Page 13

A be had hoped to slip out the door this morning without being intercepted by his housemate. Freddy, however, caught him at the mirror next to the door, where he was quite simply checking his appearance for a moment before walking outside.

“Why are you preening?” Freddy had asked immediately, leaning against the stair railing and crossing his arms over his chest. “Off to meet someone special?”

“Preening,” Abe had muttered without looking over, attempting to pat a stubborn cowlick of his sandy hair into place in the mirror. “Please.”

The truth was, he’d barely stopped himself from barreling straight out the door when Millie Yardley’s letter had arrived this morning. It was only upon passing this very mirror and seeing the state of himself that he’d changed tack and run upstairs to find something more presentable to wear.

All the windows in the house were open today because of the early summer heat, and Abe had lost even more precious minutes dousing himself with cool water from his washbowl to ensure he didn’t arrive for this meeting drenched in sweat.

“And you’re going out with your collar open!” Freddy continued, his even, white teeth shining like a beacon from his gloating smile. “What a harlot you are. Who is it, hm? A pretty client? An opera singer you met the night I sent you to the King’s Theatre? Oh! A criminal temptress?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Bentley. Considering the company I’ve kept lately, it’s probably your mother,” Abe snapped, which, unfortunately, only made the other man laugh.

“My mother would devour you whole, Murphy.”

Abe narrowed his eyes and turned to face his antagonizer. “I refuse to be criticized by a man who spends most of his recent days wearing a frilly apron over his shirtsleeves.”

“My apron isn’t frilly,” Freddy replied easily. “Though I’m sure Mrs. Harrison would teach me if I had a mind to add some ruffles. Would you like that, Murphy? Would it make my observations of your fashion sense more palatable?”

“Freddy, there aren’t enough ruffles in all the world,” Abe replied flatly, and took his leave with the sound of more laughter following behind him.

He checked his pocket for the note, relieved to feel it against the linen lining of his jacket.

He wouldn’t put it past Freddy to go poking around in his study when he wasn’t home, and the idea of that man discovering that Abe was off to meet his sister-in-law was a particularly unpleasant one for reasons Abe couldn’t quite put his finger on.

The message had been a short one.

Dear Abe,

I’ve information you need to hear. Find me on the High Street in Bloomsbury before noon. I do not know exactly where I will be, but I trust you need little help in tracking me down. After all, it is your speciality.

Your friend,

Millie

He smirked to himself. She considered herself his friend, did she? Well, that was certainly progress. Though he would never be satisfied as simply her friend.

A merciful little breeze blew through the avenue as Abe made his way toward Bloomsbury. People were already out and about, likely trying to complete their errands before the day grew any warmer.

There was a scent of honeysuckle in the air, spun into the wind by twirling lace parasols and excitable dogs wagging furry tails on their morning promenades.

What information might the lovely Miss Yardley have for him, he wondered. Surely she was not ready to start informing on her mistress? No, it couldn’t be that, and with nothing else obvious in his mind, Abe found himself tugged along by the irresistible lure of a mystery.

It didn’t take him long to spot her, accompanied by Dot Cain on the steps of a stationery shop opposite a bakery. She was dressed in a pale dove gray today with dark purple beads sparkling against the sunlight and illuminating her lovely pale skin.

He trailed after them at a distance, not yet ready to draw attention to himself. He had hoped to catch Miss Yardley alone, and if he was patient, perhaps she would conclude her business with the other woman.

Her hair was caught up in a matching purple ribbon, its color melting into the dark hues of her hair. He imagined, even from down the street, that she smelled of freshly sliced pears.

The ladies entered the shop, the sound of the bell above the door tinkling into the wind like a lure for Abe to draw nearer.

He sighed as the minutes passed, and he checked his appearance once more in the pane glass of a printing house before resolving to get closer.

He could not see her through the glare bouncing off the windows of the little stationery store, so either he was waiting indefinitely or he was going to have to go in there after her.

The latter was more appealing, he decided, especially given the heat. His impatience, of course, was no consideration at all.

“Could you do morning glories?” Millie asked, leaning over the examples of flowers etched into leather that the shopkeeper had brought out for her. They were, of course, mostly roses, with the odd lily or gardenia interspersed amongst the leaves.

She did not want roses on her new journal.

“Which flowers are those?” the gentleman behind the counter asked, adjusting his monocle. “The little white and yellow ones that grow in fields?”

“Those are daisies,” Dot offered with a little smile. “Morning glories are the purple and blue ones on vines. Actually, there are some growing just down the street at my house. Shall I run and get a sample?”

“Would you?” Millie asked, turning to look at her friend with gratitude. “I would be ever so grateful.”

“Of course! I’ll be back in a tick.”

“I’m afraid I’ve never been much use with botany,” the shopkeeper told her with an apologetic little smile as Dot swept out of the store. “When I was a boy, I once brought my poor mum a bouquet of stinging nettles on her birthday.”

Millie giggled as the man winked with the eye behind the monocle.

The bell above the door gave a second ring, surely too quickly for Dot to have returned with flowers. Millie turned around all the same, ready to praise her friend for her fleet foot, but froze, her heart leaping into her throat at the appearance of a very dashing-looking Abraham Murphy.

“Mr. Murphy!” she managed, her voice thinner than she would have liked. “You’ve found me! I wasn’t expecting you for another hour at least.”

He gave her a crooked little smile, leaning around to catch a glimpse of the cuckoo clock behind the counter before returning those twinkling hazel eyes back to her. “In an hour, I could have found you without any hints whatsoever.”

“I’m sure you could have,” she managed, fully aware she was blushing. “I am just choosing materials for a new journal. Would you like to see?”

“By all means.” He closed the distance between them and leaned over her shoulder, seemingly oblivious to the way his nearness had increased the pace of her heart.

“Mr. Carruthers here has brought out many shades of blue for me to choose from,” she explained, gesturing to the small patches of dyed leather on the counter. “Which do you like?”

“Hm,” he mused, touching some of the samples and hovering over a pale crystal blue. “The lighter ones suit you. This one, I think.”

“That one will showcase the design very nicely,” the shopkeeper agreed. “The darker the color, the harder it can be to see the indentations.”

“Yes, I like it too,” Millie agreed, picking up the sample and holding it up to see it in the sunlight. “You’ve good taste, Mr. Murphy.”

“I know I do,” he replied, making her giggle again.

“Would you like to see our paper options now, Miss Yardley?” the shopkeeper asked, immediately setting off to his task when she nodded.

She let out a sigh as he vanished behind the little door to the rear of the shop, and she turned to face Abe, the little leather sample still gripped in her fingers.

“I don’t think I’ve ever bought a journal so elaborate before,” she told him.

“That’s the first I’ve heard of choosing from different papers!

I imagine he’s got every type imaginable back there. ”

“I don’t think I’ve ever considered that there’s variation in paper, to be honest,” Abe confessed with a chuckle. “But, clearly, that man values his work.”

The chime rang again, startling Millie so much, she jumped away from Abe, dropping the little swatch of leather in the process. Dot had returned with a snipped vine of morning glory, complete with several trumpet blooms and a few of its distinct heart-shaped leaves.

She blinked in surprise at their new guest.

“Mr. Murphy!” she cried, rushing forward and shaking his hand like an old friend. “Why, what a coincidence! What brings you to Bloomsbury?”

Abe shook Dot’s hand with a grin and gestured around at the shop. “There are many things to tempt a man with a little extra to spend in this neighborhood, my dear Mrs. Cain.”

“That is true!” she agreed, setting her vine on the countertop. “I always say Bloomsbury has the best artisans in London. Are you searching for something in particular?”

“Ah, only information, I’m afraid,” he admitted, “though I always keep an eye open for unexpected treasures when I’m on the job.”

Millie gave a little cough, hoping her cheeks were not warming again, and turned her head in relief as Mr. Carruthers returned with his paper samples.

“If only we were having luncheon together today,” Dot was saying as Millie attempted to turn her attention to the paper samples.

“We’ll have to run into one another on another day.

I’ve already promised the afternoon to Silas’s client.

I’m to assist him in finding suitable lodgings for his stay in London.

I hope you don’t find me terribly rude.”

“You? Never,” Abe replied smoothly. “This is the Portuguese fellow? Cresson mentioned the whole affair to me over breakfast last week.”

“This one, please,” Millie said to Mr. Carruthers, tapping a textured, cream-colored paper that reminded her faintly of papyrus. “It’s lovely.”

“Excellent choice. Very sturdy!” Mr. Carruthers said. “I’ll just put this with … where did that color sample get to?”

“Oh!”

Millie knelt down, searching the floor for the little square of fabric, only to find Abe already crouched low himself, holding it out to her with a sparkle in his eyes.

She accepted it, her mouth inexplicably dry, and straightened herself. “I”m afraid I dropped it. My apologies.”

“Oh, never mind that,” Mr. Carruthers said, happy to accept it.

“Those flowers will close up rather fast,” Millie told him, pointing to the vine Dot had brought from outside, “but now you’ll know what to look for if you need another reference piece. As the name suggests, the blooms are most open in the morning hours.”

“Wonderful,” he replied, bending close to look at the detail on the sample.

His cuckoo clock chimed, announcing that it was ten o’clock. The little gray and red bird erupted from behind its wooden door, ensuring that no one in earshot would miss the occasion.

“Oh, isn’t he darling,” Dot observed. “What a wonderful clock. Did you buy it here in Bloomsbury?”

Mr. Carruthers confirmed that indeed he had, which prompted Dot to give a gloating little smile to Abe Murphy.

“See?” she said. “I told you so.”

“You did indeed,” he agreed with a chuckle.

“Ah, but if that is the time, I really must go. Millie, will you be all right for the rest? Mr. Murphy, can you ensure my dearest friend gets home safely?”

Millie flushed, another jolt of her heart nearly knocking her off balance. “Oh, you don’t have to …”

“Of course I will,” he said before she could argue. “It would be my pleasure.”

And just like that, Dot was gone, Abe Murphy was grinning, and Mr. Carruthers was twirling the morning glory vine in his hands.

The shopkeeper sighed and glanced up over the vibrant purple blossoms. “Don’t tell your friend,” he said to them, “but I actually bought that clock on holiday in Germany.”

It had been, all in all, a very unusual morning.