EMMA LISTENED PATIENTLY as Miss Bainbridge pontificated on the finer details of what duties the job of a Booklover’s Librarian entailed. They included dusting the books and waxing the handrails while Emma began her training, then eventually she would be on the floor assisting patrons.
“You’ll have to recommend books, primarily to our Class A subscribers,” Miss Bainbridge added. “While the Class B may receive a nudge of a suggestion from time to time, our Class A subscribers pay significantly more for the pleasure of having a curated list of books recommended for them personally.” She folded her hands over the neat stack of papers in front of her. “Does that seem like something you could do?”
“Yes,” Emma answered earnestly. “I used to work at a bookshop. At Tower Bookshop in Beeston.” A familiar pain twinged when she spoke of her father’s bookshop, even all these years later.
“Tower Bookshop?” An inscrutable expression passed over the woman’s face, but cleared quickly. “That has not been around for...what? Five years?”
“Eight.” But sometimes, it seemed like only yesterday, while simultaneously feeling like a life someone else had lived.
“You aren’t as young as I’d assumed then.” Miss Bainbridge tapped her finger on the desk thoughtfully.
Emma expected that. She had a youthful face like her mother, enhanced with her father’s large blue eyes. One man she’d interviewed with at the stocking factory advised her to slip a few years off on her next interview and that no one would be the wiser.
Except that Emma hated to lie.
Miss Bainbridge tilted her head. “Why haven’t you married?”
There was a directness to Miss Bainbridge Emma appreciated. She had never understood women who danced and prevaricated around saying what they intended.
Emma clenched her hands in her lap and forced her thoughts on Olivia, who patiently awaited Emma’s return to their flat. The rented space was small but offered an en suite washroom and a living area, and had a cozy kitchen with enough room for a table and a few chairs.
If Emma didn’t acquire a job soon, they wouldn’t have enough money to keep them there.
And yet her tongue would not work to speak the lie.
“I was married,” she confessed on an exhale. “I’m a widow.”
Miss Bainbridge nodded. “I see.”
Emma swallowed. “And I’m a mother.”
Miss Bainbridge’s face fell and the excited hum in the air went flat.
“I have sufficient experience for the position,” Emma rushed. “More than enough. My father owned Tower Bookshop. I was raised in that shop and remained there until it burned down.”
Miss Bainbridge straightened. “Mr. Williams was your father?”
“Yes. I married a year after the fire and had a little girl. But my husband was struck by a car, leaving me alone with Olivia—that’s my daughter. I’ve tried everywhere, but no one will hire a widow with a child. Aside from factories, but I’m too old...”
The regret already hovered in Miss Bainbridge’s gray eyes, a preliminary rejection on the cusp of being spoken.
“Please.” Emma sat forward in her seat. “I know books.”
“Miss Taylor.” Miss Bainbridge closed her eyes and corrected, “Mrs. Taylor, you must understand that by you having a child—”
“A daughter,” Emma corrected, disliking the anonymity of the general word child. Olivia was so much more than just a child. She was Emma’s whole heart.
Miss Bainbridge remained quietly pensive for a moment. The fine lines at her forehead were more pronounced than those at the corners of her eyes, which said a lot about how the woman perceived the world. “Your father was a good man. What happened to him, to you, was a shame.”
A shame.
Deficient words for the most devastating day of Emma’s life. She looked down, focusing on the small oval callus under her naked ring finger and the slight band of discolored skin from the cheap ring.
“If you were to recommend a book to me, what would you suggest?”
Emma looked up.
Miss Bainbridge settled back and her chair gave a low creak. “Take your time.”
Emma shifted her perspective of the older woman from potential employer to reader. Once upon a time, Emma could deduce a person’s book preference in seconds, a sixth sense that guided her to the part of their soul that was missing, a gap that could be filled with the perfect story.
She’d had a gap in her own life for far too long. A chasm really. The ability to discern a reader’s preference felt weak as she tried to flex the anemic skill. Instead, she considered the woman in front of her.
The weight of the world rested on Miss Bainbridge’s squared shoulders, but despite her stern expression, she had offered benevolence to the soon-to-be newlywed who had quit, even though doing so clearly put Miss Bainbridge out. Then there was her style—ageless with her simple updo and her tailored black dress.
Miss Bainbridge seemed the sort to prefer the Everyman’s Library classic reprints rather than a contemporary novel.
Before Emma could second-guess her choice, she replied, “Jane Eyre.”
Miss Bainbridge blinked and narrowed her gray eyes. “Why would you suggest that book?”
“You seem the pragmatic sort,” Emma replied. “Intelligent, but also kind. After all, I’m still here talking to you despite my circumstances.”
A smile stretched over Miss Bainbridge’s thin lips. “Jane Eyre happens to be my favorite book. How far do you live from here?”
The abruptness of the second question was jarring. “A ways. I’m on Moorgate Street in Radford.”
Miss Bainbridge tapped at her chin with a short, immaculate fingernail. “That’s far enough away...” she murmured to herself.
“I’m sorry?” Emma scooted to the edge of her chair, not wanting to miss a single word.
“Would you be willing to be addressed as Miss Taylor and refer to your daughter as your sister instead, should your relation come into question?”
Emma blinked, incredulous. Was she really being offered the job?
“It’s crude to ask, I know, but you’re aware of the rules...” Miss Bainbridge hedged.
“Yes,” Emma said quickly. “I mean, yes, I agree to the terms. Please, I need this job.”
The lines running across Miss Bainbridge’s brow deepened and perhaps she was second-guessing her decision. Regardless, she said, “Welcome to the Boots’ Booklover’s Library, Miss Taylor.”
She stressed the word Miss.
“Arrive tomorrow morning promptly at seven, prepared for your training to begin. Do bear in mind that your employment will be dependent on passing the necessary exams.”
The word of caution did nothing to dampen Emma’s soaring spirits. After all, she had always received excellent marks in school. “I won’t let you down.”