thoughts of the family she’d always wanted but would never have, and put away her quill and paper. She wasn’t in the mood to write anymore, but what could she do now? Hodgepodge was as ready as it would ever be for customers. It was so clean, she could eat off the floor. The inventory was quite impressive, as well. The books ranged from old Latin texts to the most recent novels. The corner which held a few cheery tables and chairs was pristine. Her small living space upstairs was tidy, and a beef stew she and Otis would share for dinner simmered over a low fire.
Everything was in order, even the street. Outside, it was eerily quiet without Captain Arrow’s friends around. She couldn’t say she missed them—no, indeed. But until now she hadn’t noticed how no one came down Dreare Street if they could help it. And the neighbors kept to themselves.
Lady Duchamp, Jilly was sorry to say, lived directly across from her. The old hag occupied the biggest mansion on Dreare Street and kept numerous servants. Every morning Jilly saw one of her footmen bring the carriage around and help his mistress into it. She always returned almost an hour later.
Where did she go? Jilly wondered.
And then there was her new friend Susan, who lived at the other end of Dreare Street and ran her seamstress shop, which appeared to have as few customers as Hodgepodge did.
Jilly had also seen a man who appeared to be an artist lugging a bag of rolled canvas home to his shabby studio. There were several colorless families, too, who lived in colorless houses and didn’t appear interested in her or themselves. They were just existing, she guessed, going to work, coming home—the ones that had to work, that is. She’d seen a couple of these bland families who were well off enough, judging by their carriages and clothing and number of servants, but they didn’t look happy . Or excited about anything.
Every sort of person lived on Dreare Street, she thought. Rich, poor, working class, and titled. Until now, all of them had seemed depressed—except for Captain Arrow. But now, he did, too. His face when those encroaching people had walked into his house had been rigid with disapproval. Yet they were still there, weren’t they?
Too bad Dreare Street wasn’t a thriving, bustling neighborhood street like the other ones Jilly had been on in Mayfair. When she’d inspected the building, she’d been assured that the pedestrian traffic was so low because it had been raining buckets the two days she’d come by to visit.
Ironically, the rain was what had made her fall in love with Hodgepodge. Everything had seemed so cozy inside. She’d even felt safe from Hector. It was why she’d told the broker she’d seen enough.
The shop on Dreare Street was to be her home, her safe haven. It was her portal to a new life.
Now she walked outside to straighten her flower beds. Thank goodness, she thought, that Susan had come in today. Jilly had been about to give in to the feeling that her instincts had been wrong about buying Hodgepodge. She was so glad she hadn’t surrendered to such a gloomy thought—
At least not yet.
* * *
Bad luck.
All of Stephen’s friends said he was having terribly bad luck.
“It’s so bad you need to do a special tribal dance or some such thing to reverse it,” Lumley said at their club the afternoon of the Hartleys’ arrival at Stephen’s house. “I think you picked it up in the islands.”
“No, it’s that street,” another friend conjectured. “It rots. After all, it’s called Dreare Street.”
“As in dreary. ” A third friend flicked Stephen on the side of the head.
Stephen brushed him off like a pesky fly.
“Abysmal Street would be a better name,” another friend commented, laughing loudly in his ear.
Stephen had gone to his club for comfort, and he’d left with a ringing ear, a throbbing temple, and the conviction that perhaps his friends were—dare he say it?—right.
For the first
Everything was in order, even the street. Outside, it was eerily quiet without Captain Arrow’s friends around. She couldn’t say she missed them—no, indeed. But until now she hadn’t noticed how no one came down Dreare Street if they could help it. And the neighbors kept to themselves.
Lady Duchamp, Jilly was sorry to say, lived directly across from her. The old hag occupied the biggest mansion on Dreare Street and kept numerous servants. Every morning Jilly saw one of her footmen bring the carriage around and help his mistress into it. She always returned almost an hour later.
Where did she go? Jilly wondered.
And then there was her new friend Susan, who lived at the other end of Dreare Street and ran her seamstress shop, which appeared to have as few customers as Hodgepodge did.
Jilly had also seen a man who appeared to be an artist lugging a bag of rolled canvas home to his shabby studio. There were several colorless families, too, who lived in colorless houses and didn’t appear interested in her or themselves. They were just existing, she guessed, going to work, coming home—the ones that had to work, that is. She’d seen a couple of these bland families who were well off enough, judging by their carriages and clothing and number of servants, but they didn’t look happy . Or excited about anything.
Every sort of person lived on Dreare Street, she thought. Rich, poor, working class, and titled. Until now, all of them had seemed depressed—except for Captain Arrow. But now, he did, too. His face when those encroaching people had walked into his house had been rigid with disapproval. Yet they were still there, weren’t they?
Too bad Dreare Street wasn’t a thriving, bustling neighborhood street like the other ones Jilly had been on in Mayfair. When she’d inspected the building, she’d been assured that the pedestrian traffic was so low because it had been raining buckets the two days she’d come by to visit.
Ironically, the rain was what had made her fall in love with Hodgepodge. Everything had seemed so cozy inside. She’d even felt safe from Hector. It was why she’d told the broker she’d seen enough.
The shop on Dreare Street was to be her home, her safe haven. It was her portal to a new life.
Now she walked outside to straighten her flower beds. Thank goodness, she thought, that Susan had come in today. Jilly had been about to give in to the feeling that her instincts had been wrong about buying Hodgepodge. She was so glad she hadn’t surrendered to such a gloomy thought—
At least not yet.
* * *
Bad luck.
All of Stephen’s friends said he was having terribly bad luck.
“It’s so bad you need to do a special tribal dance or some such thing to reverse it,” Lumley said at their club the afternoon of the Hartleys’ arrival at Stephen’s house. “I think you picked it up in the islands.”
“No, it’s that street,” another friend conjectured. “It rots. After all, it’s called Dreare Street.”
“As in dreary. ” A third friend flicked Stephen on the side of the head.
Stephen brushed him off like a pesky fly.
“Abysmal Street would be a better name,” another friend commented, laughing loudly in his ear.
Stephen had gone to his club for comfort, and he’d left with a ringing ear, a throbbing temple, and the conviction that perhaps his friends were—dare he say it?—right.
For the first
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