Samuel’s face assumed the mask he always wore when she questioned him about his jaunts with madam. “Most likely she wants to do some Christmas shopping.” He opened the gate to one of the stalls and whistled to Tess. “Here, girl. In your kennel. You can stay warm there until I get back.”
Pansy watched him close the gate, wishing she had somewhere warm and cozy to snuggle up in for a while. The question she wanted to ask him buzzed around in her head, but she didn’t quite know how to ask it.
He was halfway across the stables before she called out, “I heard Doris is coming for Christmas.”
She would have liked to have seen his expression when she told him, but he had his back turned toward her. He kept going for another step or two before turning to face her.
“Coming here to the Pennyfoot?”
“Yes.” She walked toward him, trying to read his thoughts, but Samuel was very good at hiding them. “Her husband and little girl are coming with her.”
“That’s nice.”
Pansy narrowed her eyes. “You still like her, don’t you?”
“I still like her, yes. We worked together a long time, and she’s a sweet lady. That doesn’t mean I want to be with her. I’ve told you that over and over.” Samuel spun around and marched over to the door, flinging words over his shoulder. “She’s married, Pansy. Stop fretting about her.”
He disappeared, leaving Pansy to nurse an ache that never quite went away. Samuel loved her, she knew that. He didn’t have to say it, she could tell by the way he kissed her and all the nice things he said and did for her. Still, if only she could hear the words, just once, she’d know for certain, and all these nasty feelings about Doris would go away for good.
Dejected now, she plodded back to the kitchen, silently cursing the snow at every step. Would she ever be sure of Samuel’s love? Right now, it didn’t seem too likely.
Staring back at the sky, she changed her prayer. Let it snow. Hard. Piling up six or seven feet. That way, Doris wouldn’t be able to come, and she could have Samuel all to herself for Christmas. Hunching her shoulders, she opened the kitchen door and went inside.
“His name is Lester Salt,” Cecily said, as she climbed up onto the creaking, cold leather seat of the carriage. Shivering, she drew her scarf tighter under her chin. “He’s the new manager of Thomas Willow’s shoe shop.”
“In the High Street,” Samuel said, nodding. “I know where it is. It’s going to be busy down there today, m’m. You might have a bit of a walk to the shop.”
“That’s all right, Samuel. I’m sure the shopkeepers will have cleared the pavements.” She heard the big bay snorting as Samuel took the reins. She felt sorry for the poor animal. It wouldn’t be easy for it to drag the carriage through all this snow.
If only the rain would start and wash the cold mess away. She was really becoming quite anxious about her guests. This had to be the worst Christmas season weather she could remember in many years.
The carriage jolted forward, sending her back against the seat. Her hat tipped in front of her eyes and she straightened it, securing it more firmly with a hat pin. Bracing herself for another rough ride, she thought about the questions she would ask Lester Salt. She needed answers and as soon as possible.
The gentleman who filled the doorway at the shoe shop was nothing like the assistant she had imagined. Dressed in a loudly striped suit with a red waistcoat, starched white collar, and bow tie, he looked more like a circus ringmaster than a shoemaker.
He extended a massive hand as if about to take her fingers in his, which Cecily managed to avoid by pretending to brush snowflakes from her cape.
Seemingly unaffected by the slight, Lester Salt boomed, “Welcome to Willow’s shoe shop! How may we assist you this bright morning?”
Considering the sky was dark gray, Cecily thought the greeting a bit pompous. “I’m Mrs. Baxter, of the Pennyfoot Country Club,” she announced, forestalling Samuel, who was about to introduce her. Judging from Lester Salt’s demeanor, she decided, the man would not stand on protocol, and she had no time to waste. “I am here to ask you a few questions about Thomas Willow.”
The shoemaker’s change of expression hardly registered before it was wiped away by an effusive smile. “By all means, Mrs. Baxter! Come this way!”
He ushered her and Samuel into a small parlor at the back of the shop, leaving a couple of young lads to take care of any potential customers.
“It is indeed an honor to greet you, Mrs. Baxter,” he gushed, as he beckoned her to sit down. “I know your husband well. Such a nice man. Very well-spoken, if I may say so.”
Cecily wondered what Baxter would make of that. “Thank you, Mr. Salt. My husband would appreciate your kind words.”
“Not at all, m’m, and please, do call me Lester. Everyone does.” He laughed, a rather harsh sound that grated on her nerves.
“Thank you, Lester.” She chose a chair by the fire, where a pair of muddy boots sat next to a half-filled coal scuttle.
Samuel hovered near the door, looking anxious as always. Mindful of his sacred promise to take care of her, no doubt. Cecily was quite certain that Baxter had promised all sorts of dire consequences if Samuel failed to keep her safe.
She couldn’t help noticing that the sofa and armchairs were of poor quality brocade, though the faded curtains at the window had once been very fine velvet. The sideboard and mantelpiece were bare of ornaments except for a large clock ticking above the fireplace. A small table at her side held only a book, its pages marked with a slim piece of paper.
The title intrigued her. Tales of a Mystic. It was the heading on the bookmark that held her attention, however, until Lester spoke.
“Now, then,” he said, smoothing his drooping mustache with his fingers. “What can I do for you today, Mrs. Baxter? A nice pair of leather boots, perhaps, or a pretty pair of satin shoes to match a tea gown? I have a pair in black satin that are just exquisite.”
Sorely tempted, Cecily had to focus on the task at hand. “Actually, Mr. Salt-”
“Lester.” He shook a finger at her in mock disapproval. “Remember?”
“Pardon me. Lester.” She crossed her ankles, beginning to dislike this rather overbearing man. “As I said earlier, I’m here to talk to you about your former employer, Mr. Thomas Willow.”
At the mention of the name, Lester’s face momentarily darkened, then his expression changed to the false melancholy of a true salesman. “Ah, poor Thomas. He taught me all I know. Such a dreadful end. I can’t imagine who would do such a thing to a defenseless old man.” Lester wrung his hands. “I was simply devastated to hear the dreadful news. Left to die by the roadside in the bitter cold of a snowstorm. Whatever is this world coming to, I ask you?”
Cecily watched him closely. “Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt him?”
Now Lester looked shocked. “Goodness, no. True, there weren’t many people who liked him all that much, though I got along with him all right. He was rather a dour old devil, always seeing the worst in people. I used to say his only friend was his dog, and Thomas didn’t treat him very well. He was always kicking or slapping him about.”
He glanced over to a corner of the room, where for the first time, Cecily noticed a mangy-looking dog lay sleeping. “He’s a bit of a mess right now, but as soon as I have time I’m going to give him a bath.”
The dog looked as if it needed a lot more than a bath, Cecily thought, but she kept her comments to herself. “I understand you are managing the shop now,” she said, looking back at Lester. “Do you happen to know the new owner?”
Lester’s eyebrows twitched. “Oh, you haven’t heard? Thomas left me the shop in his will.” Again he uttered the brash laugh. “Of course, it will be a few weeks before everything is official, but I must keep the shop open for the customers.”