Page 5 of A Second Chance for Love

“Good morning, Miss Parker,” the manager of the Greedy Vicar called out.

“Good morning, Mr. Shaw,” Oona replied, oddly warmed by the friendly, but polite, acceptance of the two men.

Just as she was heading for the steps to LeMonde’s the owner of Bond Street Coffee & Tobacco, Mr. Gaines, passed through the mews on his way to the storage vaults.

Mr. Gaines tipped his high crowned beaver at Oona and nodded at Mr. Shaw. “Good morning to you both,” he said with a pleasant, if somewhat distracted smile—the look of a man with a long list of tasks on his mind.

Mr. Gaines was a very attractive Black man who’d only recently opened his shop. He moved with the efficient decisiveness of someone determined to see that his new business flourished.

Oona had gone to the coffee and tobacco shop’s grand opening and had enjoyed both the delicious coffee and pastries. Mr. Gaines had shown that, in addition to being a business man, he was also kind, and had offered the employees who worked near the coffee shop a substantial discount on any pastries which had not sold by the end of the business day. Already his generosity had meant Oona didn’t need to eat porridge every night of the week.

Oona began unwinding her muffler as she climbed the back steps to the dress shop. Looking at the entrance to the vault made her stomach tighten as she recalled last night—not that she needed the sight of the building to remind her of the odd encounter with Mr. Justin Taylor, an encounter she’d been relentlessly reliving all night long.

Oona grimaced at her racing thoughts, for once grateful for the mindlessness of her work; it would be a relief to have a few hours not thinking about him.

She closed the door to the shop and hung her muffler on the hook that was reserved for her. She’d just taken the pin from her hat when the door to the small office where Madam kept her books flew open and bounced against the wall, making her jump.

“Good morning, Madam Le—”

“You ungrateful wretch,” the older woman thundered, her French accent sloughing away like skin from a snake.

“Wha—”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what’s goin’ on,” she snapped in cold, hard Cockney. “It’ll just make things worse for you.”

“But—”

“You should have waited until somebody else used the key to the vault—that would have been wiser.”

“The vault?”

Maria, Madam’s assistant clerk, came from the front of the shop, her face a mask of mortification as she looked at Oona. “Perhaps you might let her explain, Madam?” she asked faintly.

LeMonde didn’t take her eyes off Oona. “What’s there to explain? She is a thief. I’ve already sent Will to fetch the constable; he’ll be back any moment.”

Oona felt as if she’d drifted off to sleep and fallen face first into a nightmare. “I stole nothing from you.” Oona shook her head, although the other woman hadn’t spoken. “It’s unjust of you to assum—”

“You have the key.”

Oona blinked. “No, I’m sure I—” Then suddenly she recalled who’d locked the door last night: it had been Mr. Taylor. She dug through the pockets of her coat, even though she knew they contained nothing but her gloves and handkerchief because she’d had her hands in her pockets all the way to work. She tore open her reticule and dumped the contents on the nearby work table: a few coins, a card of pins, a frazzled silk flower that she’d found in the park on her walk, and the small leather case that held her miniature of Katie.

And the heavy iron key to the vault.

“A-ha!” LeMonde snatched the key off the table as if Oona might take it.

“I’m sorry, I forgot—I—” Oona stopped. What could she possibly say?

I was overcome after just being rescued by the most distracting man I’ve ever met and so I must have dropped the key into my reticule rather than put it back in its place. . . .

It was the truth, but it was hardly one Oona wanted to share—nor did she think the other woman would believe her.

“But, Madam, why would she bring the key with her if she was the thief?” Marie asked, risking LeMonde’s wrath for Oona—an action Oona never would have expected from the other girl.

Madam snorted. “How do I know what a thief thinks? No doubt she hoped to replace it and none would be the wiser.” She crossed her arms over her ample bosom and leaned against the door, as if Oona might make a break for it.

Oona met Maria’s eyes and the other woman gave a slight shrug, as if to say she had done all she could.

“Won’t you give me a chance to explain myself?” Oona asked.