own fault.”
Miss Jones sank onto a stool. “Why didn’t anyone tell me about this lease situation when I bought Hodgepodge?”
“They probably didn’t want you to know,” Mr. Redmond said. “Either that, or they’d forgotten themselves. As I said, this lease renewal is long overdue. Thankfully, someone brought it to the attention of the proper authorities.”
“Someone?”
“I’ve no idea who,” he said. “All I know is that it’s true. Dreare Street is in arrears.”
“Everyone is?” Captain Arrow asked.
Mr. Redmond nodded. “Everyone. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must finish alerting the neighborhood.”
“Don’t let us keep you,” Otis said.
Mr. Redmond brushed by him, and Otis shrank back. When the man left, he pulled out a handkerchief. “Excuse me.” He buried his face in the floral fabric. “I’ve got to recuperate.”
He gave a loud sob, threw open the door to the back corridor, and ran to his room.
Stephen saw Jilly’s face was pale when she stared at the paper in her hand and then slowly folded it into a tiny square.
“Will you be all right?” he asked her.
“I think so,” she returned stoutly, but he saw her fingers tremble. “What will you do?”
“I’ll have to pay it. I can’t afford to have someone else come in and take the land from me. Then I’d not be able to sell the house. They could pull it down, do what they want with it. I’d be left with nothing. Nothing but my pension.”
Miss Jones took a breath. The air was heavy between them.
“You’re afraid of something,” he said. “Something that happened before you got this news.”
Her full, rose-pink lips thinned. “Why would you say such a thing?”
He shrugged. “Because you let your guard down at the theatrics. The difference between that woman and the bookshop Miss Jones is remarkable. And when Mr. Redmond walked in, Otis was about to clock him with his shoe—and he didn’t even know who the man was.”
“That’s silly,” she said with a sniff, and played at stacking books on a table. “Otis is eccentric.”
Stephen watched her attempt to appear relaxed. But she couldn’t do it. Her knuckles were white.
“And as for me at the theatrics,” she went on, “I told you, I realize there’s a time and a place for fun, and that night was one of those times.”
He reached out, pried her hands off the books, and grasped her fingers. “I want to know everything about you.” Her hands were so small and delicate in his. “Tell me.”
She pulled her hands back, and her dark brows lowered dangerously. “That wouldn’t be appropriate, Captain.” Her voice was cool—although he sensed fear in it, too. “I’ll see you tomorrow when you’re able to work on the ledge.”
“Very well,” he said.
She was a terrible liar. She was in trouble. She’d been afraid of Mr. Redmond for her own reasons, and he was determined to find out why.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“It’s time to get serious about selling books,” Jilly said to Otis over supper that night. “We need money, and quickly.”
He paused, his fork in the air. “I hate to suggest this, but perhaps you shouldn’t have me selling the books.”
Good. He’d finally realized what she’d known all along. “Yes, well, we both know a female shopkeeper is anathema to some people,” she said. “Then again, so is a man who wears the kinds of shoes you do.”
She grinned and looked down at his feet. Today he had on turquoise slippers, each adorned with a single, short peacock feather on top. They were absolutely shameless.
“The point is,” Otis said, looking up from admiring his footwear, “I’m too emotionally attached to the books. I thought I adored only shoes, but the books—they’re like my children, too, even the ones I haven’t read. Their covers are grand, their pages smell sweet—in a musty, bookish way—and their titles are enchanting. Candide . Don Kicks Oat .”
“Don Kicks Oat?”
“You know, the one
Miss Jones sank onto a stool. “Why didn’t anyone tell me about this lease situation when I bought Hodgepodge?”
“They probably didn’t want you to know,” Mr. Redmond said. “Either that, or they’d forgotten themselves. As I said, this lease renewal is long overdue. Thankfully, someone brought it to the attention of the proper authorities.”
“Someone?”
“I’ve no idea who,” he said. “All I know is that it’s true. Dreare Street is in arrears.”
“Everyone is?” Captain Arrow asked.
Mr. Redmond nodded. “Everyone. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must finish alerting the neighborhood.”
“Don’t let us keep you,” Otis said.
Mr. Redmond brushed by him, and Otis shrank back. When the man left, he pulled out a handkerchief. “Excuse me.” He buried his face in the floral fabric. “I’ve got to recuperate.”
He gave a loud sob, threw open the door to the back corridor, and ran to his room.
Stephen saw Jilly’s face was pale when she stared at the paper in her hand and then slowly folded it into a tiny square.
“Will you be all right?” he asked her.
“I think so,” she returned stoutly, but he saw her fingers tremble. “What will you do?”
“I’ll have to pay it. I can’t afford to have someone else come in and take the land from me. Then I’d not be able to sell the house. They could pull it down, do what they want with it. I’d be left with nothing. Nothing but my pension.”
Miss Jones took a breath. The air was heavy between them.
“You’re afraid of something,” he said. “Something that happened before you got this news.”
Her full, rose-pink lips thinned. “Why would you say such a thing?”
He shrugged. “Because you let your guard down at the theatrics. The difference between that woman and the bookshop Miss Jones is remarkable. And when Mr. Redmond walked in, Otis was about to clock him with his shoe—and he didn’t even know who the man was.”
“That’s silly,” she said with a sniff, and played at stacking books on a table. “Otis is eccentric.”
Stephen watched her attempt to appear relaxed. But she couldn’t do it. Her knuckles were white.
“And as for me at the theatrics,” she went on, “I told you, I realize there’s a time and a place for fun, and that night was one of those times.”
He reached out, pried her hands off the books, and grasped her fingers. “I want to know everything about you.” Her hands were so small and delicate in his. “Tell me.”
She pulled her hands back, and her dark brows lowered dangerously. “That wouldn’t be appropriate, Captain.” Her voice was cool—although he sensed fear in it, too. “I’ll see you tomorrow when you’re able to work on the ledge.”
“Very well,” he said.
She was a terrible liar. She was in trouble. She’d been afraid of Mr. Redmond for her own reasons, and he was determined to find out why.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“It’s time to get serious about selling books,” Jilly said to Otis over supper that night. “We need money, and quickly.”
He paused, his fork in the air. “I hate to suggest this, but perhaps you shouldn’t have me selling the books.”
Good. He’d finally realized what she’d known all along. “Yes, well, we both know a female shopkeeper is anathema to some people,” she said. “Then again, so is a man who wears the kinds of shoes you do.”
She grinned and looked down at his feet. Today he had on turquoise slippers, each adorned with a single, short peacock feather on top. They were absolutely shameless.
“The point is,” Otis said, looking up from admiring his footwear, “I’m too emotionally attached to the books. I thought I adored only shoes, but the books—they’re like my children, too, even the ones I haven’t read. Their covers are grand, their pages smell sweet—in a musty, bookish way—and their titles are enchanting. Candide . Don Kicks Oat .”
“Don Kicks Oat?”
“You know, the one
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