Page 10 of A Shop Girl’s Christmas (Pennington’s Department Store #3)

Stephen tugged at his tie knot as he stood in Pennington’s lobby, carefully eyeing the crowds. Despite knowing Elizabeth Pennington took immense pride in the store’s uniforms, he couldn’t get used to quite how rigidly he was expected to wear his tie. When he’d worked the Yard, his tie, although properly knotted in the morning, would invariably end up loosened.

Apparently, Miss Pennington and Mr Carter were responsible for some sort of overhaul of the grand department store and were doing everything in their power to ensure her father’s stern, upper-class methods of doing business were never resurrected. Although Stephen had no idea how a pristine uniform symbolised such a rebirth.

He continued his stroll around the atrium, scanning the area with a practised amiability even as he scoured the masses for any sign of wrongdoing. Just the same as he would have in London. He almost laughed at the ludicrousness of such a comparison. He was surrounded by a myriad of sparkling, shining merchandise. Perfume, flowers and hair cream stormed his senses and classical music constantly drifted to his ears. Pennington’s was so far from his usual habitat, he wondered if he’d ever become accustomed to life here, should he choose to stay. Of course, Bath had its seedier side, the murder his mother had told him about was ultimate proof.

He’d avoided reading the papers for fear he would be unable to resist digging a little deeper. He had neither authority nor jurisdiction. Or competence, come to that.

Pennington’s was a far cry from anything other than glamorous opulence, whereas most of London’s streets were dark, filled with smoke and fog. The stench of urine, waste and days-old food scattered about the streets and gutters.

Yet, he had thrived there.

Until the murders.

Without a doubt, the store was a whole new world that would take some getting used to. Dotted around the huge space were mannequins of both male and female forms sporting all the latest fashions, from suits and dresses to hats, shoes and jewellery. Amid these waxed humans were marble plinths with great, flowing flower displays tumbling from circular bowls rather than vases, the bouquets were so huge.

And lights. Lots and lots of lights. From enormous chandeliers suspended above the sea of shoppers, to lamps on counters and, of course, the awesome glass dome than shone multicoloured prisms in every direction, over every product.

Gone were the days of old-style dry goods stores. The consumer wanted and expected more. Clearly, Pennington’s had people in charge who were on the front foot, innovative and eager to expand goods and services, ensuring anything and everything was as aesthetically pleasing as possible. Every product was meticulously designed to play on consumer senses. Almost the entirety of merchandise on the ground floor could be touched, smelled or tasted. In short, Pennington’s was the epitome of shopping genius.

A group of excitedly chattering, smartly dressed women gazed upwards towards an amassed display of open fans and umbrellas. The creation was one of Pennington’s dressers. Amelia Wakefield, Stephen thought her name was, but couldn’t be certain.

He walked past the women and his gaze was drawn to the jewellery counter. Cornelia Culford stood behind the glass cabinets, serving a gentleman dressed in a dark suit and matching top hat. She carried herself with calm authority, her hands slim and delicate, the subtle shine of her nails glinting against the pieces displayed in front of her. She shifted her attention from the jewellery to the customer, who seemed as entirely entranced by Miss Culford as he was his potential purchases.

Stephen understood the sentiment. With her dark hair piled high on her head and styled in thick waves, her pink lips and dazzling smile, the gentleman could hardly be blamed if he offered to buy the entirety of the velvet-covered tray Miss Culford had laid before him.

‘Mr Gower, isn’t it?’

Stephen blinked and faced Miss Pennington as she came to stand in front of him, her green eyes bright as she smiled.

‘Yes, it is.’ Stephen nodded. ‘It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Pennington.’

‘And you. Mr Carter has been full of praise for you.’ She cleared her throat and glanced around them. ‘I understand you’ve moved here from London?’

He sensed a hesitation in her question. Had her husband sent her to speak to him? Stephen straightened his shoulders, regretting how close he’d come to Cornelia Culford’s counter. He glanced in her direction. She stared at them, her brow furrowed as the gentleman customer peered at a bracelet through his monocle.

He turned to Miss Pennington and tried to ignore the strength of Miss Culford’s stare. ‘I have.’

‘Do you have family here? Friends?’ Miss Pennington’s smile was still in place, but curiosity, as opposed to congeniality, now burned in her eyes. ‘I imagine Bath seems positively sedate compared to the bright lights of London.’

‘I wouldn’t say that.’ Stephen looked past her towards the crowds of people walking back and forth. Something told him Elizabeth Pennington was a woman who liked answers. He needed to respond with the utmost caution. He carried far too much shame that he didn’t want becoming public knowledge. ‘Bath is a city just like any other.’

‘Is it?’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘I beg to differ. I have travelled to London for both business and pleasure many times and feel it has none of the old-world charm found in Bath.’

Surprised she would like anything ‘old-world’, Stephen asked, ‘And you like that?’

‘Of course, why wouldn’t I? Bath is a beautiful city.’

‘It is, but a city is a city, Miss Pennington, and it holds the same unsavoury sorts as London. The same crimes and the same poverty.’

Her smile dissolved. ‘Indeed, and it continually bothers me how and when that will ever be resolved. Mr Carter mentioned you have worked for the police. I can only surmise once a policeman, always a policeman, judging from your, might I say, rather cynical view of city life.’

Stephen’s defences slipped into place. ‘Maybe, but that’s not to say I continue to linger in my previous role. There are reasons I left London and I have no intention of resurrecting them in a different place. If you’ll excuse me?’

Without waiting for her answer, Stephen walked in the opposite direction, his pulse thumping. Damn. Why had he reacted so vehemently? And to one half of Pennington’s management, for crying out loud. If she didn’t report his discourtesy back to her husband, it would be a miracle.

Onwards he walked, not really seeing or hearing anything around him. Once again, his fingers pulled at his collar and tie. Inside Pennington’s walls, the constraint felt like a noose… and maybe that feeling was exactly what he deserved.

‘Mr Gower? Sir? I say, Mr Gower?’

He turned to the feminine voice behind him, already knowing who hailed him and entirely discomfited that Cornelia Culford had chosen to follow him. ‘Miss Culford. What can I do for you?’

She faltered in her steps but continued forward, a light flush on her cheeks. ‘I was a little concerned by your changing expression when you were talking with Miss Pennington. I wanted to make sure you are all right.’

‘I’m quite all right, thank you.’ Stephen looked away, hating that he had to speak to her in such an abrupt manner, but having her show him concern would only lead to more questions and deeper curiosity. ‘I’m a grown man, Miss Culford, and more than capable of speaking to my employer.’

‘Oh, I know, I wasn’t implying…’ She exhaled and dropped her shoulders, a smile creeping onto her pretty lips. ‘I just have a wish to make you welcome, Mr Gower. As we’re both new here, it might be good for both of us if we could get along. Be friends.’

‘Friends?’

‘Yes.’ Her eyes were kind. ‘You do have friends, don’t you?’

‘Well, yes, I suppose. Colleagues.’

‘There you go, then. From this point forward, we are friendly colleagues. How will that be?’

Before he could answer, she hurried back through the crowds, presumably towards her station at the jewellery counter. Stephen stared after her. What in God’s name had just happened? She considered them friends now? Well, she’d better think again if she thought they’d start having lunch and so forth together. Cornelia Culford might need a friend or two to get through her working day, but Stephen certainly didn’t and the next time he spoke to her, he’d make sure she understood that.

Next time.