They continued walking, the girl keeping her head down and kicking a small stone ahead of her. Jenkins let out a long sigh.
"That's a relief," he said. "I read in the paper that only two families in that alley happened to be away from ho at the ti..."
He suddenly realized sothing. The odds were one in two.
"Your aunt's family... it wouldn't happen to be the Stress family ntioned in the paper, would it?"
"That's right, sir! You've guessed it!"
This was the very family from whom Papa Oliver wanted to buy the antique. He never imagined such a coincidence was possible.
Since they were headed to the sa place, it was only natural they walk together. Jenkins wasn't about to admit he was just there to see the commotion, so after a mont's thought, he ca up with an excuse about visiting the optician's shop on the corner.
"Yes, there's an optician's over there!"
Jenkins recalled the shops he had seen and picked the most plausible one.
"That's right. My vision has been a bit blurry lately. Yes, that's it!"
"Is that so, sir?"
The girl asked with concern, "I heard at church that spectacles can be quite expensive..."
They walked together until they reached the mouth of the alley, where they parted ways. Police officers were still blockading the area. The girl was imdiately questioned, but as long as she was telling the truth, she would likely be fine.
"So, what was I even doing here?"
Now that he couldn't go into the alley for a look, Jenkins found himself at loose ends.
He strolled down the street with his hands tucked in his pockets, wondering if he should use the free ti to return to that abandoned cetery and search for the Corpse-Wrapping Nun's Habit.
As he looked up, a familiar figure crossed the street toward him. Another acquaintance. It was Papa Oliver.
"Well now, Jenkins, what are you doing here?"
Papa Oliver asked, taking off his hat. From his dusty appearance, it was clear he had also co on foot.
"Well, it's because..."
He wasn't sure how to untangle the web of cause and effect that had brought him here. "It's... hard to explain."
It was an honest answer.
"And you?"
"Is it not obvious? I'm here for that antique vase, of course! After what happened on Saturday, the family only just returned today. Since you're here, you might as well co along. You can help carry it back—a young man like you needs to put his strength to good use!"
With that, he gestured for Jenkins to follow him toward the alley.
"Wait, Papa Oliver!"
He absolutely could not go to the Stress residence. If he ran into the girl again, how could he possibly explain his motive for being there? He seed to have tangled a simple matter into a hopelessly complicated knot.
Was he supposed to say:
"Oh, what a coincidence! I was just on my way to buy so spectacles when I happened upon Papa Oliver, and I just so happen to be his apprentice, and he just so happens to be here to buy a vase."
The explanation sounded exhausting even to him, not to ntion absurdly embarrassing. It would make young Miss Faithford think he had followed her with so ulterior motive.
"I have another errand to run."
He scratched his head. "I'm just taking care of so business nearby. Once you've made the purchase, bring it to the mouth of the alley. I'll see you and co over!"
"Alright then."
Papa Oliver found Jenkins's attitude a little odd, but young people were often like that, so he didn't think much of it. "Very well. The negotiations should take about half an hour. If you finish your business early, you can look around. There's a bookshop just over there."
"Alright, Papa Oliver!"
And so, due to a series of incredibly complicated reasons, Jenkins now found himself in the awkward predicant of having to wait around with absolutely nowhere to go.
Watching Papa Oliver disappear into the alley, Jenkins walked on, unfastening the buttons on his overcoat to expose Chocolate to the biting winter wind.
"Where to, then?"
"Mrow~"
Chocolate looked bleary-eyed, letting out a soft ow that sounded like he was talking in his sleep.
Since his cat had no preference, Jenkins decided he might as well check out the bookstore Papa Oliver had ntioned. It was located at a corner crossroads just down the street. Part of the storefront extended onto the pavent, laid with pleasant, textured flagstones and furnished with a few tables and parasols for patrons to rest.
In weather like this, of course, no one was sitting outside.
"If I'd noticed this shop last ti, I definitely would have questioned how two bookstores could be so close to each other," he thought.
He chided himself with the benefit of hindsight, though in truth, it wasn't at all unusual for new and old bookshops to be on the sa street.
This ti, thankfully, nothing bizarre happened. His luck might be poor, but it wasn't so terrible as to subject him to two misfortunes on the sa street in a row.
But just as he was mulling over whether to actually select a book, lingering among the shelves that slled heavily of ink, he heard a familiar voice.
"Could you make it a little cheaper?"
"I'm sorry, sir. I'm only hired to handle the paynts. The owner is the only one who can change the prices."
He put down the book in his hand and peeked around the end of the aisle. The one holding the wallet was a young man with a face full of freckles and a slightly reddish nose. More specifically, it was none other than Mr. George Liverpool, the very sa fellow who had tried to force his way into the ladies' club.
He was dressed just as he had been the day they t, though he had added a rather ill-fitting gray vest. His fashion sense, it seed, was even more peculiar than Jenkins's own.
"He has a shadow. Not a vampire."
The judgnt was pure instinct.
"Why do I keep running into people I know today?"
He wondered, though in truth, they weren't familiar enough to warrant a greeting.
Jenkins had his own study at ho, though he usually preferred to read in the living room or at the dining table. Only two of the study's shelves were filled, mostly with books on literature and mathematics—necessary props to maintain his public image as a renowned author and an enthusiast of the subject.
"Perhaps I should buy another batch," he mused. "Enough to at least fill the shelves."
His finger paused on the black cover of "The Prophecies of Rebecca," but he quickly dismissed the idea. Loudly declaring, "Please deliver this entire row of books to St. George Street," felt far too crass, like sothing an uncultured, nouveau riche factory owner would do.
"Perhaps Papa Oliver could help find so old books," he considered. "He probably has connections."
Having made up his mind and seeing that his arranged ti with Papa Oliver was nearly up, he casually grabbed a copy of the "Stranger's Story Collection" to purchase. In the Nolan area, at least, every copy sold earned him a handso royalty.
He didn't have to wait long at the mouth of the alley before Papa Oliver erged, a broad smile on his face. Clearly, things had gone well.
"My luck is excellent today! They agreed to sell the vase!"
"That's wonderful! Where is it? Should I go into the alley to retrieve it?"
He tilted his head, peering behind Papa Oliver. The old man certainly didn't look like he was carrying a vase.
Reviews
All reviews (0)