Trifling Favors (Redcakes Book 7)

by Heather Hiestand

  Greggory offered his napkin to the sputtering man. “I think she has a softer side, but I had no idea how difficult her home life was. Now, though, a long-lost sister is in her life, and she’s chatting over fashion magazines and thinking about her wardrobe. So, given the opportunity, I think there is a girlish side to her.”

  The waiter bowed and apologized. More waiters came to the rescue, cleaning up the wine.

  “What about the other side of things?” Dudley lowered his voice and raised his eyebrows suggestively.

  “She has a body made for sin,” Greggory said, attempting dry humor. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

  “That only matters if she allows the sinning.”

  “I won’t tell tales on a girl I’m courting.” A waiter approached Greggory with a fresh napkin. He took it and spread it over his lap.

  “If only our Italian blood allowed us to blush properly. I assume you’d be carrot red if you were a ginger. Well done, man.” Dudley clapped his hand on his brother’s arm.

  Greggory shook his head as the waiter walked away. “She’s slippery, but I think she’ll come around.”

  “Under your roof?” Dudley shook his head. “That’s half the job done. Time to call the banns, I’d say. Pater will be ecstatic. He wanted to paint her when he came up to London last time.”

  “We aren’t ready for that yet. Had some troubles. Very different backgrounds. Because of the babies I don’t go to many dinners, but I’m not sure she’d really fit in.”

  “You don’t think she has the manners?”

  “Not really. I spoke to Alys. They used to be very close, and she said Betsy was a bit brash but had a good heart. She said her ambitions put her in the worst light, but her ambition has been fulfilled really. She’s much more used to dealing with our sort of client now. I think she’s polished up greatly over the past couple of years.”

  Their first waiter returned to take their order. After they both requested the beef, Dudley continued, “Yet you are still concerned.”

  “I’m not sure she understands the unspoken rules of society. Certain people are untouchable. What one needs to turn a blind eye to. It’s very important in a business like ours, where we cater to the wealthy. When I think about it, she manages the daily work of the business. I see to the customers, and I think the separation has happened for a reason.”

  “You think she would fail you outside of the home,” Dudley said. “That’s a rather narrow-minded view. The girl is smart. She can learn.”

  “She’s from a very different world. I think there is a reason she and Alys aren’t friends anymore.”

  “Alys is a marchioness with young children. Her life has changed dramatically.”

  “Yes, but Betsy’s hasn’t. Oh, she’s in management now, a rare position for a woman. She’s proven how intelligent and responsible she is, but she’s never been out in society. I live in Kensington. She doesn’t fit in.”

  “Neither did Alys when she married Lord Hatbrook, but they’ve rubbed along well enough.”

  “She was in society a little. Uncle Bartley had the money and her sisters had all the training.”

  “She didn’t, and she married the best of the three,” Dudley said. “Listen, Greggory, if you love Betsy, don’t worry about the rest. Our family likes her, those who have met her. On the other hand, if you don’t think she’s up to snuff, then don’t torture the girl. Let her go before it’s too late.”

  The words prompted a moment of reflection. “It’s already too late. She can’t continue to work with me if I end our courtship.”

  “It sounds as if she is rather a tough person,” Dudley commented. “I do not know the entire story, but you did tell me about her mother.”

  “That is not what made her tough. It is the lifetime of dealing with those consequences that matter. The blackmail and so forth.”

  “I’d love to be caught up on all of that, but here is our third party.” Dudley stood and shook the hand of an ebony-haired gent in his early thirties. While the man had an open, honest face, he had the sharp dress of a salesman.

  “Greggory, this is Harry Haldene. He used to work for our cousin, but before that he helped run an inn in Leeds.”

  Greggory shook the man’s hand and gestured to the extra chair a waiter had just brought. “What is of interest about that inn?”

  Haldene smiled. “Nothing in particular, Mr. Redcake, but your cousin always knew I had an interest in the hotel business. Your brother has a fascination as well, and we are looking for investors to take over an unfinished hotel and open it ourselves.”

  “Why isn’t it finished?”

  Haldene sat. “Investors ran out of money. Project stalled. We can get a real bargain, finish construction, bring in an experienced staff.”

  “And running an inn in Leeds qualifies you for all this?”

  “I know what needs to be done,” the man said with confidence. “And your cousin, Sir Gawain, is ready to throw in with us. He’s a regular Midas.”

  “I know,” Greggory agreed. “My cousin has astounding gifts. Are you going to open a Redcake’s Tea Shop and Emporium in the hotel?”

  Harry Haldene winked. “That’s where it gets interesting.”

  “We’d like you to come to a charity ball that’s going on at the Hotel Victoria this Saturday. Have a feel for the type of hotel we’re envisioning,” Dudley said.

  Greggory rubbed his chin. “I don’t attend balls.”

  “You should invite Miss Popham,” Dudley said. “See how she behaves at such an occasion. It might tell you all you need to know.”

  “I was so happy to receive your note,” Prissy said that Friday night in front of Redcake’s. “What fun to have a walk with my sister.”

  Betsy hooked her arm through her more fashionable sister’s, careful not to crush her sleeve, as they walked up Kensington High Street. “I love these long evenings when there is no reason to be inside until it is time to retire.”

  She nodded to a customer she recognized, who was passing by, then looked up to admire the sky, still blue with just a dash of clouds here and there. The smell of horse so prevalent in the road was diminished at this time of day, and everyone out strolling seemed prosperous and pleased with themselves.

  “I quite agree. No worries about your tormentors troubling us?” Prissy took a studied glance around them, as if looking for a certain pair of dangerous men.

  “We haven’t seen Victor around here since Monday. Now, with Violet gone, he probably has no reason to bother us. And Simon Hellman has been out of sight for quite some time now.”

  “I was sorry to hear about Violet, poor girl.” Prissy paused to look at a display of hats in a milliner’s shop.

  Betsy admired a straw confection that would look lovely on her dark hair. “It seems a pity to go into service when she could have done very well at Redcake’s. It’s like choosing slavery when she could have been free.”

  Prissy pointed to a cunning black bonnet with white ruffles. “We cannot all want to be a modern woman. That’s left for the more adventurous sort of girl.”

  “I have never been conventional,” Betsy said. “I wonder how well I would do as a wife and mother.”

  “It would be like submitting to your father, which you did until recently,” Prissy opined. “I like Ralph, you know, but he is dreadful with money. At least married women can keep their own earnings now.”

  “One has to be very careful in one’s choice of husband,” Betsy agreed. “Do you know how to make flowers from fabric? I have a hat that needs some improving.”

  “Of course. I can make flowers from all kinds of scraps. Show me the hat and I will make you some samples.”

  “I’m not sure where it is. Probably in Mr. Redcake’s garden shed, but I will let you know.”

  Prissy turned away from the shop window. “I cannot help but notice you are still under Mr. Redcake’s roof. What does that mean?”

  Betsy squeezed her arm and they walked on. “Very little
. Between the teashop and the babies, we have not been spending any time together. Which may be for the best, because we had a rather unpleasant conversation at the start of the week.”

  “I find it hard to believe there could be any unpleasantness with such a kind man,” Prissy said.

  “It was about me and my general coarseness,” Betsy said. “Or so I interpreted it. He didn’t like that I was, as he said, ‘passing along gossip’ about my betters.”

  Prissy frowned. “What was the context?”

  “Don’t be so sad, pretty bird,” said a young man in a cloth cap. He and his companion stopped in front of the sisters, grinning.

  “We can cheer you up. Take a walk with us,” said the other.

  Prissy raised her arm in a shooing gesture and pulled Betsy on.

  “That is what I found so irritating,” Betsy said when they were out of earshot. “I thought of something that might be related to the murders. Some old jibber-jabber about Manfred Cross and his aristocratic friends.”

  “Mr. Redcake did not agree?”

  “He did not want to hear it. He’s concerned that our customers would be angry if we passed along gossip that might be about their kin.”

  “Heavens. He might have a point, then. Your livelihood is more important than any gossip.” Prissy stopped at the window of a rival bakery, but Betsy didn’t see anything that excited her senses.

  “But it wasn’t mere gossip,” Betsy tried to explain. “It might have been relevant to the murder. I could not make him understand that.”

  “Maybe you should have spoken to the police instead. If you thought it was that important.”

  Betsy watched a trio of children as they ran down the road, laughing and calling to one another. “It was pretty old gossip. Something that happened about six years ago. It may have been the only time I ever heard of Manfred Cross.”

  “Six years is a long time.”

  “You are right. Which means I was wrong.”

  “On the other hand,” Prissy said, “you ought to be able to say anything to a husband without fear of censure really. So your problem does bear consideration.”

  “I miss him,” Betsy said. “But he frustrates me. How can he spend the afternoon discussing new investments with his brother when the teashop is falling to bits? How much money does he have that he can risk losing Redcake’s and move on to some other enterprise? I have nothing but Redcake’s myself.”

  “Goodness. How do you know he spent the afternoon doing that?”

  “I stopped by his office just before I left, as I always do. Oscar, his secretary, told me he’d been out for luncheon and had not returned.”

  “What bothers you so much about this?”

  “I worry about money all the time. I can’t imagine investing. I just want a roof over my head, some kitchen things, and nice clothing. We do not think alike. I am not the type of female one finds in his world. I think about money all the time; pinching it, saving it. And he just knows how to spend, apparently.”

  “He could be trying to distract himself with happier topics. People do, you know.”

  “Have we been distracting each other during a distressing time?” Betsy wondered. “Was that all our little courtship was?”

  “No, you are much too pretty,” Prissy said firmly. “Men would die to possess you. But be careful. Men do like mystery in their lovers. I am glad you’ve spent some time apart, but do tell him you’ve missed him. Tell him you were wrong to gossip and you’ve learned a valuable lesson. Then talk a little less and be a little more adoring for a while. Your relationship will be patched up and on the way to the altar in no time.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Greggory woke, overly warm and disoriented, in the night. He scrubbed his eyes as he tried to discern the hour and why he was awake. Were the little ones crying? He sat up and pulled on his robe, then padded through his open bedroom door, barefoot, to the staircase to listen. No, his children seemed to be blissfully asleep. One of them might have cried out in a dream. It happened sometimes, but he woke up just the same. Fathers never slept as soundly as bachelors.

  Yawning, he seated himself on the first step for a moment; he knew if he went back to his bed he’d fall asleep instantly and entertained himself with the fantasy of Betsy creeping into his bed. Memories of their unhappy conversation Monday had haunted him all week, but he’d scarcely seen her even in a professional capacity, much less in private, since. Had she been avoiding him?

  He heard some kind of tinkling sound toward the back of the house, so he stood and went into his dressing room. Was that what had woken him? An attempt to peer out the back window into the night-darkened garden didn’t offer him any clues. But then he thought he saw a light. Something metal glinting off the moon? No, more as if the panel of a lantern had been opened for a moment. His senses sharpened and he reached for a pair of shoes and slipped them on, the coldness of the leather against his bare feet waking him completely.

  He heard the sound again. Definitely breaking glass. Someone was trying to rob him. It had never happened before. He swore and went to the chest against the wall and opened it, rustling around until he found his cricket bat. Back before his marriage, he had boxed for fun, but Letty had ended that when he received a black eye two weeks before their wedding. He hoped he still recalled the old moves, but he’d start with the bat and a lungful of air to shout into the night, arousing neighbors and hopefully a strolling constable.

  He turned up the lights in his room. The light alone might scare off cowardly thieves. Then, clutching his bat, he walked down the steps to the ground floor, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark again before he moved into the kitchen.

  The first thing he noticed was a breeze, probably coming through the open window. He saw a shape passing by him and swung his bat. It swished through the air, hitting nothing. Shouting, he ran forward, blindly swinging. He hit something, heard a grunt, then a scramble. Somewhere upstairs, he heard a window open.

  A few feet away, a dark figure seemed to be in the sink.

  “Get down,” Greggory ordered. “Who are you?”

  Ignoring him, the figure jumped out of the window to the portico outside. Full of adrenaline, Greggory wanted to climb the sink himself, but he was larger and remembered the broken glass. He ran to the back door and pulled it open, then dashed into the night. In the garden, he saw moving shapes. His trees, waving in the wind. He couldn’t see well, but then he heard running feet.

  Shouting again, he tore through the garden, only to see the same figure, dressed in a dark coat and trousers and a low-pulled cap, wriggle over the back fence and jump down into the mews. Greggory tore open the back gate and stared into the shadows. He knew the figure was running, fleet-footed, to the left. But he had a house wide-open now, and innocent babies to protect. He couldn’t leave his house, even to catch a thief.

  When he locked the gate and went back into the house, he found the lights on and Betsy and Mrs. Roach standing in the center of the kitchen, both blinking hard.

  “What happened?” the housekeeper gasped, looking at the missing window.

  “Someone broke in,” Greggory said, setting his bat on the table. He closed the door and locked it. “Do we have any wood so I can board up the window?”

  “Just paper, brown paper, but it isn’t raining. It will hold.”

  “Won’t do us a lick of good if the thief comes back,” Greggory said.

  “I’ll make you a cup of tea,” Mrs. Roach said. “You’ll feel better.”

  Just what he needed. “There is glass all over the porch.”

  “I’ll sweep it,” Betsy offered.

  “No, it will keep until morning. You might cut yourself in the dark. What time is it?”

  “About four A.M.,” she said. “I heard noise out the window.”

  “Where is your father?”

  “Dead asleep. He wouldn’t have heard anything in the sitting room. I tiptoed right past him.”

  She sat down across from
him while Mrs. Roach busied herself with the tea things. When she presented the steaming teapot and cups, Greggory waved her off to get the paper with his thanks.

  “You should go back to your bed, too,” he said to Betsy.

  “No,” she said, taking his hand.

  “Why are you shaking?” he asked.

  “I was frightened. Oh, Greggory, I’ve brought danger to your home, and it has children in it.”

  Greggory scrubbed at his eyes with his free hand. “Why do you say that?”

  “Victor, obviously, and Simon.”

  “Has there been some new kind of threat?”

  “No.” She frowned.

  Mrs. Roach returned with a roll of paper.

  “Then don’t assume you have anything to do with it. Thieves are always around, and I have good locks on the doors. An unskilled thief could break a window most easily.” Greggory took the paper and held it against the windows so Mrs. Roach could cut off the right-sized piece.

  “Thieves don’t usually work alone, do they? This seems more like Victor.”

  “Or Violet,” Greggory reflected. “The figure was rather slight, though dressed in men’s clothes. Still, I can’t be sure.”

  Betsy poured the tea while he tacked the paper over the window. “She’s been in here, knows what you have in the house. We never should have let her in last Sunday.”

  Mrs. Roach took a cup of tea and hovered in the doorway.

  “Off to bed? Thank you,” Greggory said to the housekeeper.

  “Good night, sir, Miss Popham.” Mrs. Roach smiled tiredly and left the room.

  Greggory returned his attention to Betsy. “Do you know where she’s living now? I assume she’s left the Baxters’.”

  Betsy told him about Violet’s claim of a new job, then made a face.

  “What?”

  “Am I gossiping?” she asked.

  “No, of course not. I’m sorry, Betsy. I know you were trying to help the investigation. I overreacted. At the time, I was more focused on us than the murder, and I should have realized. You’ve never made a wrong move with our customers in two years. Of course you aren’t a busybody.”