If Wishes Were Earls
Chapter One
November, 1890
Camborne, England
Your heart’s desire awaits in St. Erth. Begin your search at Enchanted Keepsakes.
Good heavens, how strange. Miranda Large turned the single sheet of paper over, searching for a clue to its sender. Addressed simply to Miranda in Camborne, it was a wonder the missive reached her in the first place.
Her heart’s desire? Why, she’d not thought of that phrase since the previous summer when—But surely it could have no connection.
Where the devil was St. Erth? Leaving her half eaten breakfast on the table, she crossed the hall to Papa’s library.
She glanced at the watch pinned to her shirtwaist – a treasured remembrance of her mama. Yes, she’d have time to find St. Erth in the atlas, providing it existed, and was in England, before Cordelia arrived for their morning excursion.
The library was empty of both Papa and his pipe smoke this time of morning. He’d yet to return from his morning stroll, so she was in no danger of interrupting him in his scientific studies.
The large atlas of England, Scotland, and Wales sat on the bookcase’s lowest shelf. She wrestled the tome to the only clear space on Papa’s desk and flipped the cover open. Now, where to start looking? Hoping she wouldn’t have to venture north to the Hebrides for her heart’s desire, she found the section for Cornwall to start her search close to home. Five minutes later she located the tiny village, inland from Hayle, a few stops along the main rail line. Not far at all.
Hm…perhaps an adventure was in the offing.
Mrs York stepped into the room. “Miss Cordelia is here, miss.”
“Thank you. Have you heard of a village called St. Erth?”
The housekeeper frowned and pursed her lips. “Can’t say as I have. Is it near?”
“Close to Hayle.”
“Ah, I’ve not spent much time down that way.”
Miranda strode to the sitting room. “Good morning, Cordelia. My, your cheeks are rosy.”
“It’s frightfully cold, and the wind is sharp.” The young woman had peeled off her gloves and held her hands to the fire.
“Not a good day for a stroll, then.” Blast. She quite enjoyed tramping through the streets, greeting people with whom she was acquainted, and peering into front windows should the net curtains be askew. Surprising what one saw when one kept one’s eyes open, and looking in the right direction.
“I fear we may suffer frostbite if we’re too long out of doors.”
But perhaps…“Wait here a moment, there’s something I want to show you.”
She hurried to the library again and rummaged atop the desk to locate the train schedule. She flipped through it on her way back to the sitting room. “How about a train journey instead?”
“The train? Wherever to?”
“A quaint,” it sounded quaint, “little village called St. Erth. We can catch the nine-twenty to Hayle, and hire a conveyance of some sort to the village.”
“Why on earth would we? Are you acquainted with someone who resides in St. Erth?”
“No…I don’t think so.”
“Is this another of your scavenger hunts?”
Miranda laughed. “You might say, but something more exciting.” She pulled the mysterious note from the pocket of her skirt and handed it to her friend. “Read this while I fetch my coat and hat.” She ran from the room before Cordelia could express any objections.
She donned a woollen spencer and topped it with her heaviest wool coat. Her fur-lined boots should keep her feet warm. As added security against the cold, she wrapped a long muffler around her neck. None of her hats were designed for warmth, so she chose the one most likely to break the wind.
After penning a note to Papa explaining her absence, she returned to the sitting room. “We’d best hurry.”
“I don’t understand why we’re going. Who sent this letter?”
“I mean to find out.”
“How?”
Miranda huffed. Cordelia’s endless and habitual questions were delaying the start of the adventure. “By going to the shop mentioned, of course. There must be a connection.”
“How do you know it is a shop?”
“I assumed from the name it’s a gift shop of sorts. Or a curiosity shop.” She linked arms with her friend, the better to propel her at a greater speed. They descended to the street and set off at a brisk clip.
“And what does ‘heart’s desire’ mean?”
Good heavens, more questions. No surprise, Cordelia had always been inquisitive. Indeed, more than one of her many former suitors had said precisely that. But Miranda had a similar curious streak, hence their firm friendship.
The station came within sight. They would be in time for the train. “Let’s purchase tickets and then I’ll explain as much as I can.”
They bought return tickets and secured seats in one of the third class carriages. A minute later the train started moving.
“Tell me the story, I’m ready.”
Miranda smiled at the look of resignation on Cordelia’s face. They’d known each other for all but the first five of their twenty-seven years of life, and no one knew her better. Or had more patience with her occasionally wild ideas. “You remember my holiday with Papa last summer.”
“In Penzance, yes.”
“On a day Papa was busy with one of his scientific meetings, I hired a driver to take me to a spot I’d heard about from one of the other ladies at the hotel.”
“On your own?”
“I had Bertha with me of course, all quite proper. There was a tale about Madron’s Well and a nearby cloutie tree.”
“I’ve not heard of a cloutie tree in years.”
“They’re not as popular as they once were amongst the wishing set, but this lady I mentioned makes a special trip to this exact tree every year. She swears her wishes invariably come true.”
“Stuff and nonsense.”
“Perhaps, but as I had nothing better to do, Bertha and I spent a lovely afternoon exploring the countryside. The hotel packed a picnic lunch for the three of us—”
“Three?”
“Bertha, the driver—Bob? Bill? —And me.”
Cordelia chuckled and shook her head. “Only you would think to include a hired driver in your picnic party.”
“He required feeding as well. In any case,” she sat forward, the memory of her impressions sending a tingle up her spine, “we arrived at the cloutie tree, fairly smothered in scraps of cloth and ribbons and handkerchiefs. Some had been there so long they were little more than tattered rags. An atmosphere of portent and mystery permeated the glade.” She clasped her hands tightly. Even now the sense of some indescribable power made her heart race. “I’d written my wish on a hankie while we ate lunch and tied it securely to one of the lower branches. And there you have it.”
“There I have what? What does that have to do with the mysterious letter and our hare-brained trip in the dead of winter to a strange village in the middle nowhere?”
“St. Erth is but two miles from Hayle, hardly the middle of nowhere.” She wished Cordelia could be a little excited about this adventure. They’d never come to harm pursuing one of her schemes. Not yet at any rate.
“But you haven’t explained how the two are connected.”
“I should think it obvious. My wish has been granted.”
“You made a wish to receive a letter instructing you to travel to a little village no one has heard of?”
“No, silly, I made a wish to find my heart’s desire.”
Cordelia’s eyes widened and the colour left her cheeks. “That’s what the note said. Those exact words.”
Miranda nodded and relaxed in her seat. “Precisely. Hence our excursion to St. Erth.”
“But what is your heart’s desire? What will you find? And who sent the note?”
Miranda frowned and chewed on her lower lip. “I have no idea.”
“Will the thing for which you search be a titled gentleman?”
“A titled husband is my dream, of course. As it is yours. I can’t imagine there are many viscounts, earls, or dukes roaming a tiny village.”
“We’ve not run across many in Camborne, either.”
“True.” They needed to spend more time in sophisticated haunts. Perhaps Papa could be persuaded to send her to Bath for a few months. She’d be sure to trip over a baron or two at the very least. And Cordelia would have little difficulty attracting the notice of one such. They had vowed to settle for nothing less, even before they’d attended their first assembly as debutantes. Jewels and prestige would compensate for the absence of affection.
Miranda tapped her friend’s hand. “What do we want?”
“A title.” Cordelia smiled, her eyes filled with laughter.
“Why do we want it?”
“For a place in society.” They spoke in unison before dissolving into giggles. Such silliness.
They’d been playing this game whilst still in the schoolroom. Spouses may die but once a Lady, always a Lady. She’d read in the scandal sheets of straying husbands, particularly amongst the aristocracy. But if her earl, baron, or knight acquired a mistress, she would remain a Lady. The title was insurance of a sort. What did it matter if her husband was rarely at home? She’d have a grand house to manage, parties to host, and gowns in the latest fashion.
They subsided into their private thoughts, accompanied by the sway of the train and the clack of wheels over the track. Miranda had felt faintly ridiculous tying a scrap of fabric to a tree, truth be told, but the woman at the hotel had been convinced of the power of the cloutie tree. Surely it would cause no harm. And look, there had been a result. Why else would she have received a note from the vast Universe? The two must be connected.
And she did need to wed, sooner rather than later.
A little over an hour later they pulled into Hayle. A respectable hotel next to the station allowed the two women to freshen up and plan the next step in their journey. They were fortunate to have timed their arrival with the imminent departure of a delivery wagon heading for St. Erth. They squeezed into the back, perching atop a roll of carpeting and a sack of grain.
“I think the temperature has dropped.” Cordelia shivered and raised the collar of her coat.
“I fear you may be right. The wind has certainly picked up. Would you have rather remained at the hotel?” Miranda scooted closer to her friend and chafed her hands.
“And allow you to go on this perilous journey on your own? What sort of friend would I be?”
“A warm friend.”
They laughed and ducked their heads against the wind as the team of horses moved off. Luckily the trip was only two miles, and they reached their destination before they were frozen through. They were deposited outside a public house next to a mill, its giant wheel turning slowly in the stream’s current.
“Where to now?” Cordelia blew on her fingers.
“Let’s explore all the shops facing onto the central green to start. We’ll maintain a brisk pace to warm us.”
The village of St. Erth was indeed quaint, built around a square common area on which a few sheep grazed. At one end stood an imposing Norman church, complete with squat bell tower. They moved in the opposite direction from the church and passed a butcher shop displaying furred and feathered rabbits and chickens in the window. The remaining buildings on that side of the square were private homes, built of light grey stone, with thatched roofs. Tidy gardens would no doubt be delightful in the summer but now were barren and empty.
A large pond, fed by the millstream, filled the square at the end opposite the church. Two ducks floated near the bank, but they would soon move on, once ice formed.
No houses or shops sat at this end of the square, bordered as it was by a thick forest. A narrow track led away into the dark, forbidding depths.
Miranda shivered, having no desire to explore along the track. Not one to fear the unknown, the area beyond the footpath nonetheless appeared ominous, the perfect haunt for monsters. At the next corner, they crossed a humped bridge over the stream as it flowed out of the pond.
“How lovely, a tearoom.” Cordelia’s pace quickened.
Thank heavens. A nice cup of hot tea would be lovely. And perhaps some cakes – the time being close to luncheon. A small sign hanging above the neighbouring door caught Miranda’s eye. She gasped, grabbed Cordelia’s arm, and pulled her to a stop. She pointed. “Look!”
In faded black lettering on a pale gold background were the words Enchanted Keepsakes.
“It exists,” Cordelia breathed.
Miranda linked her arm with her friend’s and gave it a squeeze. “I was convinced it would. I could feel it.”
Cordelia may have snorted at that comment.
Miranda tried the doorknob, surprised when it turned. The shop did not appear open for business. She stepped into a gloomy, crowded, stuffy room. And sneezed. Blast. She didn’t do well in dusty places.
Cordelia plucked a fan from atop a dresser, flicked it open, and the crimson silk crumbled to dust. “Knowing what we are searching for would help.”
“Yes.” Miranda blew out a breath. The contents of the shop appeared to be nothing more than other people’s cast-offs. Certainly nothing enchanted about a chair losing its stuffing, a doll with one eye, or a collection of mismatched gloves. Another room led off the first, filled with similar clutter. Ordinarily she’d call it junk, but perhaps someone, somewhere, could make use of a cracked washbasin. Besides which, this was where the note had instructed her to go. For a reason.
Cordelia clasped her hand, her face creased with sympathy. “A cup of tea will be just the thing.”
“Yes, I see nothing here to tempt me.” She sneezed again. Blast, this was disappointing. “I’m sorry I suggested this, a wasted trip and we about froze to death.”
“Nonsense. It is frightfully cold, but like you always say, we’ve been on an adventure, seen new sights, and will have a story to tell. You can regale your Papa and his friends at one of your dinner parties. And I’ll have something to discuss at the interminable assemblies Mother will drag me to. Let’s see if the tearoom serves more than tea.”
They hurried across the side street and ducked into the fragrant warmth of the Custard Tart Tea Room and Bakery. Four small round tables sat arrayed near the large bow window, each covered with a snowy cloth and dainty tea service.
A woman, who clearly enjoyed her own baking, emerged from behind a curtain at the back. “Good afternoon. Would you care for a pot of tea?”
“Yes, please.” Miranda pulled off her gloves. The heat from the round stove sitting in the centre of the room penetrated her bones. “And we’ll have a plateful of whatever smells so delicious.”
“Muffins. Another pan just came out of me oven.”
She stepped into a back room but returned almost immediately with a laden tray filled with teapot, hot water, mismatched teacups and saucers, jug of milk, plate of muffins, large knob of butter, and three varieties of jam. A feast fit for a queen. Miranda dug in, groaning softly at the first bite of the tender muffin. She leaned forward. “I would get quite plump given the chance to eat such a treat everyday.” Cordelia nodded, her mouth too full to answer.
Miranda turned to the woman polishing a jumble of teaspoons. “Tell me, Mrs…”
“Mrs Treadwell, miss.”
“How do you do. I’m Miss Miranda Large.” How she still cringed at her surname. Though she’d lived with it all her life, and was past the age of being teased by nasty schoolgirls, she wished her mama had chosen a different husband. Of course, given her knowledge of breeding, if she’d had a different father, she might not exist. Or she’d be a man. Besides, she wasn’t large all over, merely taller than most women and quite a few men. “And this is my friend Miss Cordelia Jones.”
The older woman bowed her head in greeting, her hands crossed over her ample stomach.
“Tell me, Mrs Treadwell, who owns the shop next door?”
“You interested in purchasing, are you?”
“Is the shop for sale?” Perhaps that’s why no shop owner hovered around being helpful. Drat, was she too late?
“Could be. Miss Korinna has been talking of selling, waiting for the right person.” She shook her head. “Puts too much faith in the stars and similar malarkey, if you ask me.”
“Actually I was hoping to buy a—” What in the world was she after? “A trinket.”
“ ‘Tis strange she wasn’t in the shop. She’s there all hours, sorting and fussing. An unholy mess, if you ask me. But different folks have their own ways, and it’s not for me to judge. And I’ll not speak ill of his lordship, what would be her cousin, no matter what others may say. Shall I fetch you more hot water?”
“Yes, please.”
Miranda longed to ask about the mysterious lord and why there was ill feeling directed at him. But she surmised that this woman spoke the truth when she stated she wouldn’t spread tales. So she ate the last bite of her muffin and contemplated the frozen journey back to Hayle. Given the brevity of their stay in the village, they would have time before the next train to do some shopping. Perhaps find a Christmas gift for Papa, a man who desired nothing except books and had an overflowing library as it was.
“A woman has entered the shop next door.” Cordelia half rose from her chair to get a better view through the lace curtains.
Mrs Treadwell went to the window. “Aye, Miss Korinna Penhallion, the proprietress.”
Miranda glanced at her friend and raised her brows in question. Cordelia sighed and pulled on her gloves. “Let us take another look. Perhaps she keeps her real treasures locked away.”
Miranda leapt from her seat, paid Mrs Treadwell while offering effusive thanks and compliments, and dashed out the door, not wanting the mysterious shop owner to leave before she got there.
November, 1890
Camborne, England
Your heart’s desire awaits in St. Erth. Begin your search at Enchanted Keepsakes.
Good heavens, how strange. Miranda Large turned the single sheet of paper over, searching for a clue to its sender. Addressed simply to Miranda in Camborne, it was a wonder the missive reached her in the first place.
Her heart’s desire? Why, she’d not thought of that phrase since the previous summer when—But surely it could have no connection.
Where the devil was St. Erth? Leaving her half eaten breakfast on the table, she crossed the hall to Papa’s library.
She glanced at the watch pinned to her shirtwaist – a treasured remembrance of her mama. Yes, she’d have time to find St. Erth in the atlas, providing it existed, and was in England, before Cordelia arrived for their morning excursion.
The library was empty of both Papa and his pipe smoke this time of morning. He’d yet to return from his morning stroll, so she was in no danger of interrupting him in his scientific studies.
The large atlas of England, Scotland, and Wales sat on the bookcase’s lowest shelf. She wrestled the tome to the only clear space on Papa’s desk and flipped the cover open. Now, where to start looking? Hoping she wouldn’t have to venture north to the Hebrides for her heart’s desire, she found the section for Cornwall to start her search close to home. Five minutes later she located the tiny village, inland from Hayle, a few stops along the main rail line. Not far at all.
Hm…perhaps an adventure was in the offing.
Mrs York stepped into the room. “Miss Cordelia is here, miss.”
“Thank you. Have you heard of a village called St. Erth?”
The housekeeper frowned and pursed her lips. “Can’t say as I have. Is it near?”
“Close to Hayle.”
“Ah, I’ve not spent much time down that way.”
Miranda strode to the sitting room. “Good morning, Cordelia. My, your cheeks are rosy.”
“It’s frightfully cold, and the wind is sharp.” The young woman had peeled off her gloves and held her hands to the fire.
“Not a good day for a stroll, then.” Blast. She quite enjoyed tramping through the streets, greeting people with whom she was acquainted, and peering into front windows should the net curtains be askew. Surprising what one saw when one kept one’s eyes open, and looking in the right direction.
“I fear we may suffer frostbite if we’re too long out of doors.”
But perhaps…“Wait here a moment, there’s something I want to show you.”
She hurried to the library again and rummaged atop the desk to locate the train schedule. She flipped through it on her way back to the sitting room. “How about a train journey instead?”
“The train? Wherever to?”
“A quaint,” it sounded quaint, “little village called St. Erth. We can catch the nine-twenty to Hayle, and hire a conveyance of some sort to the village.”
“Why on earth would we? Are you acquainted with someone who resides in St. Erth?”
“No…I don’t think so.”
“Is this another of your scavenger hunts?”
Miranda laughed. “You might say, but something more exciting.” She pulled the mysterious note from the pocket of her skirt and handed it to her friend. “Read this while I fetch my coat and hat.” She ran from the room before Cordelia could express any objections.
She donned a woollen spencer and topped it with her heaviest wool coat. Her fur-lined boots should keep her feet warm. As added security against the cold, she wrapped a long muffler around her neck. None of her hats were designed for warmth, so she chose the one most likely to break the wind.
After penning a note to Papa explaining her absence, she returned to the sitting room. “We’d best hurry.”
“I don’t understand why we’re going. Who sent this letter?”
“I mean to find out.”
“How?”
Miranda huffed. Cordelia’s endless and habitual questions were delaying the start of the adventure. “By going to the shop mentioned, of course. There must be a connection.”
“How do you know it is a shop?”
“I assumed from the name it’s a gift shop of sorts. Or a curiosity shop.” She linked arms with her friend, the better to propel her at a greater speed. They descended to the street and set off at a brisk clip.
“And what does ‘heart’s desire’ mean?”
Good heavens, more questions. No surprise, Cordelia had always been inquisitive. Indeed, more than one of her many former suitors had said precisely that. But Miranda had a similar curious streak, hence their firm friendship.
The station came within sight. They would be in time for the train. “Let’s purchase tickets and then I’ll explain as much as I can.”
They bought return tickets and secured seats in one of the third class carriages. A minute later the train started moving.
“Tell me the story, I’m ready.”
Miranda smiled at the look of resignation on Cordelia’s face. They’d known each other for all but the first five of their twenty-seven years of life, and no one knew her better. Or had more patience with her occasionally wild ideas. “You remember my holiday with Papa last summer.”
“In Penzance, yes.”
“On a day Papa was busy with one of his scientific meetings, I hired a driver to take me to a spot I’d heard about from one of the other ladies at the hotel.”
“On your own?”
“I had Bertha with me of course, all quite proper. There was a tale about Madron’s Well and a nearby cloutie tree.”
“I’ve not heard of a cloutie tree in years.”
“They’re not as popular as they once were amongst the wishing set, but this lady I mentioned makes a special trip to this exact tree every year. She swears her wishes invariably come true.”
“Stuff and nonsense.”
“Perhaps, but as I had nothing better to do, Bertha and I spent a lovely afternoon exploring the countryside. The hotel packed a picnic lunch for the three of us—”
“Three?”
“Bertha, the driver—Bob? Bill? —And me.”
Cordelia chuckled and shook her head. “Only you would think to include a hired driver in your picnic party.”
“He required feeding as well. In any case,” she sat forward, the memory of her impressions sending a tingle up her spine, “we arrived at the cloutie tree, fairly smothered in scraps of cloth and ribbons and handkerchiefs. Some had been there so long they were little more than tattered rags. An atmosphere of portent and mystery permeated the glade.” She clasped her hands tightly. Even now the sense of some indescribable power made her heart race. “I’d written my wish on a hankie while we ate lunch and tied it securely to one of the lower branches. And there you have it.”
“There I have what? What does that have to do with the mysterious letter and our hare-brained trip in the dead of winter to a strange village in the middle nowhere?”
“St. Erth is but two miles from Hayle, hardly the middle of nowhere.” She wished Cordelia could be a little excited about this adventure. They’d never come to harm pursuing one of her schemes. Not yet at any rate.
“But you haven’t explained how the two are connected.”
“I should think it obvious. My wish has been granted.”
“You made a wish to receive a letter instructing you to travel to a little village no one has heard of?”
“No, silly, I made a wish to find my heart’s desire.”
Cordelia’s eyes widened and the colour left her cheeks. “That’s what the note said. Those exact words.”
Miranda nodded and relaxed in her seat. “Precisely. Hence our excursion to St. Erth.”
“But what is your heart’s desire? What will you find? And who sent the note?”
Miranda frowned and chewed on her lower lip. “I have no idea.”
“Will the thing for which you search be a titled gentleman?”
“A titled husband is my dream, of course. As it is yours. I can’t imagine there are many viscounts, earls, or dukes roaming a tiny village.”
“We’ve not run across many in Camborne, either.”
“True.” They needed to spend more time in sophisticated haunts. Perhaps Papa could be persuaded to send her to Bath for a few months. She’d be sure to trip over a baron or two at the very least. And Cordelia would have little difficulty attracting the notice of one such. They had vowed to settle for nothing less, even before they’d attended their first assembly as debutantes. Jewels and prestige would compensate for the absence of affection.
Miranda tapped her friend’s hand. “What do we want?”
“A title.” Cordelia smiled, her eyes filled with laughter.
“Why do we want it?”
“For a place in society.” They spoke in unison before dissolving into giggles. Such silliness.
They’d been playing this game whilst still in the schoolroom. Spouses may die but once a Lady, always a Lady. She’d read in the scandal sheets of straying husbands, particularly amongst the aristocracy. But if her earl, baron, or knight acquired a mistress, she would remain a Lady. The title was insurance of a sort. What did it matter if her husband was rarely at home? She’d have a grand house to manage, parties to host, and gowns in the latest fashion.
They subsided into their private thoughts, accompanied by the sway of the train and the clack of wheels over the track. Miranda had felt faintly ridiculous tying a scrap of fabric to a tree, truth be told, but the woman at the hotel had been convinced of the power of the cloutie tree. Surely it would cause no harm. And look, there had been a result. Why else would she have received a note from the vast Universe? The two must be connected.
And she did need to wed, sooner rather than later.
A little over an hour later they pulled into Hayle. A respectable hotel next to the station allowed the two women to freshen up and plan the next step in their journey. They were fortunate to have timed their arrival with the imminent departure of a delivery wagon heading for St. Erth. They squeezed into the back, perching atop a roll of carpeting and a sack of grain.
“I think the temperature has dropped.” Cordelia shivered and raised the collar of her coat.
“I fear you may be right. The wind has certainly picked up. Would you have rather remained at the hotel?” Miranda scooted closer to her friend and chafed her hands.
“And allow you to go on this perilous journey on your own? What sort of friend would I be?”
“A warm friend.”
They laughed and ducked their heads against the wind as the team of horses moved off. Luckily the trip was only two miles, and they reached their destination before they were frozen through. They were deposited outside a public house next to a mill, its giant wheel turning slowly in the stream’s current.
“Where to now?” Cordelia blew on her fingers.
“Let’s explore all the shops facing onto the central green to start. We’ll maintain a brisk pace to warm us.”
The village of St. Erth was indeed quaint, built around a square common area on which a few sheep grazed. At one end stood an imposing Norman church, complete with squat bell tower. They moved in the opposite direction from the church and passed a butcher shop displaying furred and feathered rabbits and chickens in the window. The remaining buildings on that side of the square were private homes, built of light grey stone, with thatched roofs. Tidy gardens would no doubt be delightful in the summer but now were barren and empty.
A large pond, fed by the millstream, filled the square at the end opposite the church. Two ducks floated near the bank, but they would soon move on, once ice formed.
No houses or shops sat at this end of the square, bordered as it was by a thick forest. A narrow track led away into the dark, forbidding depths.
Miranda shivered, having no desire to explore along the track. Not one to fear the unknown, the area beyond the footpath nonetheless appeared ominous, the perfect haunt for monsters. At the next corner, they crossed a humped bridge over the stream as it flowed out of the pond.
“How lovely, a tearoom.” Cordelia’s pace quickened.
Thank heavens. A nice cup of hot tea would be lovely. And perhaps some cakes – the time being close to luncheon. A small sign hanging above the neighbouring door caught Miranda’s eye. She gasped, grabbed Cordelia’s arm, and pulled her to a stop. She pointed. “Look!”
In faded black lettering on a pale gold background were the words Enchanted Keepsakes.
“It exists,” Cordelia breathed.
Miranda linked her arm with her friend’s and gave it a squeeze. “I was convinced it would. I could feel it.”
Cordelia may have snorted at that comment.
Miranda tried the doorknob, surprised when it turned. The shop did not appear open for business. She stepped into a gloomy, crowded, stuffy room. And sneezed. Blast. She didn’t do well in dusty places.
Cordelia plucked a fan from atop a dresser, flicked it open, and the crimson silk crumbled to dust. “Knowing what we are searching for would help.”
“Yes.” Miranda blew out a breath. The contents of the shop appeared to be nothing more than other people’s cast-offs. Certainly nothing enchanted about a chair losing its stuffing, a doll with one eye, or a collection of mismatched gloves. Another room led off the first, filled with similar clutter. Ordinarily she’d call it junk, but perhaps someone, somewhere, could make use of a cracked washbasin. Besides which, this was where the note had instructed her to go. For a reason.
Cordelia clasped her hand, her face creased with sympathy. “A cup of tea will be just the thing.”
“Yes, I see nothing here to tempt me.” She sneezed again. Blast, this was disappointing. “I’m sorry I suggested this, a wasted trip and we about froze to death.”
“Nonsense. It is frightfully cold, but like you always say, we’ve been on an adventure, seen new sights, and will have a story to tell. You can regale your Papa and his friends at one of your dinner parties. And I’ll have something to discuss at the interminable assemblies Mother will drag me to. Let’s see if the tearoom serves more than tea.”
They hurried across the side street and ducked into the fragrant warmth of the Custard Tart Tea Room and Bakery. Four small round tables sat arrayed near the large bow window, each covered with a snowy cloth and dainty tea service.
A woman, who clearly enjoyed her own baking, emerged from behind a curtain at the back. “Good afternoon. Would you care for a pot of tea?”
“Yes, please.” Miranda pulled off her gloves. The heat from the round stove sitting in the centre of the room penetrated her bones. “And we’ll have a plateful of whatever smells so delicious.”
“Muffins. Another pan just came out of me oven.”
She stepped into a back room but returned almost immediately with a laden tray filled with teapot, hot water, mismatched teacups and saucers, jug of milk, plate of muffins, large knob of butter, and three varieties of jam. A feast fit for a queen. Miranda dug in, groaning softly at the first bite of the tender muffin. She leaned forward. “I would get quite plump given the chance to eat such a treat everyday.” Cordelia nodded, her mouth too full to answer.
Miranda turned to the woman polishing a jumble of teaspoons. “Tell me, Mrs…”
“Mrs Treadwell, miss.”
“How do you do. I’m Miss Miranda Large.” How she still cringed at her surname. Though she’d lived with it all her life, and was past the age of being teased by nasty schoolgirls, she wished her mama had chosen a different husband. Of course, given her knowledge of breeding, if she’d had a different father, she might not exist. Or she’d be a man. Besides, she wasn’t large all over, merely taller than most women and quite a few men. “And this is my friend Miss Cordelia Jones.”
The older woman bowed her head in greeting, her hands crossed over her ample stomach.
“Tell me, Mrs Treadwell, who owns the shop next door?”
“You interested in purchasing, are you?”
“Is the shop for sale?” Perhaps that’s why no shop owner hovered around being helpful. Drat, was she too late?
“Could be. Miss Korinna has been talking of selling, waiting for the right person.” She shook her head. “Puts too much faith in the stars and similar malarkey, if you ask me.”
“Actually I was hoping to buy a—” What in the world was she after? “A trinket.”
“ ‘Tis strange she wasn’t in the shop. She’s there all hours, sorting and fussing. An unholy mess, if you ask me. But different folks have their own ways, and it’s not for me to judge. And I’ll not speak ill of his lordship, what would be her cousin, no matter what others may say. Shall I fetch you more hot water?”
“Yes, please.”
Miranda longed to ask about the mysterious lord and why there was ill feeling directed at him. But she surmised that this woman spoke the truth when she stated she wouldn’t spread tales. So she ate the last bite of her muffin and contemplated the frozen journey back to Hayle. Given the brevity of their stay in the village, they would have time before the next train to do some shopping. Perhaps find a Christmas gift for Papa, a man who desired nothing except books and had an overflowing library as it was.
“A woman has entered the shop next door.” Cordelia half rose from her chair to get a better view through the lace curtains.
Mrs Treadwell went to the window. “Aye, Miss Korinna Penhallion, the proprietress.”
Miranda glanced at her friend and raised her brows in question. Cordelia sighed and pulled on her gloves. “Let us take another look. Perhaps she keeps her real treasures locked away.”
Miranda leapt from her seat, paid Mrs Treadwell while offering effusive thanks and compliments, and dashed out the door, not wanting the mysterious shop owner to leave before she got there.