“No one knows, but it has been passed down for generations. All the schoolchildren know it.” Mr. Khan shook his head. “Everything it predicted has come to pass. Crops have mysteriously withered, livestock perished. Businesses have closed, one by one. Take Hatcherds, for instance. When I first opened, I had eight full bookcases, and volumes were flying off the shelves. Now?” He shrugged. “If things don’t improve, I shall have to close the store for good.”
She couldn’t bear to see him lose hope. Or for the village to lose its only source of books. Who would want to live in such a place then?
“Curse or no curse, there must be a way to turn things around,” she said.
“I am open to suggestions.” Mr. Khan peered at her hopefully.
She gnawed on her lip, surveying the shop. “Perhaps you could spruce up the place?”
He snorted. “If I had the money for that, I’d retire, and devil take the shop.”
“It wouldn’t require funds to make the space more inviting.” If there was one thing she was good at, it was making do with whatever she had. “If you have a spare rug and pair of chairs at home, they would make that empty corner cozier, don’t you think? It might encourage customers to come in and stay awhile.”
“That is a capital idea, Mrs. Wood. I might have a few things upstairs.” His excitement fizzled. “But my rheumatism makes it difficult to carry much.”
She couldn’t leave the elderly fellow to his own devices. The project was her idea, after all.
“I’ll help,” she offered.
As it turned out, Mr. Khan had more than a “few things” in his upstairs flat. He had a veritable museum of interesting objects he’d collected during his youthful travels. She learned that he’d once been asepoyemployed by the East India Army. Disillusioned by the shabby and inequitable way Indian officers were treated, he left the army and voyaged around India before making his way to England.
He'd brought a treasure trove of goods from his native land. Fascinated, Xenia learned about a pipe with a long stem called ahookah, andoohed andaahed over an exquisite silk garment called asari, which had belonged to Mrs. Khan. From a crammed storage room, she helped him unearth a blue rug decorated with vines and birds, a pair of carved rosewood chairs, and a small table. With her fledgling housekeeping skills, she polished up the items and arranged them in the shop. Mr. Khan also found a box of unused stationery items that he put out for sale.
It was nearing dusk by the time Xenia emerged from Hatcherds. Although she had missed afternoon tea at the Leaning House, she was stuffed to the gills because Mr. Khan had insisted on feeding her. The meal of curry, rice, and sweets spiced with cardamon and honey was one of the tastiest she’d ever had. At the doorstep, she returned her host’s grateful thanks with her own.
“With any luck, our work will bear fruit,” she said cheerfully. “I’m told the mop fair will bring an influx of visitors.”
“We can hope, Mrs. Wood.” Mr. Khan scrutinized the darkening streets. “It’s getting late. Are you certain you won’t allow me to escort you home? It isn’t safe for a young lady to walk alone.”
She was touched that Mr. Khan considered her a lady, but she’d lived in far more dangerous places than Chuddums. She could protect herself…better than he could, at any rate.
“I’ll be fine,” she reassured him.
“Be sure to avoid the east end of the village,” he warned. “The riffraff gather at the docks.”
After giving her promise, she set off for Bottoms House. At the deserted village green, she noted the huge shadow cast by the lifeless tree, its canopy of darkness cloaking the monument to Langdon Pearce. Shivering, she instinctively steered clear.
“Mary, dearie! Is that you?”
Xenia turned to see Alice Jenkins, a fellow employee of the Nunnery, heading toward her. A willowy blonde with plush lips, Alice was the brothel’s most popular whore. She was a prima donna, yet she had been nice to Xenia—or Mary Smith, rather, the alias Xenia used at the brothel—and generously shared tips of the trade with her. Xenia had put Alice’s knowledge to use in her stories.
“What are you doing here?” Xenia exchanged air kisses with her colleague. “I thought you’d gone to live with family in Cookham.”
“Iwasstaying with my aunt until her husband wanted more than money for rent.” Alice rolled her eyes, as if such despicable behavior was to be expected. “Now I’ve need o’ a place to stay until the Nunnery is up and running. As a matter o’ fact, I’ve a lead on lodgings in Chudleigh Crest…say, you wouldn’t be interested in sharing with me? The room is large enough for two.”
“It sounds lovely, but I’ve found a place,” Xenia said.
“Where?”
“Um, nearby.”
Xenia didn’t want to disclose more than necessary. Gossip had a way of traveling. The last thing she wanted was for Lord Ethan to discover that she worked at the Nunnery.
Alice wrinkled her nose. “You couldn’t pay me to live here.”
Xenia felt oddly protective of the village. She liked the residents she’d met. While they had their quirks, they were also accepting of others’ foibles in a way she found charming.
“I find Chuddums to be quite respectable,” she said stiffly.
