Chapter 3
An hour later and Aurelia was standing in the stairwell at the door to the shop, willing herself to walk through it and go about the business of opening for the day.
She felt a chill run up her spine at the thought of stepping into the shop again, but it was broad daylight and there were no voices coming from the other side of the door.
Last night had to have been a dream, no matter how very real it might have seemed.
Inhaling deeply as though the air could supply her with courage, Aurelia opened the door and walked onto the mezzanine.
It was empty, just as it should be.
She exhaled and looked around. Whenever she walked into the shop, she was always conscious of the hush that came from the dense books; the worn, sky-blue carpet underfoot; and the yellow curtains with their blue tasseled tiebacks.
On her visits to the shop as a child, she’d been dazzled by its blue and yellow décor, so evocative of moonlit skies and magicians’ capes.
She was less dazzled once she was old enough to vacuum and dust what to her had felt like miles of blue carpet and rows and rows of books.
There was a wrought iron railing overlooking the floor below, and Aurelia stepped over to it.
Like the ground floor, bookshelves ran along the mezzanine, though there were gaps for artwork and built-in benches where customers could sit and read.
Opposite the door to the flat stretched a wide cushioned window seat set below the oversized window at the front of the building, facing the street.
The only sounds were her own breathing, the soft ticking of the clock downstairs, and the distant noises from the street outside.
She reminded herself that a quiet shop was a good sign; it was further proof that what she’d experienced last night was all in her imagination.
Satisfied that everything was as it should be, Aurelia walked down the spiral staircase that led from the mezzanine to the back of the shop, where she passed a large semicircular desk with a high ledge running across the top.
The desk was home to a register and a small typewriter that had sat there for so long that it was practically a fixture.
Heading toward the front of the shop, she surveyed the overstuffed yellow velvet armchair and the round table with its rotating stock of books marked as ‘Recommended Reads.’ She was nearly past the table when one of the books on display, Pride and Prejudice, caught her attention.
Ah, she told herself, I must have spotted it yesterday and had it in the back of my mind. Relief washed over her until she realized that might explain why she thought she’d heard a reference to Darcy’s home, but not why she’d heard voices in the first place.
Her anxious thoughts were displaced by the sound of the old mantel clock at the back of the shop chiming to let her know that it was ten o’clock and time to open for the day.
Moving to the front windows, she raised the blinds and looked out across the street, which formed one side of a small and leafy square that had inspired the shop’s name—On the Square Books.
The shop’s building was tucked in amongst others on the street like a slim book between heavier volumes on a bookshelf.
Though it was in central London, somehow the square was an oasis from the general hubbub of city life, and this morning was no exception.
Usually Aurelia appreciated the stillness, but now she wished for a bit more noise and activity to distract her from the thoughts that kept surfacing—strange noises in the shop, the odd light under the door.
At least it was a Saturday, she told herself, which was sure to bring customers and, with them, something different to occupy her mind.
In spite of Aurelia’s hopes, not a single customer crossed the threshold until just before noon, when one of Aunt Marigold’s old regulars arrived.
Just as she did now, Mrs. Smith always seemed to arrive and depart in a rush with her corgi, Alfie, trotting behind her as fast as his short little legs could carry him.
Whenever Fezz saw Alfie, he slunk to the spiral staircase and let out a few non-threatening hisses as he affected to nonchalantly climb the stairs.
Alfie would stand below, whimpering his desperation to follow Fezz, but too afraid to venture far from Mrs. Smith—likely afraid she’d race out of the shop without him.
The two animals began their standoff as soon as Mrs. Smith breezed inside. Mrs. Smith—she was always ‘Mrs. Smith’ since she’d never invited Aurelia to call her by her first name—didn’t so much as look at Aurelia but headed straight for the shelves stocked with Agatha Christie’s works.
“Good morning, Mrs. Smith,” Aurelia said somewhat feebly. “Can I help you find something?”
“Oh, it’s you.”
It had been three months, but she still seemed surprised every time she found Aurelia in the shop instead of Marigold.
“Where’s The Unexpected Guest?” Waving her hand at the shelves, Mrs. Smith continued, “Do you have it in stock?”
“Um, yes. The Unexpected Guest… I know we have the novelization.”
Mrs. Smith grunted her disapproval.
“Let me just see—we also have the script if that’s what you’re after?”
“It is,” Mrs. Smith said, taking the book from Aurelia and giving it a glance before striding toward the register.
“You know, we have some excellent mysteries by other authors. The Moonstone is just there, on the table, if you’d like to have a look.”
Mrs. Smith had her handbag open and was digging inside, which Aurelia took as her version of ‘No, thank you.’
“The Unexpected Guest it is, then.”
Once Mrs. Smith had paid for the book, she smiled as she looked down at its cover.
“I’ve never seen it performed, but since I’ve read all her other books at least once, I thought I might as well read the script.”
Mrs. Smith looked up and startled when she saw Aurelia standing in front of her. Aurelia was certain that, for a moment, she had thought Marigold would be there in her place.
“Well, thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.”
Aurelia felt she ought to say something more—comfort her in some way—but Mrs. Smith had already turned and walked to the door. Aurelia watched as Alfie ran to her side, barely managing to pass through the door alongside her.
“Come again,” Aurelia called out, just as the door closed behind them.
It wasn’t exactly the distraction she’d been hoping for, but at least instead of worrying about hearing voices, she was now back to wondering whether the shop would ever feel like her own.