She halted her steps and turned to him. “Yours?”
“Mine.”
She dragged up what little she knew of that house. “Years ago it belonged to the Duke of Aylesbury, although it is said he last visited fifteen years ago. Has the current owner finally sold?”
“It was left to me upon the third duke’s death. I have not been able to take residence until now.”
Why not?She bit back the question in favor of one less intrusive. “Are you a relative? Expect to be called on mercilessly by every hostess in Langdon’s End if you are.”
“Perhaps you will let it be known that the house will not be suitable for me to receive callers for some time. Except you, of course, since we are friends.”
Friends now. What charming nonsense. As if she would ever call on a bachelor at his house. She assumed he was a bachelor, if he was the person buying drapes and such.
It seemed a prudent moment to continue walking. She paced along with her escort until they came to a red door. “This shop is owned by Mrs. Fleming. She sells sundries and general wares. I need to take my leave now, so I can purchase some thread.” She held up the muslin by way of explanation.
“Is that for a dress? The pattern favors you. It makes your eyes appear very blue.”
More silly flattery. No one had ever commented on her eyes.
He peered through the window. “I will join you. I see some pots in there.”
Pots.She looked in the window and recognized the ones he now spied. “They even stole your pots? How terrible,” she murmured.
“I am grateful they left the pieces of one bed, so I did not have to sleep on the floor. And one chair and a small table.”
One chair.
Mrs. Fleming, a small, frail woman with graying hair, favored simple dresses, big aprons, and severely bound hair. She did not hide her surprise at seeing Eva walk in with a man. Her eyes grew wide as the dashing appearance of that man became obvious. She flushed to her hairline and pretended to sort through the jars on the counter in front of her.
“Good day, Mrs. Fleming. I need some white thread, if you would be so kind.”
Mrs. Fleming opened a drawer and produced the thread. “Three pence.”
Eva handed her the pennies. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Fitzallen. He owns the old ruin on Thatchers Road. He has taken residence there and needs to replace the items stolen from the house over time. Pots and such.”
She gave Mrs. Fleming a meaningful look, then sent a sharp glance to the pots that had attracted Mr. Fitzallen’s attention. They had appeared in the shop the morning after a day she crossed paths with Mrs. Fleming’s son on the road near the ruined house. He had been carrying a bulky sack on his back.
Mrs. Fleming bit her lower lip. “I’ve pots, sir, but only small ones, and they be used and old. You probably want better.”
“I think they will do for now.”
Glancing at Eva, Mrs. Fleming took them off the shelf and placed them on her counter. “For pots for stews and soups, you’ll be wanting the ironmonger at the edge of town. The whitesmith is out there, too, if you be wanting tin to store flour and such.”
“I will be sure to visit them. Thank you.” He added some knives and eating implements to the pots. He moved on to the lamps and candles, then to the shelves on the other side of the shop that held crockery.
Eva took the opportunity to whisper. “You just sold that man pots that are already his, I think.”
“What was I to do? Bits of that house are all over town. Who expected the owner to turn up after all these years of neglect?” She smiled at Mr. Fitzallen while he filled his arms. “What is a few pots, anyway. It isn’t as if I helped myself tochairs, now is it?” She lowered her head and looked up at Eva.
Eva preferred not to dwell on the chairs. At the time, it seemed to her they would be happier carted off than used for firewood by vagrants. “We must spread the word that those who borrowed from that house must return the items.”
“Unless theysold them, of course. Can’t then, can they?”
No, they couldn’t. She could not return the chairs. But if a line of townsmen brought back borrowed items, she might be able to return that which she had borrowed, too, without it attracting notice.
“I will spread the word, as you must also,” she whispered. “He may be related to a duke, but I think he will turn a blind eye to anyone bringing back his belongings, as long as they do find their way back.”
“Related to a duke! What is he wanting with you? Nothing good, I’ll warrant.”
