Page 3 of Estelle’s Ardent Admirer (The Bookshop Belles #1)

CHAPTER 3

The Trouble With Relatives

T he familiar bustle of Hatfield greeted Estelle as she and Somerset Valley Four returned to town. Thankfully, the horse seemed quite sound this morning, and had happily trotted and cantered when urged, so she had made excellent time on her journey home. She mentioned yesterday’s incident to the stablehand all the same, so they could keep an eye on him. The stablehand patted the horse on the neck as he eagerly plunged his nose into a waiting bucket of oats.

If only her troubles were limited to a wounded horse. The bookshop door was wide open as she walked towards it. That did not bode well; it was too early to be open for customers.

Her cousin Joshua’s ominous voice carried out to the street.

This was not a good sign at all. Joshua only ever visited them to make demands.

By a miracle, Crafty was up high on a bookshelf rather than down on the ground, ready to escape. This was a cat that chased horses for fun. The only reason she might be hiding high above them was to keep out of reach of Benjamin, Joshua’s eldest.

The way that boy looked at cats sent a shiver down Estelle’s spine.

She caught movement between some shelves and knew he must be in the shop somewhere. Estelle quickly closed the door to prevent the cat’s escape. The last time Crafty had run out the open door, she’d come home a week and a half later, half starved and pregnant.

On top of their pile of troubles, the last thing the Baxters needed was another litter of kittens.

Her sisters were by the counter. Joshua Baxter and his wife Phoebe were standing in such a way that they seemed to consume all the space in the shop.

Hoping her voice sounded pleasant and not at all cross, Estelle said, “Cousin Joshua, good morning! To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?” One thing was certain; Joshua and Phoebe were not here to buy books. Joshua read nothing but his account ledgers, and Phoebe only looked at fashion periodicals, which she ordered sent direct from London. Estelle had offered to order them in for a better price, but Phoebe had snubbed her.

Joshua turned to Estelle, his scowling, belligerent expression souring her stomach. “I came to measure the windows for drapes, but I see they’re all blocked. Please re-open the door. Can’t see my hand in front of my face.”

Phoebe added, “Have a maid light some candles at least. Somebody could fall and break their neck.”

They did not have candles to spare, nor a maid to light them, but she wasn’t about to tell her cousin that. Estelle pulled the little curtain aside from the window at the door. It provided a thin shaft of light. It was enough for her to see little Barnaby, Joshua and Phoebe’s youngest child, reaching for a book.

“My darling,” she said, scooping up the boy for a cuddle. It had the extra action of preventing him from touching any of the valuable books with his jam-covered hands. The little one was a dear, and loved having stories read to him. But he always seemed to have such dirty hands! Louise called him Little Sticky, and though Estelle should probably have discouraged the nickname, all of the sisters had ended up using it. So much so, she had actually called Barnaby Little Sticky out loud one day by accident, and had to hastily cover her slip-up. “I have a lovely story for you, Barnaby,” she said as she took a handkerchief out of her pocket and wiped his pudgy and very sticky hands.

The middle son would be in the bookshop somewhere. Something of a forgotten child, he was quiet and unassuming, saddled with the name Brutus. If his parents and older brother weren’t quite so dreadful, Estelle wouldn’t have minded having Brutus around more often.

Her mind jangled on something Joshua had just said about windows.

Thankfully, her sister Marie piped up with a well-timed question: “Why do you wish to measure the windows for drapes? The bookshelves block the sunlight to protect the books.”

Joshua took out a piece of string from his pocket and made a rough estimate of the width of one of the bookshelves, which had a window behind it. “Because,” he said, stretching it out, “I have it on excellent authority,” another pause for dramatic effect, “That your father is dead.”

Momentarily dumbstruck, Estelle stopped wiping Barnaby’s hands. Her sisters at the counter gasped in unison. They looked across to Estelle, who looked back at them and wondered what on earth was going on.

Marie spoke for all of them, “He’s not dead. He’s in France.”

“Same thing,” Benjamin said with a sneer from behind a bookshelf. The child had a mean streak as long as the Great North Road.

“He is very much alive,” Bernadette corrected stubbornly. “A crate of books arrived only yesterday morning.”

Unperturbed, Joshua declared, “That means nothing. It could have been sent months ago. I hear he came to a bad end. Probably gambling.”

Worries churned through Estelle at the thought their father might have perished somewhere on the continent.

If their father died, they would suffer emotionally, but even more than that, the shop would go to Joshua. He wasn’t the slightest bit interested in the books within, but he did covet the building. If their father was dead, she, her sisters, their one maid, the cat and all their books would be out on the street.

Silence hung in the air as Phoebe looked about with a smug expression.

“When was he supposed to have died?” Marie asked.

Excellent question, Marie.

“Barely four weeks ago,” Joshua said, without any hesitation as he kept right on measuring.

“Thank God,” Marie cried.

Not the reaction Estelle had expected. “What do you mean?”

Marie’s voice was full of joy. “He can’t have died a month ago. There was a letter in yesterday’s crate dated,” she paused a little and unfolded a letter, “Not sixteen days ago. It must be a case of mistaken identity, dear Cousin.”

Estelle could breathe again!

When she’d left yesterday to deliver the previous book to Lord Ferndale, she hadn’t been aware there was a letter in the crate at all. Thank goodness he’d sent one, and that her sisters had found it.

One of the boys snorted with laughter from behind the shelves. Probably Benjamin.

She cuddled Barnaby in relief. He was no longer dangerously sticky, so she plucked a book of herbs from the shelf. It had detailed illustrations that would absorb his attention for a short while and opened it to show him, setting it on a footstool.

“Show me the letter,” Joshua demanded.

“We may read it together,” Marie said. “By the window. You will see it is clearly his hand, and his signature at the bottom. He was alive at least 16 days ago, when he sent the crate of books.”

Bernadette and Louise approached Estelle as Barnaby settled down with the book. She hugged her sisters tightly with relief, resting her head on Louise’s broad shoulder for a moment. The tallest of the sisters and strongly built, not to say Junoesque, Louise’s sturdy form was exceptionally huggable.

“I am so glad there was a letter in the crate,” Estelle said softly, not wanting Joshua and Phoebe to hear.

“We only found it late yesterday, checking through the books,” Louise said. “I thought some pages had come loose from the binding but it was Father’s note to us slipping out. He really should take more care, we could have easily missed it.”

That was nothing unusual for their father. He would probably have been so excited at finding the books, writing a note to them at all would have been an afterthought.

“We’re lucky he sent one at all,” Estelle said.

“True that,” Louise agreed.

“Hey, that’s an expensive book,” Bernadette said, reaching down to the floor to take the book of herbs from Barnaby. “Don’t let Little Sticky at it.”

“Shh!” Louise said, at the mention of Barnaby’s pet name.

There was more movement over by the door as Joshua called out for his family. “Right then, come along, we’re leaving!”

Benjamin Baxter marched out of the shop without a farewell. Brutus, the middle child, looked shyly around the bookshelf at his cousins and gave a small wave. Such a sweet-natured boy with such an ill-fitting name. Estelle waved back at him.

Phoebe stomped over to Barnaby and scooped him up, holding him slightly away from her body as if she already knew his fingers would be covered in jam.

A horrible thought crossed Estelle’s mind: Phoebe probably spread jam over his hands before bringing him into the shop, just to annoy us .

Joshua stood at the open door until his wife and sons had exited. He made a curt bow to Marie and simply said, “I shall see you anon.”

Then he walked out, leaving the door wide open.

Marie rushed to the door and gently closed it. For a long moment there was silence as they all stood still, hoping desperately that Joshua would not take it into his head to return and browbeat them once more.

“They’re gone,” Marie said at last, peering out of the little window.

“Thank the good Lord!”

The four sisters rushed into a huddle to hold each other with relief and joy. With their father out of the country and debts piling up, Cousin Joshua and his plans for the building were an extra complication they did not need.

Estelle said, “Next crate that arrives, we must check for letters first.”

“Yes,” Marie said. “Thank goodness you found it, Louise.”

Estelle gave Louise an extra hug of gratitude before saying; “I should have come back last night, I’m sorry you had to deal with Joshua on your own.”

“We weren’t on our own,” Lousie said. “The three of us managed well enough, although Marie did step in dead mouse first thing this morning.”

“Urgh, Crafty!” Estelle complained.

Marie added, “Exactly!”

As if responding to her name, the cat leapt down from the bookshelves and moved to her scratching post to sink her claws in to the hessian there.

Estelle sighed. “One more item to add to the morning checklist: Crafty’s post, dead mice, then the day’s correspondence. I have the payment from Lord Ferndale, so that should cover the correspondence fees for a good while.”

Marie said, “It will also pay for the advertisements in The Times and the next insurance instalment, so we can breathe again for a little while at least.”

They could have covered so much more if she’d accepted Mr Yates’ better offer, but Estelle did not allow herself to dwell on that dishonourable thought. In fact, she didn’t even mention him, or his higher offer.

Instead, she accepted the letter from their father that Marie held out to her.

“Thank you. I shall read this upstairs; I need to go and change. My clothes got soaked in the rain yesterday and I had to borrow some from Miss Yates, and though I’m sure the staff did their best, my riding habit wasn’t quite dry when I put it back on this morning.”

“Have you had breakfast?” Louise asked practically.

“Indeed I have, and a lovely dinner last night, you would have been quite envious. Though the conversation left much to be desired!”

Her sisters looked at her strangely.

“It was all very silly. Lord Ferndale was in a teasing mood and said I should marry his grandson.”

“He what?” Marie gasped.

“I know. It was preposterous, but I humoured him all the same.” Laughing, Estelle set off upstairs to change. She wouldn’t be long, and then she’d come back down to help her sisters once the shop opened.

“Do you need some breakfast, Estelle?” Their housekeeper, Mrs Poole, looked up from peeling potatoes as she passed through the kitchen.

“Thank you, no; I had a lovely breakfast at Ferndale Hall,” Estelle said cheerfully. Though it had been a good hour ago now, and the buttered scones on the table looked delicious… she swiped one to eat as she made her way to her bedroom.

The letter from her father was sparse, Estelle thought, taking a few moments to scan down it as she laced her shoes after changing her gown. Addressed from Orléans with a note that he was headed for Tours, and then either for Angers or Poitiers. Making a mental note to find a map of France once she returned downstairs, she laid the letter on her dresser for now and checked her hair in her small hand-mirror before making her way back downstairs. Correspondence from the continent could often be delayed, but as long as his letters and the crates of books kept arriving, they would know their father still lived. Joshua had given them a horrible scare, but that’s all it had been. He couldn't harm them so long as their father lived.

The shop bell rang above the front door as she reached the bottom of the stairs. A well-dressed man walked up to the counter. Estelle stopped in her tracks as he removed his hat to reveal suspiciously familiar, tousled golden curls.

“Good morning!” Mr Yates said cheerfully to Marie, who was behind the counter, offering up her best serving-a-customer smile.

“And a good morning to you, sir, how may we assist you?”

“I was about to ask the same thing of you,” he said, placing his hat on the counter. “Are you in need of anything? How can I help?”

“I beg your pardon?” Marie blinked in confusion.

Estelle blurted out, “Not you again! What are you doing here?”

Mr Yates turned to face her, his smile broadening. “Why, Miss Baxter, I’ve come to marry you, of course.”

This time, she actually was going to kill him.