Page 47 of Sweetling
The shopkeeper, a kindly looking woman with tight, spiraling blonde curls pulled up in a cloth fillet, was of course there to greet them at the door.
“I was hoping you might pay me a visit, master fae,” she said, bobbing her head. “And this is Mistress Molly, I presume?”
Fates, word traveled so fast.
“Indeed. She’s to have whatever she wants. If her eye lingers on anything, wrap it up for us.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Molly croaked.
“We have some fine new gown patterns in from Dundúran, if mistress would care to see.”
Molly had absolutely no need for gown patterns—what was she supposed to do, run around a half-decrepit, moldering manor in three layers of silk?
“No, thank you.”
The dressmaker’s smile went tight, and Molly bit down on her grimace as the woman tried to figure out what she wanted.
“I’d like to look at your threads, please.”
The woman brightened and showed her over to a whole wall of color threads, displayed on wooden spools.
“If you need anything else, my name is Lorna and I’ll be happy to help you find it.”
Content to pick through colors, Molly took no offense when Lorna the dressmaker set her sights on Allarion, guiding him over to some new bolts of velvet and brocade she’d just gotten.
Molly couldn’t help grinning as the dressmaker expertly talked Allarion into several bolts of black velvet. She supposed she too had benefited from the fae’s generosity in the tavern, when he’d lay out many more coins than necessary for his untouched mead. If he single-handedly wanted to make the shopkeepers here rich, well…that was his business.
Although, she had and would continue to make sure he wasn’t robbed blind. There was a good price and there was greediness.
It didn’t take long for her to select a whole handful of threads—sturdy black and workhorse brown and white, but also soft pink and lilac, vibrant emerald and saffron, even elegant blue and violet. She enjoyed embroidering, and at least it’d be something to do with her time as she chatted with the house.
As Allarion cut his bolts of fabric, Molly took her thread to the dressmaker. It didn’t take much for her to be persuaded to look over some more practical cotton and flannel bolts, and Lorna smiled to have figured out Molly was the more reasonable sort than her fae companion.
With the two of them carding through cotton on one side of the shop and the fae on the other, Molly decided to ask. “Does he come into town a lot?”
The dressmaker smiled warmly. “Indeed. Perhaps a little less so the past month, but he’s a regular sight, ordering supplies to repair that great house.”
Molly blinked in surprise. She hadn’t even thought about all the supplies he needed to do his repairs. She just sort of assumed he magicked them into existence.
“So the town has been supplying everything?”
“Yes, he puts in many orders. I hear he keeps the lumberyard quite busy, and the potters haven’t stopped talking about the size of his last order of shingles.”
“The town doesn’t mind having a fae for a neighbor?”
“It’s taken quite a while to get used to him—and that unicorn is something else. But he’s polite and pays all his bills upfront, so few complain.”
Molly nodded, turning back to the fabrics. That was…good to hear. Although Scarborough was no longer a noble seat and the town no longer held any allegiance to it, that the people here would welcome such a strange neighbor was heartening.
“I’m surprised to know he’s taking a wife—a human woman, anyway,” continued Lorna. “To be honest with you, there are more than a few women here purple with envy for you.”
Which begged the ever-important question—why did he choose me?Molly asked herself this many times a day and could never come up with a good answer. Surely there were many poor women he could have bought off their families—and she was sure her uncle hadn’t asked a small sum. He could have easily found one close to home for cheaper.
The fae truly was a poor shopper.
Molly demurred, only smiling politely at the comment. Understanding she wouldn’t get anymore from her, the dressmaker helped her choose and cut several bolts of practical blue cotton for embroidering and a few blouses, as well as Molly’s one concession to vanity—a soft cream muslin. She supposed she may need a dress—one that she hadn’t served patrons in.
When it was all said and done, the price almost made Molly choke, but she tried to cover the sound of horror with a cough.
