by Abigail Agar
“He is a young man with great ambitions, but I do not love him, and I think I never could. Anyway, it does not matter, Mother. You needn’t worry,” she said.
“I am glad to hear that. I would not be pleased if I learned that you were keeping secrets and having strange love affairs under my very nose,” her mother said, leading Pippa into the parlour.
Pippa froze for only a moment, not long enough for her mother to notice. How could her mother know the exact worst thing to say?
“You have no reason to fear, Mother,” she replied, clearing her throat.
“Very well. Now, we need to discuss something far more important,” her mother said.
“Something more important than the affection of a gentleman? How intriguing, Mother.”
“Hush,” her mother said, rolling her eyes. “It is in fact regarding gentlemen. Darling, you are still not being courted by anyone. Fiona is two years your junior and she is engaged to a handsome, wealthy man. Do you not want this same thing?”
She instantly understood the pain that other women must go through when their mothers berated them for not being what they ought to be. Pippa had seen this time and time again, but on the rare occasions when her mother did this same thing to her, Pippa always felt as if she somehow deserved it simply by being who she was.
“Of course I do, Mother. But I want a husband who can appreciate me as I am,” she answered.
“No one appreciates one another for who they are, Pippa. You need to learn that it is uncommon for two people who marry to actually be in love. It is not like your silly romantic novels,” her mother said.
Pippa bit the inside of her cheeks. Her mother had no idea the types of books which Pippa read and wrote. She knew very little about books in general.
“Mother, please. You must listen to me. I only want to find the sort of man who can respect me and truly care for me. I do not think that is so much to ask,” she said.
“You need to find a husband who can provide for you. That is all. The rest is unimportant. Come, now. You must ready yourself because we received an invitation to the Shelley ball this evening,” her mother said.
“All right, Mother. I shall make myself presentable,” she said, despondently.
“Excellent. I know that there are going to be a great number of prospects for you to entertain. This is a government family, a member of parliament. That means that we are very fortunate to have their attention and favour in inviting us to their home,” her mother said.
It was true, and it surprised Pippa that they had been invited. There was nothing about their family to lead them to such a fantastical event as this ball. She was amazed that her father had managed to receive an invitation and hoped that she would not embarrass her family as she had at the last ball by discussing her writings.
However, there was nothing she cared for more to speak about. As she knew that she was expected to try and find a husband at the ball, Pippa realised that she would have to be on her best behaviour and attempt to woo whomever she danced with.
It was not the way she would have liked to spend her evening. She would rather be reading through her manuscripts again or writing them further.
Pippa had not seen Mr. Brooks since their incident at his home and was not sure that she was going to for the next few days. If she did see him, she would have to remember that her mother and father would never approve of the two of them being in any sort of union and her life was going to be very difficult if she even tried.
For now, she was better off setting aside everything she hoped for and accepting that she had to make them happy.
Chapter 18
Doyle was just having his tea when his neighbour, Mr. Foster, knocked at his door with a series of quick and anxious raps.
“What is it?” Doyle asked, seeing the man’s wild eyes.
“Downtown. Near your shop. We have a riot on our hands, Mr. Brooks. You had best get down there and see if your shop was harmed,” he said in a rush.
Panicked, Doyle grabbed his hat and his jacket, thrusting his feet into his boots as swiftly as he could and barely stopping to lace them up. He did not live too far from town, but he was in a hurry and waved down a coach the moment he saw one.
There was smoke rising from town and he was eager to get there and see if everything was all right. It was frightening to think what could have happened.
At last, the coach arrived and Doyle jumped out just beyond the place where the rioters were still going mad. They were past his shop, apparently moving through the town already, and he could see that they had done damage to his livelihood.
Trying to remain cautious and aware, he snuck along the road with his eyes open to any who might come after him. He stayed to the shadows of the aging day and finally arrived at the bookshop.
The windows were all smashed in and glass was shattered along the cobblestones. Anger welled up within his chest that they would do this. These young men were angry at the government—although he did not even know their reason for it—and they had resorted to destroying the businesses of the very people who were struggling to get by as it was!
Doyle went inside the shop and looked around. At least a few of the men must have come inside. They had scattered the books, many of the pages ripped free and settled on the floor without order.
For a moment, Doyle was overwhelmed to the point that he was dizzy. He had to reach his chair and sit before he fell over. This was madness! Everything in his shop had been torn apart! What was he supposed to do now? Who was going to buy ripped up books?
He buried his face in his hands and took a few deep breaths to try and come to terms with what had happened. There was no peace. There was nothing good about this and those young men had proven no point by behaving in this way.
Just then, there was a crunching of the glass and Doyle’s head shot up.
“Miss Blackwell? What are you doing here?” he asked, rushing over to her and pulling her further inside. She had stepped through one of the smashed windows and looked absolutely petrified.
“I was stuck. I-I needed a place to hide. What is happening?” she asked, her voice full of panicked emotion.
“I know, it is absolutely dreadful, Miss Blackwell. It would appear as though rioters have come to destroy everything we have built down here. I am not sure what they are protesting today. Maybe more religious intolerance? Perhaps more to do with mining? Who knows?” he told her.
“Why would they destroy the things which are owned by the community to punish the government?” she asked in disbelief.
Doyle laughed bitterly.
“That is the question, now, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Good heavens, this is all a mess. And your poor shop!” she said.
“I know. I am in despair. I have no idea what to do about it,” he said.
Then, suddenly, he realised that it was strange that she should be in the shop just then. It was closed after hours.
“Miss Blackwell, what are you doing here? Why were you in the area?” he asked.
“I was visiting with Miss White and it was time for me to leave. I had no idea that all of this was going on. Even when I saw the smoke, I assumed that something had burnt, but that is two streets over. So, when I came through to try and get home, I was shocked to find the protests going on,” she said.
“Why did you not rush back to remain with Miss White?” he asked.
“That’s just it. I was about to, but when I turned, there was a loud shattering of glass and a burst of flame not far from me. I was close by and decided I would try and seek refuge in any of the shops which had already been damaged. I did not think anyone would come back to them and I knew that there would be some whose windows would be smashed or the doors busted open,” she said.
“So, you came to hide?”
“It seemed like the only option,” she replied.
“It was very wise of you. I am glad that you are here, and you are safe,” he said.
“Well, as sad as
I am for what has happened to your shop, I am relieved that it is the place where I may remain hidden. I would not like to go to any of the other shops,” she confessed.
“You are welcome to remain here. In fact, you must have a seat,” he said, offering her the chair.
“What about you?” she asked.
“There is another in back. In fact, we ought to take this one back there where we shall not be seen. For now, we shall just have to stay put and stay safe,” he said.
“Yes, thank you,” she said, grabbing at the loose pages and gathering as many as she possibly could.
“What are you doing?” Doyle asked.
“If we are going to be stuck back there and we know not for how long, we may as well try to get some of these books back in order. I do not know if there is anyone who may bind them back up for you, but at the very least, we cannot let them go to waste entirely,” she said.
Doyle was impressed by her quick thinking. She was right. They were going to be stuck inside for some time and it would be wise if they spent that time trying to do some of the cleanup which could be done from the back of the shop.
He gathered many of the pages as well and they went to sit in the back where there was a small room and another desk.
“Where is the lamp?” she asked.
He quickly lit it so they could see better and Miss Blackwell started arranging things in order.
“You have very quick thinking in a crisis, Miss Blackwell,” he said.
“I do try, but I honestly was not sure what else I could possibly do. I am just relieved that we are here and I managed to find you,” she said.
“Yes, as am I. I hope that you can get home safely this evening, however. I suspect that your mother and father are going to be worried about you,” he said, finding a few consecutive pages in his pile.
“Indeed, they shall. But once I explain that I was caught amid the riots, they shall understand.”
“What if they ask where you went while you were stuck?” he questioned, prying so that he could find out what she would tell them about him.
“I shall simply tell them that I found a shop to hide out in. They will not ask anything further,” she said.
Doyle nodded and continued looking at the pages. He could not fault her for being unwilling to tell her mother and father about him.
“Well, I suppose that is understandable and as good a plan as any,” he said.
“I know that they are going to be terribly concerned by my lack of arrival by nightfall, but they shall hear about the riots, I am sure. They may worry about my getting caught in them, but I suspect that they will figure out that I am likely trapped on the other side.”
“Well, that is good at least,” he replied.
“Here, this is all I have found for this book. I have placed them in two piles because I found pages thirty-four through eighty-six and then I found pages one-hundred-twenty-two through two-hundred-sixty,” she said.
Doyle was shocked that she had managed to find them so quickly, but he saw the system she was using to separate the pages into piles and that some of the pages had been together, still glued even.
“Excellent, thank you,” he said.
“Certainly,” she replied.
He looked at the pages and smiled.
“As it happens, I have found pages eighty-seven through one-hundred-fourteen of this same work. It looks as though we are missing only the first thirty-three pages and those between our two sections,” he said.
Within a few moments, they had found the rest of the pages and had the book entirely pieced together.
“Here,” Doyle said, handing her the book.
“What would you like me to do? Have you any glue for putting it back within the cover?” she asked.
Doyle shook his head, but he smiled at the same time.
“None. But I am not going to resell it. I want you to take it as a reminder of how well we work together,” he said.
Miss Blackwell paused for a moment, her eyes shining and her smile a sweet surprise. He sensed that she wanted to say something, only she did not know what.
“Miss Blackwell, I…” Doyle trailed off.
“Yes?” she asked, encouraging him to tell her how he felt.
But Doyle was anxious. He had never had feelings so strong for a woman and had certainly never expressed them.
Their eyes locked on one another until Miss Blackwell looked away shyly. Doyle sensed that she had given up the hope that he might say something and that was partly a relief to him.
“I think I may have another section finished for this one,” she said, looking back to her pages.
“Yes, thank you,” Doyle murmured.
“I suppose it is a good thing that the book has not yet been printed. It would have been dreadful to see our work torn to shreds,” Miss Blackwell said.
“The thought of it saddens me greatly,” he replied.
“Well, we shall not have to worry about it just now. But, in days to come, perhaps you will want to keep copies in the back after hours,” she suggested.
“That is a wise idea. But I do hope this never happens again,” Doyle said.
“What are you going to do? So much of your inventory has been ruined.”
“Indeed, it has. I have not looked through it thoroughly, but I know that some sections are still intact and remained untouched. But I do believe that I shall have to bring many of my volumes from home to replenish what I have lost here,” he sighed.
“Oh, how upsetting! Those are your personal books,” she said.
“Yes, I know. But I shall replace all these which have been destroyed with whatever volumes from home I have not read through and are still in adequate condition. What matters most is that I can provide for my customers,” he said.
Doyle was grateful that he had sold so many tickets for their event as well. If he had to, he could use some of that money to purchase at least a few replacements of the more popular works he sold.
“And these which have been destroyed?” she asked.
“I shall keep them in my home and read them as I would any other. They may have been ripped from their spines, but they are still books, still magical works of literature, loved by those who wrote them,” he said.
Miss Blackwell smiled and nodded.
“Indeed, you are correct. How fortunate I am to have found someone who sees books with such an appreciative eye,” she said.
“And how fortunate I am to have found a friend who sees them the same,” he replied.
Indeed, Doyle felt extremely fortunate, but he wished he had the courage to tell her how much more he thought of her. The time would have to come eventually and, until it did, he would hold onto the hope that he would find his courage.
Chapter 19
At last, Pippa arrived home. She was relieved that she had made it shortly before dinner and that the road had cleared up, with Mr. Brooks arranging to pay for a coach to take her to her house safely.
Although she had refused at first, his insistence was wonderful, the way it made her feel as if he truly cared for her.
