One Taste of Scandal

by Heather Hiestand

  When Judah came closer to reach for a paper, he saw the boy’s eye had been blackened and his jaw was bruised. “Been in a fight?”

  Eddy’s mouth closed mid-yell. “Hello, guvnor. One paper or two today?”

  “You remember me, do you?”

  “I remember all my regulars. You’re going to be one, right?”

  Judah grinned. “I like your spirit. Just one today, thank you.” He pulled out a penny and exchanged it for a paper. “What happened to your face?”

  Eddy shrugged. “Bit of a dustup at the station last night. Some lads from an anarchist paper were yelling nonsense at an old gentleman.”

  “Rescued him, did you?”

  “ ’e needed it.” The boy hitched up his pants defiantly. “They took his cane. It were a nice one, worth good money at a pawnshop, but ’e couldn’t walk without it.”

  “You’re a brave lad.”

  “So ’e said.” Eddy grinned. “ ’e bought me a steak for my trouble. Told me to put it on my eye, but I ate it instead. Might be why it’s swollen shut now.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I’d say you deserve another steak.” He reached into a pocket, pulled out a shilling, and flipped it to the boy. “Mind you don’t mix that in with your newspaper money.”

  “Yes, sir!” His face scrunched. “Might I put it toward a hat?”

  “Lost it in the scuffle?”

  The boy nodded.

  Judah didn’t know if he was being taken, but he tossed him a couple more shillings. “That should do you, in honor of the old gentleman.”

  “And then some. Thank you!” Eddy tucked it away hastily, then, after giving him a sharp look, as if afraid Judah would change his mind, began calling out the news again.

  Judah nodded, eager to be on his way to Redcake’s, though he couldn’t quite keep from craning his neck around the Square, looking for a certain attractive young lady. Of course, he was here at a different time of day, so there was no reason to think Miss Cross would be out. He had her address, after all, so if he wanted to call he could. But he didn’t. He was rebuilding his life, and it wasn’t as if his brother hadn’t shared a few tales of the Scandalous Crosses with him when they’d dined. It sounded as if Cross women were more mistress material than wife, something to keep in mind for the future.

  Instead of going around the front of Redcake’s, he headed into the alley behind the shops, discovering a bustling world all of its own. Shopgirls in tidy dresses rushed to their places of employment, chattering like exotic birds. Carts full of bread rumbled over the cobblestones, pushed by tired-looking men scraping their boots on the ground. The occasional pile of malodorous horse droppings told him larger deliveries had passed by not long before.

  He saw casks piled up behind the back door of the bakery, in front of the loading dock. A wagon was being filled with wheeled trays of white boxes and he saw horses coming up the alley from the opposite direction. He nodded to the workers and ducked in the door at the side.

  “Captain Shield?” A middle-aged man with graying brown hair bustled up, his mustache twitching in irritation.

  “Yes, and you are?”

  “Ralph Popham, bakery manager. Behind me is Simon Hellman, in charge of deliveries.”

  Another man, about the same age, lifted his hand as he dashed by, out to the loading dock.

  “Glad to have you on board, Captain.” Popham pulled a white handkerchief from a pocket and wiped his forehead. “You had better see Alfred Melville right away.”

  “And he is?”

  “In charge of the kitchens. It’s a mess down there, I’m afraid.”

  “I should see what Ewan Hales has for me.” He’d met the manager’s secretary yesterday and he seemed a competent man.

  “You can do as you wish, Captain, but the action is below.” Popham pointed to a set of doors. Someone called for him and he rushed off in the direction of the bakery.

  Judah put his hands on his hips and surveyed the frantic faces of people moving about. He didn’t know any of them yet, but he suspected he’d better investigate below.

  Opening the doors revealed steps leading down to the basement kitchens. He’d noted his brother’s comment yesterday that this would be the first place to be electrified, since there was no outer light coming in. Of course, there was a freight elevator to move goods, but a lot of people came through this staircase.

  When he reached the base of the stairs, he pointed at the first man he saw. “Mr. Melville, please?”

  The man, clad all in white, including a dusting of flour in his hair, pointed to the left. “Back by the kneading machines. But you ought not to be here.”

  “I’m Captain Shield, the temporary manager.”

  The man’s face opened into a bucktoothed smile. “Ah, well then. Pleased to meet you. I’m Tom Mumford, a baker. If you don’t mind, I need to meet a load of bread at the elevator.”

  “Go on then; thank you for the direction.” Judah walked swiftly down the hall, since he heard loud cursing coming toward him.

  He pushed open double doors and saw a group of four or five men with towels, swearing as they wiped flour from their faces. As he drew closer, the sound of clanking machinery overwhelmed the human noises. He saw a man in a checkered waistcoat turning dials and pushing switches behind a large machine that appeared to be mixing dough. A little farther into the room, a fog of floury particulate matter coated the air.

  The dough mixer stopped abruptly and he heard coughing as the flour fog spread.

  “Mr. Melville?” He called in a loud firm voice that had gotten him what he needed even in the midst of battle.

  The man in the checkered waistcoat turned. Half of his face had been splattered with dough. His nose was disfigured with the stuff, making it appear twice as long as it was.

  “I’m not hiring today. Who let you down here?” The man stomped forward, taking the towel someone offered him and wiping his face.

  Judah stood his ground. “I am the new temporary manager.”

  “Eh? You are, are you? Some lordling, right?”

  “I am Captain Judah Shield, recently of the Royal Sussex Regiment,” he said evenly.

  Melville rubbed the towel against his nose. The hook the dough had created disappeared, leaving a blob. “Well, Mister Captain Judah Shield, recently of the Royal Sussex Regiment, you can take yourself up to the offices where you belong. Ask Hales to send a note around to Lewis Noble, will you? We’re going to need him to fix this.”

  “I hope you didn’t speak to the marchioness in this condescending manner.”

  “Who, Alys? Why, she’s one of us. She’d be the first person at the controls, trying to shut down her cousin’s blasted machine.”

  “I’d understood these machines were the wonder of the baking community.”

  “Aye, we have the best conditions for bakers in London, when they are working. But as you can see, they are not. We’ve patched these bloody machines together as best we could for months.”

  “Why patched?”

  “Because Lewis fell out with his uncle, and I suspect there is more to the story than that, because Alys wouldn’t call on him either. But you’re a stranger to them, and you’ll pay him a fair wage, right? We can’t keep on like this.”

  “I thought the bread had been baked by this time of day,” Judah said. “The marchioness gave me a timetable.”

  “The bread went fine. This is the scone dough for the tearoom.”

  “Any idea what happened? Sabotage?”

  “Now you’re thinking like a military campaigner. This isn’t some outpost with tribal Indians about; it’s just a business, with machines that break. If you can’t get me Lewis Noble, then you’re no good to me.”

  “I’m the man who signs your paycheck,” Judah warned. “I would think about that and adjust your attitude accordingly.”

  The man rubbed at his nose again. “I am never my best during times of disaster, and for that I apologize.” He sneezed.

  Juda
h regarded him for a moment. The clanking and cursing and thumping as someone slid on flour and toppled onto his backside fell away. “We’ll let this go then, but I am not as informal a manager as the marchioness apparently was.”

  Melville sneezed again.

  Judah stalked out and went in search of Hales, who he could only hope had Lewis Noble’s direction.

  “They can’t fix the machinery without him?” Ewan Hales, an urbane man in his mid-twenties, asked as they stood in the outer room of the manager’s office, where his desk was located.

  “They say not. Sounds as if it’s been held together with bits, bobs, and a prayer for months now.”

  Hales rubbed his nose. It seemed the flour cloud had permeated the building now. Judah could feel it too, tickling his nostrils, but he’d ignored worse physical discomforts.

  “I think it would be best if you wrote a personal entreaty,” Hales said, “mentioning you are the new manager. Say nothing about being temporary, but do say that you’ll pay a fair wage.”

  “Wouldn’t that be expected?”

  “No, Captain; he’s family. Grew up with the Redcakes after his parents died. Sir Bartley never paid him much of anything for his work.”

  “Are we sure he’ll remember how to fix the machines?”

  “He’s moved on to some kind of horseless carriage project now, but it is all machinery, correct?”

  He doubted Lewis Noble saw it that way. “I’ll write the note immediately.”

  “I’ll send someone with it straightaway when it is ready.”

  Judah went into the office he’d only seen for the first time yesterday and sat down at the desk. He found a fountain pen and unscrewed the cap carefully, in case ink had dribbled from the pen, and found himself rewarded for his caution. After he wiped up the ink, he pulled out a piece of paper and wrote a short note, then took it out to Hales.

  This note had better do the job properly. He was not going to be a failure his first day.

  A boy waited in the anteroom and Hales handed him the note as soon as he’d scribbled the address. After the boy left, Judah asked, “Can we open the tearoom today?”

  “The bakers will have to do the sifting and kneading by hand. It will slow them down but they’ll get something made.”

  Judah checked his pocket watch. He’d already lost nearly an hour and the bakery would be opening any minute. “I believe I’ll go downstairs and observe the bakery.”

  “If you would, Captain, I have a dozen or so papers that need your signature. Requisitions and the like.”

  “Didn’t the marchioness handle all that before she left?”

  “That was yesterday.”

  He sighed. At least Alys must have told the staff here not to call him “my lord.” He still felt a shudder every time someone called him that. Until his brother arrived home from his vacation though, he wouldn’t be able to dig into old family history and attempt to discover who his father really was. For now, he resolved to learn the business he’d been thrust into.

  Lewis Noble was not at his workroom when the boy called, but the next morning, as Judah was walking up to the loading dock at eight a.m., he heard a couple of shouts, then saw a small, open carriage moving toward him, without horses. Steam billowed into a nimbus behind and above as the wheels crackled over the pavement.

  He grinned. He’d heard of the existence of such things but had never seen a horseless carriage. Lewis Noble was a man he wanted to meet. What an imagination he must have, and such ability. Men scattered with alarmed cries as the contraption came through, belching smoke. It stopped between the back door of Redcake’s and the loading dock.

  One man stepped down from behind the wheel he’d been piloting and ran to the back to kick down a step. Another man opened the rear door and stepped to the ground. Steam dispersed as an engine shut down.

  Simon Hellman jumped down from the loading dock. “I say! Lewis Noble and Gawain Redcake! What a sight for sore eyes you two lads are!”

  Judah would have recognized that long, hawkish nose anywhere, though the eye patch and scar running down the left cheek were new. The other man had the same blond hair, and roughly the same build and height, but moved more easily. His hands had ground-in lines of black, probably from oil. Redcake, on the other hand, was well-dressed. Hat, gloves, and cane. You’d never know he’d once lived and worked in the harsh conditions of the Black Mountains of India, though the limp might tell you he’d been through a few serious scuffles.

  Judah moved forward, unable to contain his grin at the sight of an old soldier. “Sergeant Redcake!” He lifted his arm to clap his hand to the other man’s shoulder.

  Redcake glanced in his direction, his good eye narrowed. No sign of good will. “Before my cousin steps foot in that establishment, I want his fee made clear. He will not be cheated in future.”

  Judah lowered his arm and frowned. “When have you ever not known me to be a fair man?”

  “I do not know what orders you are under.”

  “None in particular, other than to keep this establishment from failing in the next couple of weeks while my brother and his wife are vacationing. Don’t you trust your own sister? I found her delightful.”

  “Leave off, Gawain,” said Lewis Noble, coming toward them now that he’d finished fiddling with his machine. He held a large toolbox. The muscles of his forearm corded with sinew, and his bicep bunched under his striped linen shirt. “It was only Uncle Bartley who didn’t pay fairly.”

  “And Alys.”

  “Alys did not call me for help, not once. We never discussed my fee. I imagined she had found someone else to fix the appliances.”

  “Wonderful machine, old man,” Judah said. “I hope you will explain it to me when our immediate crisis here is averted.”

  Meanwhile, all the workers nearby had moved away, clearly concerned that the horseless carriage would blow up. He wondered if that said something for Lewis Noble’s other inventions.

  Noble grinned and stuck out a grimy hand. “You’ve made yourself a friend, Captain Shield.”

  “Good man. First, I know I need to get the bakery machines fixed. What do you think is a fair fee for this visit?”

  Redcake set his jaw. “Eight shillings.”

  “Done,” Judah said, fishing in his pocket. “I’ve got two half crowns—no wait, three. And a few pennies here.”

  Noble sighed and took the money. “I am sorry for this embarrassment. My cousin is very money minded.”

  “It is only fair. I’m sure we have a petty cash box somewhere. I’ll get you the rest.”

  “This is close enough,” he said, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “You’re mixed up in an old problem and I’m sorry for it.”

  “So am I, but we’ll pay you fairly. I don’t want to lose the business while the family is gone.”

  Noble shook his head and turned away. Judah frowned. He didn’t know much about the family but knew he was missing some details that were important to running this business.

  “The marchioness seemed a fair-minded lady,” he said to Redcake.

  “She’s as flinty as Father ever was,” Redcake retorted. “And given that Lewis was in love with her for years, she could have used him just as shamefully.”

  Ah, now he thought he understood. “But she did not.”

  “No, but I have to say she has no other model than Father.”

  “I can understand why you do not trust her with your cousin, but I assure you I will care for him as tenderly as a mother tends her infant. I need that equipment fixed.”

  “You do not want to play the fool for your brother.”

  Judah laughed harshly. “Not any more than I have to. He’s a sharp businessman, these days.”

  Redcake snorted. “I understand you received some shocking news upon your return.”

  So the sergeant had become a gossip? He lowered his voice, refusing to be shamed, but not about to share his news with the world, either. “No, I received it when I was still in India
. That is why I returned, but I was only chasing bones.”

  Redcake looked away. “I am sorry for the loss of your mother.”

  “Neither she nor my father were ever much a part of my life. Now I know why.”

  “I am sorry. You had more nobility in you than most officers.” He cleared his throat. “I was most surprised to hear the rumors about you and Lieutenant Cross. Well, less so about him, given his proclivities.”

  “We were doing reconnaissance. I cannot imagine how we were reported dead.”

  Redcake nodded. “The army never admits they’ll use men as spies.”

  “I wish I knew what happened to Cross since. Met his sister yesterday and she said the family has heard nothing from him.”

  Redcake tapped his cane on a cobblestone. “I have a trader associate, Zahir Khan, who ran across him again recently. If you want to know about Cross, I can tell you.”

  “Come inside,” Judah said. “We had better speak about this privately.”

  Upstairs, they traversed Ewan Hales’s territory, heading to the office. Redcake took off his bowler and flung it into the air. Despite his having only one good eye, it fell directly upon the hook on a stand and vibrated against it. With a smirk at Hales, he stomped toward the office.

  “Not a fan of the secretary?” Judah said, when they were settled in the inner sanctum.

  “He wants your job.”

  “I don’t know if I want my job. We’ll see how I feel when the family returns.”

  “You’ll want it,” Redcake said. “Never a dull moment here. Too many employees, too much action. Alys loves changing things and you’ll be welcome to innovate. You’re not the man to be shut up in a counting office, or law office, doing repetitive tasks. This will suit you, unless there’s some estate you can manage.”

  “I understand from my brother that he is in funds rather more so than when my father died, but I do not know if there are estates. I have been gone too long to have good contacts in the land-owning families, but my brother might.”