His next errand was to the shop—Topham’s—and as he lingered irresolutely in the rain, staring up and down the street, he was overtaken by a brisk figure in an aquascutum and motor cap.
“I see you are searching for our emporium,” she began, “and I’ll show it to you—in fact, I’m going in myself to get some brass-headed carpet nails.”
The shop stood sideways to the street, as if anxious for concealment, and was the most astonishing place of its kind that Wynyard had ever entered. A stall in an Indian bazaar was tame and tidy in comparison. The house was old and low, the shop of narrow dimensions; it widened out as it ran back, and lost itself in a sort of tumbledown greenhouse. The smell was extraordinary, so varied, penetrating, and indescribable—and small wonder, he said to himself, when he had inspected the stock!
An oldish woman with a long nose (the Ottinge nose) stood stiffly behind the counter; at her left the window was full of stale confectionery, biscuit tins, sticky sweets in glass bottles, oranges and apples in candle boxes; heaps of Rickett’s blue, and some fly-blown advertisements.
Behind Mrs. Topham were two shelves dedicated to “the library,” which consisted of remarkably dirty and battered sixpenny novels; these she hired to the village at the generous price of a penny a volume for one week. To the left of the entrance were more shelves, piled with cheap toys, haberdashery, and china; and here ended the front of the shop. Concealed by a low screen were tins of oil, a barrel of ginger ale on tap, and a large frying-pan full of dripping. The remainder of the premises was abandoned to the greengrocery business on a large scale—onions, potatoes, and cabbages in generous profusion.
“Good-morning, Mrs. Topham,” said Miss Morven. “What a wet day! How is your cough?”
“Oh, I’m amongst the middlings, miss. What can I do for you?”
“I want some brass-headed carpet nails, and my aunts have sent a list;” and she motioned to Wynyard.
Mrs. Topham seized upon it with her long, yellow fingers (they resembled talons)—the Manor were good customers.
“You can send over the things, Mrs. Topham; but I want the nails now.”