To my right there was a tinsmith’s, with all manner of tableware in the window, but I didn’t stop. A man with a crutch under his arm asked another fellow, who was passing, “Shine your shoes, sir?” The passing fellow slowed, and I went around him. “The sun found its way out,” the woman said, and “yes, it’s balmy now,” her husband replied, his voice slipping away into the general patter of feet and talk. The shoppers were spread thinner than they were in London a couple coming toward me moved aside, and we passed without brushing. So I went farther down the street, careful to stay in Ledford’s line of sight. My errand felt intimate, and I wanted to do it in some privacy if I could. Davies and Lucette went right in, but I didn’t like to follow them. Ledford stopped the coach in front of a building with POST OFFICE stenciled large over its facade. One moment we were passing rowhouses, and the next we were passing shop windows-and I could see, at the far end, where the rowhouses picked up again. The village main street was nothing like what I’d seen of London when I left Parish Street. Not having anything to say to Lucette, I watched the trees, my mind on what might make a good gift. Davies spoke, huffing and complaining when a bump in the road jostled the carriage. The ride to the village was mostly quiet. Frugal as I was, I’d never before taken the opportunity, so on the Sunday I asked to come along I was readily seated with Lucette and Mrs. If ever there were more than three who wanted to go, he took whoever had not been down the mountain in the longest time. Every Sunday, Ledford brought three lady servants down the mountain in the larger of the Bornholdts’ carriages so they could do some walking and shopping in the village with him as chaperone.
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