Curious and Thrilling

After a filling breakfast of fresh scones, jam, cream and a mug of Ida’s strong coffee I slip into the stables to see Solomon and feed him an apple I had taken from Ida’s kitchen table. He snickers gently to me and chomps the apple greedily.I pat his neck and feel his warm breath on my ears,

“I’ll see you soon boy.”

As I venture forth to explore the town I walk from the inn down to the wide main street. It  reminds me of an old mining town where the streets were wide enough to allow a camel train to turn around. On either side of the street are shop fronts of all sorts, with windows painted, or signs hung up outside to advertise their wares. I walk past a saddler, a bookshop, a tobacconist, rope makers, a coffee shop, a tailor, a gem store and a co-op.

There is one particular shop front that I cannot walk past. Unlike the others who’s windows and doorsteps gleam with polish and bright paint this shop’s windows are dusty and grimy. The faded sign painted on the window reads “Curiosity Shop”. In the window display lies a jumbled assortment of books, broken phonograph machines, coins, hats, umbrellas, empty picture frames and odd boots. I push open the door and step inside.

The shop is dark. Here and there lamps shine pools of light. There does not appear to be any order to the place. Objects are strewn higgledy-piggledy. Tea-sets with flower pots, magazines and birdcages, men’s jackets and old postcards. I absently pick through the flotsam, not looking for anything in particular. Keys, braces, bottles, stamp albums, when a voice pipes out of the gloom,

“Hello dear, is this your first visit?”

“Yes it is,” I reply, peering through the stacks of old almanacs and recipe books to see an elderly man perched upon a high stool, leaning against a beautiful old writing desk.

“I thought as much” he says, adjusting the glasses on his nose, “Those who have been here before know exactly what they are looking for. Whereas you seem a wee bitty lost.”

I had to admit I was. I didn’t know what I wanted or what I was doing here.

The old man jumps from his stool and bows genteelly,

“Allow me to introduce myself”, he continues proffering his hand,” My name is Albany St. James DeWitt.”

“Pleased to meet you Mr. De Witt.” I shake his hand, which is no bigger than a child’s.

 With a flourish he produces a business card from a fine silver card holder.

Duwamish Bay’s   Albany St. James DeWitt   Curios and Collectables

 ”Now I take it you need something for your journey?” he asks.

“How did you know?”

“My dear everyone is on a journey of some sort”
He drifts amongst the detritus of his shop, lightly touching objects here and there.

“So tell me about yours. Where are you traveling to?”

“Well,” I stammer, “I’m not sure. It’s all a bit of a mystery really.”

“Ooh! Mystery!” He gasps clapping his hands together, ” Thrilling! Thrilling! Intrigue, suspense, romance.”

Dewitt paces the cluttered floor, his hands clasped dramatically at his chest.

“Secret meetings with strangers at midnight, clues to ponder”

I look at him,

“Actually I am meeting a stranger at midnight,”

He claps his hands gleefully,

 ” Thrilling! Thrilling! Our glamorous heroine! You must have something fabulous to wear! Follow me!” He commands.

He strides to a door at the back of the shop. I follow him through the doorway into a brightly lit room. It is a stark contrast to the shop. Rows and rows of dresses hang on racks. Full length mirrors line the walls. Shelves hold neatly stacked shoe boxes, handbags and folded scarves in every colour imaginable.

DeWitt walks into the room talking nonstop,

“Sequins, scarves. Chic, sensual, dramatic, feminine.”

“But Mr. DeWitt,” I venture, ” I have a horse to ride and a journey to take. I really don’t think I need a dress.”

“Pish posh!” He snorts. What is it with this place and snorting? ” You must always have one sensational dress. Especially for mysterious midnight rendezvous’. You must look thrilling and I have just the thing!”

I decide it will be easier to go along for the ride rather than try to resist.

“A dress,” I murmur, as I watch DeWitt pulling out dresses, scarves and shoes in frenzy, “How thrilling.”

In a few minutes the room is awash in colour. Dresses, capes, shoes, boas, tiaras, chokers, gloves and stockings have been pulled from their racks, shelves and boxes.

Mr. DeWitt, I ask timidly as he holds swatches of fabric up to my face, tutting and shaking his head, “I thought you ran a curiosity shop.”

“You didn’t turn it over did you?” He asks, nodding at the business card that I am still holding

Albany St. James DeWitt   Dresser and Stylist Extraordinaire

 ”Mr. Dewitt?” I ask again.

“Yes darling” DeWitt replies, “I used to be a fashion and style consultant for a big magazine. I retired here but I never quite left the business behind.”

“But this is Duwamish Bay, all the people I met today were wearing gumboots and overalls. Won’t I be a bit overdressed?”

DeWitt looks at me seriously,

“Listen darling, tonight is a very big night for our town. Everyone will be making an effort. Even Tom Wilcox, bless his heart, will dress up this evening. So you are expected to do your best to spruce up.”

“So how often do you do this?”

“Oh whenever there is a big do here all the locals love to frock up. When the spirit takes me I pack up off to Paris for a few weeks and come back with utterly fabulous and thrilling new outfits for everyone to try.”

“I do so love helping.” He claps his hands together gleefully, “And I am here to help. You shall go to the ball!”