A Ripple In Time | Captain James Nicholls

Chapter Eleven

The Brighton Estate, London; August 18, 1913.

Izabella entered the old art supply shop, the owner came to the counter and smiled warmly at the woman he had remember coming in to look not so long ago. Immediately she went over to the shelf where numerous journals and books were stacked neatly. The sketch book she picked up was bound in soft leather and dyed to a shade of cognac, smiling fondly at the thought of her darling Captain she walked to the counter and set it down carefully. "Sir? Can you aid me in picking out the correct charcoals for this paper?" The man pushed his thick glasses up to the bridge of his nose as he examined the book, running his wrinkled fingers over the cream colored pages.

The tuft of white hair atop his head was thinning and his clothes were stained with paints and pastels. He was exceptionally kind as he led the woman towards the bins and boxes filled with different drawing utensils. "Of course, Miss. May I ask what kind of drawing you wish to do?"

Izabella shook her head, "Oh, not I, it is for a very dear friend."

The old man smiled and picked up a piece of charcoal that was about the length of his withered thumb and the sun the entered through the windows made the gold band on his finger glint in the light. She noticed that his nose was long and abnormally pointed at the tip and when he walked there was a terrible limp in his step but despite that he constantly wore a smile. "This wouldn't happen to be for the young gentleman you were with not so long ago?"

The vampiress laughed softly at the man's keen memory, she and James had not been to town in the past month for certain. "Yes, he sketches, quite well too I must say."

The two moved over to the next shelf with pencils, various kinds were neatly labeled in their boxes, some made of coal, others of graphite. Tapping his chin the man turned and looked up to Izabella from his hunched over position. "May I inquire what he prefers to sketch?"

Drawings from the pages of his sketch book flashed vividly through her mind in a brief second, most were of people, of hands, smiles, and eyes. There was a picture of his dear horse and of the land and woods at the side of his home and lastly was the sketch he had done of her. "People, sometimes landscapes and animals but mainly portraits." The brief sound of plundering hands echoed off the art covered walls. With a triumphant laugh and smile he stood back to full height, a box clasped in his hand. He passed the item to Izabella, the wood she could tell was oak and it could easily pass for a small jewelry box, with a gold polished latch and intricate scroll work that detailed the brand she knew that it would be perfect.

The shop owner slid the latch free and opened the lid, inside was at least twenty different varieties of pencils and pieces of charcoal neatly laid out with an eraser situated in the corner. "I'm afraid the price of these are a bit steep but I can think of no other brand and make that surpass the quality of these. Any artist would be honored to have such tools for their works." She lifted her eyes to the old man who looked down at the open box.

"I'll take them."

"Of course, Miss." She placed the box next to the leather book as the man punched the prices into the till. "This will be twelve guineas, Miss. Is there anything else I can interest you in?" Izabella pulled her coin purse out and shook her head placing out the appropriate amount without depleting her coin for the days outing. The man placed the coins in the tray and pulled out a large piece of parchment and twine.

"Do you engrave or perhaps know someone that would?" Once more he pushed his glasses up onto his nose and finished tying off the black string on the box before moving on to wrap the journal.

"Ah, I do not; but one block down and around the corner is a leather shop. I believe they would be suited to do that work."

"Thank you." They both exchanged a friendly smile before Izabella left the shop, tucking her purchase under her arm and making her way to the leather shop. Amusedly she watched the plummy women pass her by, each trying to sport the newest trend, as if they were in a competition to see who could carry the most shopping bags, and whose were the more couture of the selection. Though she was wealthy, today Izabella walked the streets appearing more like a medieval peasant than a prim and proper lady who owned one of the larger pieces of property in the London area. Her dark blue kirtle and smock were stained and worn from wear, not to mention the sheer age of the garments themselves.