Trifling Favors (Redcakes Book 7)

by Heather Hiestand

  Betsy smiled. “I’m sure.”

  He slid his feet to the ground and stood. “I’m going to work on another hiring notice for the newspapers. And I want you to take Saturday and Sunday off from now on, so you have adequate rest. I’ll try to have someone hired before our wedding, though I don’t know that I’ll be able to take any time for a wedding trip.”

  She shook her head, and for a moment, he recognized his assistant manager rather than his fiancée. “Not until July, I’d think. Unless everyone has canceled their orders, wedding season is still going strong.”

  “It’s the tearoom that is in trouble. People don’t care so much about the orders because they could be coming in from any Redcake’s.”

  “I wonder if we should close the tearoom on Mondays. It is our weakest day. That’s when so many neighborhood ladies came in.”

  “That makes it terribly obvious what business we have lost.”

  She pursed her lips. “I hope that what happened to Prissy will work to the good, in terms of having the police pay attention.”

  “They don’t care about one battered seamstress,” Greggory said. “I wish they did, but PC Rivers told me the powers higher up are focused on the recent murder of a duke’s mistress.”

  “That rates more highly than an earl’s nephew?”

  “He’s been dead over three weeks.” Greggory shrugged. “A long time now.”

  “I think they gave up before they ever began. But I don’t know what dealings with the police are generally like. Though they had no trouble finding my mother.”

  He squeezed her hand, then released it. “Different city, different time. Who can say?”

  “Can you afford a private army?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure you are joking,” he said. He kissed the top of her head. “Make sure you leave for home by six, now. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  “I’d like to read the advertisement before you send it to the papers,” she said. “I want to know what you think I’ve been doing these past two years.”

  Her grin was sly, and she ducked around his attempt to grab her, reaching his door. “No pretty girls,” she added. “You’d probably best avoid the pretty gentlemen as well, or the cakies will fuss.”

  If we still have any. Greggory nodded at her, then went to his desk, feeling nauseated himself. He meant to seat himself and see to business but found himself staring out his window, as he had so often in the past year. Completely nonproductive, which would no longer be acceptable with Betsy unable to shore up his inadequacies.

  Five minutes later, he sent Oscar downstairs for a glass of warm milk and reseated himself in his armchair to write up the advertisement for Betsy’s replacement.

  It took him forty minutes. He handed it to Oscar for typing, then instructed him to send it down the hall for Betsy’s approval before sending it into the papers. By then, it was three P.M. and he went to check on the tearoom.

  There, on a Wednesday, the room seemed subdued, in mourning. Clouds scudded across the sky; he could see them above the commercial buildings. Rain would come soon. He would welcome the fresh air. London needed rain to wash away the smells of animal, industry, and man alike. At least this part of the city was nothing like the noxious air of South London, with its small factories and poverty. He pressed through into the kitchen, comforted by the homey scent of soup and bread.

  No matter what, even if he lost his business, his house ought to be secure. Bless Letty and her legacy. He would keep her children in comfort, even if he ended up in the bakery or the hotel trade, instead of the genteel, upscale tea trade. Before his marriage, he needed to plan a trip down to Sussex to see Uncle Bartley to explain himself.

  Even better, he could invite the Redcake clan to his wedding, force them to accept Betsy into the fold.

  “Can I help you, Mr. Redcake?” Mr. Soeur asked, coming toward him.

  Greggory realized he’d been hovering in the kitchen doorway. “I think I need some fresh air.”

  “You will not find it in here,” the man said, raising his bushy black eyebrows.

  Greggory nodded. “An excellent point. Carry on.” He went out the back way and straight toward the loading dock. It felt so good to be outside that he proceeded through the back street until he reached the main thoroughfare; then he turned north, wondering where Victor and Violet were lurking. Had they taken rooms somewhere near the Fairs?

  Should he visit the family? There had been no response to Betsy’s note about the wedding dress. His stomach rumbled when his nose caught the scent of fried fish, and he realized his nausea had dissipated. He crossed the street, following his nose, looking for the source of the delicious scent.

  When he reached the curb, he saw the fish and chips shop. But he also saw them.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Greggory saw Prissy Weaver and Violet Carter, in fact. Early on a Wednesday afternoon, when Prissy was meant to be nursing her wounds and fear in Bristol, and Violet was meant to be working for some friend of her late mother’s. Where were they? Standing against the window of a chippie, sharing fried fish from a square of newsprint like the best of friends.

  Betrayal flashed through him, first like a wave of heat, then frozen ice. How much money had he given Prissy, first for the dresses and then to help her leave London? And Violet had worked at Redcake’s. They had both been in his home when his children had been present. Betsy, a loyal Redcake’s employee, known to his family since she was a girl, had been taken in by both of them.

  But it was her own family history that had done it. The desperate legacy of her mother. Would they ever be free of it, this past that Betsy had done nothing to deserve? Honest, hardworking, sweet Betsy.

  His first instinct had to be finding a constable before they spotted him. He stepped under the awning of a secondhand clothing shop, then went rapidly down the street until he could turn north. While he looked for a constable, he kept moving toward Paddington, because there would be a police presence around the train station. All the while, he wondered what he would say. Could either woman be arrested for a crime? Prissy was a liar. Violet had to be one as well, but Victor was the criminal. He made his hands into fists and pounded his temples, trying to come up with a reason why the police should arrest them both. Con artists? Frauds?

  He knew, where lies were present, more were likely. Dreadful, that he’d have to tell Betsy the sad news. Just then, he caught sight of the telltale reinforced hat of a constable, and went up to him and introduced himself.

  “Persons of interest, eh?” the constable said.

  “I don’t know precisely what they can be arrested for, but since Miss Carter’s brother is a known violent criminal, surely these women can at least be taken in for questioning.”

  The constable nodded and blew his whistle, summoning his colleague within a matter of a couple of minutes. The two men followed Greggory back to the chip shop.

  “No women here,” the first constable said.

  Greggory swore. “Would have been too easy. It’s been ten or fifteen minutes since I saw them.”

  The constable tapped his helmet. “Describe them to me carefully, sir, and we’ll be on the lookout. Where there’s smoke there’s fire, eh? We’ll bring them both in if we find them.”

  Greggory did the best he could, then thanked both men and promised to check in with his main police contact on the way home, to keep him informed of the developing situation. He’d have to warn Betsy, and Ralph, too.

  He spent twenty minutes at the Fairs’ home, learning that Prissy had cleared out all her things, not told Mrs. Fair anything about the wedding dress, and taken all the money Greggory had given her. She was not owed any wages, having just been paid. Liar.

  By the time he’d reached his home, he felt as if he’d taken the train to Edinburgh and back in a day.

  “You look all done in, sir,” Mrs. Roach said as she took his hat.

  “I shouldn’t have to say this, but if you see the Carters or Prissy Weaver about, lock
up the house and don’t let any of them in,” he told her.

  “Not Miss Weaver?”

  “Definitely not Miss Weaver. They are in cahoots. I have to tell the Pophams, now.”

  Mrs. Roach clucked her tongue. “Such dear people, such trials.”

  “We have to keep them safe.”

  Mrs. Roach nodded solemnly.

  “Have I told you we’re to be married? Miss Popham and I?”

  “I suspected as much, sir. Very soon?”

  “The first banns will be called Sunday.”

  Her smile was genuine. “I am glad to hear it, and I wish you both happy. She’ll be a good mother to the little ones.”

  He patted her arm and went up the stairs to change out of his dusty clothing before dinner. When he went down, he found the Pophams waiting for him in the parlor.

  “How long until dinner?”

  “Ten minutes,” Ralph said. “Mrs. Roach was just in.”

  Greggory thought Ralph’s color was up. As he looked at the man curiously, he pressed his hair over his balding pate self-consciously. He wondered if the man was courting his housekeeper. Mrs. Roach had been vociferous in her praise for the Pophams. Betsy, on the other hand, looked a bit pale.

  He seated himself next to Betsy. “I have some hard news for the two of you.”

  “What is that?”

  He proceeded to tell him what he had seen. For the first time ever, Betsy’s face crumpled at the news. Heedless of Ralph, he put his arm around her. She tucked her face against his shoulder but didn’t cry.

  Ralph crossed himself. “Such wickedness.”

  Greggory wondered if he had ever looked for the same signs in his own daughter, but heaven knew, Ralph had raised Betsy to ask for nothing for herself, and she had gone on that way until she snapped, due to her father’s own dishonesty.

  “Now for good news, Mr. Popham. Have I told you that your daughter has consented to become my wife?”

  Ralph blinked. “No, we’d left it at the courtship.”

  “I should have asked your permission of course, but we’d like to be married at the end of June.”

  “Of course,” the older man said. “I’m delighted to see her settled.”

  Betsy lifted her face. Pale but composed, she accepted her father’s kiss. “He bought me a lovely ring, Papa, but we’ve decided I shouldn’t wear it, for fear it would give Victor something to steal.”

  “Very wise. I have to think that their foolishness will lead to them being caught sooner or later,” Ralph said. “Prissy showed her hand for the sake of a few pounds. I cannot understand it.”

  “Nor can I,” Greggory admitted. “But I do not think her injuries were false. She might not have been thinking clearly.” He could not help remembering that strange moment when he’d thought she wanted him to hold her.

  “It is just like Victor to beat his own accomplice,” Betsy agreed. “She might have panicked, and then Violet talked her out of leaving.”

  “When do you think they joined forces?”

  “They probably met at Redcake’s,” Betsy said.

  Mrs. Roach appeared in the doorway to announce dinner. Greggory noticed her gaze did rest a beat longer on Ralph. Who would have thought romance would bloom for his kindly housekeeper? He’d have to warn her to keep her savings away from the man. Otherwise, he had no real objection to a romance.

  Ralph wandered off after dinner, leaving Greggory and Betsy alone in the parlor.

  “Do you think your father and Mrs. Roach are stepping out in the evenings?”

  “To do what? Take a walk?”

  Greggory took her hand and squeezed. “Perhaps.”

  Her mouth rounded. “My father can’t marry your housekeeper.”

  “It is a little strange, but your father can afford a home of his own on his salary, if he’d spend it properly.”

  “You can’t do without her,” Betsy said. “We have a child coming.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself, my dear. Even if they married, that would mean she’d be your stepmother, and still involved in our lives.”

  Betsy shuddered. “I cannot fathom, and yet I didn’t know my father had been in love with Mrs. Carter all those years. How Victor and Violet have betrayed him, when he could have been their father.”

  Greggory kissed her cheek. “I have wasted too much of today on them, but here we are, alone in the house.”

  She tilted her lips up to his. “Why are we still in the parlor?”

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  She nodded and trailed her fingers up his waistcoat buttons. “I’m feeling quite well right now. It’s my best time of the day.”

  Greggory all but leaped off the sofa and bowed to her, then held out his hand. “Madam.”

  She giggled and took his hand. “Sir.”

  Two hours later, something woke Greggory. A warm, fragrant weight pinned him down at one shoulder. He realized Betsy had fallen deeply asleep after they’d made love and had never returned to her room. She might as well stay, because Ralph was likely to be asleep in the sitting room and she’d wake him up if she went upstairs.

  He wondered if he could disrupt his household by moving Betsy into his bedroom now, but unless he went for a special license, he thought that was being entirely too Bohemian. No, they needed a wedding before they formally shared a room.

  Just then, he heard pounding downstairs. Someone was at the front door. He climbed out of bed and lit a match, holding it to the clock on his mantel. Midnight. Who would need to rouse the house at midnight?

  He pulled on his discarded trousers and shirt, then ran downstairs barefoot, holding a candle, to find PC Rivers at the door.

  “Sorry to disturb you so late, sir, but there has been a break-in at your shop.”

  “You had better come in,” Greggory said grimly. “Tell me the worst.”

  “No bodies this time,” the constable reassured him.

  At least that was good news. Greggory gestured the man inside and turned up the gas. “Are my guards safe?”

  “Yes. One of them ran for the police station when the break-in began.”

  “Does that mean the thieves did not get very far?”

  “I’m afraid they managed to go into your office, sir, and your safe.”

  Greggory swore. “My safe?”

  “Yes, but it seems they knew the combination.”

  His children’s birth date. Any number of people would know it. What a fool he had been to have something so simple. “Is it empty?”

  “Yes.” The constable pulled out a notebook. “What was in it?”

  “Petty cash. A diamond ring.” Greggory rubbed his nose. “I suspect they were after the ring, but it was pure luck on their part that it was there. It could have been here.”

  “You know who the thieves were, then.”

  “Must have been the Carter twins with Prissy Weaver. Prissy knew about the ring.”

  PC Rivers nodded. “How much money did they get?”

  “Couldn’t have been more than fifty pounds.” He snapped his fingers. “They were expecting payroll to be in the safe. It’s Thursday night.”

  “But it wasn’t.”

  “No. I need to go the bank in the morning and match the money to the paperwork accounting prepared. Violet didn’t work at Redcake’s for long enough to know my procedures, and the other two wouldn’t have known.”

  “It seems to me that, knowing there’d be an expectation of a large amount of cash, anyone could have been the thief. What about Simon Hellman?”

  Greggory sat down on the staircase. “He’d be more likely to break into the flagship shop. Hellman knows I have guards on my shop.”

  “He might have thought you’d have let down your guard by now. It has been a while since he’s been seen.”

  Some cheer, that. “All the more reason to think he’s left town.”

  “I doubt it. His obsession with Miss Popham would keep him near.” PC Rivers coughed. “We’ll continue to watch, but the t
hieves got clean away tonight, I’m afraid. Two watchmen weren’t enough.”

  “Not for three thieves,” Greggory agreed. “I’ll add another guard tomorrow.”

  “We’ll increase our patrols. They could try again because they didn’t get what they were hoping for.”

  “What is the current state of the building?”

  “The loading dock door was all but smashed, as was the interior door leading to your floor and your office door.”

  “I’d better go down, then, and try to have it boarded up. I’ll just leave a note in the kitchen for my housekeeper and follow you back.”

  PC Rivers glanced at his bare feet.

  “I’ll get dressed first,” he assured the man.

  “Very good, Mr. Redcake.”

  Greggory walked home after Mr. Soeur and the bakers arrived at four A.M. to begin their preparations. The delivery team was already bringing in certain items from the flagship bakery, which was much larger, and the rest of the men would be coming in at six to start deliveries in the neighborhood. He took a long hot bath, weary and sore after his night, then went upstairs to acquaint the Pophams of the night’s activities.

  “Was there any actual evidence of the thieves?” Ralph asked, freshly shaven and about to leave for his post.

  “No, but they went in the back, just like here, and there had to have been more than one. We found the length of metal they used as a battering ram for the loading dock door, then they kicked down the others.”

  “It doesn’t sound like women were involved,” Ralph said, taking a bite of his toast.

  “Women can be exceedingly fierce,” Betsy said.

  “I know anyone might have broken in with the hope of making off with payroll,” Greggory said, “but I still think this has something personal to it.”

  “Well, they knew your combination. And no, I didn’t tell anyone, though I do know it of course,” Betsy said.

  “I never thought you did. You are the only person who I told, other than Lord Judah.”

  “It was easy enough to guess,” Betsy mused.

  “By anyone who knows me, I agree. But the ring, Betsy. Prissy knew about the ring.”