She frowned. While she wasn’t absolutely certain, if she understood the layout of the building correctly, there was no way this door could lead anywhere except into a boiler room or some shared passage with the next shop over. So why did she just get such a strong whiff of meadow grass, blowing through those slots? And was that a gleam of daylight eking across the narrow threshold crack?
“Miss Talbot?”
Luna jumped and turned to see Mr. Grimm standing in the kitchen, holding the door open for her. She swallowed, pulled a smile into place, and hastily stepped through. It was a pleasant enough space, boasting an oven that looked like the older, uglier sister of the squat little stove in the front nook. But there was a stainless steel sink, not as large as the trimming sink out in the shop, but serviceable, not to mention a long work table and three tall iceboxes. One for foodstuffs, Luna guessed, two more for shop purposes.
A round, pleasant little person stood at the work table, a covered platter in front of her. She was a woman of comfortable age, sporting a lace cap over her gray pin curls. Her cherry mouth screwed up in a suspicious pout at the sight of Luna, and the wrinkles around her eyes narrowed.
“And what is this then?” she demanded, giving Luna a quick once-over before casting a stern glance her tenant’s way. “You know, Mr. Grimm, I expects certain Moral Character from my lodgers.” Luna distinctly heard the capitals enunciated.
“Oh, of course, Mrs. Goddard!” A red stain sprang to Mr. Grimm’s cheeks, and he took a hasty step away from Luna that would almost be insulting were it not so comical. “This is my . . . my new assistant. For the shop, you know. Miss Luna Talbot.”
“A shop assistant?” Mrs. Goddard echoed, her narrow gaze taking in Luna once more. “You never mentioned a word.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Goddard,” Luna said, remembering all the manners her aunties had long sought to instill in her very bones. She even dropped a neat curtsy, feeling very old-fashioned about it. This seemed to mollify the landlady somewhat. Her face unscrewed slightly, and a slight twinkle revealed the possibility of a good-humored individual behind the Moral Reservations.
“And however did you two meet?” Mrs. Goddard asked.
You’d think he’d just introduced me as his sweetheart!Luna thought, and flushed, surprised at herself for even momentarily entertaining such a silly thought. “I, um . . . I happened to drop in. Yesterday,” she fumbled.
Another narrowing of the eyes. “You were out in that storm?”
“I was looking for work. Mr. Grimm kindly offered me a position.”
“Did he now?” Mrs. Goddard glanced from Luna to Mr. Grimm and back again. Her little mouth quirked slightly to one side. “How very courteous of him.” She gave Luna anotherconsidering look and nodded. “Why yes. Yes, I think you’ll do rather nicely.”
Uncertain how she was meant to answer such a statement, Luna offered another bob of the knees. “I hope so, Mrs. Goddard.”
A sudden smile transformed the good woman’s face into sunbeams. She laughed, a little trilling sound, and lifted the cover of the tray before her. Luna’s nose was assaulted with the robust bouquet of beans and eggs and toast and sausage. She felt as though a cavern had opened up suddenly in the pit of her stomach and hastily pressed both hands to her gut in an effort to stifle any audible groans.
“Eat up then, Mr. Grimm,” Mrs. Goddard said, and bustled across the kitchen, the laces of her little cap trailing behind her. “I’ll fetch the tray back at dinner. In the meanwhile, toodles!”
“Good morning, Mrs. Goddard,” Mr. Grimm answered rather stiffly, seeing her out the back door. He paused to fetch a bottle of milk, which he slipped into one of the three iceboxes. Then, reaching up to straighten a tie which was not present, he grimaced when he found instead only his unfastened collar. He turned to Luna, who met his gaze determinedly, refusing to let herself eye the breakfast tray. But something must have given her away.
“Are you hungry, Miss Talbot?” Mr. Grimm asked.
“Oh, no, not at all!” she lied hastily. “Mrs. Boggs serves breakfast, you know.” No point in mentioning that Mrs. Boggs’s breakfasts consisted mostly of a wish and a prayer.
Mr. Grimm’s gaze flicked from her to the tray again. “I confess,” he said, “I really can’t stand beans and toast. I don’t suppose . . .” He hesitated, his brow puckering slightly. “I couldn’t possibly eat all that this morning. Would you be willing to . . . assist me?”
Luna knew he was being nice. She knew it. And knew as well that she ought to cling to both her pride and her manners and refuse him.
But in that moment, her stomach uttered a tremendous growl. She hastily cleared her throat and spoke loudly, trying to cover for it. “Of course, we wouldn’t want Mrs. Goddard’s feelings to be hurt.”
“Certainly not.” Mr. Grimm pushed the tray across the table toward her. Then he looked down at himself and his mismatched waistcoat buttons and his lack of tie. “I will, erm, just slip upstairs and finish my toilette. When you’ve dined, we’ll continue the tour, shall we?”
He slipped from the kitchen, and Luna pretended for as long as she could that she wasn’t going to fall ravenously on that platter. She lasted all of five seconds before plunking down on the embroidered cushion of a kitchen chair, catching up fork and spoon, and practically inhaling every last bite. Mrs. Goddard’s cooking, while perhaps not the stuff of legends, was an absolute miracle compared to anything Mrs. Boggs ever managed to produce. In fact, Luna was convinced she’d never tasted anything finer than beans on dry toast and suspicious sausage.
Her meal finished, she sat back in the kitchen chair, stomach full for the first time in she couldn’t remember how long, and took another look around the kitchen. It had that pristine cleanliness to it which implied lack of use. The only sign of habitation were the two chipped mugs on the draining rack. The very mugs with which Mr. Grimm had served his—for want of a better word—tea.
Luna eyed those mugs, particularly the one missing its handle: the scrying pool from which she had glimpsed that eerie foretelling.
It was a difficult image to shake. Every time she’d closed her eyes last night, trying to find a comfortable spot on her pillow,she saw again that moment of aggressive amorousness. The way Mr. Grimm clutched that red-haired woman. The way she clutched him back. How their mouths had seemed to consume each other. Having led an almost painfully sheltered life up until recent history, Luna didn’t know what to make of it. The warmth it inspired in her veins certainly didn’t feel appropriate for a Nice Girl such as she was raised to be.
By the time she finally drifted off to sleep, she’d all but decidednotto return to The Arcane Bouquet. It simply wasn’t proper. Not after catching an eyeful of so intimate a moment concerning Mr. Grimm, albeit within the confines of a tea mug.
But come dawn, she’d awakened so very hungry. She’d risen, dressed, made her way down to the dining room, where Mrs. Boggs served up the one meal Luna could afford for the day—a thin oatmeal, without salt, and only a dab of treacle to make it somewhat palatable. Luna had lifted the first spoonful to her mouth and knew, without doubt, she’d be reporting to work at the flower shop that morning. Beggars couldn’t afford to be overly concerned with propriety, it would seem.
So she’d gathered Mr. Grimm’s umbrella (she quite forgot about his handkerchief) and boldly returned to Addle Street. It wasn’t until she stood on the doorstep, knocking forlornly, that the thought occurred to her: Mr. Grimm might not have actuallymeantthe job offer he’d made. He might have simply said it out of politeness or even—and she hated even to think this—fear. Because of the heptagram mark. Perhaps, after he ushered her out into the street yesterday evening, he’d locked the door behind her, intending never to let the wild, windblown sorceress-in-the-making back in.
