Tea, Lycanthropy and Other Virtues

Chapter Five

"We have a few spencer jackets," Mrs. Collins, proprietor of the village haberdashery, said, eyeing Constance's cloak. "Cloaks are a bit out of fashion unless it's a formal event."

Constance ground her teeth. As if there were formal events abounding here in the village of Bunsall.

"I'm here to look at men's shirts," she said, forcing a smile.

"Simon growing finally?" She said, nodding toward a stack of white muslin shirts.

"Afraid so," Constance said, touching her reticule. The little velvet purse was nearly empty.

"He's always been such a scrap of a thing," Mrs. Collins said, as Constance made her way to the small pile of shirts and waistcoats.

"How is your mother?"

Constance thought Mrs. Collins's tone was more curious than polite.

"Fine," Constance said.

"My son was up at Bunsall Abbey doing some masonry. He thought he saw her the other day."

"Perhaps," Constance said breezily. "She might have been going to have tea with her niece and nephew."

The shirts were too expensive. She should check fabric at the dry good store. Now that there were factory looms, the cost of fabric had gotten significantly cheaper, unless the Luddites had smashed up another bunch of looms. She always felt guilty buying the fabric knowing that it was the artisans paying for the cheaper, faster labor, but she didn't have the coins to be choosy.

"I thought maybe you were in town looking for shoes for your mother," Mrs. Collins said something like victory in her look.

Constance's face flamed. There was nothing people loved more than a regal fall from grace.

"I don't see anything here I like," Constance said. "Have a good day."

Back in the street, she took a moment to let the spring air cool her face. This had been the first time Constance had come shopping without her mother. Lately, shopping had been one of the few times Beatrice was lucid and happy. Constance found it anxiety inducing. Still, she felt lonely without her. She'd already lost one parent to the never ending war with France. Now, it seemed, she was losing the other to—what exactly? Grief? Loneliness?

She sighed as she started toward Harley and Sons.

"Constance?"

She turned to see Mary hurrying up the cobbled street toward her.

"What a bit of luck running into you," Mary said with a smile.

Constance was relieved to feel herself smiling back. "What are you doing in town?"

"I've come to put an order in at Harley and Sons. Normally the head housekeeper would do it, but I'm afraid the demands of such a big staff have Mrs. Franklin a bit out of her depth. And, anyway, I needed the fresh air, you?"

"Looking at fabric to make Simon a new shirt," she said, discomfort stirring in her chest.

"Wonderful, we're headed to the same place, then. Will you walk with me?"

She looped her arm through Constance's and they started down the street. It startled her she'd never had a companion, but it was nice to have someone that didn't need anything from her.

Constance worried her lip between her teeth. What if fabric's too expensive?

"Starting a household back up is such a chore," Mary said.

Maybe they'll let me put it on our account. She could handle not having the money. Pricing things out was wise, but she wasn't sure she could take the embarrassment of not having enough in front of her cousin.