The Marquess of Cake

by Heather Hiestand

  “Very well, but I’ll be back after dinner to speak to you about Rose’s medicine.”

  Alys nodded, glad to lose herself in menial tasks. They gave her time to daydream.

  They first took the train to Eastbourne, then transferred north to travel the few miles to Polegate.

  “This is larger than I expected,” Rose said, noting the three platforms.

  “It’s quite the historic area,” Alys observed. “We are near Hastings, after all.”

  Rose coughed, bending forward to catch herself. As soon as she was under control, Alys guided her inside to find the driver who was supposed to be awaiting them. Lucy brought up the rear. A porter directed them to the man and they were soon ensconced in a rented carriage, their boxes tied on top.

  “Where is Redcake Manor?” Alys asked.

  “Bit south of here, maybe two miles,” the driver said, climbing into the box. “Get inside now, miss.”

  Alys kept her eyes on Rose during the drive. Though her lips weren’t blue, she had a pale cast to her face and often applied smelling salts to her nose, which seemed to help her breathing.

  When the carriage stopped and the driver opened the door, Alys was shocked to find herself in the courtyard of a dilapidated Elizabethan manor of stone, built in the H-plan.

  He spoke. “An abbey was here first, and there’s a ruined Norman shell keep on a mound a few acres away. A nice walk, but watch out for falling stones. And for the ghosts of Roman soldiers, who are said to walk the mound in twilight.”

  Rose giggled as the driver helped her down, then coughed. “No lady ghosts?”

  “I’m sure it’s possible, miss. This house was built in fifteenseventy-seven, after all. My grandfather is by way of being the local historian. He loves to tell stories.”

  “We’ll have to pay a visit to him,” Alys said.

  “Oh, he’d like that, miss.”

  “Did my father hire any staff for the house?”

  Lucy looked alarmed at the idea of their being alone here.

  “I know Bertha and George Pelham are still here. She’s the housekeeper and he keeps an eye on the gardens. I’d imagine she’s brought on a few of the local girls.”

  The front doors opened and a woman dressed in black stepped out.

  “Oh, and I forgot, miss. The Pelhams had a daughter. They are in mourning. Poor girl was sixteen when she died last spring.”

  “In the house?” Lucy asked faintly.

  “Yes, in the servants’ quarters.”

  Rose tittered, a nervous sound.

  The woman walked down the front stairs and Alys greeted her.

  “Thank you for welcoming us, Mrs. Pelham.”

  “I’m happy you’ve arrived in one piece. We only just had the letter to announce you were coming.”

  “We’ll need a lovely warm room for my sister. She’s been ill.”

  “I doubt there’s an inch of the old place that isn’t drafty,” said the thin, middle-aged woman. “But we’ll do our best for you.”

  A man walked around the side of the house. “Here, Robbie. I’ll help you with the trunks.”

  The driver touched his cap and the sisters and Lucy followed the housekeeper into the house. The first thing Alys noticed in the great hall were cobwebs, high in every corner and window. She had no idea how one cleaned such spaces, but they desperately needed an application of vinegar and water. Interspersed were crumbling tapestries and ancient weapons, rusty and disused.

  “Well, I never,” Lucy said under her breath.

  “We’ll be hiring footmen,” Mrs. Pelham said. “I understand your butler will eventually come down from London.”

  “Yes, Pounds is his name.”

  “Very good. Perhaps you would like to interview the final candidates, Miss Redcake? I have initial interviews tomorrow with five young men.”

  “How many are you hiring? Two?”

  “Yes, miss.”

  “Yes, I’d like to meet the final three,” Alys said. “And housemaids?”

  “We’ve just brought on a tweenie to light the fires and help me in the kitchen.”

  “A cook?” Rose asked. “I require a great deal of hot broth throughout the day to help my lungs. And pots of coffee.”

  “I’ll send Mr. Pelham for supplies. We weren’t told to hire a cook.

  Besides we only have the original kitchen to work with, nothing modern.”

  “I’ll write Mother immediately,” Alys promised. “But for now, I’d like to have my sister settled in a very clean room.”

  “We’ve been trying to clear out the East Wing, that’s in the best repair.”

  “Are the staircases safe?”

  Mrs. Pelham shrugged. “Never been any accidents.”

  “Very well.” What mischief had their father wrought now?

  Alys took Rose’s arm, in case she needed help on the staircase.

  Thankfully, the first room available was close to the staircase, which seemed secure enough.

  “The long gallery is just through that door there. If you like paintings of dead people it’s quite a treat.”

  “Lovely,” Alys said.

  “I like to paint watercolors,” Rose said.

  “You’ll find the light is good. The solar is at the end of the hall, you’ll probably want to set up there.” She opened the door.

  “Does the fireplace draw properly?” Alys asked as they entered the cavernous space. The wood floor was spotless and the bed hangings looked clean enough, though they were of tattered orange velvet.

  “Yes, it’s been cleaned and the mattress is new. All the linens are clean and the clothing press is empty.”

  “No mouse droppings?”

  “No, miss, we found only spiderwebs and dust.”

  “Chilly,” Rose commented.

  “It is January, miss. I expect it is cold everywhere.” Mrs. Pelham drew back the curtains, exposing a thin white light.

  Alys was satisfied that the windows faced south, which would keep the room bright and as warm as possible during the day. She was torn between wanting to keep an eye on her sister and checking the kitchens, but when her sister requested coffee and broth she decided to go with Mrs. Pelham while Lucy organized.

  The kitchen was in an outbuilding, connected by a breezeway.

  Alys hugged herself to stay warm.

  “Smokehouse is over there, and the stillroom is off the kitchen.

  We’ve plenty of space at least and have designated a cold larder.”

  “What about a pastry room?”

  “There’s space if you can get the equipment.” The housekeeper opened the heavy wooden door and ushered her in.

  Alys saw a large, high-ceilinged room with a stone floor. That much was suitable. At one end was an enormous fireplace with a built-in brick oven to the right. Various tables served for work spaces, along with a waist-high mortar and pestle.

  “The dairy is separate,” Mrs. Pelham announced.

  “You’ll need a full staff to manage this,” Alys said.

  “Yes, miss. I’d better send for coffee, but it won’t be available until tomorrow. We’re a mile from the village, as you saw, and it is getting late.”

  “Can you make broth?”

  “I have stew prepared.”

  “That’s very heavy for Rose. Can you strain out the meat and make her a pot of strong tea?”

  “Yes, I’ll do that.”

  “Very well. I think I shall go back upstairs and write Mother.

  There’s a great deal that needs doing.”

  “Did you bring any kind of kitchen supplies?”

  “Nothing. We only knew we were coming last night, though my father had been planning the trip.”

  “He’s never been here,” Mrs. Pelham said.

  “How did he buy the house then?”

  “Through an agent.”

  “Had it been vacant long?”

  “At least since I was a girl.”

  “What was it called before he renamed i
t?”

  “Pelham Manor. A cadet branch of those who lived in Pevensey Castle, I believe, built the house.”

  “And Pelham is your name too.”

  “Yes, miss, but I have no idea what the connection is. My husband’s mother died when he was young and all that sort of knowledge was lost with her.”

  “Perhaps Robbie’s father will know something more.” A stray thought she’d had on the train coalesced. She needed an occupation.

  Learning about the house’s history might be interesting. Certainly overseeing the modernization of the kitchen would keep her busy but her father might have that in hand. “Which room is mine? The one next to Rose?”

  “We only cleaned the one, miss. We can start on the next one tomorrow if you wish.”

  “I think that would be advisable. It’s possible more of my family will come soon and we can’t all stay in one room.”

  Mrs. Pelham’s lips pursed in an unattractive manner. Really, one wondered if she was suited for this position or perhaps she’d have done better as a mere caretaker, though from the look of the place, not much care had been taken.

  “I’ll have my letter ready for you to post by the time you bring up our food.” There’d be no point in asking for a bath, filthy though both of them were. The dirt wouldn’t be good for Rose’s lungs. Maybe she could heat some water by the fire and at least wipe away the coal marks. She’d send Lucy for a cauldron and water when she arrived upstairs.

  At least she’d not be bored.

  “Is it true you’re courting the middle Redcake daughter?” Michael asked Theodore Bliven as they sat at Hatbrook House with brandy and cigars after dinner on Thursday.

  “Sir Bartley hoped for a match with his oldest daughter, but she’s not to my taste.”

  Michael had noticed Theo hadn’t taken an instant liking to Alys like he had back when they had first met at the tea shop, but beyond her personality, he much preferred Alys’s active intelligence and body to the younger, softer sister. Matilda Redcake seemed a dreamy sort.

  “I don’t think the eldest Miss Redcake minded. Perhaps she has a secret lover.”

  Michael took a sip of brandy. He preferred to keep his own counsel about the state of Alys’s love life. In fact, he hadn’t been able to call on her as he’d told her he would, deciding he needed to complete the purchase of her father’s property before he could decide how he felt about her. He’d received a message from Mumford first thing that morning, necessitating a visit to his office that took up the entire day.

  He would be very happy when his new man of business understood all his affairs and he didn’t have to manage both his business and the firm’s. All he’d had time to do was leave his card at the door with the Redcake butler late in the day.

  “So you turned your affections to Matilda Redcake?”

  “I don’t know if I would term it as affection, though I did call on her the next day. She’s a bit dreamy, but very eager to wed, I think.

  Her mother chaperoned us and did much of the talking.”

  “Mothers.” They shared a rueful smile.

  “Yes, maids are much better chaperones. They don’t care what goes on as long as they are allowed to sit quietly.”

  “Will you call on her again?”

  “I don’t want to rush into anything, but my father is pressing me.

  The pockets are a bit empty and Matilda comes with a good dowry.”

  “They seem like a nice family, despite the tradesman aspect of things.”

  “You are taking the London face of the business off their hands,”

  Theo said. “That will dull the tradesman sheen.”

  “They bought a house near Hatbrook Farm. You wouldn’t have to go too far afield to visit your bride’s family.”

  “Yes, better than if I married Courtnay’s daughter.”

  Courtnay was a dye magnate who had a suitable daughter who’d been a considerable presence during the autumn Season. But he’d made it clear the family was based in Liverpool and his daughter

  would have to visit her mother frequently. Theo hadn’t quite been able to bring himself to propose.

  “Is she still on the market?”

  “I believe so. Her father headed off a fortune hunter or two.”

  “Good that you’re more subtle about the thing.”

  “I may not have the luxury if my father’s losses are as steep as he claims. And now my cousin is marrying. Really, the news couldn’t be worse.”

  “You could manage Redcake’s for me when the deal is done.”

  Theo laughed heartily. “I’m not suited for the tradesman life. If I had to take a job I’d rather go out to India, get rich.”

  “Have the money for the fare?”

  Theo grinned ruefully. “Don’t suppose you’d let me have Beth?”

  “She’s not even out yet, my friend. Too young for you anyway, and much too innocent.”

  “Probably best to propose to Matilda, if I must. You don’t think her father expects me to work?”

  “No, I think he wants to have a country gentry family. That is what Miss Redcake indicated.”

  Theo took a sip of brandy, then leaned back and sucked his cigar.

  “She’s already in the country, with the pale sister.”

  Michael wondered how rare these luxuries had become for his friend. Only two months ago he’d been in entirely different spirits. As Theo blew a smoke ring, his brain fixed on what Theo had just said.

  “She is?” Alys had left London? How could he not know? She might have sent a note to Beth, at least. His sister had indicated they had built quite a rapport in one short meeting.

  “Yes, left Tuesday. Rose was chaperoning us when I called Monday but she became ill and went upstairs.”

  So Alys hadn’t been in London when he’d missed his call on her.

  Good. He’d appear less than a cad. But still, he did like her, liked the idea of meeting her on the street or at the tea shop. “How ill? Something serious?”

  “A common lung complaint of hers, I believe. Nothing out of the ordinary. Too bad. She’s a dashed pretty thing, a veritable china doll.”

  Unlike her older sister who was blooming and robust. Perhaps it was time to take a trip down to his farm. He could visit the sisters on the way. He’d felt it increasingly difficult to button his waistcoat this past week. Nothing to do on the Farm of course, at this time of year, but maybe he could help the blacksmith with repairs or some such physical labor. Make Mumford earn his pay. Not the fashionable time of year to be in London anyway. He could persuade his mother to bring Beth home for a few weeks.

  “I’ll offer you my congratulations, then. Think Redcake will let you marry Matilda this year?”

  “I haven’t asked, but he’s friendly with my father, so I expect they’ll work out the details if I must.”

  “Shall we join the ladies?” Michael asked. “I think we’ve kept them waiting long enough.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Michael knew where Redcake Manor was, since Sir Bartley had mentioned it during their business dealings over the tea shop and emporium. Resolving to visit, he arrived in Polegate the next day, getting off there instead of taking the six-year-old Cuckoo Line up to Heathfield, near his farm. He swayed on his feet as he exited the train.

  Far too muzzy-feeling to descend on the sisters right now. He went to find a pub so he could have something to eat.

  His mother had refused to come down to the Farm, or to allow Beth to come with him. She’d have remembered to bring a hamper and force a sandwich into his hand, but quite a bit of society was still in town, thanks to the filthy weather, and parties were abundant, though not with the best people. Poor Beth would be left to her own devices, not being out. Quite selfish of Mother, but no surprise on that account. At any rate, he’d told her he just meant to pop down for a few days then come back again. A week of visits and labor and he’d be fit for London again.

  At least this meant he didn’t have to go all the way t
o his farm first. He might have managed a womanish faint if he’d had to stay on the train any longer.

  He checked through blurred vision for the sight of a pub on the street. Churches, a grocer, but no pub. Not a tea shop in sight, of course. He stumbled on a rock and would have gone down if he hadn’t been caught under the arm by a firm hand.

  “My lord! Are you drunk?” A familiar pair of nutmeg eyes peered under his hat.

  Of all the people to meet on the street.

  “No, ill,” she mused, squeezing his arm. “But you don’t look feverish.”

  “Haven’t eaten since breakfast. I was coming to see you, Alys,” he said thickly, hoping he wasn’t hallucinating her.

  “Robbie!” she called.

  A man jumped down from a rundown hired carriage. “Yes, miss?”

  “My excursion has been cancelled. Please help his lordship into the carriage. I’ll be back in just a minute.”

  Michael watched Alys dash into the greengrocer’s while a large man dressed in coarse brown took his elbow as if he were an elderly aunt.

  “Were we expecting you, my lord?”

  He shook off the hand gently. “No, friend of the family.”

  Robbie shook his head. “Don’t know where they’ll put you. That house isn’t fit for Quality. Don’t know what Morris was thinking.

  He’s a bloody pirate, taking money for that place.”

  “Morris?”

  “The purveyor of property what sold that tumbledown house to Sir Bartley. That land is fine, sure, but to claim the house was hospitable? Just not right.”

  Michael closed his eyes as he stepped into the swaying carriage.

  Robbie stuck his head in, bringing with him the odor of onions.

  “Do you have a bit of bread and cheese about your person, my lad?” He reached into his pocket and inspected what dropped onto his palm. “I’ll give you three shillings for it.”

  Robbie raised his eyebrows. “Back in a tick.”

  A minute later, a greasy packet of soft cheese and rye bread was thrust into Michael’s hand. It might have been Scotch trifle for all the pleasure he took in the sight and smell of the bread. He flipped the driver his shillings. “You are a prince among men.”

  The driver put a finger to his forehead. “Pleasure doing business, my lord.”

  Michael still shook two minutes later, but thanks to the food he’d wolfed down he knew he’d feel better soon. By the time Alys climbed back into the carriage, a wave of exhaustion had made him ready for a nap. She held up a withered apple and offered it to him.