Regency Christmas Gifts Read Online Free PDF Page A

face go hot. “Beth, we
don’t do that,” she said quietly. She raised Beth’s hand, kissed it
and turned toward the door. “We don’t have enough money, but we
aren’t pitiful yet.”
    “ I’m sorry, Mama,” Beth whispered as
she opened the door.
    “ My dears, you haven’t even heard my
offer,” the shop owner said. “Come back here, please.”
    Too embarrassed to turn around, Mary Ann stood
where she was and took a deep breath. “We didn’t mean to trouble
you,” she told the half-open door.
    “ You haven’t. Come, come. Let us
consider this.”
    As one, they returned to the counter. The man
stared hard at the colors, then shook his head. “I could sell you
the colors alone for a shilling. They came from Conté in Paris.
That is the best I can do.” He brightened. “I can set aside the
rest for you and you could pay me next week.”
    Next week there wouldn’t be a spare shilling,
not with Lady Naismith ready to cut her loose. “We will just take
the pencils then,” she said.
    “ No,” said Beth. “I want it
all.”
    “ So do I,” Mary Ann said, wanting
the whole day to be over. Somehow, their visit to Thomas Jenkins
and Suzie Davis had raised her expectations, never high in the
first place, and certainly not after Bart’s death in
battle.
    She thought the unthinkable and touched the
necklace her mother had given her so many years ago. It was nothing
but a simple gold chain, but she had never removed it.
    She removed it now. Beth gasped as she laid it
on the counter, along with the shilling. Mary Ann said nothing. It
took all her courage, but she looked the shop keeper in the
eye.
    Silence. Somewhere a clock ticked.
    “ Done, madam,” the man said as he
scooped up the necklace. “This will buy you a lot of paper,
and … and,” he handed back the shilling, “your change.” He
leaned closer, his eyes merry. “I wouldn’t want you walking back to
Haven with all of this. You might drop it.”
     
    Thomas watched Mary Ann and Beth through the
front window after they left, a frown on his face. “They didn’t
turn toward the conveyance stop, Suzie. Do you suppose they are
going to find a stationers and buy those colors and pencils and
walk home? It’s dark out.”
    He felt Suzie’s fingers in the small of his
back. “Follow them, or I will,” she ordered and gave him a push. “I
don’t care what you have to do, but get them on that
carriage.”
    He needed no further insistence to fling his
boat cloak around his shoulders, grab his low-crowned beaver
hat—criminy, but he hated the thing, after years of wearing that
intimidating bicorn—and set off into the Barbican.
    He stopped as he saw them enter the only
stationers’ shop he knew of and blended into the shadow as much as
a fairly tall man could blend anywhere. They were in there a long
time. At one point he saw them turn around and head to the door,
but no, they returned to the counter. He saw Mary Ann lift her arms
to her neck.
    “ You’re giving him a treasure,” he
whispered, which made a passing sailor step back in surprise then
hurry around him.
    Impatient now, he waited until they came out of
the shop, Mary Ann carrying something bulky that must be paper, and
Beth holding a smaller parcel. This time, they hurried toward the
carriage stand in the next block, heads together, laughing. For one
terrible moment, he felt as though a cosmic hand smacked him with
the sorrow of knowing that but for war and Napoleon, Bart Poole
would have walked alongside his girls. He closed his eyes, thinking
of his own lost opportunities, and decided to make the most of this
holiday season for a widow and a child he had only met
today.
    When no one was in sight, he crossed the street
and went into the stationers’ shop. “That lady and child,” he
began, without any prologue, “what did they buy and could they
afford it?”
    The old fellow gave Thomas a wary stare, and he
certainly deserved one. “I am Thomas Jenkins of Notte Street.