Bad Prophecies (draft 1)

I

The first thing I remember is that it was a very cold night that I first met him. April 4th, 1888. My pa had been keeping me in his bookshop on the days approaching my 88th birthday.
He followed this same regiment every year for as long as I could remember, I was quite familiar with it.
He had gone to the public house for the night, likely with father or with an archangel, which meant I would be looking after the shop. I didn't mind, after all, we didn't sell much as the bookshop was more an opportunity for my pa to show his immense collection of novelty books.
On dormant nights as such, I would read my prayer book by an oil lamp and drink a coffee. I knew it wasn't best for me to drink coffee so late into the evening, but I have only come to learn that my bad habits only get worse with my age.

That evening, I was doing just the same. I still remember, at forty-eight past nineteen, I heard a knock on the door. It wasn't a shy or faint knock as I was usually familiar with, so I put my book down on the table and called out,
"ARE YOU IN NEED OF ASSISTANCE?"
The voice of a young man, I then presumed to be no older than twenty, called back,
"IS THE SHOP OPEN?"
I stood from my chair, floated along the pathway to the door, and opened it. Behind the door stood a handsome young gentleman. He was quite tall, and not as gangly or malnourished as the typical working young man. His face was of excellent bone-structure, his eyes were of a magnificent brown, and he was not a fair gentleman either.
"I'm sorry to bother, is Mr A. Z. Fell's bookshop still open?"
I was a bit startled, but I quickly came to my sense and responded to the man,
"Oh-OH. My apologies, Sir! We are open, although my father is not currently here, he has left the shop in my care,"
"That's alright with me if it's alright with you, may I come in?"
"Oh, yes, of course, Sir,"
"You needn't continue call me 'Sir', my name is Alexander Black, you may just call me Alex though, as many do. May I know of your name, my lady?"
"Oh! Oh, yes. My name is Kohl H. Crowley. Pleased meeting you,"
"And you." He shook my hand, which I didn't realise I'd extended. "Pray tell, what does the 'H' stand for?"
Not having expected the question, I was a tad startled for him to ask me such.
"Well, I wouldn't be able to tell you. You'd have to ask my father if he were here."
He smiled,
"That's alright then."
He began to walk, so I closed the door which I had still not closed to this point. I went to the register and desk, and anxiously sorted through the needless piles of documents my pa had stacked upon it while I observed Alexander.
He sauntered through the rows of bookshelves with a greatly elegant ease, one kind I hadn't ever observed in a person before. He traced the spine of each book  with an elegant finger, reading titles and author, occasionally titling it from the shelf to inquire.
When he had finished, I rushingly began to sort throughout documentation to pretend as though I hadn't been admiring his grace.
"How many pence for this piece?"
He handed me the title, and I adjusted my glasses to sit correctly upon my nose. I inspected the title and quality of the book, as well as print date.
"A Study In Scarlett, fine choice indeed. Admirer of Sir Doyle are you?"
"Not so much, my mother demands to read it before we view it in the theatre,"
"Good lad. That'll be a sixpence."
He reached into his pocket, found the coin and handed it to me as I handed him the book.
"Well it was nice meeting you, Ms Crowley, have a lovely evening,"
"You as well, Mister Black."
And he left the shop. I was left in such a shock that I hardly realised he was gone. When I finally came to my senses, I put the sixpence in the money box and went to continue reading my prayer book.

At twenty-one past twenty-one in the evening, I was pleasantly suprised to see both of my parents returning to the bookshop.
"Baby angel!" my mum chimed when he realised my presence, I hadn't known where he'd lived the last decade but according to accent he was in London, "I thought you'd been living in Cornwall this past year!"
I fixed my bookmark and got up to greet them both.
"Oh I have, Pa's just dragged me down to London for my birthday,"
He looked over at my pa and made an expression of clearly exaggerated offense,
"Our daughter's in London, Angel, and you don't even telegram me? I just thought you weren't bringing her down this year. Aw, I've just realised that's silly of me to think. You've done it every year for the last seventy years. That's on me, Angel,"
"No, Crowley, it's as much my fault as yours. Kohl, darling, do tell, did anyone come into the shop?"
I nodded,
"Indeed, a young gentleman named Mister Black purchased a sixpence copy of 'A Study In Scarlett',"
"Very well. It's quite late, it's about time you went to bed, isn't it?"
I raised an eyebrow,
"It's only half past nine in the evening, pa." I smiled gleefully  as I knew what he was hiding. "Promise to keep the noise down?"
My mum rested his hand on pa's shoulder and began giggling. Pa still seemed ever so confused.
"I'm not quite sure what you mean, Kohl,"
"Pa, I'm almost ninety years old, I know."
He looked exasperated upon realising what I meant.
"Well, I'll be off then. Have a lovely evening,"
"And you too, baby angel," mum said.