Page 6 of Estelle’s Ardent Admirer (The Bookshop Belles #1)
CHAPTER 6
Felix and The Cat
A s Miss Baxter closed the bookshop door behind him - almost slammed it on his heel - Felix let out a great sigh.
“I’m making an almighty mull of this,” he said to nobody in particular, before turning to look up and down the street, in vain hopes of spotting a large black cat. He had rather thought he’d made a friend in the cat. She’d certainly purred loudly enough, and left her fur on his leg! Glancing back at the door, he met Estelle’s eyes briefly through the window before she scowled and turned her back.
“So pretty, even when she’s angry,” Felix murmured wistfully.
He should not be having so much fun teasing her. It wasn’t the right thing to do, obviously. His grandfather had started the whole thing and now he didn’t seem able to stop himself.
Well, he really should.
He should be kind. He should help. Properly help, and not just ask if he could.
He would help, Felix decided. Starting with getting the cat back.
Where should he even start looking? He sniffed the air, nodding thoughtfully as the scent of cooking beef reached him. What discerning cat wouldn’t want to investigate that delicious scent? His stomach rumbled again, and Felix’s mind was made up. He’d kill two birds with one stone, hopefully; find that damned cat and find something to fill his stomach!
The tantalising scent turned out to be coming from the Red Lion, where he was regretfully informed that the noonday meal wasn’t ready yet, but he could have a slice of cold game pie and a tankard of small beer, if that suited.
By that time Felix would have eaten stale bread and drunk swamp water, so he thanked the innkeeper politely and broke his fast, hoping he did not appear too uncouth as he sat in a corner of the dining-room and stuffed pie into his face as fast as he could get it down.
“I don’t suppose a large black cat has been in here this morning?” he asked the maid who brought his beer over.
The maid stared at him, then shook her head. “Mr Haye don’t hold with no cats in the Red Lion, sir. They makes him sneeze. We gots to chase them out if we sees them.”
“Hm.” Felix handed the girl a sixpence and sat back to drink his beer. The bookshop cat - Crafty, he thought Estelle had called her - was presumably smart enough to know where she wasn’t wanted. He’d best go looking somewhere else. With a regretful glance at the scant crumbs of pie crust left on his plate, he drained his tankard and left it on the table.
The sooner he found the cat, the sooner he could go back to Estelle and start being actually useful.
Five hours later, Felix was hot, tired, hungry again, and exceedingly frustrated. There were plenty of cats in Hatfield, and a goodly number of them were black, but none of them were the large, sleek animal he’d petted in the bookshop. The locals he spoke to were all quite helpful, pointing him in the direction of whichever black cat they’d happened to see last, but it did mean he did quite a lot of walking, criss-crossing the town in search of the elusive feline.
Hatfield was so much larger than he’d remembered, but it had been a few years since he’d last been in town. Bisected by the Great North Road, it was positively bustling with activity, and not just when the post-coaches came through. In a square to the west of the road he found a busy market well-patronised by the locals. He saw a striped ginger cat sitting on a man’s shoulder. Farther down where someone was selling chickens, he saw a dark shape and got his hopes up, but it turned out to be only a shadow. He paused to buy some apples from a grocer, thinking he might take those to Estelle as a peace offering. Ambling along the street munching on one of the apples, he stopped in his tracks as a pair of bright green eyes in a round dark face turned up to him.
The cat let out a querying, “Meow?”
“You!” Felix dropped the apple core and pounced; the cat slid away from his clutching fingers and fled. Felix gave chase, apples toppling from his coat pockets as he ran. “Oh, no you don’t!”
He finally cornered the cat in an alley with walls too high for the beast to leap; apparently realising the game was up, the blasted creature sat down and began to wash its tail insouciantly.
“You horrible animal.” Grabbing the cat up, Felix tucked it under one arm and strode towards the bookshop. “What a chase you’ve led me.”
The cat purred, entirely unconcerned with Felix’s annoyance. Felix smiled at the cat and gave it a chin scratch. It purred, although the purring sounded a little different. Ahhh, that’s because he was outside, not in a bookshop where sounds were more muffled.
“And I dropped the apples!” Ah, but there was still one in his pocket, Felix realised, as it bounced against his hip on the opposite side to the cat. He could give that to Estelle, at least. A poor peace offering, but he had to start somewhere.
The door to the bookshop was wide open, perhaps to encourage Crafty to return without hindrance? Being mindful of not letting the cat out again, he kicked the wedge holding the door open and the bell above the door jingled cheerfully as it closed.
He had the cat, and he’d closed the door. He approached the counter with a broad smile. To his delight, Estelle was the only Baxter sister at the counter at that moment. She looked up at him expectantly, her delightful eyes flashing. It warmed him all the way through, and he rather liked the idea of making her smile more.
All too soon her brows began to crease into a frown.
She should be smiling, he’d returned triumphant!
“I have the cat!” Felix said hastily, depositing it on the counter before Estelle could begin to reproach him again. “And an apple. It’s a peace offering. I had more, but I dropped them chasing the cat,” he apologised regretfully.
Fine, the apples as a peace offering wasn’t going so well, but he had the cat!
Estelle looked from the shiny red apple he had placed beside the cat, to the cat, to Felix, and back to the cat again.
This was not the grateful welcome he’d expected. Perhaps she’d had a troubling day with querulous customers. If that was the case, he’d cheer her up by purchasing a great many more books. Anything to see her smile again.
She puffed out her cheeks and appeared to be trying to think of something to say.
“We have got off on the wrong foot rather,” Felix started to say, “And I would like to apologise for making fun at your expense. It was badly done of m…”
Estelle interrupted him, “I’m afraid that’s not our cat, Mr Yates.”
“I… what?” Felix looked down at the cat, which looked up at him from those bright green eyes and miaowed again. Exactly the same sound it had made when he almost stood on its tail earlier, he’d have sworn it!
“If I’m not mistaken,” Estelle reached out, picked the cat up and turned it around, looking under its tail, before nodding as though satisfied. “Yes. As I thought. This is Charles, one of Crafty’s sons. A male cat, Mr Yates. And Crafty is a female cat, which I think should have been obvious to you when I noted that if you did not find her, you would need to help us find homes for her kittens.”
“Oh.”
He hadn’t even thought to look under the damned cat’s tail.
Utterly deflated, Felix sagged against the counter. “How did you know it wasn’t the same cat, even before looking? They are both large, glossy and black, and make the same noises.”
How many black cats were there in Hatfield?
Estelle sighed and said, “Crafty has a shorter tail than this one. A horse stepped on it, and she lost a couple of inches from the end. And this fellow has a small piece missing from his ear, see?”
Estelle gave Charles a scratch under the chin all the same and this time he made a very different noise to Crafty.
“I can hear it now. He sounds like a phlegmatic old man! Crafty’s purr is much more melodic.”
Then Estelle did the most extraordinary thing. She delivered a beautiful smile in his direction. It filled him with enough vigour to slay a dragon. In reality, all he had to do was find the right cat.
“I think you’d better return Charles to whence you found him, Mr Yates. And find Crafty. The real one this time.” Estelle picked up the apple off the counter, polished it against her skirt for a moment, and held it up. “Thank you for the apple, though,” she said. “I was a little peckish.” She took a ladylike little bite.
He’d been dismissed. And no surprise, because he’d failed. He’d brought her the wrong cat. At least she was smiling, even if it was to make fun of him. He’d rather like to see her smile again, and he’d like to be the reason for the smiling. He only hoped it was not at his expense next time. But then again, even if it was, he deserved it. Bringing her a male cat! What a chump he was!
With a sigh, Felix scooped the obliging Charles up under his arm again and departed the bookshop with his head hanging low. The door bell tinkled as he opened and closed it.
It seemed he could do absolutely nothing right when it came to helping Miss Baxter.
Hopefully, he would at least be able to return Charles to the spot where he found him without being accused of cat-napping. In broad daylight, no less. A few people were looking at him askance, and he supposed he did look rather foolish parading down the street in his greatcoat and top hat with a noisily purring black cat tucked under his arm. This cat left fur strands all over his coat. A good thing the animals did not make him sneeze like the innkeeper!
At least Charles was being quite decent about the whole business and wasn’t carrying on and trying to slash holes in his clothing. Felix found the spot where he’d first spotted Charles, set the cat down and gave him a few scratches behind the ears, which the cat accepted with more friendly purrs before slinking off down an alleyway.
“Back to square one,” Felix muttered dismally, looking about him and wondering where to look for Crafty now. Or how he would even identify the cat if he did find her, beyond having the sense to look under her tail. Oh yes, her tail was a little shorter than normal. But how long was a normal cat’s tail at any rate?
He was outside an apothecary shop, and as he looked about in some despair the door opened and Miss Bernadette Baxter stepped out, a basket over her arm. She smiled when she saw him.
“Good afternoon, Mr Yates.”
“Miss Bernadette!” He doffed his hat and made her a polite bow. She closed the shop door and stepped down to the street, and as she did so Felix could not help but notice that she was listing a little to one side, obviously compensating for the weight of her basket. “I say, Miss Bernadette, that basket looks jolly heavy. Would you allow me to carry it for you?”
She hesitated only a moment before saying “That would be very kind of you, Mr Yates. Thank you.”
He relieved her of the basket and offered his free arm. To his delight, she tucked her hand into the crook of it with a smile.
“Are you returning to the bookshop, or do you have more stops to make in your shopping? I’m happy to be of assistance,” Felix offered, thinking that if he couldn’t find their cat, at least he might be of some small use to one of the Baxter sisters.
“I am indeed returning home. You’re very kind to offer.” She glanced sideways up at him as they walked, chewing on her lower lip a moment before asking gently, “How goes your search for Crafty, Mr Yates?”
“Very ill,” he admitted sorrowfully. “I thought I had her and triumphantly presented her to your sister… only to learn that I had instead found Charles. I did not even think to look under the tail!”
Bernadette burst out laughing. She put her free hand to her mouth to genteely suppress the laughter, but giggles bubbled up still and Felix found himself grinning too, amused by his own foolishness.
“I’m afraid Miss Baxter must think me the veriest twit,” he confessed, “and I do so want her to think well of me.”
Bernadette ceased laughing, though her eyes were still bright with mirth. “Why, Mr Yates?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Why is it so important to you that Estelle think well of you? We teased her about you a little, I confess, just to see her blush, but the truth is that she is not your equal in consequence. Our father is away and our cousin Joshua would not protect us from so much as a flea, so we must look out for each other. If your intention is to trifle with my sister’s affections, I must ask you to cease and go far, far away.”
What a serious little thing she was! Giving her the courtesy of taking her seriously, Felix stopped walking and looked Bernadette full in the face.
“While Miss Baxter may have thought my grandfather was jesting when he proposed her as a suitable wife for me, Lord Ferndale says nothing he does not truly mean. If he believes Miss Baxter to be a suitable prospect for my marriage, that is endorsement enough for me… and in truth, it is high time I settled down. My intentions are not trifling, I do assure you.”
Bernadette looked at him oddly, and Felix wondered if she had expected him to say something different. She didn’t say anything else, though, merely resumed walking, and he had perforce to proceed too or else drag her to a stop.
“Have you bought plenty of books from the shop to at least appear interested in her most favourite thing in the world?” Bernadette asked.
The books! “Oh dear, I keep forgetting. I had her put some aside but we were so distracted with me presenting the wrong cat, and having to return said cat, I did not complete the purchase.”
Oh dear, Felix, you are rather making a mess of things.
Bernadette shook her head. “When you come back with the right cat, make sure you buy some books. Then you’ll have something more to talk about.”
“Thank you, I shall.” Her advice was a boon.
Then she delivered even more good information. “Crafty has a white patch on her chest in the exact shape of a love-heart,” Bernadette said finally as they came to a stop at the bookshop door. “Though she has had quite a few kittens who strongly resemble her - as you discovered with Charles - so far as I know, she is the only black cat in Hatfield with that exact marking.”
Of course! Only now did he realise he’d seen that very marking when scratching the cat under her chin that morning! What a dolt he was to not remember.
Bernadette said, “And her tail is a little shorter because…”
“... A horse trod on it,” he finished.
“Ahhh, so you know about that? Well, good luck finding the real one this time. And when you come back, make sure the door’s closed behind you.”
Handing Miss Bernadette her basket, Felix once again doffed his hat and bowed to her.
“Thank you, Miss Bernadette, I very much appreciate your guidance.”
“Thank you for carrying my basket,” she said in response, before nodding and opening the bookshop door. “Good day, Mr Yates,” she said over her shoulder.
Aside from his dispiriting task and no luck finding Crafty, it was an otherwise glorious day. Felix had paid much more attention to Hatfield than he had before, and found himself growing fond of the buildings and the ambience. One building in particular.
Alas, he could not return to it until he found the right cat.
His stomach rumbled, reminding him of how late it was. The sun was low, but it was also high summer, and it would not set for another hour yet. A slice of game pie and an apple had been poor fare compared to what he would usually consume during the day.
“If I were a cat, where would I be?” he asked himself as he walked down another laneway, peering up and down.
He made a heavy sigh of defeat and kicked the ground. A stone flew up and hit an old door lying sideways.
Three cats ran out from behind the door. They were partially black, but had large white patches in various places. Even he could tell at this distance they were the wrong ones.
Harsh shadows stretched across the lane from the setting sun. The day had defeated him. He walked back to the Red Lion with a purpose: he’d eat a quick meal then get a room for the night, so he could rise early and hunt for Crafty.
When he walked in to the Red Lion, he was met with a wall of humanity. The stagecoach had lately arrived and the place was packed with travellers. The aromas of travel-weary humans and cooking smells assailed his senses. He caught sight of the maid he’d spoken with earlier in the day. “Any chance of a room for the night?” he asked.
“’Fraid not. We’re all up to the rafters tonight.”
He really wasn’t having any luck today at all. “Is there anywhere nearby you can recommend?”
“The only one near is The Swan. Ya takes a left at Salisbury Street. Can’t miss it.” Then she bustled over to a table and removed people’s empty beer tankards, then turned and slapped a man on the arm who pinched her bottom. “We keeps our ’ands to ourselves ‘ere, matey. It’s not that kind of ’stablishment!”
In another fifteen minutes, thirsty and with swollen feet from walking around most of the day, he found The Swan and rented a room. It was hardly busy, and he really thought his luck had finally turned the corner. Alas, the reason for the inn’s lack of clientele soon presented itself. He sat at a long table with many other diners eating the most unpalatable food he’d ever had; a greasy stew of potatoes and a meat he had the terrible suspicion wasn’t beef despite the landlord’s description, and bread which was stale and hard without even butter to soften it. Even the tiniest villages in Greece offered better sustenance than this. Nobody else appeared to be complaining, but perhaps they were heavier into their cups than he. The ale wasn’t as bad as the food, though that wasn’t saying much. He should probably have tried for a meal at the Red Lion, even if they didn’t have a room for him. Ah well. He knew better now. Tomorrow was another day.
He drank heavily from his tankard, and was at least happy that it was having the effect of softening his tired muscles.
His bed awaited. He only hoped it was of a higher standard than the fare.
It wasn’t, of course, but he was too tired to care.