“You are always starving,” Lucy said, gently clasping Theo’s chin in her hand and grinning at him. “Papa should return soon. Tell Mama I will help her as soon as Papa is back.”
Theo turned and dashed through the doorway into a storage area that separated the goldsmith shop from their kitchen. Upstairs, on the second floor, there were two bedrooms and a large sitting room, then the third floor held Theo’s room, Lucy’s bedroom, and another small room they used for additional storage.
After wrapping the brooch in a piece of white linen, Lucy set it inside a small box and tucked it with the receipt into the locked case her father kept beneath the workbench.
Months ago, on a snowy February day, her father had suggested they rearrange the shop to position the workbench near the front window and entry door. Lucy had been sure her father had gone mad. Not only was the workbench in plain view of anyone traipsing up and down the street, but every time the door had opened, the frigid winter air had swirled inside, chilling her to the point she could barely work. Many of those winter days, she had retreated to the kitchen and worked at the table, where she was warmed by the fire.
Now, though, with the slightest hint of a breeze blowing around the workbench, she decided perhaps her father had not gone daft after all, at least in regard to the arrangement of the shop. Nevertheless, his thoughts on liberty were an entirely different matter.
Lucy stood and picked up a cleaning cloth, polishing the already shining glass of their display case that rested on a square oak table in the center of the room, prominently placed to be seen by anyone entering the shop.
Not only did the shop carry jewelry, such as rings, necklaces, bracelets, brooches, and lockets for both everyday and formal occasions, but it also offered buckles for shoes, knees, and neckcloths. They provided a selection of hair combs and pins, as well as an assortment of watches, watch chains, decorative fobs, and keys. Visitors to their shop would also find snuff boxes, thimbles, buttons, cuff links, and toothpick cases.
Because of the state of affairs with Britain, no imports were coming in from England, unless one wished to smuggle them. Most people in town relied on local craftsmen or imports from other countries. Lucy found satisfaction in what she and her family were able to make.
Even though she was forbidden to join the guild and take credit for her jewelry pieces, she drew profound pleasure in creating beauty from raw metal. She had always been fascinatedby her father’s work, and recalled as a tiny child standing on an old wooden keg, watching his hands shape silver or gold into works of wearable art.
Much to her father’s dismay, Theo showed neither interest nor aptitude in the skill. The boy wanted to be a soldier or a farmer. Which one depended on the day.
Lucy grinned, thinking of how much joy the child brought to the Carlson household. She had been the firstborn, but her mother had then lost four babies before Theo had come along—a squalling red-faced infant with a hearty set of lungs and a determination to survive. Two more babies had followed Theo, but they had both died before they were more than a few days old. For the sake of her mother’s health and mental acuity, Lucy hoped no more would come.
The sound of rushed footsteps drew Lucy’s gaze out the window to the cobblestone walk that paralleled the street. A woman near her mother’s age hastened over the cobbles, skirts slightly lifted in her hands, moving so quickly she was almost running. Repeatedly, the woman glanced over her shoulder, as though pursued by a fearsome foe.
Lucy hesitated to step into something that wasn’t any of her concern, but she also didn’t want the woman to feel alone and frightened. Many of the people who frequented High Street were familiar to her, but the woman was a stranger. Lucy had noticed her stroll by an hour or so earlier with a servant walking close behind her, but that had been the first time she had seen the woman in their area.
The woman’s attire—from the fashionable hat on her head to the glimpse of purple satin shoes on her feet—spoke of wealth, yet something about her made her seem approachable.
Decision made, Lucy moved just outside the doorway and smiled. “Would you like to come in?” She waved a hand to motion the woman into the shop.
An expression of relief flew across the woman’s attractive features as she hurried inside, moving to stand with her back to the door, as far away from the window as she could get. Her breath came in gasps, and her face was flushed from the heat and exertion.
Lucy studied the small woman with brown hair peeking from beneath her hat and intelligence in her hazel eyes, wondering what or who had alarmed her.
The woman tugged off the gloves she wore and placed them on the corner of a display table full of rings, then pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of her gown. She glanced around as she dabbed at her face and neck.
“I appreciate the invitation to step inside,” the woman said once her breathing had returned to normal. “I’ve heard this is a place where all are welcome.”
“It is, Missus …”
“Patsy. My friends call me Patsy,” the woman said with an inviting smile.
Lucy couldn’t hold back a grin. “I’ve always thought it to be such a delightful name.”
The woman nodded. “It most certainly is. And you are?”
“Oh, begging your pardon.” Lucy dipped her head politely and felt an urge to curtsy, but refrained. “I’m Lucy. Miss Lucy Carlson. This is my father’s shop.”
“And what a wonderful shop it is. So many lovely things.” Patsy looked around with interest as she stuffed her handkerchief back into her pocket.
At the sound of running footsteps, Lucy moved in front of Patsy, blocking her from view of anyone who happened to glance into the shop through the window or open door. Two men raced by. Only a few moments passed before a third fellow, the one Lucy had seen with Patsy earlier, trailed after them.
A fourth man, standing in the shade of the building across the street, appeared to be keenly observing the proceedings. A sense of unease settled over Lucy when he stared into the shop, as though he intended to peer all the way into her soul.
“Do you require an escort home, Patsy? My father will return shortly.” Lucy pulled her gaze away from the stranger and turned to find Patsy studying the display of rings. Patsy lifted a silver ring set with a large pearl surrounded by tiny diamonds that sparkled in the afternoon light.
“I do not require an escort, but the offer is appreciated, Lucy.” Patsy slid the ring on the middle finger of her right hand, but the ring was too small. She moved it to her ring finger and smiled. “This is exquisite, and I must have it. I shall tell my husband it is a belated gift to commemorate my birthday.”
“Birthday felicitations to you, Patsy. I hope it was a lovely day.”
