At Your Request (Apart from the Crowd 0.5)(19)
“You named your horse Mr. Merriweather?” Wilhelmina couldn’t resist asking, even with certain danger and death sliding ever closer their way.
“I did. I actually wanted to name him Charlie, but he simply refused to answer to that name.”
Holding her breath as the wagon drew ever nearer and Miss Griswold did not pick up the reins, Wilhelmina felt herself going a bit dizzy from lack of air . . . but then sucked in a large breath a mere moment later, when Mr. Merriweather pulled the sleigh over to the very farthest corner of the road, giving the wagon a wide berth.
Sending Wilhelmina a rather smug smile, Miss Griswold picked up the reins, although she held them in a hand that, to Wilhelmina’s eye, was merely for show.
“Do you and Mr. Merriweather spend much time traveling around the city?” she asked as the horse took that moment to pick up his pace, almost as if he wanted to prove to Wilhelmina that he was in complete control of their situation.
“We travel to Central Park nearly every day to watch society take their afternoon strolls or drives. We also travel to the shops on the Ladies’ Mile as well as the shops located in the seedier parts of the city, because I simply can’t resist searching out a good bargain.”
Wilhelmina’s nose took to wrinkling. “Isn’t your father one of the wealthiest men in America these days?”
“I don’t know if he’s one of the wealthiest, but he does have a rather impressive fortune. I, however, have always possessed a frugal nature—thus the reason for shopping with an eye toward thrift.”
Before Wilhelmina could ask why Miss Griswold would spend every afternoon watching society stroll around Central Park when she was probably never invited to stroll with any of the society members gathered there, Miss Griswold suddenly pulled back on the reins. Unsurprisingly, Mr. Merriweather tossed his head in clear protest, though he immediately slowed his pace.
“There seems to be some type of commotion up ahead, right by the entrance to Central Park, but . . .” Miss Griswold leaned forward, squinting at something in the distance. “On my word, I do believe that Mr. Asher Rutherford might be responsible for the congestion. Although . . .” She leaned further forward. “I’m sure I must be much mistaken about this, but it almost appears as if Mr. Rutherford has taken to hawking some manner of goods in the entranceway to Central Park.”
With that, Miss Griswold clicked her tongue and steered Mr. Merriweather off to the side of the road, pulling on the brake when the horse came to a smart stop. Turning to Wilhelmina, she nodded. “Shall we nip over by Mr. Rutherford and investigate?”
“Investigate what, exactly?”
“What Mr. Rutherford is truly up to, of course. Surely you must find it just as curious as I do that the owner of one of the most prestigious stores in the city seems to be personally peddling wares.”
Seeing no reason to balk over what seemed like a reasonable request, Wilhelmina climbed down from the sleigh, smiling when Miss Griswold moved directly to her side and linked their arms together. Giving their entwined arms a good pat, Miss Griswold immediately took to grinning.
“It’s ever so lovely to have friends, isn’t it?”
Unable to help but return the grin, even as she found herself wondering how it was possible that a charming lady like Miss Griswold had apparently spent her life bereft of many friends, Wilhelmina nodded. “It is indeed, Miss Griswold, and I feel I owe you an apology for neglecting to make a point of getting acquainted with you sooner.”
“Since we’re now on our way to becoming fast friends, you simply must call me Permilia, and I will, of course, call you Wilhelmina, even when you marry your Mr. Wanamaker and become Mrs. Wanamaker to the world at large.”
“I don’t recall stating for certain that I’m going to accept his offer, not that he, now that I consider the matter, did any offering. It was more on the lines of a statement.”
“Only a ninny would cast Mr. Edgar Wanamaker aside, and you, my dear, don’t strike me as a ninny,” Permilia said before she prodded Wilhelmina into motion.
Slipping their way into Central Park , they didn’t stop until they reached a stack of rectangular boxes coated in a glossy pink finish. Mr. Asher Rutherford, owner of Rutherford & Company—a store known for its fine goods—stood directly beside those boxes.
“Ladies,” Mr. Rutherford exclaimed as he slid money into a cash register set up on what appeared to be an old crate. “Have you come to purchase a pair of skates? I have the very latest in ice skates available, and still have a nice selection of styles to choose from.”
Stepping forward with an air that could only be described as confident, Permilia opened a box and stuck her hand inside, peeling away the tissue paper that cushioned the skates inside. “How much are you charging for these?” she asked.
“Five dollars, seventy-seven cents,” Mr. Rutherford said with a smile, the smile fading straightaway when Permilia withdrew her hand from the box and closed the lid.
“That’s flat-out robbery, that is,” Permilia said, apparently not impressed in the least by the idea she was conversing with a gentleman who was considered one of the most eligible gentlemen in the city.
Mr. Rutherford narrowed his eyes. “It most certainly is not.”
“Bloomingdales has skates for under four dollars,” Permilia proclaimed.