“She had been lied to,” Nicholas said stiffly, making Dougless shake her head. An American had a difficult time understanding such loyalty to the monarchy.
“I have heard that she is especially fond of what smells good,” Nicholas said, picking up a bottle of men’s aftershave. “Mayhap they have washed gloves here,” he said, looking about.
“Washed? You mean clean gloves?”
“Scented.”
“Scented skin but no scented gloves,” Dougless said, smiling.
“Ah, well,” he said slowly, then looked at her in a way that threatened to make her blush. “I needs must make do with scented skin.”
Quickly, Dougless looked down at the rows of shaving products. “You wouldn’t consider shaving that beard of yours, would you?”
Nicholas ran his hand over his beard, seeming to consider her words. “I have seen no man with a beard now.”
“Some men still wear beards, but, on the whole, they’re not fashionable.”
“Then I will find a barber and shave it,” he said finally, then paused. “You have barbers now?”
“We still have barbers.”
“And this barber is the one you will have put silver in my sore tooth?”
Dougless laughed. “Not quite. Barbers and dentists are separate professions now. Why don’t you pick out a shaving lotion while I get foam and razors?” Picking up the portable shopping basket, she saw that she had nearly filled it with shampoo, cream rinse, combs, toothbrushes, toothpaste, floss, and a small electric travel set of hair rollers. Minutes later, she was happily looking over the makeup when she heard a noise from the other side of the shelves. Nicholas was trying to get her attention.
When she went around the corner, she saw that he’d opened a tube of toothpaste and the white cream had squirted down the front of the racks.
“I but meant to smell it,” he said rigidly, and Dougless could feel his deep embarrassment.
Grabbing a box of tissues from a shelf, she opened it, took out a handful, and began to clean the counter.
At the wonder of the tissues, Nicholas lost his embarrassment. “This is paper,” he said, feeling the soft tissues, wonder in his voice. “Here, stop that!” he said. “You cannot waste paper. It is too valuable, and this paper has not been used before.”
Dougless didn’t understand what he was talking about. “You use a tissue once, then throw it away.”
“Is your century so rich as this?” he asked, then ran his hand over his face as though to clear his mind. “I do not understand this. Paper is so valuable it is used in place of gold, yet paper is so worthless, it can be used for cleaning, then thrown away.”
Smiling, Dougless thought of how all paper in the sixteenth century was handmade. “I guess we are rich in goods,” she said. “Maybe richer than we should be.” She put the opened tissue box in her basket, then continued choosing items they needed. She bought shaving cream, razors, and deodorant, washcloths for both of them (because the English hotels didn’t supply them), and a full set of cosmetics for herself.
When she went to checkout, once again, she took charge of Nicholas’s modern money. And once again he was nearly sick when he heard the total. “I can buy a horse for what this bottle costs,” he mumbled when she read a price to him. After she paid, she lugged the two shopping bags full of goods out of the store. Nicholas did not offer to take the bags from her, so she guessed that only bags full of armor were masculine enough for him
to carry.
“Let’s take these back to the hotel,” she said. “Then we can—” She broke off because Nicholas had stopped in front of a shop window. Yesterday he’d had eyes only for the street, for gaping at cars, for feeling the surface of the pavement, and for staring at the people. Today he was more interested in the other side of the street, as he kept noticing the shops, marveling at the plate-glass windows, and frequently touching the lettering of the signs.
He had halted in front of a bookstore window. On prominent display was a big, beautiful coffee table edition of a book on medieval armor. Beside it were books on Henry the Eighth and Elizabeth the First. Nicholas’s eyes were as wide as dinner plates. Turning, he pointed at the books, then opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.
“Come on,” she said, smiling, as she pulled him inside. Whatever troubles of her own that Dougless had, she soon forgot them when she saw the wonder and joy on Nicholas’s face as he reverently touched the books. After dropping off the shopping bags at the counter, she walked about the store with Nicholas. Some big, expensive books were lying faceup on a table just inside the door, and he ran his fingertips slowly over the glossy photos.
“They are magnificent,” he whispered. “I have never imagined such as these could exist.”
“Here’s your Queen Elizabeth,” Dougless said, lifting a large color volume.
As though he were almost afraid to touch it, Nicholas gingerly took the book from Dougless.
Watching him, Dougless could almost believe that he’d never seen a modern color photo before. She knew that in Elizabethan times books were precious and rare, prized possessions owned by only the richest of people. If the books had pictures, they were woodcuts or hand-colored illuminations.
She watched as Nicholas reverently opened the book he held and ran his hand over the glossy photos. “Who has painted these? Do you have so many painters now?”