Page 14 of A Shop Girl’s Christmas (Pennington’s Department Store #3)

Cornelia lifted two empty boxes from the floor behind Pennington’s jewellery counter and added them to the pile waiting to be collected by someone from the loading bay. She put her hands to the base of her spine and stretched her knotted muscles with as much decorum as possible, surreptitiously watching Mrs Hampton as she served two customers who’d been dallying over the merits of bracelets versus necklaces for half an hour.

Dropping her hands from her back, Cornelia tidied the area. Time and again, Mrs Hampton managed to retain absolute patience and amiability, no matter how fussy the customer. Her manner was impeccable, a trait Cornelia was determined to master.

It had been a busy morning, with customers intent on buying the perfect pieces of jewellery for their loved ones. As Christmas neared, the packaging service Pennington’s offered had gathered momentum. The duration spent with each customer lasting longer and longer. Her time had been limited by unpacking and refilling the velvet trays beneath the glass counters, but her pride swelled in a job well done.

Stephen Gower strolled towards the counter, his hands laced behind his back and his eyes slightly narrowed as he surveyed the area around them. Cornelia’s stomach knotted with a sudden nervousness. Her desperation to keep Alfred and Francis safe – Esther and the baby safe – meant she had to at least try for Stephen’s help. But how would he react to her bothering him with something so personal? A divorce was never considered a positive thing and the last thing she wanted was Stephen’s judgement.

He so often displayed a deep seriousness. A gravity she now suspected stemmed from his police work. Although a good-looking man, it was more than his tall stature and broad shoulders that drew her to confide in him. His entire being emanated a calm reassurance that all would be well when he was around.

But how was she to approach such a delicate subject?

She glanced at Mrs Hampton, pleased to see her still occupied with customers.

Making a snap decision, Cornelia abandoned her unpacking and quickly stepped to the counter. ‘Mr Gower. Good afternoon. How are you today?’

He turned, a flicker of surprise passing through his dark brown gaze. ‘Miss Culford. Quite well. How are you?’

‘I’m well, thank you. Can I interest you in anything for your wife, maybe?’

He slowed to a stop, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth. ‘My wife? I am a single man, and one who doesn’t very often indulge in jewellery shopping.’

‘Well, that is a shame,’ Cornelia said, perturbed by the unexpected pleasure it gave her to discover him unmarried. ‘Buying jewellery for someone special can be equally as satisfying for the buyer as it is for the receiver.’

His gaze lingered on hers before he turned to scan the busy atrium once more. ‘Is that so? Well, right now, I’m working but—’

‘You’ll come back later?’

He faced her, his eyebrows lifted. ‘I was going to thank you for your courtesy towards my non-existent wife.’

She laughed, her heart lifting at the teasing in his eyes, her confidence bolstered. Goodness only knew what tragedies, violence and criminal activity he’d seen over the years, but it seemed Stephen Gower had kept his sense of humour.

‘Are you due for a tea break shortly? Only I’d like to speak to you, if I may.’

Wariness immediately darkened his eyes. ‘Oh?’

‘It’s nothing serious, I just wanted to speak to you about the upcoming ball at The Phoenix Hotel. Have you heard about it? It’s in aid of women’s suffrage. Many Pennington’s staff will be attending, and I wanted to give you the details in the hope you’re free that evening. It’s on Saturday the sixteenth.’ Her garbled words tumbled from her mouth, leaving her slightly breathless, her heart thumping.

He studied her, his focus slipping to her lips for a moment before he met her eyes once more. ‘Balls are not exactly my kind of thing, Miss Culford, but thank you for thinking of me, all the same.’

Her heart sank with disappointment at his easy dismissal. Whether or not it was wise to like Stephen so much, or so hastily, she would have welcomed the opportunity to spend some time getting to know him away from Pennington’s.

When he moved to walk away, she took a deep breath and leaned across the counter, not entirely prepared to accept defeat just yet. ‘Why don’t we meet for tea in the staff quarters in half an hour? We could still have a little chat.’

His gaze once again turned amused. ‘You really are quite the determined lady, aren’t you?’

Pleased by his summary, she nodded. ‘Yes, Mr Gower. I am.’

Shaking his head, he continued on his way.

Cornelia watched him go with no idea whether or not he would meet her, but, either way, she’d be waiting. She sensed that he was a kind and caring man. A man who would be willing to speak with her. If she could find out more about him, about his previous work, then their conversation might turn naturally to her life, too.

‘Cornelia? Do you think you could spare some time to do some more work this afternoon?’

She started. ‘Of course, Mrs Hampton. I apologise.’

‘Apologies only go so far. Will you please see to the customer waiting over there while I help Mr and Mrs Luton?’

‘Yes, Mrs Hampton.’

‘You can take your break in half an hour if you wish, but I’d like you back here in twenty minutes. No excuses. We will undoubtedly be run off our feet until closing.’

Cornelia hurried to help the waiting customers. A smartly dressed man and woman who had more than enough money to spend, judging by the pearls around the lady’s neck and ears and the gentleman’s gold pocket watch and cufflinks. ‘Good afternoon, how might I help you?’

The following thirty minutes passed in a blur and Cornelia was soon heading to the staff quarters. She quickly walked downstairs and entered the communal room, looking for Stephen. Spotting him sitting alone and reading a newspaper at a table in the far corner, Cornelia exhaled as relief swept through her. Yet, he seemed entirely engrossed in his reading and she hesitated, suddenly feeling it an importune moment to disturb him.

No, she had to speak to him while she had the chance.

She strode forward, her buoyancy more than a little enforced, but, after years of practised happiness when she’d lived with David, she was confident in her charade.

She stopped at the table. ‘Can I get you a cup of tea, Mr Gower?’

He lifted his study from the open newspaper, his eyes momentarily glazed before he blinked, and his focus cleared. ‘Tea? Yes, of course. Allow me. Take a seat and I’ll get us a cup each.’

Enjoying his easy gallantry, albeit mixed with a curiosity as to what he’d been reading to cause such seriousness in his expression, Cornelia sat. ‘Thank you. That’s very kind.’

‘Not at all.’

He walked towards the serving counter at the side of the room and Cornelia surreptitiously pulled the newspaper closer. She quickly scanned the articles, noticing a small piece about the recent murder in the slums. Was this what he’d been reading? Her quick scan of the page didn’t provide anything else that might have caused his perturbed expression.

‘Here we are.’

She quickly sat back in her seat, her smile in place. ‘Oh, lovely. Thank you.’

Gratefully accepting the cup of tea, she cautiously sipped before lowering the cup to its saucer. ‘So, how are you finding Pennington’s? I hope you’ve settled in?’

‘I have. The staff seem friendly enough. There are a few characters who are a little curious, but I’ll just give them a wide berth, I think.’

‘And do I fall on the side of friendly or curious?’

‘Oh, definitely curious.’

‘Really?’ She smiled. ‘Yet, you’re still sitting with me.’

‘Only because I found you difficult to refuse earlier. The question, Miss Culford, is why you wanted to speak to me. I’ve the distinct impression something far more pressing than a Christmas ball is bothering you.’

A faint heat warmed her cheeks. It should come as no surprise he should suspect her motives. A police sergeant did not rise to such a position by accident. He must have been an exemplary officer and, as shameful as it was, her natural inquisitiveness meant she suddenly held a deep wish to know why Mr Gower now worked at Pennington’s.

Or if he wasn’t really a watchman at all and here under a different guise.

She picked up her cup. ‘Your accent is London-based, isn’t?’

He nodded and their eyes locked for a moment.

Awareness skittered over the surface of her skin, causing her to quickly feign interest in his abandoned newspaper. ‘I’m originally from Oxfordshire.’

‘Not too far from London, then.’

‘No.’

Silence fell and Cornelia scrambled to think of something, anything, to say. ‘So, how are you finding Miss Pennington and Mr Carter?’

She lifted her eyes to his, but he turned away to study the area around them, a muscle flexing in his jaw. ‘Why do you ask?’

Cornelia swallowed, his immediate distance was palpable. What on earth had she said? How was she to bother him with her own miseries if the mere mention of their employers annoyed him? The last thing she wanted to do was risk his further detachment.

‘Well, I…’ She struggled to find the right words and slumped. Honesty was always the best policy. ‘I’ve heard it said about the store that you once worked for the police.’

He faced her, his expression inscrutable. ‘You’ve heard it said?’

‘Oh, fine.’ She leaned back a little from the intensity of his stare. ‘I overheard Miss Pennington mention you once worked for the police.’

He studied her before he picked up his cup. ‘I worked for Scotland Yard, but that part of my life is neither here nor there, right now.’

She battled for something else to say. Could he be at Pennington’s under subterfuge? His presence confidential and possibly dangerous?

She lifted her gaze to find him watching her, caution clear in his dark eyes.

‘I shouldn’t have reacted so animatedly to learning of your previous position, Mr Gower. I apologise. I imagine police work can be extremely dangerous.’

‘Indeed, it can. So, if there’s no other reason for this tea and chat, Miss Culford…’ He slowly stood. ‘I’ll return to the shop floor. Good afternoon.’

Words failed her as she helplessly watched him walk through the throng of workers towards the exit. She closed her eyes, shame pressing down on her. He had every right to keep his life private. Hadn’t she wanted the same thing when she started working here? Now that she wanted his help and had no choice but to share her life, she somehow expected the same from him? She had no right.

She opened her eyes and stared towards the door. When she’d been a child, she’d relied on her own devices and behaviour to save her from her father’s cruel attentions. Then she’d been forced to do the same again with David, once he began to look at her with derision and loathing. It came as no surprise that the whole idea of being honest about her weaknesses and fears with yet another man was mortifying and terrifying.

But what choice did she have if she was to keep her children safe beside her?

Mr Gower could not have been a policeman without care for the public’s sufferings. Such a thing was impossible. If she could enlist his help, she would be doing something towards fighting to get her life back. Her children’s lives. Such steps would make her feel worthy again. To prove herself more than the reason behind her children’s sadness.

Cornelia pushed to her feet. She had to be strong and assured for her boys, Esther and Lawrence.

Never stop fighting. Never give up.

And, as God was her witness, she never would.