Chapter Five
“Oh, this is a lovely room,” Mrs. Ellis clapped her hands with glee. “You’ve done a wonderful job, Mina.”
I had to agree. Yesterday, after he sheepishly came out of hiding and forgave me, Quoth and I finished flipping the bookshelves around to create more space and arranged the most comfortable chairs in a semicircle in the bay window. A table with ornate legs held a tray and kettle. I’d managed to locate enough un-chipped teacups and saucers in the guys’ flat. I even created a banned books display featuring some other censored titles we have in stock –The Picture of Dorian Gray, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Handmaid’s Tale, Harry Potter.Alongside it, I added two of Quoth’s smaller paintings and a selection of my book art – origami shapes and hollowed books I’d made from discarded stock that Heathcliff had reluctantly allowed me to sell in the shop.
Mrs. Ellis admired one of my hollowed books, trying to see if her hip flask would fit inside the velvet-lined compartment, when Greta bustled in carrying platters of sandwiches and pastries. She arranged them on the table, placing a single plate in front of the wingback chair.
“Mrs. Scarlett has specific dietary requirements,” Greta explained when I asked about the plate. “She’s been very sick lately with an upset stomach, so she’s on a detox diet. Gluten free, egg free, dairy free. I’ve made special versions of all the treats here for her.”
“Thank you so much, Greta. You’re a genius. Hey,” I had an idea. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for the book club?”
Greta shook her head. “No, no, I’ve got so much work to do at the bakery. And my English is not good enough to read the books so fast. But thank you, perhaps another time.”
She hurried off. I watched her go, feeling like I should go after her and say something else. She was around my age, and like all Germans I knew, her English was flawless, even better than mine. Working all day and night in that bakery… I never saw Greta with an assistant. She must be lonely, especially since people in the village could be unfriendly to outsiders.
Footsteps creaked over the floorboards and Brenda Winstone entered, wearing a long floral cardigan over a pair of tan trousers. “Is this the place? Oh, look at those lovely sandwiches!”
Mrs. Ellis bustled over to introduce us. “Mina, this is my cousin, Mrs. Brenda Winstone.”
“We met yesterday,” I smiled. “Hello again. How are your charges liking their books?”
Mrs. Winstone’s kind face fell. “I’m afraid I won’t have a chance to ask them. I’ve—I’ve been replaced as youth group leader.”
Mrs. Ellis stared in shock. “But why? You’re the best thing to ever happen to those children.”
Mrs. Winstone sniffed. “One of the dears told that nasty Dorothy Ingram I was in the banned book club and took the youth group to this shop, and that little Billy Bartlett had his fingers smashed and the parents were making trouble. Dorothy got the church committee behind her, and they forced me to resign as the youth group coordinator.”
“I’m so sorry!” I cried, thinking it must’ve been one of the kids overhearing my words. “I didn’t mean to get you fired!”
“Heavens no, Wilhelmina, dear. It’s not your fault.” Mrs. Winstone picked up a sandwich and took a huge bite. “Dorothy’s wanted me out for years – she finally had the perfect excuse. I’m trying not to let it bother me, but I’m sure we don’t want to bring down the meeting with my sad news. Thank you so much for the use of your shop. The room is absolutely beautiful.”
“It’s Mina, actually,” I smiled. “And I don’t own the shop. I just work here. I loved the idea of a Banned Book Club, so I convinced my boss to let us host the event. You can use this room as often as you like.”
“Well, it’s marvelous. Simply a magical place. Say, do you have a children’s story time?” Mrs. Winstone beamed, her rosy cheeks glowing an even deeper red. “I love helping children to read, and I’m certain I could find a lovely tale that would satisfy the parents, too—”
“After your neglect nearly cost poor Billy his fingers, there’s not a parent in this village who’ll trust their children with you,” a cold voice from behind her said.
I glanced up at the elegant young woman who’d just entered the room, her blonde hair perfectly in place and a mink stole hanging around her narrow shoulders, just low enough to reveal an impressive necklace of clustered diamonds and rubies around her neck. She swept past us in a cloud of cloying perfume and settled herself on the end of the chaise lounge, placing both hands on her rounded stomach and peering up at Mrs. Winstone with a smug expression.
“Hello, Brenda, Mabel,” she purred.
“Ginny,” Mrs. Winstone said, her voice clipped.
“Hello, dear. How is the baby?” Mrs. Ellis sat down beside this newcomer, Ginny, and touched her stomach.
“He’s perfect. We’ve just had our latest scan and the doctor says he’ll be strong and healthy, just like his father.” Ginny picked up one of the teacups and held it up to the light, frowning at the pattern.
“These aren’t Royal Doulton,” she pursed her lips.
“Nope,” I said, already disliking this posh bitch. I picked up a cupcake and took a big, messy bite. “But they hold liquid, which is the important thing, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I… I think I’ll go find myself a seat,” Mrs. Winstone whispered. She hurried off to take a place on one of the armchairs, as far from Ginny as it was possible to be while still remaining in the circle, and piled sandwiches and cakes onto her plate.
“What’s up with those two?” I whispered to Mrs. Ellis as Ginny and Mrs. Winstone glared at each other across the cake stand.
“That’s Ginny Button,” Mrs. Ellis whispered. “She’s unmarried, with a long string of lovers. She loves rubbing Brenda’s nose in the fact that she’s pregnant.”
“Oh, no.”
