The old crone was in the habit of spewing out her requests in half-sentences, knowing I would obey regardless.She also usually got her soap from the inn across the street, where they would leave out free miniature bars for paying customers, of which she definitely was not.
Why she now insisted on soap from Blanche de Clare baffled me.Could it possibly have something to do with the funds she had discussed with the mysterious man?
“Perhaps a closer shop would suffice?”I said to her, deciding not to remark on her sudden taste for luxury.“It’s pouring.”Raindrops splattered the glass of my shopfront, rivulets streaming down the window frame.I hoped the moisture wouldn’t seep in and destroy my display items.
Mrs.Lewis scowled.“And what about it?I need soap before I take my evening bath.Make haste, or I’ll have to increase your rent.My daughter Prilla will be more than happy to take your place if you cannot pay up.”
I stiffened.“There’ll be plenty of time to get soap tomorrow.”
“I think you forget who’s in charge here.”Mrs.Lewis harrumphed and turned, her elbow knocking into a porcelain vase on my counter.It crashed to the floor, shattering into large pieces, as she made her way to the staircase.She glanced over her shoulder.“Oh, and clean that up.”
I glowered at her back as she hobbled into the shadows.
***
“WELCOME TO BLANCHEde Clare, miss,” the shop girl chirped.Her brown hair was smoothed back into a chignon, her olive complexion set off by a seafoam green shirtwaist and a cream skirt that flared out at the hem.Her collar was so bright and starched that it resembled a piece of paper.
That, combined with the dazzling effect of her white smile, was almost too much to bear so early in the morning.
“I’m looking for soap,” I said monotonously, brushing a damp piece of hair from my face.Not even the grandeur of Blanche de Clare could lighten my mood this week after Crown Prince Bennett’s offer.In fact, it made it worse.If I had gotten a spot here, I wouldn’t even be considering the job.
The shop girl nodded.“That would be on the third floor, in the grooming department.Right this way, miss.”
I followed her up the stairs.Seafoam green sconces lined the wall, glowing with an otherworldly luster as we rounded a corner on the third floor.
The grooming department had shelves upon shelves of powders, rouges, and soaps, some wrapped in patterned vellum paper, others in intricately enameled tins.Ivory combs lined the glass displays.Several shoppers were already within, most of them dames dripping in gold and pearls and plumed ostrich feathers.
“I’ll leave you to it,” the shop girl said before gliding off.
I took my time perusing the merchandise.The layout of the department was impeccable: tall, long shelves stocked full of products filled the space, allowing customers to browse the wares in semi-privacy.Just beyond, near the balustrades, was a smattering of round tables where shoppers could take tea or look down at the hustle bustle below.
Mrs.Lewis wanted lanolin soap.Heaven knows her dry skin needed it.I went to the soap shelves near the back, gathering three rose-scented bars neatly wrapped in vellum.
I started for the front counter, ready to ring up my items, until the sudden scuffle of slippers on carpet sounded.
“Quick, look sharp, girls!”someone said.
A shop girl flew past the aisles, her petticoats flaring out behind her.“You’ve got an ink stain on your skirt, Dinah!”
“Heavens, help me rub it out!Does anyone have water?”
“There’s cold tea from this morning,” another girl answered.
Dinah let out a wretched moan.
I rounded the shelf to see a flurry of four girls at the front counter surrounding another—Dinah, I presumed—a freckled blonde with a telltale ink stain beneath the waistband of her smooth cream skirt.
“Can I help?”I asked.
They all turned to me.A flurry of “Oh no, miss!”and “It’s alright, miss!”and “Everything is fine, miss!”came my way.
Dinah was halfway through her protestations when her gaze met mine.I knew what she saw—my golden irises that marked me as a witch.She turned slightly green, but evidently was panicked enough to give me the smallest of nods.
With a flick of my finger, ink separated from the fine wool of her skirt.The dried, dark particles floated in the air for a moment before I directed it at a nearby wastebasket.Relief flooded Dinah’s face—just as someone entered.
It was a man dressed in a crisp teal coat, his waistcoat a soft champagne gold, his cravat the same seafoam as the shop girls’ blouses.And above that, his face...
I didn’t know whether it was the after hum of my magic or the effect of his countenance that was making my blood rush to my head.
