That task accomplished under his amused glance, Beatrice continued, “Nevertheless, nearly anywhere else you go in London, be it a green grocer or even a bookstore, you can find jars of boiled sweets. If you go ten minutes due north, they sell them at every blasted shop on Oxford Street. If you reach the northeast entrance to Hyde Park, you’ve gone too far. If you go twenty minutes due east, they sell them from carts at Covent Garden. If you go farther afield, you can find old women selling them from their kitchen windows in nearly any town or village. I suggest you start looking. Good day!”
Turning heel, Beatrice pushed her way through the blue velvet curtain to the back room, and then she waited. The bell did not tinkle. After a few moments, there was nothing she could do but return to the front. He was in the same position, except farther down the case, hands once more pressed upon the glass.
“May I help you?” she tried again.
He raised his sandy-haired head and shot her his friendly smile. “I would like to try a chocolate. Since I have no idea what I wish to purchase, I will need a sample. What do you suggest?”
That you leave. She desperately wanted to say it out loud.
“I’m very busy,” Beatrice said instead.
He stared at her, then pointedly looked around the otherwise empty shop.
“In the back. I make the treacle toffee,” she mumbled, immediately wishing she hadn’t explained herself to him.
Too late!He grasped onto this fact the way a monkey at the Zoological Gardens grabbed a piece of fruit thrown across the fence.
“Youmake the toffee? You are a Miss Rare-Foure, as you told the other customers before you drove them off, so your family owns this shop. And yet you make the candy yourself?”
“Candy?” she repeated his unusual use of the word, which made her think of candied fruit, not what she made. “I don’t make all of the confectionery, only some.” She would not explain to him the dynamics of her sisters’ contributions. That would encourage him to stay longer and ask more questions.
“Then I would like to sample some toffee, if you please.”
Grinding her teeth, Beatrice approached the shelf with trays of the buttery, sweet, golden confection. Deciding it best to get it over with, she snatched up one of the sample plates, the size of a saucer, and using the tongs, she placed upon it one piece each of the plain, the chocolate-smothered, and the toffee with almonds, then handed it over the counter to him.
He took it graciously, staring down, then brought the plate to his face and sniffed it.
“Smells heavenly, but then, the entire shop does.”
As if a chocolate-scented shop could smell anything other than delicious!She grimaced at the inanity of his remark, then crossed her arms and waited.
He took the piece with nuts first and began to chew.
“Careful,” she said, a little alarmed. “If you have any loose teeth, it’s better to suck on it or let it soften on your tongue first.”
He nodded, too late, with his teeth stuck together.
“Would you have simply chomped down on a boiled sweet?” she asked exasperatedly. “Or would you have sucked it slowly to savor it?”
He shrugged, still working his jaws until he swallowed. “It was delicious, even though nuts are not my favorite.”
Beatrice rolled her eyes. “Then you shouldn’t have eaten it. You could see it had nuts, couldn’t you?”
He nodded again, and she knew she was chastising a customer, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.
“Why don’t you skip the plain one, or slip it in your pocket to eat later” —for all I care— “and try the chocolate-covered one next. Then I’ll fill a bag of whichever one you like. Without nuts or covered in chocolate.”
“What if I want both?” he asked, but he did as she suggested and sampled the piece with Amity’s prized chocolate coating it on all sides.
His eyes widened, which was no surprise because everyone knew chocolate was a divine taste. It always outshone her toffee as far as Beatrice had experienced. She waited what seemed an eternity while the man enjoyed the confections.
“Well?” she prompted at last. “Do you wish to purchase some or not?” Not the dulcet tones Charlotte would have used when trying to make a sale, but the best she could summon.
“Yes, of course. I’ll take half a pound.”
Nodding, she reached for one of their bleached white bags with “Rare Confectionery” stamped upon it in sapphire blue ink. Picking up the tongs again, she went to the tray of chocolate-covered toffee.
“The other one, if you please, ma’am — the plain, no nuts, no chocolate,” he requested, surprising her into hesitating.
