Page 98 of Storm of Bells
Then the coach came to a halt in front of theinn.
Pushing open the door, I stepped out and tooka sniff of the despicably fresh country air. No smoke. No sweat.Not even a hint of dog droppings. Oh well, I suppose you couldn’texpect country people to know whatrealair was.
Not waiting for Karim to extend the stairs, Ijumped down into the muddy lane, dusted off my dress and steppedtowards a boy who was sitting against a wall not too far off,cleaning an old pair of boots.
‘Hello there, young man. You wouldn’t happento know the local place where a lady can stock up on all thenecessities of the finer life? Preferably some place where one canhave a nice little chat?’
The boy’s jaw sagged, and the piece of strawthat had been stuck in the corner of his mouth almost toppled out.Quickly, he caught it. Staring up at me with two big, round, blueeyes, he pointed a spindly arm down the street.
‘Mrs Jenkins’ down the street, Miss. The shopwith the big red sign over the door.’
‘My thanks.’ Reaching into my pocket, Ifished out a penny and threw it to the boy. Instead of catching it,he ducked, as though it were a bomb. Only when the little metaldisk landed in the dirt in front of him without blowing up did hecautiously peek at it.
‘You…you’re giving memoney,Miss?’
‘Yes.’
‘And…I can keep it? Just like that?’
Dear Lord. Mr Ambrose must have already spentquite a lot of time here.
‘Yes.’
A hand flew out and snatched up thepenny.
‘Thank you! Thanks so much, Miss!’ The littlebrat gazed up at me with wide-eyed adoration. ‘I’ll be out herecleaning boots for a while yet. If you need anything else…’
‘…I’ll know where to find you.’ I inclined myhead. ‘Till next time.’
And I strode down the road, off towards theshop with its big red sign.
Five minutes later, a bell rang as I pushedopen the door toMrs Jenkins’ Clothing & Accessories forLadies of All Ages.
The shop was…
Well, to call it a ‘thriving business’ wouldhave been an exaggeration. Apart from myself, there were only twoother people in the place: a boy who seemed to have fallen asleepwhile re-stocking the wares, with a hat still in his hand, and alittle old lady who looked as if she’d come to beg for castoffs,and yet for some reason was standingbehindthe counter. Itried to calculate the chances that she might be the owner of theshop, and decided they were slim.
Still…there was nobody else here. So, whoelse could she be? Well, there was only one way to find out. Thelittle old lady had her nose buried in a book, so I stepped closerand cleared my throat.
Blinking like an owl through oversizedglasses, she gazed up at me.
‘W-who are you?’
Raising an eyebrow at the enquiry, I pointedat the bonnets and gloves filling the various racks on the walls.The woman’s eyes widened in incredulity and wonder at the miracleunfolding before her.
‘A…customer? A real, honest-to-Godcustomer?’
For a moment she remained frozen behind thecounter—then suddenly, she rushed around the counter andcurtsied.
‘Welcome, Miss! Welcome, welcome, welcome tomy humble establishment. How may I serve you? What would you like?Bonnets? Shawls? Gloves?’
‘Well…’ Thoughtfully, I gazed down at myhands and rubbed my still-aching knuckles. Removal men had hardjaws. ‘My gloves have been seeing a lot of wear, recently. And Ihave a feeling, the way things are going it’s going to continuethat way.’
The old lady—Mrs Jenkins, I presumed—beamedlike a gunpowder lamp: bright, and with a short lifespan. ‘Gloves!How wonderful, Miss! Simply wonderful! A fellow passionategardener, are you?’
‘Ehem, well…I definitely might be making useof a shovel or some other hard tools in the near future.’
‘Well, let’s have a look at what I have onoffer. Please, follow me, Miss!’ Bustling down the row of shelveswith astonishing speed for someone who looked as if she could bebroken in half by a stiff breeze, Mrs Jenkins pulled one box afteranother down and peeked inside. ‘Would you be so kind as to shareyour favourite colour, Miss?’
