The bell above the doorway tinkled a cheery welcome as John entered the shop, Timely Treasures. It was on the Pall Mall, not far from St. James’s Square, in quite the best location in the city. The shop itself had a modest exterior. It was in a small building with a narrow front and, likewise, the interior was long and thin. Lanterns hung at regular intervals on the shelves and perched on display tables on either side of a single aisle. The small space was warm and the heat, as well as the golden glow of the lanterns, was a happy respite from the early December gloom outside.
John knew at once he was in the right place. For the ordinary lamplight reflected off the most marvelous carvings as far as the eye could see. There were ornate goblets, canes topped with the heads of beasts, curvaceous mantle clocks, ornate fireplace screens, and figures that ranged from shepherdesses to King George II.
Nothing he saw was quite the match of the angel he’d found in the Thames, but there was no doubt they were kissing cousins. The same stylized look was shared by all the pieces. Figures were elongated, faces slightly elfin in quality. Even a mighty dragon with gilded scales and jeweled claws had that fairy look.
The dragon was as large as a hound and quite impressive, but John wondered who bought such elaborate geegaws. A duke or earl, perhaps, for his study or a nook in the library? Certainly not a working man like himself. Still, he could admire the artistry and did so wholeheartedly.
“May I help you, sir?”
It was a young man’s voice, low and melodic to John’s ear. His gaze sought out its source.
A gentleman stood in the aisle. He wore a simple brown frock coat of excellent cut with a stiff collar and large gold buttons. His waistcoat had a woven pattern in brown and light blue. His brown stockings and polished buckled shoes were the height of respectability, if not fashion. A ruffled shirt in a cream color framed his jaw and flattered his gold complexion and large dark eyes. He wore a simple wig in a sable color John would bet was close to its owner’s own shade. The man looked as though he had Mediterranean blood in his veins.
He also had a fragile, ethereal quality—not unlike the shop’s wares. It was a look that was very much in vogue and not, in general, something John found appealing. Yet his pulse picked up, and a familiar tingle heightened his senses.
As if nervous, the man’s hand went to his waistcoat buttons, smoothing them. His fingers were long and graceful.
“Sir? May I be of assistance?” the man repeated.
Oh. That was right. It was John’s turn to talk.
He put on a polite demeanor. “Beg your pardon. I’m looking for the sculptor, Alec Allston.”
“Then you’ll be gratified to learn that you have found him,” the man said with no touch of humor. Indeed, there was a sadness in those dark eyes that was just the opposite.
John blinked, surprised. He’d expected an older man given the prodigious output all around him. Allston looked no more than thirty at the most.
“Very pleased to make your acquaintance,” John said. “I was just admiring your work.”
“You’re very kind, sir. And how may I be of service? You’re looking for a gift for your wife, perhaps? Or your mother? Or perhaps you’d care for something in the nature of a small figure for your desk, to help stimulate the creative juices?”
The words sent John’s mind straight to the gutter. He could easily see Mr. Allston stimulating his juices.
“Or perhaps you only stepped inside to warm yourself?” Allston continued in a gentle tone. “You’re very welcome if that’s the case.”
“In point of fact, Mr. Allston, I’m here to give, rather than receive.” He took the bundle from his frock-coat pocket. After he’d gotten home last night, he’d wrapped the figurine in his best clean handkerchief. Holding it in one hand now, he carefully unfolded the cloth so her bright face and gown were visible.
Mr. Allston drew in a sharp breath, and his face went pale. John was taken aback at the reaction, but he went ahead with his speech.
“I found her, you see. I wasn’t at all sure what I should do with her. It didn’t seem right to keep her. So I asked around. Someone recognized your work and directed me to your shop.”
“Wh-where? Where did you find her?”
“Floating in the Thames, Mr. Allston. Floating in the Thames.”
A flicker of pain crossed Allston’s face. He reached out to steady himself on a nearby table as if he’d been dealt a blow.
“Is something wrong?” John asked. He had an urge to reach out and lend a hand, but he refrained.
Allston shook his head and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his face was blank and placid. “Nothing’s wrong. Apparently, some gifts are better left ungiven. That’s all.”
So it had been a personal item, then, not merely a piece made for trade. Looking down at her, John could well believe it. The thought that someone treated Allston’s gift so callously made him sad and even a little angry.
“I can’t imagine what kind of person could be so blind to quality as to throw away a beautiful gift like this,” he said. “But clearly, they’re fools.”
Allston looked at John’s face then, really looked at him instead of through him as though he were any random customer. “That’s.... Thank you,” he said with surprise.
“Not at all. What will you do with her, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Allston sighed and raised his chin. “Sell her. Maybe she’ll bring better luck to someone else.”
As if he wanted to act before he could change his mind, he took the angel from John’s hand, marched to the window, and placed her carefully in the middle of the display. “There.”
It seemed a shame, but then, John had no use for such a fancy ornament, nor the funds to buy her. So that was that.
Allston was all business as he passed John in the aisle and went behind the sales counter. “Let me reward you for your trouble.” He brought a money box from some inner shelf and opened it.
“No, no. Only I thought she belonged somewhere. Not nowhere. If you get my drift. So I brought her—” Home, he thought. “—er, back to you.” On impulse he added, with a cheeky grin, “But I’d not say no to a smile and a handshake.”
Allston blinked at him. “Why—yes. Yes, of course.” He started to reach over the counter, then thought better of it. He came back around to the aisle and held out a slender hand.
John took it. Like any man of his predilections, he’d learned to read the subtlest cues with the goal of obtaining his pleasure when he might, whilst avoiding a beating—not to mention arrest—where he might not. But he couldn’t read Allston. Something about the man suggested he shared John’s tastes. He seemed the sensitive sort, that sadness in his eyes, and his features were pretty in a way not common in a man. Yet he gave off no signal of interest. His face was composed and his gaze distant. He was polite, nothing more.
Still, John dared hold his hand a fraction longer than was the mode. This got no response. Pity. Allston was even better looking this close up. His skin had a soft and dewy quality John would dearly love to follow below the ruffled collar. And those dark eyes... God help him.
Allston stepped back. “Many thanks for your trouble, sir.”
“Trent. Mr. John Trent. And it was no trouble. Good day, Mr. Allston.”
“Good day, Mr. Trent.”
’Tis a shame we’ll never meet again, John thought as the bell signaled his exit from the shop.