spotted the staircase for sale, he knew it would be perfect for the bookshop, with its dark wood handrail and ornate metal balusters, much to Florrie’s delight.
And now it was up and running, it was doing a roaring trade as well as attracting yet more business to the bookshop itself. With Florrie and Ed at the helm, the once flagging fortunes of the Happy Hartes Bookshop had been turned around and now it was thriving.
As she climbed the stairs, she was greeted by the aroma of Jasmine’s homemade festive tiffin and freshly ground coffee.
Despite her hearty breakfast, Lark’s stomach growled; cold weather always gave her a raging appetite.
Arriving on the first floor, which had previously been the bookshop’s living accommodation, Lark took a left in the newly created open-plan area which was dedicated to vintage and out-of-print books as well as having a separate section for stationery.
She made her way towards the front of the shop, floorboards creaking underfoot, as she followed the sound of clinking china and the hiss of the coffee machine.
Arriving in the tearoom, music from the nineteen twenties murmured softly from the vintage-style radio on the old sideboard, both courtesy of Nate’s upcycling shop.
Flames danced merrily in the faux wood burner tucked inside the fireplace at the far end of the room.
A large Christmas tree twinkled away quietly in a corner, while smaller versions occupied the windowsills, continuing the bookshop’s festive theme.
Lark was surprised to find most of the tables occupied considering how quiet the town had been that morning.
After a quick sweep of the room, she spotted Florrie sitting at a window table, poring over a book, glasses perched on the end of her nose.
The familiar sight brought a smile to Lark’s face.
Florrie Appleton engrossed in a book? No surprises there!
‘Now then, little Miss Bookworm, that looks interesting.’ Lark pulled out the chair opposite her friend.
Florrie’s head snapped up. Like Leah, she was wearing her Happy Hartes Bookshop hoodie and festive earrings.
‘Hiya, Lark,’ she said, her startled expression swapped for a smile.
She pushed her glasses back up her nose with her finger.
‘I didn’t see you coming in, I was that engrossed in this.
’ She held up a dog-eared book, turning the cover to face Lark.
‘A History of Smuggling in and around Micklewick Bay,’ Lark read the title out loud.
The slightly faded cover image depicted an old-fashioned sailing ship splicing through a choppy sea, Thorncliffe to the right, and a collection of whisky barrels in one corner and a chest of gold coins in the other.
It wasn’t the most imaginative of covers and looked a little dated. ‘Oh, wow! Where did you find that?’
‘I rooted it out after our conversation. I had a feeling we had a book on local smuggling somewhere in our stock. Thought you and Nate might be interested in it.’
‘Ooh, definitely.’ Lark hung her bag over the back of the chair, unbuttoned her coat and slipped it over the bag. With recent events, she’d found herself eager to learn more about the town’s smuggling heritage. ‘Does it mention anything about what happened to Benjamin Fitzgilbert?’
‘I haven’t got that far yet, but he features heavily, as you can imagine.
Jacob Crayke, too. As well as the rumour of a missing chest full of gold coins.
You never know, they might turn up under the floorboards at Crayke’s Cottage.
Mr Thurston did say Nate could keep the contents, didn’t he?
’ She gave an impish grin that made Lark laugh.
‘He did, but I’m not sure either of us wants to go back and find out. I think we’ll leave anything else that’s there to the next owners, chest of gold coins or not.’
‘I’m guessing the place must’ve seriously spooked you.’
‘You’re not wrong.’ Lark tucked her hair behind her ears. ‘I’m keen to find out why.’
‘There you go, it’s yours. Let’s hope it helps.’ Florrie slid the book over the table to Lark.
‘But you’re still reading it.’
‘Not really, I was just interested in a particular chapter and I’ve finished that.’
‘Well, in that case, I have to give you something for it. If it’s out of print then it’s probably worth quite a bit, you can’t just give your stock away,’ said Lark. ‘You’ve mentioned plenty of times how there’s always a demand for books on local history like this.’
‘We’ve got a few copies actually.’
‘Yes, but all the same…’
‘Think of it as an early Christmas pressie,’ Florrie said jokingly. ‘And anyroad, you’re always giving me stuff from your shop, like this gorgeous item.’ She tapped the silk scarf she was using as a hairband to keep her dark bob off her face. ‘It’s so versatile, I love it.’
Lark smiled. As soon as she’d spotted the scarf, she’d known it was perfect for her friend.
The pattern of vibrant red poppies against the cream silk background hadn’t been the only reason; it had oozed positive energy, which Lark had thought would be the perfect boost to her friend, who was finding things tough at the time.
‘In that case, thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’ Florrie leant forward, resting her hands on the table and lacing her fingers together. ‘So, come on, tell me everything. I’ve been dying to hear what you found at Crayke’s Cottage, it all sounds so intriguing.’
Lark puffed out her cheeks and was just about to speak when a waitress appeared at the table, tablet in hand.
In her early thirties, she was dressed in the tearoom’s uniform of black skirt and white blouse with lace collar and white apron tied at the waist. Her shiny auburn hair was fixed into a neat bun.
‘Hi, I wondered if you were ready to order?’ she asked with a smile.
‘Ooh, sorry, Abbie, we’ve been that busy chatting we haven’t even looked at the menu,’ said Florrie, hurriedly reaching for a couple of menus, passing one to Lark.
‘No worries, I can pop back in a few minutes, if you like?’
‘Actually, I think I know what I’d like,’ said Lark. ‘I’ve got a real taste for a smoked cheese and chutney toastie on brown bread with chunky sweet potato chips.’ She was almost salivating at the thought. ‘Ooh, and some of that yummy spiced tomato relish, too, please.’
‘Mmm. That does sound good,’ said Florrie. ‘Can you make it two, please, Abbie, and a large pot of tea, thanks?’
‘Of course, no problem.’ Abbie tapped the order into her tablet.
Once Abbie had left, Lark launched into an unabridged version of everything that had happened since her first trip to Crayke’s Cottage with Nate, finishing off with what had gone on there that morning.