Miss O’Doyle looked once more to the squire; Royston got out of the way.
“Have you come to your senses?” Mr. Carman asked.
“I have come to the realization that I am neglecting my other customers by prolonging this transaction.” Miss O’Doyle held her hand out for the meager coins she had been offered.
The squire dropped the coins not in her upturned palm but on the counter before taking up his ill-gotten cake and leaving with a smug air.
The other villagers present in the shop stood frozen on the spot. Carman held enough sway to inspire wariness, and he was enough of a fiend to inspire fear. He was not missed when he left a place and gained few friends by arriving.
How would their relatively newly arrived confectioner respond to the man who’d been making life miserable in Chippingwich for years? Would she rant and rage? Weep and crumble? Loudly decry the unfairness of it all? They were reasonable reactions, each and every one.
She did none of those, however. She simply looked out over the gathered customers, her dignity firmly in place, and said, “Next, please.”
Licorice proved an absolute banger of a shop assistant. The girl was a hard worker and a quick study. When given a task, she didn’t muck about. She was also stubborn and unafraid to talk at the customers, her language a touch too colorful at times.
“You ain’t s’pposed to say things like that in here, Licorice.” Olly stood facing his fellow urchin, with his hands on his hips and a disapproving glare worthy of a monarch. “Miss Vera ain’t running a boozing ken!”
“I’ve heard you say worse and more,” Licorice tossed back. She had at least six years on the boy but didn’t always act that way when he began pricking at her.
“Not in here, you haven’t. Miss Vera lets me earn coins, and she gives me food sometimes, so I wash m’ hands and keep m’ words clean too. Iffen you don’t do the same, she’ll toss you out, and you’ll be back chasing dogs and looking over your shoulder.”
Licorice paled a little. Time to intervene.
“Don’t let him gnaw you, love,” Vera said, turning the girl back toward the chair she’d been polishing. “You’ll twig what you’re meant to say and do soon enough.”
“I’m not trying to make trouble for you, Miss Vera.”
“I know.” She nudged her on, then turned back to Olly. “Quit kicking off at her. She’s new to our shop. You made a few missteps yourself when you first started working here.”
“I ain’t bungling things so much now,” he said almost plaintively.
“You’re a right legend,” she said a touch dryly. “Now hop to it, zaychik.”
He grinned before snapping a cheeky salute and spun around to continue his dusting. Vera caught sight of Licorice out of the corner of her eye and saw a fond gleam in the girl’s expression as she looked at the little boy, very much the way one looked at a younger brother.
“I hope you’ll not let his sauciness put you off working here,” Vera said in a low voice. “I’ve appreciated your help, especially on the days Mr. O’Donnell’s not here.”
“Let me know what days Olly ain’t here. Those’ll be my favorites.”
Vera clicked her tongue. “Don’t feed me any of that flim-flam, Licorice. He picks at you, but you’re fond of him.”
Licorice shrugged a little and focused on her work once more. She wasn’t likely to admit her fondness for the boy, but it was obvious. Olly didn’t always spend his days in the shop; Vera suspected Licorice wouldn’t either. But she liked having the two around. Between them and Ganor, she didn’t feel nearly as lonely.
Papa stood in the doorway of the back room, where he was spending his day. Though there were penny dreadfuls on display in the shop front—there always were—it was not a delivery day, so the number of tales was low. On those days, he was a little more willing to take a step or two inside.
He had his coat on.
“Are you going somewhere?” she asked.
He nodded as he buttoned the front, still hovering in the back doorway. “I heard of someone who might be looking for a new printer. Thought I’d go make myself known to the man.”
“Who is whispering to you about print work?” She couldn’t think of anyone he chatted with regularly.
“I may not have a lot of friends, kotik, but I am not entirely without acquaintances.”
She’d set his back up, and she’d not meant to. “I hope you get the job, Papa. You’d do a fine job of it. Whoever this man is, he’d be fortunate to have you doing work for him.”
He gave an almost regal dip of the head. Her papa had never been a person of high standing or importance, but he had always carried himself with dignity.
“What sort of printing does this person need done?” Vera asked.
“Political broadsides.” Papa pushed his spectacles back; they’d slipped when he’d nodded to her.
“You don’t care for politicians.” She knew that perfectly well.
“I also don’t care for writers, but as you see, that has made little difference.” As he put on his hat, he motioned with his beard toward the display of stories.
“Only the stories, pápochka. Not the ones who create them.”
“And I’ll print the broadsides,” he said, “without thinking too hard on ‘the ones who create them.’”
“Then will you stop growling at me like a bear with a sore paw every time new stories are delivered? Seeing as you understand the need to sometimes hold your nose and make a living.”
He did not appear the least convinced by her logic. “Writers are not to be trusted. How is it I have not given you enough understanding of that after all these years?”
She lowered her voice. “I’m well clued to our history, Papa. I’ve no intention of opening our doors to people who’d as soon destroy us as look at us.”
His shoulders drooped. “The Petrashevsky Circle ruined our lives. I will not let that happen a second time.” They only ever spoke of this in whispers.
“There is no Petrashevsky Circle in London, Papa. We’re safe from that here.” She’d told herself that ever since she was tiny. Many children grew up fearful of otherworldly creatures and fairy tale villains. The Petrashevsky Circle had been her terrifying hobgoblin.
“We’re not safe from it anywhere. Not ever.” He adjusted his hat for good measure and moved into the shop, weaving through the customers milling there, and stepped out onto the street.