Two elderly ladies stood in the aisle, gossiping. Did society know of his blackmailing Nicola? Or was it because he was so dark and she was so bright that there couldn't be any other explanation for their union but coercion? Carefully, he returned the quill to its well and sat back in the old chair. One of the legs wobbled. He took note to exchange the chair as soon as possible. For that matter, he would find another location for the dye office. Like the tide of the Nene River, a continuous flow of customers walked in and out of the adjoining display room full of bolts of cloth dyed various colors. All the commotion made him distinctly uneasy. Through the doorway, he could see the two women standing near a table. His attention snagged on the one who was nodding her head in an authoritative manner, whose air of expertise was hindered only by the fact she carried a rooster under her arm. And that she was rather odd-looking. The green gown she wore merely emphasized her wiry frame. Tufts of slightly greenish hair frizzed out from under her forest-colored bonnet. Her companion—with skinny arms poking out from bell-cupped sleeves and a gown that was as bright a yellow as any Malcolm had ever seen—turned from inspecting a bolt of lavender cloth.
