Page 27 of A Bloom for a Blacksmith

“What of the gig and the horse?” Lucy asked, her manner still indignant. “We gave him blunt for that.”

“I returned them to the stable. The stable master refused to give me a refund for the three unused days, nor would he allow me the use of the gig,” she explained. “If I had known of the arrangement, I would have brought it here.”

Frank rolled his eyes, obviously as annoyed as she had been with the stable master. “I’ll have a word with him. Threaten him if I have to,” he said. “I can always go somewhere else and probably get a better horse.” He furrowed a brow. “What will you do?”

Iris blinked, which set a tear trailing down one cheek. “I will stay on in my position at the flower stall, and I have secured lodgings in Ave Maria Lane. Above a bookshop. I believe you know of it?”

It was Frank’s turn to blink. “The Antiquarian Quill?” he asked in surprise.

Kismet, she thought, remembering Mrs. Agremon’s word for such situations. “That’s the one, yes. I met Mrs. Agremon at the bank yesterday. She said it was you who asked about the upper floors of the shop.”

“I did,” he acknowledged. “Who would have ever guessed I would know the person who will live there?”

She shrugged. “I have not seen it, but surely it will be acceptable. A longer walk to Covent Garden Market, but I shan’t mind.”

Frank nodded. “I’m working on the rest of the bookshelves for Mrs. Agremon right now,” he said, motioning to the array of boards stacked up against the wall. “Your brother had already finished the moldings, so there is that,” he said. “I can pay you his wages for those once Mrs. Agremon has paid for the bookshelves, of if you’d prefer, I’ll only charge you three pounds now and we’ll call it even?”

“That’s very kind of you,” she replied, knowing his earnings wouldn’t be as much as a pound. His usual earnings had been thirty-five shillings a week. “I appreciate it, Mr. Miller.”

“I am sorry. For the both of us. Seems I need to find a new carpenter,” he murmured. “When can we come for the body?”

“Today?” she replied hopefully. “I must be back at my work tomorrow.”

“Very well. You can come with me. Show me the way. We have a dray cart we can use, and I have a coffin in the back that should suit him.”

Iris nodded.

By the middle of the afternoon, Frank had secured the last plot available in the parish cemetery at St. Giles-in-the-Fields and had Jacob ready for his burial.

With no other mourners but Frank and Iris present, Jacob was buried as the sun set over London. While the grave diggers filled in the hole, Frank retrieved a wooden cross bearing Jacob’s name burned into the wood from the back of the dray and thrust it into the ground at the head of the plot before he escorted Iris back to her room.

Exhausted and heartsick, Iris went to straight to bed.

Chapter Thirteen

A First Day at the Bookshop

The following afternoon, at the Antiquarian Quill

Pulling on the pair of gloves Stella had given to her when she’d first arrived at the bookshop that afternoon, Iris watched as she was shown how to complete a sales receipt.

“I rather imagine this is much like what you do for your other position,” Stella remarked.

Iris nodded. “But this is for books instead of blooms,” she replied. She glanced over at a carton half filled with leather-bound volumes. “Are those to go on the shelves?”

Stella followed her line of sight. “They are, but all the shelves are full at the moment. We must either sell some books or wait until Mr. Miller delivers another bookcase.”

At the reminder of Miller Furniture, Iris said, “He was cutting the shelves when I was there to arrange for my brother’s burial yesterday.” She swallowed the lump that formed every time she thought of Jacob.

“You hired Mr. Miller to be the undertaker?” Stella asked in surprise.

“Indeed. I didn’t know who else to go to, and because Jacob worked there, I knew they made coffins,” Iris explained.

“I know they have rather odd ideas about women attending burials here in England, but if you’d like to be there and need to take the day, I’ll allow it, of course.”

Iris gave a start. “Thank you,” she replied. “You’ve been so accommodating, but we buried him yesterday afternoon.”

“So soon?”