Trifling Favors (Redcakes Book 7)

by Heather Hiestand

  She drummed on her temples with her fingers. Not Greggory. Mr. Redcake. Oh, she must not let this happen again. What a fool. Hadn’t she learned from her disaster with the former Ewan Hales? She wasn’t meant to reach above herself. If she was ever to find a husband, she needed to learn to flirt with suppliers, small businessmen like butchers, the sort that weren’t too good for her and might be happy to have a wife who could bring in income until the babies started coming.

  A nice life. Not a dream she could never have, like a fancy modern house on Kensington Church Walk and four servants. Her only defense was not to allow it to happen again.

  The new maid entered with a fresh basin of water, something she desperately needed, then hovered in the doorway. “Should I bring you a tea tray, miss?”

  “No, no. We’re just here temporarily. No need to fuss,” Betsy said.

  The maid curtseyed and left the room. Betsy stood, feeling like a new foal, and tottered over to the basin to attempt a thorough washing. She wouldn’t let herself think of the glorious night that had passed, only the reason she had fled upstairs in the wee hours. Loving Greggory wasn’t safe, wasn’t a future.

  Greggory paced in front of the unlit fireplace in the parlor before dinner. Both Betsy and Ralph appeared at the last moment. His darling girl looked pale. She’d been subdued at work, only animating momentarily when he handed over her pay envelope. Ralph looked similarly beaten, but he thought he’d heard singing on the stairs in the wee hours, and he suspected Ralph’s monthly chess game involved quite a bit of drinking.

  At dinner, Betsy pushed food around on her plate, not eating much. Nervous, Greggory suspected. And why not? She wouldn’t want either of them to hint about what they had done the night before. She and Ralph lived respectable lives, despite Mrs. Popham’s nefarious deeds. Ralph was a religious man. He needed to make this right.

  After the pudding course, he cleared his throat. “Mr. Popham, might I have a word?”

  “Yes, of course, Mr. Redcake.”

  Betsy compressed her lips into a tight, social smile. He nodded, attempting to reassure her. “I’ll leave you gentlemen to it.”

  “I set those magazines I mentioned to you out in the parlor,” Greggory said. “So you could have a look at them, or take them upstairs. They are all yours.”

  “That’s very kind of you.” She clasped her hands together and left the room.

  Her father didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, thankfully.

  “Have we overstayed our welcome?” Ralph asked in a diffident manner, once his daughter had left. “I was paid today, so we can look for rooms tomorrow.”

  “No, not at all. Besides, you won’t be able to find anything worthy until you can save up more than one week’s pay,” Greggory said.

  “Between the two of us we will. Betsy makes excellent money for a young woman.”

  “Yes, there are few positions like hers, to be certain,” he agreed. “However, I wanted to speak to you about something else, something more personal.”

  “I see, or rather, I do not.” Ralph’s cheeks went pink. “Did I sing last night? I’m terribly sorry.”

  “Not at all,” Greggory reassured him. “I am glad you had a bit of fun. Sometimes I think I’ve forgotten how, between the cares of work and my children.”

  “It is most difficult to lose a wife,” Ralph said, taking a sip of his brandy, then another.

  “Yes.” Greggory toyed with his own crystal glass, watching it catch the light from the chandelier, still lit with candles as his late wife had preferred. Silly habit; he needed to have it converted to electric.

  “Mind you, a bad wife is worse than none at all. Just hire a housekeeper, I say, rather than marry badly. Or raise up a daughter properly.”

  “That is it, precisely. You’ve raised your daughter beautifully, Mr. Popham, and with your permission, I’d like to court her.”

  Ralph frowned into his half-empty glass. “You would? Betsy?”

  “Yes. I’ve respected her for years of course. But her attentions to the children have made me realize that she has value in the domestic sphere as well. She seems comfortable here.” Thoughts of her kneeling on his bedroom carpet, her mouth on him, flitted through his mind, were quickly suppressed.

  “I see. Such an honor you bestow on her. We were respectable people in Bristol before of course. But nothing like the Redcakes.”

  “We’re a manufacturing family,” Greggory said. “My uncle altered the family fortunes, but my side of the family isn’t nearly so grand. And this house belonged to my late wife’s family.”

  “You do not think Betsy would be uncomfortable being raised so high?”

  “Her friendship with my cousin, Lady Hatbrook, speaks for itself in that regard. And she’d never have achieved such a rare professional position if she didn’t have excellent skills with fashionable society. No, I think she’ll do very well.”

  “As a second wife,” Ralph said. “You do need a wife, sir. With the babies and a demanding work life. I quite agree. And here is my daughter, already in your house, young and pretty and very accomplished in, if not the usual lady’s arts, a number of ways that suit a man like you.”

  Again Greggory had a flash of sensual memory, her rosy limbs on his lap, her mouth pressed against his. “Undeniably,” he murmured.

  “Of course you have my permission,” Ralph said heartily, lifting his glass to his lips and draining the contents. “My only concern for her sake is Lord Judah, your equivalent at the flagship branch. His wife is niece to an earl, you know. I’d speak to him before you make your wishes known to Betsy. He will know if the family found the match unsuitable for a man in your position.”

  “I own my business and no one can tell me what to do,” Greggory said levelly, “but I appreciate what you are saying. Lady Judah must be comfortable with entertaining my wife. They worked together for a time, so I think it is perfectly all right, but I will have a word with him.”

  Ralph smiled and refilled his glass from the decanter Greggory had brought to the table. “Excellent news. Have I ever told you about the time Sir Bartley suggested I court your cousin, now Lady Hatbrook?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Betsy felt she’d had a productive day on Saturday. While her mind had wandered to predictably sad places—namely, her departure from Greggory’s warm bed on Thursday, and the shameful journey upstairs less than fully dressed to her own cold bed—her feet had kept on walking to respectable boardinghouses not far from Redcake’s. She’d found a place, too. The owner had told her she could have the rooms if she returned Tuesday night to pay for the week because the rooms became available on Wednesday. She’d agreed to do so.

  The other satisfactory item was her conduct at work on Friday. She’d behaved impeccably toward Greggory—that was, Mr. Redcake—extremely professionally. Not once had her eyes strayed from his nose when they had discussed work matters, nor had she allowed herself to think of anything but business. The strain had taken its toll and she’d had to go to bed with a sick headache the previous night, but thus were the wages of sin and their invariably uncomfortable aftermath.

  Now, more discomfort awaited her, as she had to explain to her father what she was doing. Mrs. Roach let her in the front door of the house, and after a brief exchange, Betsy went upstairs, finding her father in the sitting room where he slept, repairing the rolled edge of a blanket.

  “Busy day at Redcake’s?” he inquired. “I went in this morning, but it was a quiet day despite the season. I should say smooth-running, rather than quiet. The new delivery manager is very efficient.”

  “I’d had the impression that Simon Hellman was good at his job.”

  “He wasn’t bad, but this new lad is better. You will have to meet him.”

  She shuddered. The last thing she needed right now was a suitor. “No, thank you. Papa, I need to speak to you about something important.”

  “Yes, I imagine you do. Has Mr. Redcake spoken to you?” He poked his needle into
the blanket and set it aside.

  “No, this is not about work. This is about lodgings.”

  “Oh, yes. I told him if we pooled both of our earnings for this week we should be able to afford someplace acceptable, but he insisted we stay for now. Why don’t you give me your pay and I’ll tuck it away?” He held out his hand.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “And let you run into a priest with his begging bowl at the ready? I think not. I’ve learned my lesson, Ralph Popham. I honor and respect you as my father, but I need to honor and respect myself as well.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “What is all this?”

  “I’ve found lodgings for myself. Respectable ones. I’m going to try living alone. I make as good money as a decent working man, and I don’t have a family to support. I can live in some comfort, and save a bit besides. You earn more than me. If you spend your money on yourself, you have no need of mine. With Violet working and Victor a criminal, you’ve no need to support anyone else.”

  He set down his needle. “You are my unmarried daughter, for now at least, and your place is with me.”

  “For now? I wasn’t aware that my status had any hope of changing. I’m not a domestic female.”

  “Mr. Redcake does not seem to feel that way. He’s asked to court you.”

  “What?” She took an involuntary step backward.

  “Mr. Greggory Redcake,” her father said slowly, as if she might not understand.

  “Court me? Mr. Redcake?” She sat down abruptly, her head swimming. Why would he say such a thing? He couldn’t be serious.

  “He needs a second wife to care for his family,” her father said. “That’s different from a first wife. He’s inherited her house, her money, and she left babies behind. I did express some caution.”

  “Caution?” she said.

  “Yes. I want him to make sure Lord Judah and his wife are comfortable with you. You’ll need to be seen as their equal socially, and if they aren’t willing to welcome you into their home, it would be a problem.”

  “Oh?”

  “Given that I am welcome in Sir Bartley’s home, I’m sure it will all be fine,” he said with an air of pride.

  “You haven’t been invited to dinner with Sir Bartley for years,” she said.

  He cleared his throat. “Well, that might be true. But I haven’t kept up my wardrobe as I should.”

  “To say the least,” Betsy said. “Given our financial situation.”

  “Which, as you say, will change. Without the Carters to support.”

  He said nothing about the Church, she noted, giving her further reason not to pass over any more of her money to him. No, she was doing the right thing.

  “Meanwhile, you will not be moving to lodgings,” he said. “You should want to marry a Redcake. Stay in this house and let him look at you. You’re a pretty girl. Get that proposal from him. It will be the making of you.”

  It would be the making of a baby if she stayed under the same roof. “He can court me from a distance. It’s more respectable.”

  “A Redcake isn’t going to court a girl who lives alone in a boardinghouse, Betsy. I forbid it. Be reasonable.”

  “You lost all claim to reasonability a long time ago, Papa. I love you, but I don’t have much faith in you right now. I’m going to move out.”

  Her father’s upper lip twitched. “What about Mr. Redcake?”

  “You’re the one who told him to talk to Lord Judah before proceeding. If you wanted to protect my feelings, you would have waited until he had done so before letting me know what he’d said to you. Now, I might still be disappointed.”

  He glanced down. “I do see what you mean, but I am sure it won’t be a problem.”

  “Lady Judah is not fond of me,” Betsy said. “She is very aware of her social status and I cannot imagine she would want to have me to dinner. Therefore, this entire conversation has been a shocking waste of time.” She blinked hard. “Please excuse me, I have something in my eye.”

  She kept her composure as she walked into the bedroom, but as soon as she had the door closed, she leaned against it and let the tears flow. Oh, Greggory, you sweet, foolish man. Why had he done such a thing?

  Greggory paced the parlor just before dinner, wondering what had happened to both Pophams. Last night Betsy had been missing, and tonight, both of them? He rubbed his hands together, wondering what he had done wrong. Just then, he heard footsteps on the stairs, and a moment later, Betsy appeared in the door, wearing an unadorned navy dress he’d seen a dozen times recently, and behind her, her father, pressing his thinning hair over his balding pate.

  When they were married, he’d buy Betsy seven new dinner dresses, one for each day of the week. And he’d find Ralph a new wife, so he and Betsy could eat dinner alone. It seemed the least he could do for her. He didn’t want Ralph around attempting to skim money off his household budget for a religion not his own.

  “Shall we go in?” Greggory asked.

  “Of course,” Ralph said jovially. “I haven’t eaten so well in years. Betsy and I make do, but neither of us had much time for food.”

  “A family in your position is at least meant to have a maid of all work. Of course you can’t manage on your own.” There, he had offered his own mild censure.

  “We eat a lot of fish and chips,” Betsy said with a defiant air.

  “I love fish and chips,” Greggory said. “Not nearly enough fried fish in my diet.”

  Betsy smiled and shook her head. “How was Redcake’s today? I missed the dear old place.”

  “Dreadful tea service. Too many workmen and their wives enjoying their half day in the tearoom. The coarseness of their speech is off-putting to our usual clientele. And the new customers won’t keep coming. Can’t afford it.”

  “I wish the police would do something.”

  “If they can’t even find Hellman or Carter, what hope have we got?”

  Ralph dropped his spoon into his bowl of soup. He apologized as the ringing sound drowned out Greggory’s words. He waved Ralph’s apology away. “It’s just days and days of saying the same thing. How could those two have gone to ground?”

  “They aren’t together,” Betsy said. “That might be the problem. The police efforts are cut in half.”

  Greggory nodded. “An excellent point. Should we suggest they focus on just one?”

  “Victor seems the most dangerous to Redcake’s,” Betsy said slowly.

  “But Simon is more likely to have killed Manfred Cross,” Ralph said.

  “Why?” Greggory asked as Mrs. Roach removed the soup bowls.

  “Manfred had been coming by Redcake’s for years because he was Lord Judah’s brother-in-law. He knew Simon. In Victor’s case, it would have been more like a crime of opportunity, simply to punish you for hiring Violet. It isn’t as likely.” Ralph’s eyes gleamed.

  “Is it really the same detectives who focus on both murder and vandalism? I would think different policemen would be in charge,” Betsy said.

  “Oh, there’s probably a big file that just says ‘Redcake’s’ at this point,” Greggory said. He noticed that Betsy looked a bit pale. “But that’s enough of this conversation. It’s not a proper dinner topic. Betsy, have you had any time to look at those magazines?”

  She considered him. “Could I invite Prissy to look through them with me? She has a better eye than I do.”

  “Why not? Invite her to dinner tomorrow.” He ought to spend some time making the acquaintance of his future sister-in-law.

  “That’s very kind of you, but she’s only a seamstress’s assistant. Tea would be more than fine.”

  “As you wish. I’m sure you girls have a lot to discuss.”

  “We had talked about the possibility of new clothes for me,” Betsy said.

  “What an excellent notion,” Greggory said. “You should have some new clothes. A pretty girl demands a wardrobe to match.”

  “Mr. Redcake,” Ralph admonished. “Betsy’s money is better save
d than spent.”

  Greggory took a long sip of wine before responding. “I believe one has the right to enjoy one’s youth. After all, we never know what the next day will bring.”

  “I understand the loss of your dear wife was a punishing blow, Mr. Redcake, but please allow me to express my wishes to my daughter.”

  “You can express them all you like, I assure you,” Greggory said. “But allow me, at my own table, to have a dissenting opinion.” Did the man think he could influence a possible future son-in-law?

  Betsy had gone pale again. Greggory hoped Ralph didn’t force the issue to the point of making his daughter choose between the two of them.

  “Of course,” Ralph said easily. “It is all theoretical anyhow, as I manage Betsy’s money, and I know she hasn’t the funds for new clothing at the moment.”

  Once again, it appeared that his darling wouldn’t be making it through the evening meal. She set her fork and knife down, leaving her fish cakes half-eaten. “Please excuse me.”

  The men stood as she rushed out. Greggory spent the rest of the meal considering the complicated relationship between father and daughter. He thought she might hide in her bedroom, but instead, about an hour later, he went out on the small terrace and found her sitting on the bench there.

  “I was afraid I wouldn’t see you again tonight.” He glanced up at the sky to admire the canopy of stars missing over London on anything but the warmest nights.

  “We have to speak, Greggory. Why on earth are you filling my father’s head with fantasies of us courting? He’s refused to consider me moving into lodgings, even though I found a nice place, just in case you really want to marry me.”

  “What does lodgings have to do with it?”

  “He doesn’t think you’d marry a girl from a boardinghouse. But you aren’t going to marry me. What we did . . . well, that wasn’t courting.”