Cloche and Dagger Read online

  My heart fell into my shoes with the speed of an express elevator. It was the nickname “Ginger” that brought it all back to me. There was only one boy who called me Ginger despite my attempts to get everyone to call me that. Hey, I was a kid and I thought it made me sound cool. I blinked at him as the recognition kicked in.

  “Harry?” I asked.

  Chapter 5

  “It’s Harrison now,” he said. His tone was as dry as dust.

  He turned to continue walking, but I grabbed his arm and turned him back to face me. I studied his features closely and then I shook my head.

  “No, seventeen years ago, I was ten. I’m quite sure I could not have had a date with you as I was entirely too young,” I said. This time I was the one who turned and started walking.

  “It wasn’t a ‘date’ date,” he protested. He stopped me with a hand on my elbow. “But it was supposed to be the two of us going for ice cream, but you threw me over so you could stalk some older, and may I say inappropriate, boy.”

  “No, I think you must be inaccurate again,” I said.

  His lips twitched as if smacking away the smile that wanted to surface.

  “Sorry but no,” he said. “On this I am perfectly clear. One does remember the first girl who breaks one’s heart, you know.”

  He said it so sincerely that I felt my breath catch. He had to be teasing me.

  “No, I don’t believe you,” I said. I tossed my long auburn hair over my shoulder and resumed walking.

  Now here’s a little trick I’ve learned while watching my mom manage my dad my entire life. Quite simply, she has taught me that you will often get what you want much faster if you flirt. Yes, I know you could argue that it throws back the women’s movement a century or two, but I prefer to think of it as a management skill, where the person on the receiving end of my attention enjoys being made to feel good, and I get what I want.

  In this case because I knew very well that ten-year-old me had blown off Harry Wentworth in favor of chasing some stupid soccer player whose name I couldn’t even remember, I was angling for forgiveness.

  “How can you not believe me?” he asked. He fell into stride beside me. “I was a crushing twelve-year-old, who showed up at your grandmother’s door ready to take you out for ice cream, only to discover that you’d gone off with your cousin to chase someone else.”

  I felt a spasm of guilt at how badly I’d treated him. Had I really been such a thoughtless girl? It appeared so. Given the recent events in my life, I had to conclude that the public humiliation I had just suffered was just what I deserved in the cosmic sense of karmic payback, and apparently, my transgression had accrued some serious interest.

  “No, that’s just not possible,” I said.

  He looked exasperated enough to throttle me, so I stopped walking and gave him a small smile.

  “I would never have stood up a boy as handsome and charming as you,” I said. “I’m quite sure of it.”

  His ruddy cheeks flushed a deeper color at the flattery and he no longer looked like he wanted to choke me. Instead, just as I’d hoped, he looked charmed and disarmed.

  I rested my hand on his chest and leaned in close. “Whoever that horrid girl was who stood you up, well, you can be sure she regrets it now.”

  His mouth quirked up in the corner and this time he gave in and grinned. Then he leaned in close to me and said, “You’re incorrigible as always.”

  “See?” I asked. “Nothing changes.”

  • • •

  We settled into a snug, wooden booth with high walls, at the Earl of Lonsdale, and I immediately ordered a pint of Sam Smith’s Nut Brown Ale and the cottage pie. There are certain things you just can’t replicate in Florida, like real pub grub, and cottage pie was one of my favorites.

  We were served quickly, and Harrison watched me as I ate with the gusto of a woman who enjoys her food. I really do. When I had demolished half of my plate and could slow down enough to actually taste my food, I glanced up to find him studying me.

  “What?” I asked.

  He just shook his head. I had a feeling that, although I’d been forgiven, mostly, for standing him up in our youth, he still hadn’t made up his mind about me. I decided not to take it personally.

  “So, when do you suppose Viv will be back?”

  “No idea,” he said.

  “A day?” I persisted. “Two?”

  “Scarlett.” He said my name as if talking to someone who was slow, and I realized I preferred that he call me Ginger. I liked the way it sounded when he said it in his charming accent, but given our history, I really couldn’t go requesting that, now could I?

  “Yes, Harry,” I said. Naturally, I used his old nickname to goad him, just a little bit.

  “It’s Harrison.”

  I had a feeling he’d be saying that a lot to me, but I nodded politely as if I got it.

  “Viv is like, well, you,” he said. He paused to take a sip of his Taddy Porter. “So, there’s really no way to know when she’ll return.”

  “What does that mean exactly?” I asked. “That she’s like me?”

  “Well, you and your grandmother and Viv all share one particular trait,” he said. “My uncle and I have discussed it.”

  “You have, have you?” I wasn’t sure how I felt about this. “And what trait would that be?”

  “You all severely lack impulse control,” he said.

  I chewed thoughtfully on a bite of pie. Then I shook my head.

  “I disagree,” I said.

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “You do? Well, your cousin just up and left with no word other than for me to collect you. What do you call that?”

  “That’s just Viv’s way. You said it yourself.”

  “Indeed, I did, but that doesn’t mean it’s normal. And your grandmother—”

  “What about her?” I cut him off. He was treading on sacred ground there.

  “My uncle said she was a wild one,” he said. “Is it true that she threw champagne in Sir Roger Dunmore’s face?”

  “Hmm,” I hummed noncommittally. That tale was definitely in the family lore; we seldom discussed it.

  “Or that she fashioned a hat with a big fat grouse on it for Lady Tidwell?” he asked. “A grouse that, if one looked closely, which the unfortunate Lady Tidwell did not, was seen to be laying an egg?”

  I put down my fork and studied my fingertips as if inspecting my manicure for chips. Yes, that was another tale we did not discuss.

  “And then there’s you, Scarlett,” he said.

  I put my hands on the edge of the table as if to brace myself from an incoming blow. I glanced up, forcing myself to meet his gaze. I owned my bad behavior and I would not flinch from whatever he had to say about it.

  Still, the mortification from last week scalded my cheeks. He must have seen the silent suffering in my eyes, because he reached across the table and patted one of my hands.

  “The bloody bastard got off easy if you ask me,” he said.

  I felt my entire body sag with relief and then I laughed.

  “Thank you,” I said. My voice came out a little choked up and I swallowed hard.

  I hadn’t spoken to anyone about the situation except Viv. I’d even fled the States without talking to any of my friends. It was nice to have someone, a virtual stranger, in my corner, especially when the social media outlets had portrayed me as a deranged-stalker type.

  “Still, it proves my point, yes?” he asked. “No impulse control.”

  “All right,” I said. “I’ll concede your point, but only because you’ve been very nice. Now, back to business. What should I do if Viv doesn’t return soon? I don’t know anything about running the shop.”

  “Well, today is Monday so the shop is closed,” he said. “But Viv has loads of special orders that need to be picked up, so you can’t stay closed indefinitely. You’ll have Fiona to help you.”

  “Fiona?” I asked.

  “Pardon me.” A youn
g woman approached our table. “Sorry to bother you, but could I have a picture with you?”

  “Me?” I asked. I glanced behind me to make sure there wasn’t someone lurking in our booth that she was talking to. “I think you have me mistaken for somebody else.”

  “Oh, no, you’re the American, yeah? The party crasher? The one on the Internet? My mates and I love what you did,” she gushed. “You made a stand for women everywhere against lying, cheating ba—”

  “Did I?” I interrupted her before she launched herself into a tirade. I looked at Harrison. “This is new. The last I heard the media was portraying me as a lunatic.”

  “They were!” she exclaimed. “Right up until those other two girls he was having a bit on the side with popped up.”

  Chapter 6

  I felt the room give a lurch as my reality had its feet kicked out from under it.

  “Other two girls?” I asked through gritted teeth.

  “Oh, you didn’t know?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “They were all over the news yesterday,” she said. “Apparently, your married beau got around and with the same story—that he and his wife were separated. One of the girls said she wished she could give you a hug for standing up for all of them. The other said she wished you’d hit him with something harder than cake.”

  I glanced across the table to see Harrison watching me with sympathetic eyes. It pushed me out of my stupor and I glanced back at the woman, who was still talking.

  “They suspect there may be even more women in his personal queue. So, you can see you’re an inspiration,” the woman said. “So how about a picture?”

  She was a tall girl with a thick, black braid that hung forward over her shoulder. Her round face sported freckles, big brown eyes and an engaging grin. I liked her.

  “I don’t think—” Harrison began but I cut him off.

  “Sure, I’d love to,” I said. I decided right then and there I wasn’t going to let the shame of the past own me.

  Sadly, I wasn’t as surprised as I should have been that there were others like me. If the word was now out that the rat bastard had lied to me, maybe I would even be able to show my face in the States again. Maybe.

  Either way, it was time to pick my chin up and keep moving forward. What was the British saying? KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON. Yes, it was in reference to World War II and featured the crown of King George VI above the words. And yes, it was one of three propaganda posters, the only one that was never actually used during the war. Rather it was rediscovered fifty years later in Barter Books, a secondhand shop in Northern England. Still, it suited my mood at the present.

  The girl handed her phone to Harrison, who shook his head, but snapped the picture as we stood with our arms draped over each other’s shoulders like we were long-lost pals.

  “Thanks,” the girl said and hurried back to her table to show her friends.

  Harrison stared at me, and I knew he was about to say it was just another example of my lack of control, but I forestalled him.

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “That story about me is over a week old, no one cares anymore. Obviously, there are new fish to fry.”

  “Then why did the girl want to have her picture with you?”

  “She probably had her heart ripped out by a married guy, too, and considers me a kindred spirit,” I said.

  “Or she’s going to sell the photo to the tabloids and say you were a roaring good drunk,” he said.

  “So suspicious,” I said. “I’m not that bad a judge of character.”

  “Do you even hear yourself when you speak?” he asked. Then he muttered, “‘Not that bad a judge of character.’ Ha! Probably thought the cheating toe rag was just misunderstood.”

  “I’m right here, you know.”

  He huffed out a breath but stopped muttering. I finished my pie while he did the same with his fisherman’s pie just as the waitress came with the tab. I made to grab it, but he snagged it first.

  “It’s on me. Welcome to London,” he said.

  “Thanks, Harry.”

  I grinned when he rolled his eyes and grumbled, “Harrison.”

  It was a quiet walk back to Mim’s Whims. Monday in the city was a bustling sort of day. Lots of pedestrians and cars, the frequent sounds of honking intermingled with occasional shouts.

  Spring was longing to bust out in its full glory. I could see it in the box gardens that decorated a few of the buildings that we passed.

  “You never told me who Fiona is,” I said.

  “That’s right, your fan interrupted, didn’t she?”

  I ignored the sarcasm in his tone and gave him a pointed look.

  “Fine,” he said. “Fiona Felton is a student who is currently apprenticing in the shop. She’s very quick. I’m sure she’ll be able to answer any questions that you have.”

  “I didn’t know Viv took on apprentices,” I said. Again, I felt a twist of guilt that I hadn’t been here in three years and was seemingly so out of touch. How could I have gotten so consumed with my life that I didn’t even know the basics of Viv’s?

  “Fiona’s the first.”

  As we approached the shop, I felt the weight of the meal and the pints, not to mention jet lag, relax me into a light stupor. It must have shown on my face, because Harrison took one look at me and relieved me of my keys.

  He unlocked the door and pulled it open. Then he handed me my keys and said, “Lock up behind me and go get some sleep. I’ll pop in on you tomorrow.”

  I nodded and patted his arm as I passed him. He closed the door after me. With a yawn, I turned the key in the lock and headed toward the stairs. Even my toxic pink bedroom was appealing in that it had a bed, and I was sure I could sleep for a month.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I felt Mim’s wardrobe bird watching me.

  “Good night,” I called, half expecting him to caw in response.

  • • •

  When I opened my eyes, it was to find another pair of eyes staring back at me just inches from my face.

  “Ah!” I yelled and scrambled back across my bed while the person staring jumped back and yelled as well.

  “Who the hell are you?” I shrieked.

  “Fee, er, Fiona Felton,” she gasped. She put her hand on her chest. “Oy, I think my heart stopped, yeah?”

  “Your heart stopped?” I asked. “What are you doing in my room?”

  “Harrison called me this morning and told me to check on you,” she said. “When you didn’t show up, I figured I’d better see if you were all right. You know, make sure you hadn’t done anything drastic.”

  “Drastic?” I pushed the covers off and sat up. “Why would I do anything like that?”

  She pursed her lips as if keeping herself from saying anything else.

  “Oh, I get it, because my life is in the toilet,” I said. I rolled to my feet and faced her. She shrugged, which I took as assent. “My life isn’t that bad.”

  Again, she said nothing. Smart girl.

  “Have you heard from Viv?” I asked.

  “Just a message telling me to help you out while she’s gone,” she said.

  “No indication of when she’d be back?” I asked.

  Fee shook her head. I got a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach again. I just couldn’t accept, even as eccentric as Viv was, that it was okay that she was missing. I reached over to the nightstand and checked my cell phone. There was nothing from Viv or my Aunt Grace. I would have to call my mother later and see if she could get some answers.

  “Is that the time?” I asked.

  Fee nodded. “That’s why I came to check on you.”

  It was almost noon. I had slept for almost eighteen hours.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “No wonder you thought the worst.”

  Fee gave me a weak smile, and I realized that she was nervous and no wonder. I could only imagine the bed head I must be sporting. Not to mention with Viv gone, she was being put in the position of g
etting the foreigner, me, who as co-owner was also technically her boss, up to speed. Poor thing.

  At a guess, I’d put her age at twenty, maybe twenty-one. She had dark skin and dark eyes and her hair was a chin-length bob of corkscrew curls, some of which were a vivid shade of hot pink and one of which kept popping forward to hang over her right eye no matter how many times she shoved it back. She also had a nose ring and wore a spectacular amount of gold eye shadow.

  “Tell you what,” I said, trying to put her at ease, “I’ll just grab a quick shower and meet you down in the shop.”

  “Want me to make a pot of tea?” she asked.

  “That’d be nice,” I said.

  Fee bounced from the room with entirely too much enthusiasm, and I dug through my suitcase until I found my jersey tunic top in a nice olive green and a pair of black leggings. I’d been too tired to hang up my clothes yesterday and they had the suitcase wrinkles to show for it.

  I decided I was too hungry to deal with it now and left the suitcase lid propped open in a lame attempt to air out my meager wardrobe. An overhaul would have to be done later. I took a quick shower and dressed, pulling on a pair of knee-high black boots to complete the outfit. I had no patience with my hair, so I twisted it into a topknot and put on just enough makeup to keep from scaring the customers away. Fifteen minutes from the time Fiona had awoken me, I headed downstairs.

  I entered the shop to find Fee sitting with a customer in one of the blue sitting areas. I could tell from the tight expression on Fee’s face that whatever was happening was not going well.

  “No, no, I don’t want that,” the older woman was saying. “This is for my son’s wedding. It has to make a statement but not be ostentatious. Where is Vivian, anyway? I thought I’d be speaking with her. Really, is it so much to ask for some knowledgeable service?”

  Chapter 7

  “May I help?” I asked.

  Fee looked at me as if I’d just thrown her a life preserver.

  “Mrs. Abbingdon, this is Scarlett Parker,” Fee said. “She is Vivian’s cousin and an equal proprietor in Mim’s Whims.”

  “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Abbingdon,” I said.