Page 7 of A Shop Girl’s Christmas (Pennington’s Department Store #3)
Stephen leaned back in his mother’s dining room chair as she laid a dinner plate in front of him laden with beef, roast potatoes, carrots, parsnips and cabbage. Despite his tiredness, he inhaled deeply, the aromas making his mouth water.
‘I’ve only been home two weeks and I’m already putting on weight.’ He smiled. ‘Are you trying to fatten me up for Christmas?’
Her brown eyes glinted with mischief. ‘You’ll go a long way to feeding a lot of people once I’ve cut you up into bite-sized pieces.’
‘Is that so?’ Stephen picked up his knife and fork as she lifted a white porcelain jug and smothered his meal with rich, brown gravy. ‘Well, I’m not running around as I was, so I’m going to have to keep an eye on you and your cooking. Don’t want to start piling on the pounds.’
She took her seat opposite him and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. ‘What’s the harm in putting on a little weight? As you said, it’s not as though you’re chasing down criminals at the moment.’
Stephen inwardly grimaced. They’d spoken briefly about the Board’s investigation when he’d arrived, and his mother had immediately jumped to his defence, dismissing the whole thing as if it was no matter to her or, in any way, affected her faith in him. Yet, the tone of her voice illustrated her hidden concern and fretfulness. Just another reason to dislike himself.
‘So, how are things at Pennington’s? You’ve barely mentioned the place since you’ve been working there.’ She cut into her potatoes. ‘It must be interesting. Seeing all those different people from all walks of life. Pennington’s has changed. Everyone seems welcome there these days, not just the uppity lot we used to see coming in and out of its doors. Pennington’s still isn’t for me, though.’
Stephen watched her. ‘Why not?’
She lifted her shoulders. ‘I like to shop at the market, where I can see and touch things without feeling I’m being watched.’
Stephen smiled, amused by her disgruntled expression. ‘You’ll hardly be watched. It’s a friendly place. You’d like it there, I’m sure.’
‘How can you say I won’t be watched when you’re working there as a watchman?’
He chewed his food and swallowed. ‘Mr Carter is adamant that customers never feel ill at ease. If there is an attempted theft, then we step in only if we are certain of the offence and perpetrator. The last thing Pennington’s wants is a reputation of wrongful intervention or customers feeling spied on.’
‘Hmm. I’m not convinced.’ She popped a forkful of food into her mouth, her eyes glazed in thought. ‘So, you like it there, then? You trust your new employers?’
‘Of course. Plus, I’ve only heard people saying good things about Pennington’s. Do you know something heinous I should be aware of?’ He wiggled his eyebrows in an effort to lighten the mood.
She visibly bristled, sending her grey curls juddering. ‘There’s no need to mock my concern. You can’t trust anyone these days. Look at that poor woman killed down by the river just the other day.’
Stephen hovered his fork by his mouth, his instincts immediately leaping to life. ‘Killed?’
‘Didn’t you read about it in the papers? Some poor dear was ambushed or suchlike. Her body found in an alleyway near the river. They think she was delivering food to those less fortunate.’ His mother shook her head. ‘I have no idea what the world is coming to. Used to be a time I felt safe in my bed. Not any more.’
Despising his instantaneous professional interest, but unable to resist it, Stephen cleared his throat. ‘How was she killed?’
‘Stabbed, they say.’
Stephen stared at her bowed head and fought the sudden urge to leave the table and seek out the newspapers his mother left stacked in the parlour. He was suspended from the Yard. A civilian and not a constable, yet murder was murder. How was he supposed to ignore that?
His mother lifted her eyes to his, her expression sombre. ‘Such things make me happier than ever you are home. At least for a while.’
He put down his fork and covered her hand with his own. ‘Don’t let this killing spook you, Ma. Things like this don’t happen very often in Bath.’
‘You say that, but there have been others. Admittedly, a long time ago, but still.’
Stephen studied her as she ate, his heart swelling with love for the one person who had always loved and cared for him, no matter what.
‘I’ll be staying for the next few weeks, at least.’ He raised his eyebrows and looked into her eyes. ‘Promise me you won’t go dwelling on this murder. I don’t want you fretting over it.’
Her cutlery lightly clattered against her plate as she put down her knife and fork and reached for her water. ‘Do you think you could ever be more content here than you were in London?’
‘You think that I was unhappy in London?’
‘Not unhappy, exactly, but you can hardly blame me for being a little concerned how the murder of your poor colleague and those women must be affecting you. There’s a lot a child can try to hide from their mother, Stephen, but we always know when our children are suffering.’
‘I’m hardly suff—’
‘And we know when they are withholding things from us, too.’ She put down her glass. ‘There’s no shame in wanting a fresh start. There’s only so much a man can take living a life filled with crime and punishment, after all. I had hoped you might consider coming home permanently.’
Words stuck in his throat. He had no idea how long he’d be in Bath. How long before he heard from Inspector King. All he wanted for the time being was too keep his head low and use his time at Pennington’s to stave off inevitable feelings of boredom and helplessness.
He put down his knife and fork, stood and lifted his plate. ‘I’m getting along well enough at Pennington’s. Let’s just wait and see, shall we?’ He fought to soften the tone of his voice. ‘I’m sorry, Ma, but I am absolutely done in and can’t even find the energy to eat this delicious food you’ve prepared for me. Do you mind if I box it up for my lunch tomorrow? Make a sandwich or something? I have another ten-hour shift ahead of me and could do with a few hours’ shut-eye.’
She studied him before pushing her plate away. ‘Here. Could you see to mine, too? I think I’ll have a read in front of the fire while it dies down and then go to bed myself.’
Avoiding her gaze, Stephen took her plate and walked along the narrow hallway to the kitchen. His childhood home was a small but comfortable town house, an easy twenty-minute walk to the town centre and Pennington’s. With three bedrooms, a sizable kitchen and parlour, indoor plumbing and water, it was all his mother wanted or needed. He hoped he could remain here while the Board carried out their investigation, but, if his mother’s concerns about him escalated, he’d have no qualms about leaving and finding somewhere else to stay. No doubt by answering her unwanted questions, he’d only add pain to her life. After all, he’d already had to others.
Once he’d washed the dishes and put everything clean and dry into the cupboards, he made himself and his mother a cup of tea, bid her goodnight and walked upstairs into his old bedroom. He firmly closed the door and wandered to the window.
The night sky was pitch-black, the stars few and rain streamed diagonally in the light of the street lamps. Tomorrow, the pavements would glisten with puddles, the air cold and damp… not unlike his mood.
He pondered his first two weeks at the store. It was fair to say the job was easy, if not altogether boring. If he didn’t think about Joseph Carter and their brief half an hour together, he could say his time so far at Pennington’s had been as good, if not better, than he’d expected. He’d had visions of old ladies wanting directions, upper-class toffs looking down their noses at him or women dressed to the nines striding around the place. Yet, on the whole, he’d found nothing but pleasant colleagues and customers too intent on shopping to pay him any attention.
And that suited him just fine. Remaining inconspicuous was all he wanted while he was here.
Plus, he couldn’t deny Cornelia Culford was also a reason behind his growing relaxation at Pennington’s. Her stunning face filled his mind’s eye. It had been a long while since he’d been so struck by a woman’s beauty, but with her dark chestnut hair and startling blue eyes, Miss Culford was hard to ignore. He guessed her to be around his age and he couldn’t help but wonder why she wasn’t married. Not that it was any of his business. He certainly didn’t want anyone prying into his life, after all.
He turned his mind back to Joseph Carter. His employer had not shared what bothered him, but Stephen had caught Carter staring at him time and time again, day after day. He didn’t doubt it wouldn’t be long before Carter approached him again. And, when that time came, he’d have no choice but to listen to what he had to say. Whatever it was, Stephen would pass on his advice, but, if the problem was of a criminal nature, he refused to get involved.
If the Board found him guilty of irresponsibility or worse, God only knew how he’d face his mother, let alone Inspector King. If that happened, Carter should feel grateful that Stephen refused to help him, whatever his problem. As far as Stephen was concerned he was culpable for three deaths and he had no right to involve himself in anyone else’s life. A guilty verdict would be welcome. Justice well and truly served.
He closed his eyes and the gruesome sight of three beaten and bloodied bodies showed behind his closed lids. Tears burned, and he squeezed his eyes tighter, despising his weakness. There would never be a day he’d forget Hettie, Fay or Detective Walker. Never a day Stephen would tell himself he had done the best he could. All he could hope for was that, at some point in his pathetic life, he’d be able to meet his own gaze in the mirror.