Page 19 of A Bloom for a Blacksmith

Chapter Nine

A Deal Is Struck

Meanwhile, back at the bank

Upon Theodore Streater’s departure from his office, Stella couldn’t help but notice he’d left the door open. “I think I should like to watch this,” she murmured.

Iris inhaled softly as Stella made her way to the doorway, positioning herself so she could see the lobby and the row of clerks behind their iron bar cages. The long line of customers seemed to have shortened somewhat since their arrival. A quick glance at the watch on her chatelaine showed it was half past four. Another half hour and the bank would be closed.

“What will he do?” Iris asked, finally joining her.

“Well, unfortunately, Mr. Streater is not a pugilist,” Stella replied. “So I rather doubt he’ll employ his fist.” As my husband would do, she didn’t add. “He is, however, a rather skilled fencer.” She glanced at Iris. “Despite him not having much in the way of a right arm.”

Iris inhaled softly. “Is that why you shook his left hand? Because he doesn’t have a right arm?”

Stella’s attention was still on Mr. Streater’s back. He was speaking with another manager, and soon the two disappeared from her view only to reappear behind the clerks’ cages. “Indeed. He lost his arm in a war,” she murmured. She tilted her head back to look up at the ceiling of the corridor, disappointed to discover it wasn’t decorated. “Against France, it must have been,” she added thoughtfully. “Which is why I shook his left hand. You did notice,” she added, sounding impressed.

“I did,” Iris acknowledged. “I wondered, but…” She shrugged. “One can hardy tell, given it appears he has a hand with a glove on it,” she remarked. “I didn’t know, and yet I’ve sold him bouquets of daisies on a number of occasions.” She paused. “I’d just thought he was left-handed.”

“Indeed.” Stella nodded. And then she whispered, “Daisies for his Daisy,” with her gaze still on the two men. They had pulled a young man from his cage, but with the way the line snaked through the lobby and the number of people milling about, she kept losing sight of what was happening. “He loves her dearly.”

“May I ask how it is you know him?” Iris queried.

Stella grinned. “When I moved here to London, Mr. Streater saw to setting up my accounts. He helped with transferring my funds into English pounds,” she explained. “I own a bookshop in Ave Maria Lane, so my business account is here as well.” The comment reminded her she had a twenty-pound note in her pocket that she needed to deposit. When she heard Iris inhale softly, she turned her attention to the young woman. “What is it?” she asked.

Color suffused Iris’s face. “You own a bookshop?” she asked in awe.

“I do,” Stella acknowledged, once again in search of the bank managers. “The Antiquarian Quill. Rare books and folios, mostly. No scrolls.” She couldn’t abide the thought of parting with documents that were the only copies anywhere in the world. “Many of them are very old,” she added, glancing over at Iris. “Do you often read?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am,” she replied. “Almost every day. In fact, I usually have a book with me in the stall where I work. For when business is slow,” she added.

“I’ve noticed,” Stella replied, leading them back to their chairs. “Do you have a subscription to a circulating library? Or do you buy your books?”

Iris once again dipped her head. “I cannot afford the subscription fees at Nobles,” she murmured, referring to one of the popular circulating libraries operating in London. “But I can always find something on the top floor of the Temple of the Muses,” she added, her face lighting up with excitement. “I don’t mind that they’re well-worn as long as they have all their pages.”

Having toured all the floors of the “Cheapest Bookseller in the World” prior to opening her bookshop, Stella knew the Temple of the Muses’s top floor featured the least expensive books because they were well used and rather tattered. “You like keeping the book when you’re done reading it?” she guessed.

“Oh, very much, ma’am. I have a few I’ve even read more than once.” She suddenly sobered. “I don’t believe I’ll be able to continue to buy books, though, now that Jacob has died.”

Stella settled back in her chair as she displayed a thoughtful expression. “You mentioned earlier that your brother paid the rent for your room.”

Iris’s eyes widened. “He did.”

“Forgive me for asking—you probably haven’t had an opportunity to even consider your future—but will you be able to continue living there? Will you be able to afford the rent?” she asked carefully. “With what you make from the Joneses?”

Iris shook her head. “I… I could… if I took money from my account. If I still have any money in that account,” she added, her gaze darting to the door, as if her words could summon the return of Mr. Streater.

“Might I make a suggestion?” Stella asked.

“If it involves prostitution—”

“By the gods, no,” Stella was quick to say. “Although there is nothing wrong with the occupation should it be a woman’s choice,” she was quick to add.

Iris gasped in surprise.

“No. I was reminded earlier today by my furniture maker that my shop has upper floors, one of which I have been using to store books that don’t yet have shelves,” she explained. “Mr. Miller finished installing another bookshelf and asked what I had planned for those two floors. I think he was hoping for more orders for bookshelves, but he mentioned the former owner lived up there, which doesn’t surprise me given how long it took to clean it out,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“You don’t live there?” Iris asked.