Chapter 12 #2
“Good morning, Debbie,” Miss Talbot said politely and set her little purse down on the counter, before turning to take in the bright blooms. It appeared very different in the new morning light than it had yesterday, and Nigel hoped she liked what she saw.
“This all looks well enough!” She turned her smile his way.
“Right. I suppose we’ve got to finish getting everything ready before tea.
Shall I move some of these flowers out under the front awning, then? Which do you think would be best?”
Nigel remembered suddenly her notion of outdoor displays mentioned yesterday.
The idea still made very little sense to his brain.
What was there to stop hooligans from simply stealing his wares?
But Miss Talbot looked at him with such expectation, he found himself saying, “I, erm, I’ll leave that to your discretion. ”
Miss Talbot puckered her lips thoughtfully, tapping her cheek with one finger as she looked around at the floral bounty.
“My gracious!” she exclaimed, noting a large display of potted daffodils, yellow petals unfurled like sunrays.
“I didn’t realize these were in season. They are quite eye-catching, aren’t they?
And maybe those yellow daises, they look so sweet and welcoming. ”
She bustled to work, hauling not one, but four pots of daffodils out onto the front step. She added two buckets brimming with long-stemmed daisies, all while Nigel stood behind the counter, watching her in some bewilderment.
Debbie reached over and plucked at his unbuttoned waistcoat. “Never mind!”
“I wasn’t staring!” Nigel answered sharply, glaring at the bird. He quickly set to work fastening his waistcoat properly. “But you must admit,” he added as his gaze wandered back to the windows, “she has a . . . a way about her.”
The raven made a sound which, in another creature, might be a growl.
“You’re just jealous.” Nigel lifted an eyebrow. “You didn’t think of taking the displays outdoors, did you?”
She ruffled her feathers.
“True, it hasn’t paid off yet. But at least it’s a fresh idea, and we can certainly use a little . . .” His voice trailed off.
While Miss Talbot was busy at the window perfecting her display, a gentleman stopped on the sidewalk and tipped his hat to her.
An actual gentleman, in striped trousers, a gray morning jacket, and a silk cravat.
Very dapper indeed, on his way to pay morning calls.
And, judging by the width of his mustachioed smile, quite charmed by the lovely young woman he’d just encountered on the sidewalk.
Miss Talbot smiled back in that artless way of hers, and Nigel discovered that, while he still liked her smile as much as ever, the sight of it trained upon another man did something rather funny to his innards.
The man spoke; Miss Talbot laughed. Nigel heard it right across the shop, possibly because he was leaning over the counter and craning his neck.
Then Miss Talbot bent and plucked a handful of yellow daisies from one of the buckets, carefully shook out the wet stems, and offered them to the gentleman. He reached into his jacket for his pocketbook, but she turned and pointed into the shop. Directly at Nigel.
Hastily Nigel staggered back behind the counter register, straightening his shoulders and pulling at the hem of his waistcoat.
The gentleman’s face fell somewhat, but he tipped his hat to Miss Talbot once more before entering the shop.
He approached slowly down the center aisle, his progress hampered by the way he kept looking back at Miss Talbot.
When he reached the counter, the gentleman didn’t spare Nigel a glance.
He set down the handful of daisies and asked, “How much?” in an absent sort of voice.
“Three crowns,” Nigel answered.
The man did not flinch at the outrageous price. He simply pulled out his pocketbook, fished out the bills, and plunked them down on the counter, all without glancing Nigel’s way. “She’s a lovely sight on a morning like this, isn’t she?”
“Would you like these wrapped?” Nigel’s voice dropped by a few degrees.
“Oh. Sure. Why not?” While Nigel set about gathering paper and string to make the flowers up in a bundle, the gentleman leaned back, his elbows on the counter, lounging as he watched Miss Talbot.
He clucked softly and shook his head. “Pity,” he said, more to himself than to Nigel.
“A girl like that doesn’t belong in a flower shop. ”
Nigel found his mood softened somewhat in wholehearted agreement.
As far as he was concerned, Miss Talbot belonged in courtly halls and palaces, clad in silks and dripping in pearls, not working her fingers to the bone simply to make ends meet.
Anyone who could see as much must be a man of some worth.
But then the gentleman turned to Nigel, grinning like a devil, and uttered sacrilege: “Where a girl like that really belongs is kicking up her skirts at the Rowdy House! Now that I would pay to see.”
An arctic flood washed through Nigel’s veins.
There suddenly appeared in his brain the exact outline of dire sigils and a string of archaic phrases, chanted in a language long since damned, which might, with a little application of malice, transform certain gentlemen and their striped trousers into cockroaches.
His knuckles whitened around the paper-wrapped daisy stems as he thrust them across the counter. Through the thunder in his ears, he heard his own voice intone, “Have a nice day.”
The man tipped his hat, unbothered by his near brush with transmutation.
He secured his daisies under one arm and made his way back up the shop aisle, pausing at the door to chat with Miss Talbot.
Nigel heard her laugh. A coil of her carefully pinned-up hair escaped to bob delightfully at her temple.
The gentleman’s eyes ran appreciatively over her figure, and—
“Never mind!”
Nigel realized he was gripping the floral scissors in a threatening manner. Hastily, he put them down, even as the gentleman doffed his hat to Miss Talbot and disappeared down the street.
With a little squeak and a hop, Miss Talbot pivoted on heel and darted into the shop. Her boot heels clicked on tiles as she rushed to the counter and leaned over it, eyes sparkling. “Did you see that, Mr. Grimm?” she cried, nearly dancing with delight. “I sold something!”
All ice melted away in the sudden infusion of hot butter filling Nigel’s chest cavity. He lifted his scissors in solemn salute, like a king honoring one of his knights. “Well done, Miss Talbot,” he said. “And welcome to The Arcane Bouquet.”