by Nancy Warren
I offered her the stack of condolence cards and notes I’d brought with me. She read each of them with pleasure, reading choice bits aloud. I didn’t want to spoil the moment, but I had to ask about Rosemary.
While I recounted my conversation with the customer who had thought Rosemary had been fired, Gran shook her head, looking mystified.
Sylvia went into the kitchen. I heard a fridge opening and then in a moment she returned carrying two insulated mugs, the kind available in most coffee store chains. She handed one to Gran and sat across from me, folding her legs beneath her. It was strange, looking at these women, who had clearly only just woken, drinking what, in the world above, would likely be coffee.
My grandmother drank hers gratefully and seemed to find the taste perfectly palatable. Clara wandered in, also yawning. She wore a thick pink terrycloth robe with the name of a high-end hotel and spa embroidered on the lapel. On her feet were cozy knitted pink slippers.
When she saw me, she cried out with delight. “Oh, you wore the sweater. My dear, it looks beautiful on you.” She waved her hands up and down, indicating that I should stand up. I did and immediately turned in a circle so she could admire her handiwork. She beamed. “I can’t believe how well it turned out.”
“I’m thrilled with it. And, you wouldn’t believe the number of customers today who came in and saw me in this sweater and then wanted to knit one just like it.”
She chuckled, in a slightly superior way. “Well, they won’t be able to knit one just like it because I designed it for you.”
“I know. It’s like wearable art. But, we did find a much simpler pattern and sold half a dozen of them today, plus all the wool.” I said to Gran, “I’ll have to put in a new order tonight if we’re going to keep up.”
“What was the day’s take?” she asked. I told her and she clapped her hands in delight. “We usually only see days like that in November and December, as knitters prepare for Christmas.”
We’d gone off the topic of the possibly-fired assistant but now I brought it up again.
Gran looked puzzled. “Really? The woman said Rosemary didn’t work there anymore?” She rubbed her temples as though she could massage her memory back into place. Clara said gently, “Don’t you remember, Agnes? You were very upset. You told us at one of the knitting club meetings that you’d had to let your assistant go.”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t remember that. Why would I fire Rosemary? She’d worked for me for years.”
“You didn’t give the details. I think you still had some loyalty to her and refused to gossip behind her back.” Clara sounded disappointed, as though she would’ve liked a bit of gossip with her knitting.
I wished she’d spilled the beans too so I’d know whether I should look for a new assistant. “I’ve asked Rosemary to come in again. She was so efficient today, and, of course, knows half the clientele and where everything is. I carried today’s cash to the bank myself, and I’m not giving her a door key.” I felt that I was doing what I could to minimize any damage the woman could cause. But I knew I’d be keeping my eye on her.
Rafe said, “Agnes fired Rosemary because she was stealing.”
“Really?”
“To feed the son’s drug habit. He’s the only person she cares about more than herself.”
Gran said, “Poor Rosemary. That son’s been a problem for years. I don’t remember firing her, but if she was stealing, I’d have had to.”
“How did you know?” Clara asked Rafe, clearly miffed that Gran had told him and not her.
“You’d be surprised at some of the people I know in this town. And people talk.”
I sipped more sherry wondering whether I could smuggle in a bottle of something I liked better for future meetings, assuming I was ever invited back. When I lifted my hand, Gran said, “Good. You’ve found my old ruby ring.”
I felt immediately guilty. “Was it okay for me to wear it? It was sitting in your jewelry box and I wore it for good luck today. Do you want it back?”
“No. I want you to wear it. It will warn you when you’re in danger. Wear it always.”
Oh, that got my attention. “How does it warn me, Gran?”
“It will feel hot on your hand, and sometimes, if you look carefully, there will be a slight glow that only you can see.”
Oh, boy. “That exact thing happened when Rosemary came in this morning.” I wondered the unthinkable. Could Rosemary have been so angry with Gran for firing her, and for suggesting her son was no good, that she’d killed her? Now I’d let the woman back into the shop and was paying her! Way to go, Lucy.
Gran said, “I always trusted Rosemary, but if she set off the ring you must be very careful.”
My thumb crept to my mouth. “Should I tell her not to come back?” She’d been such a lifesaver today; I dreaded having to manage alone.
Gran looked to Rafe who was heading toward the computer desk. I felt irked. I hadn’t asked him. Why did they all treat him as though he knew everything? It was very annoying. Especially as he did seem to know everything. I thought Van Gogh had something. Honestly!
Rafe considered and said, “So long as you keep an eye on her and are warned she isn’t your friend, I think you’ll be all right. There are customers in and out of that shop all day long. What can she do?”
Since I agreed with him, his advice was good, which annoyed me, as I’d planned to do the opposite of whatever he decreed. “There’s something else I want to discuss with you,” I said. Rafe had sat down, but hearing my serious tone, he turned in his seat to look at me. Gran, Sylvia and Clara were gathered around. Nyx curled up in my lap. “A man came into the shop today. His name is Richard Hatfield.” I looked to see if my grandmother knew the name but she merely nodded encouragingly, waiting for me to go on.
“He says he wants to buy your shop. In fact, he’s planning to buy all the shops in our row. He promised to preserve them as they are. He said that you had already agreed to sell to him and simply hadn’t had time to sign a contract before…” My words petered out. I could not finish that sentence.
Gran looked around at the other occupants of the room and said, in a puzzled tone, “I had agreed to sell the shop?” She shook her head. “I don’t remember agreeing to that. Of course, I can’t remember much of anything from the period leading up to my death, but I would never sell that shop.” She turned to me and reached for my hand. One day, I was certain I’d become used to her cool touch. “I intended for you to have it.”
“Then he’s lying,” I said.
Rafe spoke. “Be careful around him, Lucy. I’ve had plenty of time to learn to judge humans and that one’s a bad man pretending to be everyone’s friend. He’s the kind who’d kill to get what he wanted, all the while smiling into your face. The shop belongs to you now, it’s up to you to see it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”
Again with the bossiness. I thought it was time I told him I made my own decisions. I wasn’t one of his vampire minions. “It’s a knitting shop, not a nuclear arsenal. I think I should explore all the options.” To Gran I asked the question that had been bothering me. “Why did you leave the shop to me? And not my mother?”
She smiled. “Your mother is my daughter, and I love her. But she’s much more interested in digging up history then taking care of Cardinal Woolsey’s. She’d no more run a knitting shop then she’d fly to the moon. You, on the other hand, I’ve always known you belong here.” She said this with such certainty, and here I was miserably unsure about what I wanted to do with my life. Running a knitting shop had never been in my plans. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but I felt I had to say something. “Gran, I’m not sure I’m cut out to run the shop.”
Her cool palm patted my hand. “My darling girl, you have a destiny. You come from a proud and distinguished line of witches. You could no more reject your fate than you could—”
“Fly to the moon,” I finished the sentence for her.
She chuckled. “Exactly
.”
“I don’t even know how to be a witch.” Never mind that I wasn’t going to take the word of a freshly-turned vampire as solid gold career counseling. “Shouldn’t I have known?”
Gran looked sad. “Imagine if you were born to sing and every time you opened your mouth and sang a note, you were criticized or scolded. What would happen?”
Memories began to creep over me, like mist over an early morning meadow. Times when I’d told Mom about my vivid dreams and she’d told me to get my head out of the clouds. When I’d felt things and tried to explain them and she’d said I was being foolish. “I’d sing very softly in the shower.”
“Exactly. And your voice would remain weak and untrained. Your parents meant well, but they stifled that part of you, as if they could keep the magic from appearing. Now that you’re free and encouraged, your powers are rushing to be used. Can’t you feel it? Nyx certainly can. Apart from the ring glowing, have you had other signs?”
“I did have some kind of electricity zapping out of my fingertips when I was angry.”
“Excellent. All you need is practice. And I’ve preserved the grimoire for you, our family’s book of spells. Everything you need to know is in that book.”
“That’s great, Gran. There’s just one tiny problem.”
She nodded her head. “I know, it’s surrounded by a protection spell. You can’t open the book until you work out how to release the spell.”
“Okay, I guess there are two tiny problems. I have to come up with a spell, and the book is missing.”
THE FOUR-HUNDRED-YEAR-OLD TEENAGER, Hester, wandered in, yawning. She wore plaid pajamas and a black hoodie instead of a robe. I wondered how her life had been cut short, so young. She glanced around, and the habitual pout settled on her face.
“What’s going on? I slept in. Someone should’ve woken me. How come I always miss everything?” She glanced at me with suspicion. “What’s she doing here?”
I wondered how the others put up with her, but Clara merely said, “You haven’t missed anything, dear. And Lucy owns the shop now. We’ll be seeing a lot of her. Perhaps you should knit her a pair of those slippers you do so well.”
The girl rolled her eyes and said, “Yeah. I’ll get right on it.”
“Very difficult, the teenage years,” Clara said in a stage whisper. Of course, most teenagers would grow out of their awkward adolescence but I suspected this one was stuck in teenaged torment for eternity.
I stood up, lifting the cat as I did so. “I should get back. I’ve got to get our order in if we’re going to have enough stock to keep up with all this business.”
Gran rose to say good-bye and hugged me. “Thank you for bringing me these cards. They’ll cheer me up when I feel blue.”
I wondered how a collection of condolence cards for your own death could possibly be cheering, but I kept that thought to myself. As I headed for the heavy oak door Rafe stood. “I’ll see you back to the shop.”
I looked back at him in surprise. It wasn’t exactly a long journey. Something in his expression told me not to argue with him. He reached around me and did some complicated thing with the door handle and then turned it and opened the door smoothly.
We entered back into the tunnel under the shop and headed for the stairs. “You shouldn’t come down here alone. Call me next time and I’ll escort you.”
I was genuinely puzzled and must’ve looked it, because he said, “We aren’t the only creatures you could run into down here. It’s best if I come with you.”
If I was going to sleep tonight I really didn’t want to know what other creatures might be beneath the floorboards so I simply nodded. I climbed up the stairs, very conscious of him following behind. I’d left the trap door into the back part of the shop open so that I could easily get back again. I climbed up into the shop and turned to thank him but he was already standing beside me. “It’s important to keep this trap door closed at all times. Normally, we keep it locked. For all our safety.”
Then he knelt to the ground and showed me the ingenious mechanism that locked it. He explained that a similar lever operated from the other side so it could be opened from above and below. I thought he’d go then but he said, “Your grandmother had no intention of selling her shop. I didn’t say anything in front of her, because I don’t like to remind her that she’s missing some vital parts of her memory, but I can assure you she said ‘no’ to that pushy Richard Hatfield time and time again.”
“Really? That’s not the story he told. In fact, Miss Watt thought my grandmother was leaning toward selling, and the Wrights definitely thought she was going to sell. It seems they’re all in agreement.”
He shook his head sharply. “The other three owners all have their own reasons for wanting that money. But your grandmother was determined to hold onto this for you.”
I raised my eyebrows in a skeptical fashion. “And for you.”
He acknowledged the truth of that statement with a slight nod of his head.
“I thought she might be interested, since he insists that he will leave the shops as they are. He seems to have a nostalgic regard for them.”
Rafe made a rude sound and uttered a phrase I’d never heard before. “What did you say?”
“You have sharp ears. I said Bovis Stercus. It’s Latin for the excrement of a bull.”
I rolled my eyes. “Only in Oxford.” Although he probably learned the phrase in ancient Rome back when they spoke Latin every day. “One of you is obviously lying. How on earth do I figure out which one? You both have something to gain.”
“Press Richard Hatfield for a promise in writing that he won’t change these old shops and see what he says.”
I felt proud of myself, because I had asked Richard Hatfield that very question. It was with a hint of pride that I said, “I did ask him. He he’s only buying them for an investment.”
He nodded with satisfaction. “Oh, it’s an investment all right. He plans to knock the interiors together and turn the ground floor into a top end restaurant. The flats upstairs will be gutted and turned into luxury apartments.”
“How do you know?”
“I have sources. I’ve seen the plans. I can show them to you. Don’t be naïve. That man has no intention of preserving these old shops. Putting together a piece of property like this is worth a fortune to a developer.”
“I suppose.”
He looked at me as though he could see right inside my head. “You’re struggling. You’ve had a lot to take in in a short period of time. Losing your grandmother, finding out her death wasn’t an accident, learning that you have powers of your own—”
When I shook my head and held up my hands as if I could physically push his words away, he smiled slightly. “And on top of that you’ve now got a developer offering you a deal that is much too good to be true. Take my advice as someone who is a great deal older than you are, don’t rush into anything. Take your time. Things will work out.” His words were spoken softly and with such an understanding that I felt the tightness in my shoulders begin to relax.
“You look tired. Why don’t you try to get to bed early?”
“I will. As soon as I’ve made the order.”
I thought he’d say more but he simply said, “Good night.” And then he unlocked the trapdoor and disappeared into the tunnels. I heard the unmistakable click of the lock, and pulled the rug back to hide the door.
I headed into the shop, Nyx at my heels. I did feel tired, and a bit overwhelmed by all of this. But, if I was going to run Cardinal Woolsey’s then I needed stock. If we had many more days like today, and no new stock, the shelves would be bare. I owed it to my grandmother to do as good a job of running her shop as I could.
I went upstairs to get my laptop. I would place the order online, using the notes I’d made in grandmother’s book. If I stayed, I would computerize the system. For now, the big leather-bound book would do. As my grandmother always said, the system had been working fine for the past fifty years.
No doubt, it would continue to work flawlessly for another few months.
I didn’t know when she had last put in an order, or what quantities she usually requested, so I paged back a few months, getting a sense of how often she put in orders and what was most popular. Rosemary and Gran had both made notes, but the last one from Rosemary was nearly three months ago.
It was quiet, with only the scrape of my pen on paper and the tap of my fingers on my computer keys. Nyx jumped lightly onto the counter and amused herself by trying to walk across my keyboard while I was typing.
I was trying to decipher my grandmother’s handwriting. This must’ve been one of her last orders that she put in the book and that hadn’t yet gone to our supplier. I was bent over, squinting at her spidery handwriting. Was that two skeins of the hand spun angora or twelve?”
Nyx sat on the counter, also with her head bent over the book as though she, too, were reading it, when she suddenly stiffened, raised her head and looked behind me. Her eyes grew round.
I heard a noise behind me and grabbed up the only weapon I could see, an umbrella tucked under the counter. I swung around, holding the umbrella like a machete, ready to do battle, feeling the energy humming in my fingertips.
Gran jumped back. “Oh, dear. I’ve startled you.”
I put the umbrella down with a shaky laugh. “Sorry. Knowing you were attacked in here has me a little on edge.”
“I’m pleased to see you on your guard, but your magic is stronger than an old umbrella. Come on. I’m giving you your first lesson.”
“In self-defense?”
“In magic.”
“But I can’t find the book of spells.”
She waved that away. “Books aren’t everything. Now, where shall we begin?”
She walked around the shop, sticking her nose in random baskets, reminding me of my cat. I thought she was enjoying being back in the shop, feeling triumph at how much of the stock had sold today.
“The best help you can give me is to help me figure out what to order.”
