A/N: Poor Sophie! Jaden comes back in the next chapter; don't worry, I haven't forgotten him. Also, reviews are much appreciated! Enjoy.
Chapter Five: The Secret
"My dear Sophie, you look positively done in!"
Sophie started and blinked up at Mrs. Dalgliesh. The matron was leaning over the scratched shop counter, her bottle-green dress rustling. She'd raised a quizzing glass to her eye and was inspecting Sophie worriedly, her gaze skimming over the untidy hair and shadowed eyes. With an effort, Sophie smiled.
"I suppose I am a bit tired, mum. My book--"
Mrs. Dalgliesh raised a hand and shook her head.
"Say no more. You and your books! Reading 'till all hours of the morning again." Without waiting for an answer, the matron scooped up her package from the counter and passed Sophie a handful of coins.
"There you are, dear. And mind you take more care! You mustn't exhaust yourself so. That book will still be there come morning, won't it?"
Sophie murmured, "Yes, mum."
Mrs. Dalgliesh slipped her package into a reticule and gave it a little pat.
"You must think I'm awfully silly, spending good copper on such a thing. But I always did want to go to a proper ball. When I was a girl I'd sit and dream about the ladies in their dancing slippers and fine silks." She gave a little laugh. "Then I married dear Mr. Dalgliesh, and time went on as it tends to do. I thought…well, it might be nice just to see what it would have been like."
Not knowing quite what to say, Sophie offered,
"The ball dreams are one of our most popular."
"I dare say they are. But it's never quite the same thing, is it?" Mrs. Dalgliesh cocked her head. "Books are all well and good, but you should get out more, my dear. Go to the balls and parties, live a little. Take an old woman's advice; you won't be young forever."
Sophie murmured something politely noncommittal and the matron smiled at her.
"But here I am, rambling on when I'm sure you have work to do." She raised a hand to her careful arrangement of blond curls and moved to the door. "Take care, Sophie. And give my regards to your lovely uncle, won't you?"
When the door banged shut, Sophie finally gave herself leave to sag. She'd thought that the matron would never leave! It had been all she could do to nod and smile at the proper times. She hadn't slept at all. And in a way, she supposed, it had been because of a book.
Sophie scrubbed a hand across her forehead, wishing fervently that she could forget about the entire horrible night. She had found the ledger after only a few moments searching in the study. Inside, in Londer's messy scrawl, bets and wins and losses were all listed in labeled columns. No matter the occasion, Sophie thought bitterly, her uncle was nothing if not a careful record-keeper. When she found
the ledger, she had tried at first to convince herself that it meant nothing. Perhaps her uncle was working for a club on the side, or helping a friend. Anything was possible, wasn't it?
But the other papers in the drawer couldn't be so easily dismissed. They were debts of every possible variety. Whist: Harry R., five. And Goblins, owe Tommy 17 , Magical or not, it seemed there was nothing her uncle had not bet on. And when Sophie looked at the ledger again, she saw that the numbers in the 'loss' column were by far the largest. Her uncle had gambled both frequently and badly for what looked like years, and she never even guessed.
Sophie had felt horribly alone, sitting in the pitch-dark study with her shawl clutched around her shoulders, holding the thin papers that doomed their little shop. The visit from the weasel-faced man now made perfect sense. Londer had borrowed heavily to pay what he owed, but he couldn't stop gambling and new debts piled up to replace the old. Now, the moneylender was running out of patience. Sophie had no doubt that the odious man would keep his promise of taking the shop. He had no reason to be merciful; indeed, in his business, compassion was a liability.
Unless a minor miracle happened, she knew that they would very soon be penniless. And if the shop wasn't worth enough, would Londer be sent to a workhouse? Sophie closed her eyes. Her uncle wasn't young anymore; the work would surely kill him. Unless…
Against her will, Sophie remembered Jaden and his unthinkable offer. The man was clearly rich. If Sophie sold only a few of her dreams, they could pay of the debts—
Sophie shuddered, horrified at her own train of thought. Jaden's offer was not an option at all, she told herself firmly. But then, what on earth were they going to do?
The jangle of the shop bell started Sophie out of her reverie and she felt a rush of dread. She had barely kept up appearances for old Matron Dalgliesh. How in the world was she going to cope with the day's stream of eager customers? She felt claustrophobic, caged in the too-small shop with the querulous voices of the newcomers grating in her ears. She had to get out, she thought. It didn't matter where, but she had to go.
Struck by a sudden urgency, Sophie whirled and rushed out of the shop, back to the inventory room. Her uncle had been engrossed in his cataloguing and he looked up in surprise when she pushed open the door.
"Sophie? Is there a problem in the shop?"
He sounded worried, and Sophie's reply caught in her throat. For much of her life, Londer had seemed nearly perfect. There was no problem he couldn't solve, no obstacle too large. At her mother's funeral, as she struggled mightily to look brave and grown-up, Londer had held her hand and told her that it was alright to cry. We'll make it through this, he'd said. And they had…
In that moment, Sophie wished almost painfully that he could again be the knight in armor of her childhood, that he could wave his hand and make their problems disappear. But it was not to be. With an effort, Sophie squared her shoulders and declared,
"If it's not too much trouble, Uncle, I'd like to go to the fair."
"The fair?"
Londer blinked. His niece rarely asked to go out, and never for her own amusement.
"It's not in town much longer, and I…I should like to see it before it moves on."
Her uncle's bewilderment shifted to cautious delight.
"By all means, you must go to the fair! It should be a sight; we've not had one like this since I can remember."
"But the customers…."
Londer waved an unconcerned hand. "I'll handle the shop; you go enjoy yourself. You're only young once, and that's the truth."
He hadn't meant it as a dismissal, but Sophie took it as one. She rushed up to her room to don her pelisse and bonnet, and then she was out the door.
