Page 7 of Estelle’s Ardent Admirer (The Bookshop Belles #1)
CHAPTER 7
The Bills Mount Up
“ W as that Mr Yates with you?” Estelle asked inquisitively as Bernadette came back into the shop, hefting her basket up onto the counter with a gasp of effort. “Has he found Crafty yet?”
“I think you already know that if he had, he would be back in here presenting her to you rather like a dog with a ball he wants you to throw,” Bernadette said.
The image her words invoked was so funny Estelle couldn’t help but laugh. Mr Yates really was rather like a large amiable hound, eagerly goofy but liable to cause havoc if let off the leash.
“What was he doing with you?” she asked, once she managed to control her giggles.
“He carried my basket, very kindly.” Bernadette hesitated briefly before admitting, “I asked him about his intentions towards you.”
“You did what!” Estelle clutched at her throat.
This was getting beyond a silly jest if her sisters were getting involved.
“Someone had to!” Bernadette said. “And while he’s obviously courting you to please his grandfather, I don’t think he’s doing so in jest, Estelle. I think you should take him seriously and give him a chance.” Hefting the basket up again, Bernadette nodded as though she’d had the last word and set off to the back of the shop.
Drat it, she did have the last word, because Estelle couldn’t think of a single thing to say. She sighed, picking up the pile of books Mr Yates had left and said he would come back to pay for. If only he had! Chastellux’s Travels in North America in two volumes was priced at one pound and five shillings, and there was a Lalande Voyage en Italie for sixteen shillings as well as several cheaper volumes. Over three pounds in total, if he did come back to pay for it.
The church bells pealed the hour and Estelle sighed. Four o’clock was when they closed the shop. Getting up from the stool behind the counter, she made her way to the door and opened it to peer up and down the street. No sign of Mr Yates, nor of any other potential customers. Closing the door again, she bolted it and began to reshelve the pile of books, pushing each one back into place on the shelf with perhaps just a little more force than really necessary.
The front of the shop tidy, Estelle extinguished the lamps and made her way upstairs, nose wrinkling as the faint traces of the glue Louise had made earlier assaulted her nose. Louise’s bookbinding was very necessary to the shop’s continued profitability, but it was a messy, smelly craft.
“Dinner’s almost ready, Miss Estelle.” Mrs Poole, their housekeeper-companion, looked up from where she was slicing bread at the kitchen table with a kindly smile. “Why don’t you go and wash up.”
Someone had filled the water jug in her room again, Estelle discovered gratefully when she made her way there, and she poured fresh water into the bowl, dampened a cloth and wiped her face and hands. For a moment she thought of skipping dinner and falling into bed. The servings would be small. One less mouth to feed would give the others a little more. She was about to remove her shoes when Mrs Poole called her down.
It would be rude not to attend. She would serve herself last and make sure the others had enough first. Perhaps she could get Felix to take her to lunch tomorrow, to make up for the little they had in the house.
“You’re not eating much, Estelle.” Mrs Poole noticed.
“I must be too tired,” she said, feeling worn down from the last day. “I did have a large meal last night with Lord Ferndale, and I’m probably still full from breakfast this morning.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, she had eaten very well.
Louise piped up, “Speaking of Ferndale, I will have a couple of his books ready by tomorrow. They are in the vice now and the glue will be set nicely by the morning.”
Estelle smiled at her sister. “Maybe it’s the glue smell that’s stolen my appetite. It truly does stink.”
Louise shrugged and said, “I’m used to it.”
Bernadette then said, “When Mr Yates comes back, he can take Lord Ferndale’s books with him, and pay the account at the same time.”
“And he can purchase the ones he took from the shelves,” Marie noted.
“Oh! I put them back,” Estelle said.
Cries of “why?” and “whatever for?” filled the small room.
“There seemed little point in having them remain on the counter. He had ample opportunity to purchase them throughout the day, and he did not. I assumed he didn’t want them.”
Bernadette rolled her eyes. “You’re a terrible saleswoman.”
“Worse than me,” Marie said.
Ouch! Marie was great with numbers and music, but not with people.
“I don’t mean to add to the family’s woes,” Mrs Poole said diffidently, “but the butcher’s account is due.”
That must be why there was no meat on the table this evening. With a deep sigh, Estelle nodded to her sisters and realised she’d need to put her politeness aside and push Mr Yates to purchase more books. Her sisters’ stomachs depended on it.
“By the way, has anyone seen Crafty? She wasn’t yowling at me while I prepared the meal tonight,” Mrs Poole said.
“Mr Yates let her out onto the High Street,” Estelle said.
“Oh dear,” Mrs Poole said. “In that case, I’d be adding several more books to his pile and demanding immediate payment. Sure as night follows day, that cat will deliver more kittens in due course.”
Louise said, “I’m surprised you haven’t found a treatment for that, Bernadette.”
The youngest Baxter sister shook her head and said, “Have you tried getting herbs into a cat? It’s like Hercules wrestling the Nemean lion!”
The room filled with much-needed laughter.
The day dawned brightly through the open window next to Estelle’s bed. The daily bustle from outside was her alarm clock. Estelle rose early and dressed for work. At the foot of the stairs she checked the hessian and realised it hadn’t been shredded because Crafty was still missing. Just in case the cat had returned, she checked for eviscerated mice behind the counter.
No bodies, which was a good thing because it was one less mess to clean up. Alas, it did provide yet more evidence that Crafty had spent the entire night at liberty and had not come home through Estelle’s bedroom window.
She pulled open the front door and scanned the length of the street. Horses were being walked by grooms, and a stagecoach pulled in, loaded with people and packages. There was no cat taunting them. Mixed blessings, Estelle sighed to herself.
“There you are,” Louise said from behind. “Any sign of the cat?”
“Alas,” Estelle said with another sigh.
“Hope she comes back soon. I heard mice in the ceiling last night.”
They both shuddered in unison.
It was as if the mice had their own gossip network and spread the word whenever Crafty took one of her unauthorised leaves of absence.
“I’m off to the tanners for new leather for the books Lord Ferndale needs repaired,” Louise said, “I don’t suppose I’ll be able to pay them at the same time?”
“There might be enough,” Estelle said, leading her sister back into the shop and closing the door behind them. She searched the small tins behind the counter and counted various coins. “How much do you think it will be?” It was starting to look scant already. She’d come home with Lord Ferndale’s payment for his rare book, but she hadn’t taken an advance on the books he wanted repaired. Well, she hadn’t needed to, he reliably paid upon delivery.
But lately, it felt as if money had wings and flew out the door faster than it came in. She sighed, beginning to stack coins to make up the total Louise had named.
“The tanner is generous with terms, I can ask if we could pay him once Mr Yates pays for those books,” Louise suggested.
Yet another reason to ask for Felix to buy more books. Being pushy with sales was something that never sat comfortably with her. Her father had never had those kinds of qualms. Why should he? He was a man running a business. The sisters had always been in the shop, of course, but it was their father who’d mostly handled the money.
“No, you need more leather. No leather, no bound books, no money coming in. Here you are.”
“Estelle?” Louise looked thoughtful as she picked up the coins and put them into her pocket.
“Yes?”
“Why are you running a shop when you hate asking people for money?”
“Do I really?” she asked back.
“Yes. You do. Bernadette has no trouble at all, by the way. She asks for money or payment in kind up front with the herbs.”
“She does?” Goodness, how daring!
“And they pay her, those who can. Not much, mind, but they do pay. Maybe ask her for money for any other due accounts. She might have some put by.”
Louise headed upstairs and Estelle stood there in the shop giving herself a stern talking to. She had to be more forthright asking for money, no matter how uncomfortable it made her. The rest of the family relied upon her! And Bernadette was rarely paid in coin, no matter what Louise said. Estelle was well aware that at least half the produce on their table had been provided to Bernadette from folks who hadn’t cash to spare, but could give a few potatoes or a fish they’d caught in the river.
Well, Estelle would start with Mr Yates. Yes, he’d be her first triumph. She retrieved the books she’d put back last night, and selected a couple more along the same vein. Then she added up the total, made a small note and wrapped them all in some string, ready to hand over when he should return.
“Post for you, Miss Baxter.” Mr Thomas, the head porter from the Red Lion, poked his head in the door.
“Parcels?”
“No, just some letters.” Mr Thomas put them on the counter and looked about. “Is Mrs Poole about this morning?” he asked in a too-casual voice.
Estelle hid a smile behind the letters as she picked them up. Mr Thomas’ unrequited adoration for Mrs Poole was something of a standing joke for the Baxters. The housekeeper bore their gentle teasing in good part, though Estelle sometimes wondered if Mrs Poole had the freedom to do as she pleased, whether she would have encouraged the ostler’s suit. Mr Thomas made more money than one might have expected, tips from well-heeled travellers lining his pockets to the extent that he owned a little cottage a few streets away.
“I’m sorry, Mr Thomas, she went out early. Perhaps you’ll see her walking back a little later.”
“Per’aps,” Mr Thomas said, drooping a little. “Well. You ‘ave a good day now, Miss Baxter. If
any rich gentry come along, I’ll be sure to tell them to come and buy books!”
“I appreciate that, Mr Thomas.” A thought struck Estelle. “You can tell Mr Yates to come in and pay for the ones he chose!”
“Mr Yates?”
“The tall blond gentleman who helped carry the books in when that crate broke the other morning.”
“Oh, ‘im. Ain’t seen ‘im.”
“He didn’t stay at the Red Lion last night?”
“No, Miss Baxter.” Thomas shook his head, before touching his cap and taking himself off.
“Well. Mr Yates must have ridden back to Ferndale Hall in the dark.” Estelle shook her head. “Silly man.” She hadn’t seen much of a moon last night. It would be one thing to travel that road after dark in a carriage well hung-about with lamps, but quite another for a man alone on a horse! “I hope he didn’t break his fool neck,” she murmured, finding her letter-opener and beginning to open the letters. All three were from regular clients, asking that she look out for particular books for them; Estelle made a face as she read down the lists. Very rare and expensive books, which would be helpful for their business. Unfortunately none of them were in stock.
They kept a ledger of the books to keep an eye out for, and the clients who were looking for them. Dipping a quill, Estelle carefully transcribed the details from the letters, sanding the ink to dry before setting her quill down.
The shop bell tinkled, and she glanced up, smiling as she saw a familiar face. Young Ruth Millings, the vicar’s daughter, a sweet girl who loved to read and often stopped by the bookshop. Her father was very strict and gave her no pin money whatsoever, so the Baxters had long since begun allowing Ruth to read whatever she wished in the shop in exchange for her helping out with some small tasks.
“Good morning, Miss Baxter,” Ruth said in a cheerful but quiet voice, taking off her bonnet. “What can I do?”
“Some dusting, perhaps, and the floor needs sweeping,” Estelle said, thinking that wouldn’t take too long and then Ruth would be able to find a quiet corner and sit down with whatever book she wished to read.
“I passed by the printer’s shop on my way here and Mr Black asked me if I’d give you this.” Ruth handed over a piece of paper, folded over and a drop of wax added on the fold to seal it.
Estelle winced on the inside as she took the paper, but she kept her expression unconcerned as she nodded to Ruth. “Thank you so much.”
Ruth collected a duster from under the counter and disappeared back among the shelves, humming softly to herself. Estelle waited until she was out of sight before cracking the seal on the note from the printer.
“Eek,” she muttered as she stared down at the kindly-worded note and the distressingly large sum written at the bottom of the paper; the total amount Baxter’s owed to the printer.
A large proportion of Baxter’s daily income came from the sale of periodicals and pamphlets printed locally. The printer had to be paid, or the bookshop simply wouldn’t have the goods to sell. Goods that people wanted.
“You look worried.” A voice startled her, and Estelle gasped and dropped the note. Marie stood in front of the counter, brows raised. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Quite all right.” Estelle picked up the note and held it out to her sister.
Marie pushed her glasses up her nose and read the note, pursing her lips. “Gosh. Twenty-two pounds. That’s a lot of money.”
“And I just gave most of what we had to Louise to pay the tanner,” Estelle said glumly. “Even if she gets all those books Lord Ferndale wants bound up and we deliver them straight away, the payment still won’t cover the whole bill.”
Marie hummed thoughtfully, coming around the counter and pulling the accounts ledger from the stack. “How much did you give Louise?”
“Four pounds and eight shillings,” Estelle said, watching as Marie took the quill and wrote in the amount.
“If only Father hadn’t borrowed quite so much money to take to France with him,” Marie murmured, and Estelle nodded in agreement. Matthew Baxter had good reason for doing so, of course; they quite understood that the current instability in France meant cash upfront was the only payment many people would accept. Purchasing rare books, not to mention his travel costs, would not be cheap. But the loan had left his daughters in a precarious position, needing to generate constant income to pay not only the bookshop’s regular bills but also keep up payments on the bank loans.
“I think we can find about half of it now,” Marie said at last, lifting her head from the ledger. “If they’d accept a partial payment, with the promise to pay in full once Lord Ferndale pays for his order.”
“I’m sure they would,” Estelle said in relief. “They are always very obliging, and we do put so much business their way.”
“Without us, I’m not sure they’d have a business,” Marie said dryly. “I’ll gather up the money and get Bernadette to take it around. The printer’s son is quite sweet on her.”
“He’s fifteen!” Estelle said, amused.
“Doesn’t stop his eyes from being out on stalks whenever Bernadette smiles in his direction.” Marie shut the ledger with a snap. The bell tinkled and two ladies came in, coming straight to the counter to ask if the latest fashion magazines had arrived from London. Estelle tried not to leap out of her seat to assist them.
“Certainly, Mrs Pharell, Miss Johnson! Right this way.”
The day passed much as days usually did in the bookshop, with a steady trickle of customers spending small amounts. Bernadette went out to drop off the payment to the printer and came back with the good news that the printer was happy to wait until the end of the month for the rest.
“It’s the twenty-second,” Estelle said, counting rapidly on her fingers. “And there are only thirty days in June, so that’s… eight days.”
“By which time Mr Yates will have paid for that lovely pile of books and Louise will have finished her commission for Lord Ferndale,” Bernadette said cheerfully. “So we’ll have the money!”
“For that bill,” Estelle muttered gloomily as Bernadette took herself off again. She mustered a thin smile as the door opened and a well-dressed lady and gentleman entered. Taking a short break while their horses were changed, Estelle guessed, assessing the value of their clothes with a single comprehensive glance. She smiled more welcomingly.
“Good afternoon sir, madam! Welcome to Baxter's Fine Books. Is there anything I may assist you with today?”
It transpired that the couple were commencing a long journey to Scotland to visit family, and both had left London without adequate reading material. Estelle was delighted to help the lady to a selection of Minerva Press novels, and the gentleman to an expensively bound copy of Warner’s History of the Rebellion and Civil Wars in Ireland , though from the amount of input the gentleman had into his wife’s selection of novels, she rather thought the history might remain untouched during their travels. The couple paid a little over four pounds for their haul of books without quibbling or asking for a discount, and Estelle wrapped the parcel for them with a happy smile and many well-wishes for their travels.
“Well, that makes the day rather better,” she murmured, re-counting the coins and banknotes before noting the sale in the ledger. She cast an annoyed look at the large pile of books still sitting on the counter, awaiting the return of Mr Yates.
“He’s probably not coming back at all,” Estelle said loudly.
“Who, Miss Baxter!”
Estelle nearly jumped out of her skin, she’d forgotten Ruth was in the shop. “Good grief, you startled me! I didn’t realise you were still here.” Hand over her wildly thumping heart, Estelle studied the younger girl. Ruth Millings was only fourteen, but she was quite the prettiest creature Estelle had ever seen, with wheat-gold curls, wide blue eyes and a heart-shaped face.
“I do beg your pardon, Miss Baxter. I was reading.” A light flush rose on Ruth’s lovely face. “I just heard the clock chime four o’clock, though, I had best be off home.”
“Indeed. Thank you for your help,” Estelle said, though she didn’t think Ruth had done much. Probably sequestered herself in a quiet corner with one of the novels from the circulating shelf. Poor girl. Ruth’s father was so strict he wouldn’t even allow her a subscription to their small circulating library, and allowed only the occasional purchase of a book he considered to be “sufficiently improving” to his daughter’s mind. These were usually some deadly dull sermons or treatises on why women were born to be subservient to men.
Estelle locked the bookshop door after Ruth left, extinguished the lamp and made her way up the stairs to join her sisters. Dinner tonight was vegetable soup, from the smell of it, probably mostly potatoes and carrots from their own garden with an onion or two and a handful of herbs to at least make it a little less bland. Estelle fingered the money in her pocket, the money the well-heeled couple had paid for their books, and figured that they could at least pay the butcher and get some meat for tomorrow night’s dinner.
She opened her mouth to tell the others about the sale, but Mrs Poole spoke first. “At least we’ll dine better tomorrow night, my dears.”
Estelle blinked in confusion as her sisters all nodded in sage agreement.
“I beg your pardon?” she said.
“The Assembly!” Bernadette paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth, staring at Estelle. “The Midsummer Assembly? It’s tomorrow night?”
“Midsummer’s Day was yesterday,” Marie noted pedantically, “but they decided to hold the Assembly on Friday night.”
The Midsummer Assembly was a Hatfield tradition. Estelle had missed the last two years, away with her father on book-buying expeditions, and hadn’t thought much of the ones before that which she’d attended. They were jolly occasions, and there was dancing, but her chances of forming any attachments had always been slim. Hatfield simply didn’t have that many people. Looking around at the excited anticipation on her sisters’ faces, she hated to dampen their joy, but… “We don’t have suitable dresses,” she said.
“Of course we do!” Bernadette actually laughed. “Miss Yates sent over some of hers weeks and weeks ago. You’ve been too busy, but we altered one for you.”
The sneaky old dear! Estelle had thought Miss Yates was being overly generous, and hadn’t mentioned the clothes again at breakfast, hoping they would be forgotten. All this time, she’d already sent them!
It wouldn’t be difficult to make a dress for her, as she and Marie were almost identical in height and form. It was so kind of her sisters to make an extra dress.
She thought of another objection. “There’s a cost. Two shillings a head, isn’t it? We really can’t afford it!”
“My dear, it’s not a choice.” To her surprise, Mrs Poole interrupted the conversation. “The funds go to benefit the Hatfield Poor Society, and I’m on the committee. I must go, and it will look very odd if I don’t bring you girls along with me. I’ll pay, if you are so tight for funds…”
“Absolutely not.” Estelle could not possibly allow Mrs Poole to pay for them. They paid her , not the other way about. Oh, if only her father hadn’t borrowed quite so much money!
And if only he was able to send crates of books home more regularly!
Reluctantly, she put her hand into her pocket, drew it out and placed the little pile of coins and banknotes on the table. “A couple came into the bookshop today, and bought several books. I suppose we could use a little bit of the money to attend…”
“Will your Mr Yates be there?” Bernadette asked.
Heat stole through Estelle’s face. Mr Yates was not ‘hers’ at all, but if she pointed that out it would only bring on another round of teasing. She managed an, “I am not sure,” and hoped the matter would quickly die.
Mrs Poole spoke up, “Miss Yates will be there, of course. She started the committee. And Lord Ferndale is a patron, so he’ll be there. I’m confident young Mr Yates will be in attendance.”
Bernadette’s eyes shone brightly as she turned to Estelle. “You must dance with him at least twice. It shall be a jolly scandal!”
Feeling cheeky, Estelle said, “I suppose if I danced with him four times, the town would never hear the end of it!”