Chapter 2: Chapter 2
“Sugar on mine, please,” Mr. Fenton called from the shop. “And a little milk. Help yourself.”
Christy smiled and sprinkled sugar on, then poured a little milk over, watching it pool around the edge of the bowl. He added spoons, and Mr. Fenton appeared in the doorway, leaning heavily on his cane.
“I’ll eat here. Will you join me?” There was a smart table with four chairs in the room, but Mr. Fenton lowered himself into one of the armchairs and then rubbed at his thigh. Christy knew that he had a bad hip and a troublesome leg, a problem he had been born with, and it often made walking difficult andpainful. He didn’t know a great deal else about Mr. Fenton the man.
Apart from the fact that he was a widow who lost his wife five years ago.
He did, however, know a lot about his views on books and politicians from their many conversations.
Christy handed him a bowl and took the chair opposite. Mr. Fenton’s face looked pale and tired, and thedark hair that flopped onto his forehead seemed laced with more grey than before. Christy watched him in the soft light from the fire and the brace of candles still burning. He held the bowl for a moment, asthough warming his hands on it, then took the spoon and started to eat carefully and methodically.
Christy stirred his own bowl and continued watching him out of the corner of his eye.
“You look tired, Mr. Fenton. Are you not feeling quite the thing?”
Mr. Fenton glanced over at him. His clear grey gaze held his for a moment and then returned to the bowl. “Didn’t sleep too well. Cold weather plays havoc with the leg.” He looked back at Christy for a moment before concentrating on his bowl again. “You don’t look too clever yourself,” he said.
The dull ache in his head returned when Mr. Fenton shifted the conversation to him. To his shame, Mr. Fenton knew a little about Christy’s living circumstances because there had been occasions when Christy couldn’t hide the bruises. It was rare that Mr. Fenton commented, which was a good thing, because on the occasion when he had shown a modicum of sympathy or concern, Christy found himself close to tears which was mortifying in the extreme. He wanted Mr. Fenton to see him as capable and dependable and worthy of working in his shop, not as some snivelling boy.
“Haven’t slept much either,” Christy mumbled around his porridge as he shot him a swift glance.
The firelight flickered over Mr. Fenton’s profile. His eyes were firmly on his porridge. “You know, if you ever needed to, you could sleep here on occasion. There are spare rooms upstairs.”
Christy’s heart beat so rapidly in his chest at the unexpected offer it made him lightheaded. “Thank you,” he whispered when he recovered himself. He could think of nothing he would love more than to sleep in the shop. His heart ached along with his head.
Mr. Fenton scraped the last of the porridge from his bowl and Christy watched those slim, elegant hands hold the spoon.
“You could always take a nap before the shop opens if you are particularly tired,” Mr. Fenton said, ashe stood up. “The Christmas decorations can wait.”
Christy stared. When he had first come to the shop, Mr. Fenton had been the grumpiest, prickliest man he’d ever met, but as the weeks had ticked by, he had unbent little by little, and now he often made Christy’s life easier by offering small kindnesses, but he’d never gone so far as to offer him a bed.
“Thank you, but I’d best get on, Mr. Fenton,” he said, not looking at him, and finished his own bowl of porridge as quickly as he could.
* * * *
Christy stood back and admired the display in the window. It was a lovely bay window with individual, oblong panels, and customers could stop to look in and see the wares. It wasn’t a fancy window or a large window, it was small, cosy, and inviting. Just like the bookshop. It wasn’t in the fanciest part of London, not in the way the big bookshops like Hatchard’s on Piccadilly were, but Christy felt that the shop was in a perfect spot. Close to the hustle and bustle of Covent Garden down towards the Strand on Southampton Street and near Mr. Bell’s Weekly Messenger. It was well enough away from Seven Dials and St Giles which were now so run down and overcrowded, they were filled with cutthroats and vagabonds. Christy knew all about those people, considering he lived amongst them.
Along the street was the apothecary, the baker and a shoemaker, and several engravers and artists. One of Christy’s favourite shops was Lacy’s, a haberdasher’s shop that sold just about everything that aperson could need. Recently, a pie seller had pitched his stall at the top of the road on the corner of Henrietta Street, and very often Mr. Fenton would purchase them warm meat pies for luncheon.
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone