He stopped reading aloud, but his eyes remained on the page. Several long moments passed as he apparently continued reading. Finally, after giving a little huff, Douglas set the book back on the shelf. The hard cover thudded as it hit the wood, causing Alice to jump. She stepped back swiftly to avoid being noticed through the gaps in the rows of books.
But Douglas had already turned back to his friends. “I believe I prefer to wade into those perilous waters using my own common sense as a guide.”
“Oh, that’s always a good idea,” Hal said. “Like going into battle unarmed.”
“Why are we wasting our time on this nonsense? Let’s find something worth reading.”
“I’ve got mine,” Hal said, pulling a newspaper from under his arm. It was the Illustrated Police News, a cheap newspaper filled with all sorts of lurid crime stories. This man might be a friend of Douglas’s, but Alice hoped they didn’t share the same taste in reading material.
The men moved to another part of the shop. The row where Alice was standing had only one outlet. The other end was a brick wall. She moved back to the wall and pulled out another book, affecting to be totally absorbed in it, in case they came around the corner and saw her there. But they never came her way. Before long they had made their purchases and headed for the door. The bell over the door jangled as they went out.
After they’d gone, the shop settled into an interesting, dusty quiet. Alice realized how much the presence of those men had filled the space. She remained where she was for another minute or so on the unlikely chance they returned.
Thinking it over, Alice was glad the men had seen that book on “feminine wiles” for the useless tripe it was. They had merely laughed and set it aside. On the other hand, Alice was angry that such a book even existed. How could someone think a book like that was worth printing? Of all the ways to use ink and paper . . .
There was one favorable aspect, she supposed. The men had acknowledged some parallels between what was in the book and what they’d experienced in their own lives. But that couldn’t possibly mean there was truth to any of that nonsense, could it?
Alice closed the book she held and set it back on the shelf. She walked out from between the tall bookshelves and saw that she and Nellie were the only ones left in the shop. Nellie was still absorbed in her work. Alice was such a frequent visitor that Nellie knew she was glad to wander the stacks without assistance. Tonight Alice was especially glad of that, because her initial disgust about the spinster book was unfortunately growing into curiosity. She turned the corner and worked her way down the row where the men had been standing. She was going to take a look for herself.
CHAPTER
Five
Alice read the book titles along the shelf. She had not caught the name of the book, but she was fairly certain she’d know it when she saw it.
It didn’t take long to find. The book was bound in bright red leather with the title in bold gold lettering: The Spinster’s Guide to Love and Romance.
Naturally.
Alice frowned at it, not yet reaching out to touch it. The word spinster, which generally referred to any unmarried lady over the age of about twenty-three, was certainly applicable to Alice. She was rapidly closing in on her twenty-ninth birthday. Yet never in all her years had she wished for a guide to attract men. Why should she?
But then there was that bit Douglas Shaw had read aloud—about how the spinster and the married lady both felt sorry for each other, yet envied each other, too. Something about it had snagged in her mind.
Alice threw a glance over her shoulder to ensure no one else was nearby. She would not risk the embarrassment of being found reading this particular book. The last thing she wanted was to be mistaken for some dim-witted girl who was longing for romance. She was quite happy on that score, thank you!
However, there was no need to worry. The shop was quiet. Alice drew the book from its place on the shelf, running a hand over the smooth leather cover before opening it. The book was designed to look expensive, but Alice was familiar enough with better books to know the binding for this one was cheaper than it at first appeared.
She wondered which passage had caught Douglas’s attention when he’d stopped reading. There would be no way to know. The book was fully an inch thick. How could the author have found so much to write on this topic?
Flipping to the title page, she found the name of the author: Mrs. Brindleworth. Presumably, the author had mastered the intricacies of male-female relationships so well that she was no longer a spinster.
The table of contents was amazing in and of itself, with whole chapters purporting to explain men, explain women, provide tips for widows, and detail the philosophy of love. There was also a chapter on the consolations of spinsterhood. Ha! Maybe Alice should start there. She turned to the page indicated.
The chains of love may be sweet bondage, but for the spinster, freedom is more enticing. The spinster, like the wind, may go where she will, and there is no one to say her nay. She may determine her own destiny and is not bound by the whims of a master.
Alice read on for several minutes, nodding in agreement at what was written.
Until she got to the last page.
There is only the troublesome end, which may not be considered until it is too late. The lavender and the dead rose leaves breathe a hushed fragrance from the heaps of long-stored linen; the cat purrs and the tiny clock keeps up its gentle rhythm, because they do not know their mistress can no longer hear. The slanting sunbeams of afternoon mark out a delicate tracery upon the floor, and the shadow of the rose-geranium in the window is silhouetted upon the opposite wall. And then, into the quiet house, steals the final, most infinite calm. Solitary in death, as in life—
Alice snapped the book shut so hard that the resulting rush of air raised dust particles off the nearby shelf. Irritated that her hands were shaking, she swallowed, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. It was ridiculous that mere words in a book could affect her so intensely. It wasn’t as though she were alone in the world. Nor was she lonely. She had the love of her parents and siblings and her whole extended family, not to mention plenty of friends. Surely that was enough to fill anyone’s life! She would not die alone. And the mention of the cat—was that truly necessary?
The book was nonsense, and Alice hastened to assure herself that she was not the only one to think so. She recalled how the men had dismissed it. She saw Douglas Shaw as vividly as if he were standing here right now, the way he smiled at the foolishness of it and how his eyes crinkled at the edges when he did so. Alice was glad he’d seen the folly of it. That showed him to be a man of good sense. Something had caught his eye, though, something he’d found upsetting, just as had happened with Alice. She wondered again what that had been.
Alice had better ways to fill her time than by reading drivel such as this. Yet for some reason the book remained in her hands as she made her way to the front of the shop. She decided it was more than mere curiosity. She was going to read this book thoroughly, parse out all of its ridiculous assumptions, and prove its logic was flawed. Then she’d no longer be troubled by it.
Other patrons had entered the shop by this time, so Alice held the book with her hand over the title as she made her way to the counter.
Nellie must have finished her accounting tasks, for she was now sitting back in her chair, casually keeping an eye on the shop. There was a dreamy expression on her face, as though her thoughts were far away. Seeing Alice, Nellie smiled and straightened, her businesslike demeanor returning. “Did you find something, Miss McNeil?”
Alice set the book on the counter. “I’d like to buy this, please.”
Nellie flipped the book open to read the number written in pencil inside the front cover. Alice had forgotten to check the price, and now she gulped when she saw it. It was costlier than similar-sized books. But it was too late to change her mind. Nellie had already made the notation in her sales register.
As Nellie closed the book
again, her eyebrows lifted when she saw the title. Alice thought she spied a hint of laughter in her eyes. “This is a good choice. I remember when it came in. It’s a secondhand book, and the woman who sold it to me swears that it works! I might have tried a few of its tricks myself, but of course, it’s too late for that, seeing as how my George and I have been wed nearly a year now.” She grinned. “However, I’m glad to see you turning your thoughts toward finding a romantic connection.”
“That’s not the case, I assure you,” Alice scoffed. “I had it pegged as a humor book. I anticipate being highly diverted as I chuckle over its contents, that’s all.”
“As you say,” Nellie replied, still with a hint of a smile.
Alice pulled the required money from her reticule. “I’d like the book wrapped, please.”
Nellie put the money in the till and expertly wrapped the book in sturdy brown paper. As she tied the string to hold the paper in place, she said, “I will say that finding true love is a wonderful thing.” She gave the book to Alice. “Not to mention the additional joys it brings.”
Her hands moved in a seemingly unconscious gesture to her stomach. Alice could see why. The evidence of a child to come was just beginning to make itself visible.
“How wonderful,” Alice said, knowing this was the expected response. “When do you anticipate the happy event?”
“In October.” Nellie smiled, her dreamy expression returning. It was clear she was thinking only of the joys of motherhood, not on its hardships. After the child arrived, and as others likely followed, Nellie would probably have to give up working in the shop. Alice thought that was too bad, as it was something she clearly enjoyed and excelled at. Thinking of babies brought on an uncomfortable sensation, as though Alice’s insides had somehow twisted. Her mother had raised five children and lost two more as infants. The demanding work of running a large household had worn her out and brought her too quickly past her prime. The last child who died had been the youngest. Her mother’s health, which by then had already been less than robust, had never fully recovered. Had those pains been worth it?
Nellie was looking at her questioningly. “Miss McNeil?”
Realizing she had impolitely retreated into her thoughts, Alice gave Nellie an apologetic smile. “I beg your pardon. I was woolgathering. My felicitations to you and your husband.”
Alice couldn’t lose the uneasiness she felt, though. She gave Nellie a polite farewell and made for the door of the shop.
Hal and Carson were still lobbing jokes at one another as they walked home. Douglas didn’t join in. He kept thinking about that spinster book. It seemed to put far too much emphasis on the romantic aspects of a relationship, speaking in flowery terms about how deep and passionate love must be in order for it to be truly real. “Love is the bread and the wine of life, the hunger and the thirst, the hurt and the healing, the only wound which is cured by another.” He scoffed at the memory of that line. The whole idea of it bothered him because he considered marriage to be primarily a practical decision. He had no desire for emotional “wounds.” It sounded painful and unnecessary. Although he hoped to win Miss Rolland’s regard, he had no idea of falling in love himself. Now, though, he felt a touch of discomfort as he began to wonder: What would the lady be expecting?
He had noticed in the table of contents that there was a whole chapter dedicated to explaining women—including how to win their hearts. Douglas had joined his friends in deriding the book, but privately he wondered if there were any kernels of truth in there. Maybe this business of acquiring a wife and keeping her happy was more complicated than he’d imagined. It was a daunting thought. Maybe he needed some kind of training on the subject.
They reached the boardinghouse, and Hal and Carson went up the steps to the front door. They turned to look back at Douglas, who had paused with one foot still on the pavement.
“Aren’t you coming in?” Hal asked.
“I still feel a little restless,” Douglas answered. “I think I’ll take another turn around the neighborhood.”
He worried that one or both might offer to join him, but they merely shrugged.
“Suit yourself,” Carson said.
They went inside, and Douglas turned back the way they’d come.
It was a fine night to be out. He waved to neighbors he knew as he walked up the street and paused at the next intersection, a logical place to turn around and return home. But instead of doing so, he continued on, retracing his steps to the bookshop. If this book really explained how women thought, it could be valuable for helping his cause. After all, he’d never hesitated to read a book about any other aspect of life in which he’d advanced himself, from business to mathematics. Doing so had been instrumental in his success, despite a minimal education at a parish school. Why should this area of life be any different? It was true that people were not always so easy to explain as mathematics. Yet surely women had enough common traits that he could learn about and utilize to his advantage. He picked up his pace as he directed his steps toward the bookshop, anxious to get there before it closed for the evening.
He was a little breathless when he reached the shop door. As he pulled it open, a lady on the inside who’d just been reaching for the handle fell forward, put off-balance by the unexpected movement of the door. She gave a little cry of surprise and might have toppled over except that Douglas reached out to steady her by the arm.
“I beg your pardon, miss,” he said. Then he drew back in surprise when he realized who it was.
Miss McNeil straightened, her arm falling out of his grasp as she reached up to adjust her hat. She looked just as surprised to see him. “Mr. Shaw! I thought you had—”
She pulled up, stopping midsentence.
“Yes?” he prompted. “You thought I had . . . ?”
She cleared her throat and clutched the book she was holding a little tighter to her side. As though if she dropped it, it would shatter into pieces like glass. “I meant to say, I never expected to see you here.”
“I live not too far away.”
“Do you?” She seemed genuinely surprised. “You live in Islington?”
“I’m a little more to the south, but this is an excellent bookshop and worth the effort to get here.”
“I certainly agree with that.” A smile broke through her flustered countenance, as though he had just complimented her instead of the shop. “Are you an avid reader?”
Douglas quirked a brow. “Do I look like such an uneducated lout?”
“Oh no!” she exclaimed, looking embarrassed. “It’s just that . . . I come here often myself, and I’ve never seen you.”
“It does seem odd that our paths haven’t crossed before this,” Douglas agreed. “But then, I’ve been traveling a lot.”
Why did this conversation feel so awkward? She definitely looked ill at ease. Douglas realized he was holding the shop door wide open to the night. He couldn’t close it, because she was standing in the way. To subtly rectify this, he turned as though just noticing his hand was still on the door. Her eyes followed his. Seeing his predicament, she moved to one side, clearing the way for him to close the door.
They both gave a nervous laugh, meeting each other’s eyes. The lights in the shop poured through the window, illuminating the spot where they stood as clearly as if it were day.
It reminded Douglas that the shop would be closing soon. He really wanted to get that book. At the same time, he didn’t want to pass up this opportunity to speak with Miss McNeil outside of the workplace. “I see you’ve bought something,” he said. “A novel?” He’d always heard ladies enjoyed reading novels—the more sensational, the better.
Her head moved a little. Douglas wasn’t sure whether this gesture was a nod, but her next words seemed to confirm that it was. “I like to read something diverting in the evenings.” He waited for her to divulge the title of the book, but she merely added, “What sorts of books do you enjoy reading, Mr. Shaw?”
“Me? Oh, a little bi
t of everything, I suppose. I like anything that explains how the world works.”
“Have you read Electricity, Light, and Sound by Dr. Appleton? It’s a marvelous explanation of how electricity is being harnessed for light and telephones and all sorts of other practical uses.”
“Why yes! Do you mean to say you’ve read it, too?” He was impressed.
This time her nod was unmistakable. “It’s a fascinating glimpse into the future.”
Her words were sincere, but she still looked uneasy. Douglas had the impression she wanted nothing more than to hurry off.
“Perhaps you need to be going?” he asked. “I don’t mean to keep you.”
She looked relieved. “Yes, I should be on my way.”
Had speaking with him been such a chore? Douglas immediately chided himself for the thought. She simply had other things to attend to, that was clear.
He lifted his hat to her. “Until we meet again.” With a grin he added, “I’ve a strong feeling it will be tomorrow morning at nine o’clock.”
Her reaction to this pleasantry surprised him. She looked more worried than amused. Did she interpret his remark as some kind of order?
He tried to set her at ease with another smile. “I hope you’ll have a pleasant evening with your, erm, diversion.” He gestured toward the book. She still hadn’t mentioned the title.
She clutched her parcel a little tighter. “I’m sure I will. Good night, Mr. Shaw.” She at least managed a little smile, which Douglas returned.
He watched her hurry off, still holding the book close. Maybe it was one of those lurid romance novels. Maybe she enjoyed those as much as scientific works. If so, that was an interesting set of opposites, much like the lady herself. Although she was unmarried and at the age where some might use the label spinster or the less charitable old maid, Douglas found she was more pleasant to look at than such a label would imply. She had a crisp gait and looked about her as she walked, as though keenly aware of her surroundings. Douglas watched her until she turned the corner out of sight.
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