"Hello, Cullen!"
"Miss!"
Cullen put down his pen and smiled at me from the other side of a desk that looked as if it was about to collapse under a mountain of paper.
"Is your employer anywhere about?"
"In his office. Today's the big day, isn't it? I wish I could be there, but. . ." he waved his hand over the desk to indicate how busy Mr Stevenson kept him.
The choice of who to send up to London had landed on Cullen for no other reason than I thought he was the one who'd adapt to a new and potentially challenging situation best, as well as matching Mr Stevenson's no nonsense demeanour. I'd been proven correct, and the two had got on like a house on fire from the first minute, Cullen playing to the man's dark, but generous, sense of humour.
"This is for you. As a consolation gift for your hard labour." I handed him a small, paper sachet of Field Rabbit Mixed Candy . We'd made up about a hundred of them to give out as samples. I had one for Mr Stevenson, as well.
"I'll just fetch --"
A door at the far end of the office banged open, spilling in the cacophony of the work area and the churning of the presses along with Mr Stevenson's ink-splotched girth.
"Is that our Miss Altringham?" He grasped my hands in his own and shook them up and down. "How're you keepin', yer alright? I keep a tellin' this one here that he'd best keep about it, or next time Miss Altringham shows 'er pretty face in me 'umble establishment, I'll hand 'im back."
"I thought I was going to end up face first in the gutter with my chair as a hat if I didn't watch it? Which is it? Gutter or back to the manor house?"
"Shut it, you!" Mr Stevenson wagged a finger playfully at Cullen, and turned back to me, grinning. "Me best worker, honestly. And the other one yer just sent up, he's comin' along well. 'As all the makings of a good setter, although 'e's a bit quiet."
That would be Tiller. Just as Morris had predicted, Mr Stevenson was in a mood to buy and hardly needed much cajoling after he'd seen Cullen. Tiller, Cullen and Morris all roomed together at a pension only a few streets away and had founded a type of support network for the Cloud Hill men gradually starting to drift up to London to take on new employ.
"This is for you, as a thank you for employing men from my programme. Our sweets shop in Maiden Lane is having its grand opening today --"
"Is that today? Mrs Stevenson is frightful excited to visit. She's got a sweet tooth what compares to none. I'll 'ave a difficult time holdin' 'er back from buying out the entire shop, shelves included!" he said, as he took the candy. He was laughing, but from the way he was eyeing the sachet, I had a hard time believing it was Mrs Stevenson who would have to reign in their sweet tooth.
What a difference only a few months and a different strategy had made! Fun, good times, sweet things. That was the spirit of the age. And that's the spirit I was trying to mix into everything I did. Sometimes it worked a charm, other times. . .
The cab I'd arrived in was waiting for me outside. As we turned onto the high street, I looked at my wristlet: twenty minutes behind schedule.
Would I ever be on time when it was something important?
I'd been twenty minutes behind schedule when I'd found James, and how important of a meeting had that been? My bright spark had heralded changes I could now only appreciate with hindsight, and appreciate them I did, as difficult and tragic as they had been at the time.
I received an angry letter from Elizabeth Boyd-Scathby claiming that Morris had made unseemly advances to several of the women servants, and that a particular set of antique statuettes were missing. I advised her to check under her cook's bed for the statuettes and that it was a shame that she'd sold off her favourite mare for nothing but a beastly woman's revenge. She'd wasted my time, and unless she had something sensible to contribute, not to bother me anymore with the petty plotting of a lying servant.
I admit, I had been afraid to send that letter knowing what problems it could create for me, but I'd resolved not to depend on my class any longer. Elizabeth and her uncle could go hang.
Brooks had been more than pleased to cycle down to the post with it. He even purchased the stamp himself.
I haven't heard a peep from Elizabeth since.
I supposed I was also thinking a bit of the Thrower-Russell woman when I'd written that letter. Agatha and Daniels found two silver candlesticks, an antique snuff box and a small portrait of my great-grandmother Henrietta in a gilded frame, not in Mrs Thrower's cases, but hidden under the bed when they'd searched.
Daniels had then locked Thrower in her room and sent for the constable. She'd not gone quietly, and Daniels had proudly been able to confirm that our local constable was able to take one on the chin like any other man worth his salt.
Agatha was so embarrassed that she'd misjudged the woman, she didn't come out of her own room for an entire day. And when she did, she was unusually pliant.
About three weeks after all that bother, Carter had appeared in the Hutch one morning to inform me that the business with the snares "had been taken care of." Brooks seemed to know what that meant, but he said it wouldn't do any good to tell me.
Men and their secrets.
I found out anyway.
A group of local lads barely old enough to shave had overheard the rumours about Montgomery and talked each other into to catching 'the devil' as a test of courage. They'd sneaked into our forests and laid their traps, never really believing in the presence of a supernatural creature, but rather that the devil would turn out to be a dog or a wild animal of some sort. That it could have been one of the damaged veterans had never occurred to them, but from what I heard, Carter and his brother had made it occur, and that quite painfully.
The simple, stupid answer was that Montgomery had fallen prey to the boredom and mindlessness of boys only a few years younger than himself.
No wonder no one had wanted to tell me.
I'd received a curt, impersonal reply from his family thanking me for my condolences and requesting that I send on any personal items. I'd gone through his things, and had cried over the scant few items there. The box I'd finally posted had been so absurdly small.
A memorial service had been held in the chapel for Montgomery, who had already been shipped back to his family in Devon for burial. Father O'Shea said some lovely words, and the way I heard it, he'd cleaned up at the Whist table afterwards like never before.
Fun, good times, sweet things, Olivia. Come on. Look forward.
On my last visit to London a week ago, Charlotte and I had spent hours selecting which of her myriad of dresses and hats would look most stunning when she and Carlton graced the grand opening of Field Rabbit Sweets Shop.
Carlton was now a permanent fixture on her arm, and she hadn't mentioned Celia Paggett in ages, all of which led me to surmise that she was no longer a threat. Charlotte was over the moon about Carlton and I'd been listening to her sing his praises at lunch for months while exchanging knowing glances and arched eyebrows with Preston as he served the soup.
Today, she was going to meet James for the first time. How would that go?
He'd better be absolutely divvy, she'd said, taking a bite of quail. Don't disappoint me. After all the bother you've gone through with him, he'd better look like an English version of Valentino. I won't accept anything less. If he turns out to bear even the slightest resemblance to a toad, I shall never speak to you again. Pass the salt, please."
James now occupied the room across from mine on the second floor of the main house. Agatha thought it highly inappropriate that a man live that close to me, but she'd come to accept the fact that he didn't always sleep in his room.
Nor I in mine.
After the lathering, Sykes had come to speak with me in private about the rumours he'd heard. Yes, I'd told him, I was the one who gave him that black eye and a bit more besides. Thought I do the honours myself for once. Sykes had looked at me in silence for the longest time while chewing the end of his moustache. Finally, he'd nodded and said Iffen I don't get invited to the wedding, I shall never be inna good humour the rest o' my days. And that is a honest fact, lassie.
Since then, he'd not bothered nor threatened James once. They now seemed to be on amiable terms. Astounding how men could do that.
The morning traffic was thinning out as we reached Covent Garden, but my stomach was starting to knot up. How would it go? Would we get enough customers to stay open? Would theatre goers stop in for a bag of our treats, or would we become the favourite sweet shop for the errand boys that ran to and fro, delivering messages in nearby streets?
It was a big gamble taking such a prominent spot, but the business advisor Morris had located deemed that the more prominent the location, the better if would be for us. Morris and Pellen, the other Cloud Hill man with shop experience had agreed. I crossed my fingers that they weren't mistaken.
As the cab pulled up in front of the jaunty red exterior of the shop decorated with streamers, I saw James standing out front.
He was wearing an new jacket suit bought especially for the occasion and from where I was sitting, he looked better than I'd ever seen him. He'd filled out and lost the gaunt, haunted look he'd had. Fresh air, a good diet and being around the plants and animals on the estate had worked their miracles on him and he looked splendid. He no longer used crutches now that we'd had him fit with a prosthetic, but he was still getting used to moving around with it.
"Olivia! There you are. I was starting to get nervous. Almost everyone is here."
"Charlotte, too?"
I paid the cabbie and stepped out onto the pavement.
"Not yet, no. She's the only one missing," he said, lowering his head and giving me a kiss. "Is that typical for her?" Those grey eyes that had always been so full of storm sparkled in the sunlight. I couldn't see a single cloud anywhere in them. He was happy. And as excited as I was to see the shop open.
"Fairly typical. I wouldn't worry. She'll turn up eventually."
Things between us weren't perfect. We still argued, and he could be set off by the wrong word or gesture, but that didn't matter too terribly much. My bright spark was back in my life and that was what I needed most in the world.
I was about to tell him how happy I was that he was here, alive, and willing to give it another go with me, when a loud voice sliced in.
"Hullo, you two!"
We turned to see Charlotte hurrying towards us. "Carlton's just parking the car. You must be James. Charlotte Wynthorpe." Charlotte held out her hand for James to shake, all the while looking him over like she was eyeing up a thoroughbred at Ascot she was thinking of betting money on.
"We've been waiting for you," I said, after they'd finished their hellos. "We can't start a serious party without Charlotte. Wouldn't be right."
"Perfectly correct," she said, hooking her arms into both of ours and urging us towards the large, glass windows of the shop teeming with bowls of our prettiest and most colourful candies.
"And now Charlotte is here. Let the party begin."
🍭THE END 🎉
A/N Thank you so much for having read "Aftermath". Olivia has made the changes to her life that she needed to and is heading into the future, as full of hope as any one can be, with James at her side. We know what is awaiting her, about eight years of good weather before the world recession hits and the second World War casts its long shadow over Europe.
But for now, it's all about fun, good times and the sweetness of life. Thank you once again for your support and I hope you enjoyed it. 👏 💛
Oh, and for the interested reader...
⏩ You might like to take a peek at the humorous mystery novella featuring Olivia's friend, Charlotte, and other characters from this novel. "Charlotte Wynthorpe and the Case of the Disappearing Diamonds" can be found on this profile.