Page 12 of A Bloom for a Blacksmith

“Nothing in particular, ma’am. I merely wish to browse,” he replied, his attention already on the books closest to the front window.

From his accent, Stella knew he was highborn. Probably even an aristocrat. But there was something else about him that had her on alert. A familiar sensation, the soft “buzzing” she felt whenever another Immortal was near. The effect was so subtle, she thought she might be imagining it. “Very good, sir. If you have any questions, please do ask.” She moved to the counter on the other side of the front door and stepped behind it, quickly setting out a receipt ledger, an ink pot, and a fluffy feathered quill.

Pulling a check from the bank book she had stashed on a hidden shelf beneath the counter, she dipped the quill—one meant to match the painting on the shingle above the door—and wrote out the amount of the invoice. When she had the document completed, she handed it over to the carpenter.

“Thank you for this,” Mr. Miller said, holding up the check. “I’ll be back next Monday with another bookshelf.”

“Double-sided, like we discussed,” she reminded him. “With the same carved molding up on top.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Stella nodded as she watched him take his leave. Since the remaining gentleman seemed engrossed in studying the titles on the second set of bookshelves, she moved back to her office to pull on a pair of cotton gloves and collect a carton of books she intended to display on the newly installed bookshelf.

As she pulled each book from the box, she carefully wiped it with a cloth and placed it on a shelf, arranging it by subject and author. These were some of the oldest bound books she owned, their subjects varying from travel to religion, flora and fauna, to philosophy. None were fiction—although she enjoyed reading novels, she hadn’t collected them for nearly as long as the non-fiction books. Although she had read every single one and had, at one time, thought to keep all of them, she was now comfortable with selling those that were not directly related to her own history or that of her husband’s.

“How familiar are you with these books?” the gentleman suddenly asked. He was perusing the titles in the shelves next to the ones she was filling.

“I’ve read…” She paused, realizing no one would believe she had read all of them.

“Many of them.”

“You have quite a collection by Lady Cavendish,” he remarked, apparently impressed.

“Yes. All twenty of them,” Stella replied. “They are all leather-bound and in excellent condition.” She didn’t add that they were first editions, since it was apparent he had already learned that by reading the colophons.

“Might you know… what they’re about?”

Stella placed the last book from the carton onto the shelf and thought for a moment. “Philosophy, scientific works, poetry, there are some plays, too. Quite a significant accomplishment for someone who lived in the mid-sixteen hundreds,” she replied.

He angled his head to one side. “I’ll take them all,” he stated.

Stella gave a start. “Oh! Very good!” She bent down to pick up the empty crate and held it against her front. “Do you have far to go?”

“My coach is out at the curb,” he replied. He began pulling the books from the shelf and setting them into the box. “Perhaps I should be holding the crate,” he suggested.

“Oh, I can manage,” she replied, mentally totaling the book prices as he carefully placed each book into the crate. His purchase not only covered the cost of the new bookshelf, but the cost of the other three she’d had Mr. Miller construct since she had purchased the building two months before.

“Will this be cash or check, sir?” She feared he would request credit, which she loathed. The more well-to-do, the longer they seemed to take to pay the bill.

“I think I have enough bank notes with me,” he replied. When he had placed the last of the books in the crate, the two of them moved to the front counter, and Stella made out a receipt.

“May I ask if these are for your library?” she queried, curious as to why a gentleman would be acquiring Lady Margaret Cavendish’s entire works.

“My wife’s library, actually. Her birthday is tomorrow, and she’s a bit of a bluestocking.”

“How fortunate for her,” Stella said, grinning as she took the twenty-pound banknote he offered. He had extracted it from a thick wad before stuffing the remaining notes into his waistcoat pocket.

Stella surreptitiously tucked the note into a pocket in her gown. “And for you, given you cannot go wrong gifting her books.” She gave him three sovereigns in change. “Do you require assistance in putting them in your coach?”

“Oh, I can manage,” he replied, as if he was teasing her by using the same words she said.

“Thank you, sir. Do have a good day.”

He donned his top hat and greatcoat before lifting the carton from the counter. “I’m sure I’ll be back.”

“Very good, sir.”

She opened and held the door for him, her attention caught when a tiger quickly opened the door of the fashionable town coach parked directly in front of the bookshop. The young servant took the crate from his master then placed it on the bench in the coach once the gentleman was inside and seated.