Hell's Eyes

BRIANNA SHAFFERY

“It’s just not like him,” Miss Elsie Hyacinth said to Mrs. Weaves one morning as they stood together in her bakery. “He’s not come in for three weeks now, and it’s most unusual for him. He hasn’t even hardly stopped to converse with me or Mr. Quiller or even said ‘hello’ to either of us in as much the same time.” Mrs. Weaves nodded, sniffing as she watched the man in question jump back nearly three feet when the door to Halberry Herbary across the street opened and a patron—another of their neighbors—stepped out in front of him. Pursing her lips together, Mrs. Weaves watched the short exchange a second longer, eyeing the way Mr. Noblémyn gave the passerby a wide berth before she clicked her tongue. “That certainly isn’t like Mr. Noblémyn at all. I wonder what sort of snicket he’s gotten himself struck by.” “Aye, it is a wonder,” Elsie said distractedly. Her lips twisted into a frown, observing Mr. Noblémyn a moment longer until he was no longer in her line of sight from within the bakery. Shaking herself from her concern, she turned to Mrs. Weaves once more and made to change the subject. “So, your usual order then?” “That will do, thank you.” Mrs. Weaves gave her a crisp nod and waited as Elsie set about packaging up her provisions. A woman of business, the curious case of Mr. Noblémyn’s sudden affliction had faded from Mrs. Weaves’s mind, but Miss Elsie Hyacinth’s was quite enraptured by the mysterious change in the town’s most trusted financier as she handed Mrs. Weaves the packages containing the inn’s dozen loaves of bread and four dozen pastries.

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