by Nancy Warren
I’d been worried sick that Mom or Dad would accidentally bump into Gran, who had a bad habit of sleepwalking. I lived in constant fear that she’d show up in the shop in the middle of the day, this woman who was dead. “We have to get her to leave town,” I said. “Rafe said you’d talk to her.”
Sylvia nodded. “I’ve already tried, but she says you need her.”
I bit my lip. I did need Gran. But not now, when my parents were around. The stress of trying to keep them apart would be too much. “If I can convince her I don’t need her, will she go?”
“I think so, but her feelings will be hurt.”
I thought for a minute and then snapped my fingers. “I’ve got it. What we need to do is franchise.”
Sylvia raised her penciled brows. “Franchise?”
“Not for real, obviously, but what if there was another knitting shop somewhere that was for sale? Or even an empty store that could one day be a yarn store. You and Gran could go and check it out. Maybe there’s another city that has a lot of vampires who like to knit? We could find a sympathetic human and open a second knitting shop. Run a sister vampire knitting club.”
She touched her throat, where a matching art deco necklace glittered. “Do you know, Lucy, that’s not a bad idea.”
I put up my hand, traffic cop style. “Wait, wait. I’m not suggesting we actually do it, but if Gran thought we were going to, she’d feel important. Like she was helping me.”
Sylvia smiled her movie star smile. “That’s a very good idea.”
“Good. We just need a location. Somewhere where Gran will be happily occupied for a couple of weeks.”
She tapped her fingernails against her collarbone. “Dublin, perhaps. I’ve got lots of friends there, and I’ve been meaning to visit. I can keep your grandmother occupied, and I’m sure we can find a suitable shop for your expansion plans.” She tilted her head. “Or some small town in Connecticut, perhaps, or Vermont. Or Massachusetts. You’d like that. A second shop in the United States.”
“But I’m not opening a second shop. This is only a ruse, to get Gran out of the way for a couple of weeks.”
“Of course.”
When we told Gran about our idea, she brightened up. I could tell she was still sorry not to be able to see her daughter, but she was excited at the idea of traveling to an interesting place and researching a second shop location. “What an adventure it will be.” Her white hair was coiled neatly in a bun at the back of her head, and she patted it now as though afraid she might have mislaid it. “I often used to think of expanding, of course. But I was too old. But you’re so young, Lucy, so full of energy and possibilities. You could do anything. You could have a chain of shops all over the world. Money’s no problem, of course. All the vampires who’ve been around for a few centuries are extremely rich. You’d have venture capital coming out your ears.”
I didn’t want venture capital, or anything else, coming out my ears, but I was happy to see Gran looking so much more cheerful.
Sylvia said, “We’ll start in Dublin. That way, we can take the Bentley.” She turned to me. “Your grandmother’s very partial to the Bentley.”
“I’m happy to go to America, too, Sylvia. I haven’t been there in years.”
“We’ll start in Dublin, then fly to New York. I’ll bet you’ve never flown first class, Agnes. You’ll enjoy that.”
By the end of the meeting, I was saying goodbye to Gran. They were going to leave that night. I was sad to see her go. I’d become accustomed to her being close to me, ready to give advice, but I knew this was the right thing for all of us. I hugged her goodbye.
Gran held me close and whispered, “Find a way to tell Susan how much I loved her, and how proud of her I am.”
“You left her a letter, remember?”
She brightened up at that. “Oh, I did. That was clever of me.”
Then, I narrowed my eyes at her. And, for the first time, realized I’d been duped. “Gran! You wrote those letters to me and Mom after you were turned, didn’t you?”
She shrugged. “I’d always meant to, but one never realizes one’s time will be up so soon. Anyway, I was given an opportunity to tidy up my affairs. Not everyone is so lucky.”
“Mom was so happy when she got your letter. It meant a lot to her.”
She sighed, looking sad. “But, she’s not like you. She’s not open. So, I must leave and make sure she doesn’t see me.” She hugged me once more. “Take good care of her for me.”
It was such an odd thing to say. But I agreed I’d do my best.
Sylvia came to say goodbye and handed me a silver-wrapped package.
“What’s this?” It wasn’t my birthday or a gift-giving occasion that I knew of.
She smiled. “Just a little something for you to wear. Save it for something special. A date with a special man, perhaps.”
The way things were going, the next ice age would set in before whatever was in the box saw any action, but I thanked her anyway.
Rafe walked me back upstairs, as he usually did when I’d been visiting my vampire friends. He said, “That was a good thing you did, giving Agnes a compelling reason to leave. She knew she had to go, but she was having trouble. Now, she’s got something to look forward to.”
“Good.” We reached the wooden stairs that led up to the back room of my shop. “Rafe, they won’t actually buy a shop, will they?”
He shook his head. “Where your grandmother and Sylvia are concerned, I wouldn’t care to hazard a guess.”
It seemed I no sooner got rid of one problem than another popped up. My life was becoming like a game of Whack-a-Mole.
When I got back upstairs to my flat, I opened the silver-wrapped gift and drew out the most exquisite knitted top. It was made out of sapphire-blue silk thread, with long, bell sleeves, and a vee neck that showed just a hint of cleavage. There was something else in the package. A small, jewelry box. When I eased open the lid, I saw a silver chain with a star-shaped diamond hanging from it. I thought, at first, that it was a crystal, but when I looked closer I was certain it was a real diamond. And no doubt the chain was platinum, or white gold. Tucked in the tissue, so I’d nearly missed it, was a note. It said, “Dear Lucy, I never had a daughter. If I did, I’d have wanted her to be like you. Wear this, for me.”
“And that makes it impossible for me to return it to her,” I said to Nyx, who regarded me from the windowsill.
Which was quite a good thing as I really wanted to keep it.
My new assistant, Eileen Percival, started Wednesday. Her references had been superb and I was really looking forward to having her help me. She arrived five minutes early for work, in a purple and pink cardigan. I had no idea what stitches she might have used, but they were clearly complicated. If she were only undead, she'd be a great addition to my vampire knitting club.
She wore a purple tweed skirt, support hose and the same, sensible, black shoes. She had very fine skin and it looked to me like she was wearing face powder and a rather pretty pink lipstick. Looking at her made me want to buy wool and knitting needles, and I couldn’t even knit. I was very excited about my new hire.
After she'd put her purse on the shelf I indicated behind the cash desk, she rested her hands on top of her belly and looked at me, expectantly. I said, "I thought for today you might want to become familiar with our inventory, look through the patterns we have and I can show you how the cash register works."
“That would be fine," she said.
She checked each basket methodically and asked intelligent questions, some of which I could actually answer. Then, I showed her how to use the cash register, which took no time at all as she'd used something similar in her own shop.
I felt that I had to explain how I came to be running a knitting shop, when I obviously couldn’t knit, so I told her about my grandmother and how she’d left me the shop and flat when she passed away. Eileen listened while tidying up the shelves. When I’d finished, she said, “But how is it your gra
ndmother never taught you to knit?”
“She tried, but I have no aptitude.”
She turned her head and gave me a droll look. “I don’t want to argue with my employer, not on my first day, but that’s nonsense, dear. Every girl can learn how to knit. I’d be happy to teach you.”
Her words might be a bit sexist, but if she could teach me, I could forgive a little knitting-shop sexism. She glanced around. “Since the shop is currently empty, why don’t we begin now? Then you can decide if you want me to teach classes for you.”
“Sold,” I said. I went to one of the knitting magazines I’d flipped through in a bored moment and showed her a sweater I loved. It looked simple enough, being all one color and without any fancy stitches. “What about this?”
She came over and looked over my shoulder. When she grew closer I noted that she smelled of lavender and old-fashioned roses. “No. That’s too complicated for a beginner. We’ll start very simply and you can progress to knitting jumpers when you’ve learned the basics.”
I was disappointed, but tried not to let it show. “Fine.”
“We’ll begin without a pattern. Get yourself some needles and I’ll find the wool.”
I picked out a medium sized pair of needles and she fetched a ball of bright red wool. When she saw my needles she shook her head. “Bigger, much bigger. We want to start with nice, fat needles so you can get a sense of what each stitch should look like.”
She found a pair that satisfied her, and then sat me in the chair behind the cash desk. “Now, do you know how to do a slip knot?”
I could have told her that I’d made grown vampires nearly weep trying to teach me a slip knot, but I merely shook my head. “Right. You can learn that later.” And she picked up the wool and needles and made a slip knot in the time it would take me to snap my fingers. “Now, we cast on.”
I was clumsy and inept, but I was used to that. However, Eileen was patience personified, and after I’d labored for some time, I had twenty stitches on the needle. “Excellent work,” she said, beaming at me, as though I’d presented her with a hand-knit Cashmere pashmina. “Now, we knit the first row.”
She showed me how and slowly and painfully, I knit a row. At the end of it, the needles were slick with my sweat and the stitches were a bit wonky, but again, Eileen praised me. “The first row’s always the most difficult. The second will be easier.”
And it was. Though I felt clumsy, and I was getting a stiff neck from holding myself so tense, as though if I kept perfectly still, I might not drop a stitch. Well, that didn’t work, but all I had to do was make a pitiful, panicked sound, and she was ready to show me where I’d gone wrong and then fix it.
She was so comfortable and easy to be around. It was almost like having Gran back.
Customers came and went throughout the morning, some regulars who I could greet by name and to whom I introduced my new assistant, as well as customers who were new to the shop. Eileen insisted I keep knitting and she’d do the serving. “And that way you can let me know if I’m doing it correctly.”
I was grunting over my third row, trying not to pull the wool as tight as I usually did, when a woman came in, looking around uncertainly. Eileen went straight up to her and complimented her on her scarf. The woman seemed quite pleased at the compliment and they chatted happily before Eileen asked if she could help her with anything. Before I knew it, the woman was making a sizable purchase of wools and knitting patterns while they chatted away about keeping little boys clean when they insisted on playing outside.
My new assistant didn't have to ask me one question and she rang up the entire purchase and bagged it flawlessly. I complimented her on learning so fast and doing such a great job on her first morning.
She beamed, quite pink with pleasure. "Lucy, dear, it's so kind of you to say so. It does me good to be back in a knitting shop again, dealing with all the delightful people who come in wanting to turn something that was really only sheep's wool not so very long ago into beautiful, wearable art. In our mass-produced world, we don't take enough care of the arts and crafts."
I’d never thought about it that way. In fact, I thought of my shop as a hobby store, but she was right. Keeping alive these traditions was important and perhaps I straightened my shoulders a little and took a bit more pride in my work because of her words.
My mom and dad were working upstairs and had invited a small group of interested students to come by this evening for a meeting. I sent Eileen off for her lunch and when she returned I asked her she'd be comfortable if I left her alone for an hour or so. I had my mobile with me so she could reach me instantly and I promised her I wouldn't go far.
She assured me she’d be fine and so I went upstairs to invite my mother for afternoon tea next door at Elderflower Tea Shop. I'd been too busy to check in on the Miss Watts who ran the tea shop, to see how they were doing since poor Miss Florence Watt's fiancé had been murdered.
I knew Mom would want to see them, as she'd known them since she was a little girl and she was quite happy to take an hour off and join me for afternoon tea. We left my father happily working in front of a computer and headed next door. I’d filled my mother in on the tragedy, already. Sadly, the relationship and subsequent murder had driven a wedge between the two sisters. At one point it had seemed as though they wouldn't be able to continue with the tea shop and I was curious to see how they were getting on.
Miss Mary Watt welcomed us warmly. She was in her early eighties but was as spry and hard-working as a woman much younger. She took both my mother's hands in hers and said, "Why, Susan, it must be five years since I've seen you. Not that you look a day older. I was so sorry about your mother, I miss her every day."
I'd become accustomed to hearing my grandmother spoken of, here in Oxford, but it was still new to my mother. She blinked, rapidly, and then said, "I miss her, too. Especially, now I'm here. It's good to see you, Mary." She glanced around. "And Florence? Is she here?”
Mary’s lips thinned, a habit she had when she was perturbed. "Florence is in the kitchen. We’re between cooks, at the moment, so she's back to doing the cooking herself, while I run the Tea Shop."
Which meant the sisters rarely had to see each other. It made me sad, as they used to be so close. Mom said that perhaps she'd visit Florence in the kitchen before we left.
Mary seated us at one of the best tables by the window so we could look down on the bustle of Harrington Street. I could keep an eye on my shop next door and, if there was a sudden rush of customers, could easily slip out to help Eileen. However, I didn’t expect there’d be a sudden run on wool, and so it turned out. Customers trickled in, and out again, usually with big bags in their hands.
I’d finally hired the perfect assistant, and I felt like I was starting to get the hang of knitting. I felt better about my decision to stay in Oxford than ever before.
Mom looked around and said in a soft voice, “It never changes, does it? I haven’t been here for five years and I swear even the flowers on the table are the same.”
The flowers were some kind of daisy, mixed with sprigs of lavender. I thought the Watt sisters picked them from their own garden. I knew what Mom meant. From the beamed ceilings, to the lacy cloths and shelves of antique teapots, Elderflower never changed.
Mom said, "I'm so glad you suggested this, Lucy. I haven't had a chance to speak to you alone, not for a minute."
Mom got a certain look in her eye, when we had these one-on-one chats, that made me wary. A bit the way Nyx did if she thought there was a mouse in the vicinity. And like that poor mouse, I felt that one wrong move on my part and I would be pounced upon. I loved my mother, but she sometimes forgot that I'd grown up. When I was with her, I sometimes forgot, too.
"It's great to see you, too, Mom. I'm really glad you came." I wished she hadn’t brought a cursed mirror with her, but I didn’t bring that up, knowing she didn’t remember.
Now that she’d passed the mirror onto me, something about which she
had zero recollection, she was perfectly normal. That strange, almost drugged appearance she’d had when she first arrived was gone, and my mother was back. "Honey, we need to talk about your future."
If I had a dollar for every time my mother had said those words I’d have at least a hundred bucks.
I tried to hold onto that feeling I’d had when I first walked in here, that I belonged and was figuring things out. I leaned forward. "Mom, I'm happy here. I don't know if I'll stay forever, but I like running the knitting shop. I like Oxford."
Her forehead creased in a frown. "If only you were clever enough to go to one of the colleges."
Mom was never one to overstate my abilities. I said, "Two intellectuals in the family is probably enough. I know you're disappointed that between you and Dad you didn't pass on the genius gene, but I'm really okay.”
“But, darling, you're still so young and the knitting shop seems like something a much older woman should be doing. Have you even learned how to knit?"
That was a sore point. "I'm taking lessons," I assured her. I didn't let on that my teachers were a bunch of very old vampires and a newly-hired shop assistant. I didn't think it was relevant.
"And what about a social life? Have you made any friends? Are you dating?"
I was so happy when Mary Watt came over at that moment and asked us what we wanted to have. We both ordered high tea, with sandwiches, tiny cakes, scones with jam and clotted cream, and a pot of English breakfast tea.
The last time I’d come here for tea, a man had died in front of me. However, it wasn’t the fault of the Miss Watts so I tried not to remember that awful day.
People had short memories. Even though two men had died here, the tea shop was back in operation as though nothing unfortunate had ever taken place.
If anything, business was better. I don't suppose the tourists knew about the tragedy or, perhaps they did, and the tea shop was included in one of those ghost tours of Oxford.
However, my mother was never easily distracted and no sooner had Miss Watt walked away with our order than she turned her laser focused gaze back on me and raised her eyebrows. "Well?"
