“Too small, I think. There’s been no time to sort out the clothes. We’ll want to put the small things away for the next Redcake babies.”
“Everything looks so new. None of this is secondhand.”
“Greggory is the eldest of his branch,” the housekeeper agreed. “But we’ll keep all this for his future children, or nieces and nephews. Plenty of attic space.”
“I’ll try again,” Betsy said, tucking the too-small gown into the bottom drawer and hunting around. At the back of the shelf she found a number of real silver rattles.
“Oh, those,” Mrs. Roach said. “Brilliant for teething, but otherwise, just too cold.”
“The expense,” Betsy said faintly.
“I know, I know. The Redcakes aren’t like you or me,” Mrs. Roach said. “I think they were gifts from Lord Hatbrook’s family.”
Betsy nodded, and wondered what Lady Hatbrook would send her someday for her first baby. Would she be worthy of silver gifts, or would her friend send her something far more practical? It all depended on who fathered those babies, and under what circumstances.
“Generous people,” she said, pulling out another gown.
“That should do,” Mrs. Roach said. “I’ll hold him if you’ll pull the smelly one off him, and then tuck him into the new one.”
A cry came from the formerly quiet cradle Sia had been sleeping in. Betsy gritted her teeth and moved as quickly as she could, wondering when Greggory would be home. How long would his chat with Lord Judah last when he was needed at home?
Greggory yawned as he shut the front door. As soon as the noise of the hansom receded, he could hear the thin wail of his son coming from upstairs. Tonight was not one of the rare and peaceful variety, it seemed.
He took off the shoes that seemed far too tight on his feet after fourteen hours and padded upstairs in his socks. After so many similar nights, he had become unconcerned with his housekeeper seeing him in less than full dress. He’d spent many a night in the next rocking chair, with Mrs. Roach in her nightgown and wrapper, after a sudden cry in the nursery.
In the room he found Mrs. Roach, looking pale and drawn, with Sia sleeping in her lap, while Betsy paced with Artie.
“What is going on?”
“Artie’s been ill all evening, and I think Mrs. Roach might be finding herself in the same way.”
“I’m just a bit nauseated, that’s all,” she said. “I missed dinner; that might be it.”
Greggory picked up Sia and put her back in her cradle. “I’ll take over now, Mrs. Roach. I’m sorry I was so late.”
“Interviews tomorrow,” Mrs. Roach said. “We’ll have someone new in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
“Good, good,” he said as the housekeeper stood somewhat shakily. “Do you want me to go down the stairs with you?”
“No, I’ll be fine,” she said, sounding utterly weary.
“I don’t want to see you up here again tonight. Take your rest,” he told her.
She smiled a little at that and left the room. At least she walked in a straight line. He turned to see Betsy with Artie, jiggling the baby a little. She already had the pace of an experienced mother.
“You look lovely with a baby on your shoulder,” he said.
“But I don’t smell lovely. Artie has shared the contents of his stomach with all his caregivers today. I hope he isn’t dehydrated.”
Greggory walked behind her so he could see his son’s face. “He’s flushed. Better than pale, I suppose. Should I go for the doctor, do you think?”
“It seems like a normal childhood ailment to me.” Betsy shrugged. “But what do I know?”
“If we can’t get him back to sleep, I’ll go,” Greggory said. “But he’s nearly out, I think.”
Five minutes later, Betsy was able to set his son back into his cradle. They crept out of the nursery, and she sat down on the top step of the staircase and put her head in her hands.
“Did you have an evening meal?” he asked.
“Yes, bread and cheese and cold meat. Quite tasty, really, but it became apparent eventually that Mrs. Roach couldn’t manage on her own. I heard the retching when I walked by.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”
“I understand. Besides, I remembered something about Manfred Cross while I was hunting around in the babies’ wardrobe and found gifts from Lord Hatbrook and his family.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Oh?” Greggory said, putting his arm around Betsy, on the top of the step.
“Yes.” She scooted away from him. “No, don’t come any closer, Greggory. I smell terrible.”
“I don’t mind.” He nuzzled her hair.
She made a face. “I remember Lady Hatbrook telling me stories about a party she’d gone to at Hatbrook House before her marriage. She came upon a fight, you see, and it turned out to be between Lord Mews and Manfred Cross. She had the impression there were some very sordid dealings between the pair and Lady Mews. Lord Hatbrook broke up the fight, but she witnessed part of it and heard what Lord Mews said. I could cable Lady Hatbrook and ask her what she remembers.”
“You aren’t going to write a respectable lady and ask her about some sort of sexual misdoings from the last decade,” Greggory said. He couldn’t believe she’d suggest such a thing. “As if that would have anything to do with his murder now.”
“It’s been said Manfred Cross was a jewel thief, and Lady Mews is notorious for her gem collection. She patronized Redcake’s, you know. The necklaces she wore during the daytime were more suitable to a court ball.”
“Lord Mews is in government,” Greggory said, noting Betsy’s attempt to defend her words. “Gossip isn’t going to solve Cross’s murder. At least not on our end, and certainly not when it involves a Redcake’s customer.”
“She wasn’t our Redcake’s customer but the flagship store’s customer.”
His cheek twitched. “I happen to know Lady Hunt, who is our customer, is Lady Mews’s aunt. You should know that as well. If the likes of her realized we gossiped about her family to the police, we would lose her patronage immediately.”
“I haven’t seen Lady Hunt since the window was broken,” Betsy said pointedly. “Have you?”
He didn’t like her tone of voice. “She’s not the sort to come around until the scandal has diminished. My point is that we don’t want to make it any worse than it already is.”
“The information might be useful.”
He disagreed. “You focus on reporting any sightings of Victor Carter or Simon Hellman to the police,” he said. “Let them take care of the rest. We aren’t investigators.”
“I just want the murder to be solved so everything can go back to normal,” she said. “I miss the bustle.”
His palms prickled. He rubbed them down his thighs. “So do I, but you need to be ladylike. We must be above gossip.”
Her mouth set in a firm line. She turned toward him. “Are you speaking to Miss Popham or Betsy right now, because I have to tell you, I like a bit of gossip. Sure, it might be low class, but it’s fun to find out little tidbits about our betters.”
“I’ve never heard you gossip before this.”
“That’s not true,” she protested. “Any time I come to you about a hint of a society wedding that I want us to win orders for, that’s gossip.”
He scratched his nose. “I take your point. If it is going to help the business, that’s one thing, but nothing about sexual misdoings. I won’t have us descend to that level.”
“The level of sexual misdoings’?” she said in a mocking tone. “You think the employees wouldn’t enjoy a good gossip about that? Especially when you and I are involved? How can we be above anything?”
“We’re speaking of marriage,” he reminded her.
“We weren’t at the start.” She got to her feet.
“Betsy.” He rose and held out his hand. “I’m sorry I angered you, but we must keep a certain tone.”
“I don’t want to embarra
ss you,” she said. “But I’m not going to change either.”
“I’ve never heard you be coarse before,” he protested. How had this conversation taken such a bad turn? Why was she trying to provoke his class consciousness?
“You never knew me outside of Redcake’s.” She shook her head angrily and went up the stairs to the suite she shared with her father.
Greggory ran his hands over his face. He didn’t have the energy for further confrontation, especially when he risked waking the children with raised voices. Was Betsy right? Was she too coarse for him? Why couldn’t she see his point?
“You wanted to see me, Betsy?”
Whatever was going on in the life of Violet Carter, the strain did not show. An hour before what used to be Tuesday’s luncheon rush, the cakie appeared as fresh as spring, her hair tidy in its secure pins, her new uniform spotless. Betsy might have woken with the purple shadows of exhaustion under her eyes, but Violet was unmarked, untouched. Evidence of the four years’ age difference between them or of an untroubled soul?
Or perhaps she didn’t have one. Betsy had never quite trusted Violet, and now she had a good reason why. Violet should be terrified of her brother, not having chats with him behind the shop.
“Let’s go into Mr. Redcake’s office. He’s out,” Betsy said, rising from her desk. While no one was around, she didn’t have a door to her alcove, and the few office employees they had could walk by to their own desks in the larger room down the corridor at any moment.
“Very well.” Violet followed her to the opposite end of the floor where Greggory worked, chattering about the flowers an itinerant seller had available this morning on the High Street.
“Have a seat,” Betsy said, sitting in one of Greggory’s two armchairs.
Violet took the other, her eyebrows raised. “You seem sad, Betsy. What is troubling you?” She put her hand out to pat Betsy’s arm, but she moved it away.
She clasped her hands together. “Listen, Violet, I need the truth.”
“What do you mean?”
“You can see the business is falling apart. I don’t know any more if it is because of the murder or because your brother broke the window or even something else.”
Violet folded her hands under her chin. “I’m certain the murder is to blame. It attracted the wrong customers, which led to our usual customers staying away.”
“That is not what is at issue here. What concerns me is your brother, and why he hasn’t been apprehended by the police. Are you giving him aid? Money?”
Violet batted her eyelashes. “I told you he was following me. You know how upset I was on Sunday.”
“It didn’t look like you were very upset yesterday evening,” Betsy said.
“What?”
“I saw you, Violet. You and Victor, behind the shop. You had better not be plotting any more mischief against Redcake’s.”
“Well, I never!” Violet gasped. “Mischief against my own employer. You know I haven’t any money. I’d never be so foolish.”
“Why were you having a quiet word with Victor?” Betsy asked, leaning forward. “What is going on?”
“He’s my brother. He looked much calmer,” Violet said. “And I hadn’t any money on me.”
“Surely you must be afraid of physical violence from him. And you can’t work with a black eye or bruised face.”
Violet’s plump lips pressed together. She looked away. “He never hit where the blows would show.”
“He’d do it to keep you away from the shop; you know he would. Or do you?”
“You don’t understand,” Violet whispered.
“Try me, Violet.”
“He is my brother,” she repeated. “You don’t understand because you never had that; a brother, I mean. I’m worried about him.”
“How can you possibly worry more about him than you do for yourself? After what he did to the window here? My neck?” She touched what was left of her wound.
“He has a temper, especially when he’s been drinking, but he’s my only family in the world.”
“The police need to speak to him.”
“They’ll just decide he did it and stop looking for the real killer,” Violet said. “You know he can’t possibly have killed that man.”
She most certainly did not. “Does he have an alibi?”
“Not that I’m aware of. But I don’t believe he’d kill someone in cold blood. Maybe push them into the river by accident or something of that sort, but not a murder like that.”
“What did you speak about?” Betsy asked.
“I told him to stay away from me. I said I had nothing to say to him, and no money either.”
“And he remained calm? I find that hard to believe.”
“You have to trust me,” Violet said. “We’re friends.”
“We are not,” Betsy said. “I know you only in the slightest way. I felt enough pity for your circumstances to help you acquire a position here, and you are doing well enough, but friendship is a rare, precious thing to me.”
Violet sucked in her cheeks. Her eyes bulged in their sockets. She looked like she wanted to explode. Betsy could see the resemblance between her and her brother for once. Her first mistake had been allowing the girl to continue calling her by her Christian name instead of Miss Popham, as was proper in the workplace. She had not set a proper standard between them.
“If we were friends,” she said more gently, “I would know you are telling the truth about your brother. A true gesture of friendship, the next time he comes to you, would be to encourage him to speak to the police. With Simon Hellman being another viable suspect, I do not believe he would be in danger if he is innocent.”
“You forget that he is wanted for destroying the window,” Violet said. “In fact, I think it is best he stay far away from here and the police. He would not do well in prison.”
“Away from here, I quite agree with.”
Violet stood and untied her apron. “I am sorry, Betsy, but I need to give you my notice, effective immediately. If my being here attracts Victor, I’ll have to go away.”
What? “Everything you have is tied to employment here. Your income, your bed at the Baxters’. And your possessions are on Mr. Redcake’s property.”
“I will manage,” Violet said in a composed voice. “I’ve written to a friend of my mother’s and she offered me a nursemaid position in her household.”
Betsy wanted to laugh. To think she and Violet might have ended up under the same roof if she’d expressed the slightest desire to be a nursemaid in front of Greggory.
“Redcake’s offers much better employment than service,” she said stiffly.
“I know, but I make this decision for Victor’s sake, not my own.”
“Are you going to give me your direction or simply vanish into the wind?”
“I’ll return on Friday for my pay,” Violet said. “I’ll have my uniforms laundered and return them then.”
Betsy knew she had to tell the police what was going on, but they already knew about Violet and had questioned her. What else could they do?
“You don’t need me,” Violet said. “I’m just an extra tally in the payroll. Until business improves, you’re better off without me.”
“I’m well aware of that. I’ve been trying to keep your position secure.” While Greggory might be better off with Violet gone from the establishment, she wondered about her father. Would Violet ask him for money again? She hoped this nursemaid position was real, but why would Mrs. Carter have a friend in a position to offer employment to anyone above the station of maid of all work?
“Thank you, Betsy. You see? That is a gesture of true friendship, and I hope, upon reflection, you will agree that we are friends.” She rose. “I will see you on Friday.”
Betsy stayed seated in the office as Violet left, feeling powerless. She couldn’t help but ruminate on friendship. Violet was no friend. Was Greggory? He had done so much for her and her father, without asking for anything in r
eturn. She’d offered herself to him, she’d offered to help with the twins. Really, she had offered him her friendship, she supposed, and he had done the same. While their backgrounds were so different that they might not have a romantic future, at least she could say she trusted him, and cared about him. Yes, Greggory was her true friend, at least. Her only true friend.
“Why are we meeting here?” Greggory asked his brother Dudley. They were seated for luncheon at the dining room in the Howard Hotel on the Victoria Embankment, looking out over the Thames.
“Excellent view right? And I understand the beef is divine, as is the wine list,” Dudley said.
“You wanted me out of Kensington for the afternoon?” Greggory asked.
“This isn’t precisely about you. I wanted to come here for myself.”
“I see. Getting as far away from farm life as you can. No more rural living?”
Dudley grinned. “Precisely, old man. You understand. I thought you could critique the service here, what with you running a tearoom.”
“I pay more attention to the numbers really. Betsy does an extraordinary amount of work that I never think to consider.”
“Betsy?”
“Miss Popham,” Greggory corrected.
Dudley’s eyes narrowed. “No, you called her Betsy. What is going on?”
“She and her father are living with me for now, due to an unfortunate series of events.” He paused. “And we’re courting.”
Dudley snorted. “I shouldn’t have thought you would dip into the Redcake’s pond. If you marry her, you’ll lose your best asset. That woman does the work of three, from everything you’ve said over the past couple of years. I take it all in, you know.”
“I started to realize I needed that same organizational ability in my home life. And it can’t have escaped your notice that she’s decidedly pretty.” As a waiter came toward them, a businessman at the next table stretched out his arm. The waiter collided with the man’s wineglass.
“No, it didn’t escape me at all. But she’s fearsomely competent. I like a sillier female.”
Trifling Favors (Redcakes Book 7) Page 18
