“Mrs. Hafflen,” Felicity persisted. “I am Mrs. Rare-Foure from the confectionery downstairs. Are you well?” she repeated.
The woman’s eyes appeared glassy, unable to look directly at them. Then she turned back to her work at hand where she was stitching two different colors of satin together, an odd and ugly combination, the fabric not lining up properly to make a pillow case.
They waited in silence a moment until the seamstress yanked the fabric from the machine and held it up, close to her face, before she clucked angrily. Then she tossed it to the floor where there were others already strewn in disarray.
“Damn it all!” she swore. “I’ve sewn it closed again. Did you see? There’s no opening for the down.”
Charlotte looked at her mother, who winced.
“Who was that man?” Felicity tried again to get the old woman to tell her what was happening.
“My son. The fool wants me to stop. If only I’d had daughters. Do you have daughters?” she asked.
Charlotte felt her mother startle beside her.How sad!
“Yes,” Felicity said. “Three.”
Mrs. Hafflen sighed. “He said I had made enough pillows for all of England and had piles of money, to boot. He said I had to go live with him. What if I don’t want to? And then who will make the pillows? So I threw my lamp at him, and the bloody fool ducked!”
Charlotte and her mother took another few steps closer. Beside the pillow woman and her untidy pile of cases, there were empty teacups and the remains of a pie.How long had she been sitting there no longer able to ply her craft properly?
“Can we do anything?” Felicity asked. “It’s closing time, after all, and growing dark.”
“Closing time?” the woman repeated before shaking her head. “No, he’s coming back. The dunce!” Then she peered at them. “Who are you, and how did you get in here?”
Charlotte had been silent up until then but drew from her pocket the bag of confectionery she always carried with her in case they met with any children on the walk home, which happened almost every night.
“We came to give you some sweets.”
“Truly?” The woman’s eyes focused for the first time on the bright white bag with the blue shop name. “I haven’t had anything sweet in a donkey’s age.”
Charlotte held it out to her. The woman took it slowly, opened it, and reached in for a chocolate. After inhaling the aroma with closed eyes, Mrs. Hafflen stuffed it into her mouth.
“Oh, that’s good. Very good, indeed! Must be careful not to get any on the fabric,” she muttered, helping herself to another one.
“Do you think her son is really coming back tonight?” Charlotte asked her mother in a whispered voice.
Her mother shrugged. “I hope so. I suppose we shall wait and see.”
“How long?” Charlotte asked.
“At least for a while,” Felicity said. “After all, her son looked to be a determined man, so hopefully he will return. If not, I suppose she shall come home to dine with us.”
Looking around, Charlotte’s mother spied a small cast iron stove, a kettle perched atop. “Let’s see if she has some coal,” Felicity said. “We might as well make a pot of tea.”
JEFFCOAT COULDN’T GET out of Lincoln’s Inn fast enough. His thoughts were far from the dry books that made the law seem boring. When he was in court, even as a student in the moot court, observing, taking notes, it was anything but that.
It had been over a week since he’d last seen Charlotte Rare-Foure, deciding after dropping off Edward Percy that he’d better let the busy Easter week finish before approaching her again.
Charles wished he had a reason to go into the shop besides wanting to see her. He didn’t want Waverly to catch wind of it until a favorable reception from the young woman was assured. And that was the worst of it — Miss Charlotte had given him no inclination of any interest.
Charles was no coward, however. He’d never shied away from approaching a woman to whom he felt an attraction. And he’d never been turned down yet. So why had he then waited another entire week before sauntering along Old Bond Street until it turned into New Bond Street? Moreover, why had he been in two shops next door to Rare Confectionery but not yet made it inside where he hoped Charlotte to be?
Actually, he knew from chatting with Pelham’s wife that Charlotte often opened the store and then left mid-afternoon, letting the snapdragon sister close up shop. Since they were no longer run off their feet with Easter custom, he’d hoped their routine had returned to normal. If so, he ought to be able to intercept her smoothly as she strolled out of the shop.
Except she hadn’t. And he was becoming fidgety. Not only that, he knew he looked suspicious. For the past few minutes, he’d loitered in Finnigans, the luxury luggage and trunk maker, staring out their front windows in case Charlotte went by. He hadn’t even realized he’d picked up a leather satchel until a shop clerk came over to stare at him. Hard. With frowning eyebrows.
Slowly, he set it down, glanced at the stack of wicker picnic baskets, imagining taking Charlotte on a picnic someday soon, and then left the shop. With determination, he walked steadfastly down to the confectionery, not pausing to see who or what was inside. He simply entered, hearing the bell tinkle as he pushed open the door.
