There was a jangling of the bell as they walked into the bookshop. Godfrey gallantly stood back to allow Eugenia through the doorway as he took off his hat. He then followed her to greet the shopkeeper who was seated at his desk. The white-haired, portly, bespectacled Mr Johnson rose to shake Godfrey’s hand warmly and gave a slightly more muted, old-fashioned bow towards Eugenia, as was proper towards the wife of a favoured customer.
As Godfrey settled into the comfortable chair opposite Mr Johnson’s counter, he waved his pretty wife in the direction of light and popular novels, since he and the bookseller would discuss more serious publications. The shop was almost empty as it was a bright and sunny afternoon, so Godfrey looked forward to a lengthy and uninterrupted conversation.
Mr Johnson did not meet Eugenia’s eyes at Godfrey’s kind but dismissive instruction and she smiled vaguely at both men as she walked over to the shelves she had been directed to, where the few other patrons were browsing.
What Godfrey did not know was that although he might be treated favourably, Eugenia was certainly one of Mr Johnson’s more prolific clients. On many an afternoon when the shop was quiet, she would sit in the chair where Godfrey’s youthful, be-whiskered and elegantly attired figure now sat; and discuss books with the shop owner with the full mutual enjoyment of avid bibliophiles.
She and Godfrey had spent a happy Saturday morning playing in the park with their two young children, before returning to their suburban villa for lunch. Godfrey had suggested the expedition to the bookshop while the children were napping in the care of the nursemaid. His wife had obligingly agreed to accompany him, although he had apologised that she may be bored, to which she just smiled and demurred modestly, like the good wife she was.
Eugenia, while still in eyesight of her husband, pretended to scan the shelves frothy fare considered suitable for young women. Her kid-gloved hands ran over the volumes as the brim of her fashionable bonnet hid her face from Godfrey’s view and the fact she was not really browsing at all.
Although her husband was aware that she enjoyed the works of Mr Charles Dickens which he read out to her for their mutual entertainment as she sat by the fire sewing of an evening, he would have been surprised of her absorption of that prolific author’s weightier tales. Added to this was her consumption of the novels of Bell brothers (recently unmasked as the Bronte sisters,) those of Mrs Gaskell and M. Alexandre Dumas in the original French, to name but a few.
Since the men were now deep in conversation, Mr Johnson having summoned his assistant from the recesses of the property to send him out for refreshments for Godfrey, Eugenia deemed it safe to delve deeper into the shop. In Mr Johnson’s father’s time, it has just taken up one front room of the old house just off the market square in this quiet country town, but over the years, the business had expanded to take over the entire ground floor of the building.
Mr Johnson had kept the original layout, so that the shop was made up of several small rooms, which Eugenia thought quaint and charming. She knew off by heart which sections housed which subjects and her buttoned boots tapped along the wooden flooring as she moved through the passageway towards the back of the building, lined with books on either side. The base of her full, tiered skirts caressed the titles on the bottom shelves as she passed them.
The small rooms were laid out as book-filled parlours, decorated with comfortable chairs and the occasional reading desk, so that patrons could browse comfortably and be tempted to purchase unhurriedly. The front leaves of some the glass-fronted reading desks were deliberately left down and a few volumes artfully placed there to catch the eye of a casual customer.
This arrangement was not only welcoming, but discreetly practical. Any valuable or prohibited volumes were locked behind the glass doors, with Mr Johnson or his hovering assistant having the key readily available upon request. This avoided any embarrassing incidents where shoppers might be confronted for being enticed to walk off with one of Mr Johnson’s most treasured volumes without actual payment.
However, as she walked from room to room there were no consumers (tempted or otherwise) to peruse the volumes and the shop’s assistant was evidently still busy furnishing Godfrey with suitable refreshment as he made his choices under Mr Johnson’s literary directions.
Eugenia was always glad to be able to have some private time amongst books. She became lost in a world of her own as she breathed in the distinctive, musty scent of the many volumes and the men’s voices from the front of the shop faded to a distant murmur.
Her love affair with literature went far back as she could remember, but it was truly kindled by the arrival in her home of her governess, Miss Davis, whose stern appearance (which won her favour with her young charges’ parents,) belied not only a heart of gold but a burning passion for education which Eugenia eagerly absorbed.
As Eugenia grew older, however, her parents’ praise for her academic achievements grew more muted, especially in company. She found increasingly that she had only Miss Davis to confide in as her knowledge expanded.
Once presented in the drawing room, she was encouraged only to display her watercolours, the neatness of her embroidery stitching and her prowess at the pianoforte, and to keep her mouth firmly shut about her translations of the Greek and Roman poets. She learned from everyone she mixed with socially that society did not condone a young woman whose interests were frankly, well, bookish.
When the dreaded time inevitably came and Miss Davis departed for her next position, she left Eugenia not only with the precious gift of learning, but also the addresses of similarly-minded women, who Eugenia could blamelessly correspond with by post and share ideas and books with, which made her feel less alone in her zest for knowledge.
And so, Eugenia continued to hide this essential part of herself as she learned to become a young lady and prepare for marriage. It would not do to share this passion with Godfrey. In his mind, as he departed on the train to his work in business in a nearby manufacturing town each morning, she was the queen of his domestic kingdom. In this way, he fondly imagined that she spent all the hours of her day happily organising their household, the servants and devoting herself to their young children.
Not that she didn’t cherish her time with her precious babies, but her other household concerns were dealt with quickly and efficiently. This meant that she could spend at least part of the afternoon in her parlour reading avidly and corresponding her thoughts on the latest volumes with her like-minded friends.
This small, otherwise exclusively female group included Mr Johnson, who spoke with her as an equal as they frequently discussed literature, both ancient and modern. Given his discretion when they had arrived together that afternoon, the bookseller discerned this was not a topic to be broached with Godfrey; especially as the greater proportion of her generous dress allowance was discreetly spent on books.
In her own parlour at home, her bookshelves were curtained so they looked exactly like the sewing shelves which bordered the room. On the odd occasion when her husband caught an earlier train home from work, when she heard his voice greet the maid, Eugenia instinctively hid whatever tome she was reading behind a cushion.