“I hope you don’t mind my saying it is pleasant to walk to Redcake’s with you again, Miss Cross.”
Magdalene smiled, pleased Captain Shield had missed her. “I am glad to be returning, and thank you for sending over the black collars and cuffs.”
“I assumed you would not want to don white again until nearly spring.”
“Exactly, Captain. You are very thoughtful.”
“My pleasure. Everything is much the same in the bakery, though increasingly busy. I have made one change to your department.”
“Oh? The additional staff, you mean?”
“No. With the marchioness’s approval, I have purchased a new contraption from Mr. Noble. A froster that is meant to save precious minutes.”
She had spent so much effort perfecting her frosting skills, and now there would be a machine to do it? For a moment, she felt kinship to the Luddites of long ago. Was she to be put out of work as quickly as she returned to it?
“I think it will help the operation. You will have more time to focus on the intricate work. Betsy assures me there is a great deal of it.”
But not so much when fashionable Society was not in Town. Still, they were in the busy time now and she couldn’t borrow trouble. Enough was present at home, with the boys not at all themselves, and George drinking himself into a stupor each night after they’d gone to bed. Of course, he insisted on imbibing expensive claret, which they could not afford in the quantities he drank. The household was becoming one she could hardly tolerate. If George continued in this vein, the boys would need to be sent away to school.
“I’m sure,” she said, when Judah looked at her, “that it is an excellent contraption.”
“The demonstration made it look easy enough. He should have it for us in a week or two.”
“Is it very large? We’ll have to find a place for it.”
“I’ve arranged all that with Betsy. You don’t need to worry your artist’s soul with any of that.” He angled his umbrella to better protect them from the rain.
“I see myself as rather practical,” she ventured. If only he knew the concerns that filled her thoughts.
When she saw his quizzical glance, she flushed. How could he not see her as practical, a Society woman with employment? Most women would focus on their embroidery or causes and not worry about money, but she did, very much.
“Can you not be practical and artistic?”
“Oh yes, I suppose so, but it is a difficult combination.”
The corner of his mouth tilted. “Ah, so you declare yourself to be a difficult woman?”
She wished for a fan to tap him with, but she didn’t even have a newspaper. “Is my society so painful? You have just said it is a pleasure.”
“I am not in your company all day. Perhaps you are impossible at noon, for instance, or appalling at six. Or unmentionable in the wee hours.”
She sniffed. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
When she saw his secret smile, she realized she had all but propositioned him, and from someone in her family, a man might take the proposition seriously. Why did she have to be so different from the lot of them?
“A few days away from you and I’ve become a hoyden,” she said. “Please forgive me.”
“I like you in all your moods, Miss Cross,” he said gallantly. “And here is the loading dock.”
He held open the door for her, then folded his umbrella and placed it in the stand just inside the door. They tried hard to keep the floors dry since falls could mean the destruction of expensive goods. Then he followed her downstairs.
“Walking me to the Fancy door, Captain?”
“I promised to consult with Mr. Melville first thing this morning,” he said.
“How is the busy season going?”
“Busily.” His teeth flashed at her as he opened the door at the bottom of the step.
“I thought I heard your voice, Captain!” Betsy Popham stood just to the right, a flirtatious grin on her plump, pretty face. She brushed her substantial bosom against his arm as she went to the steps.
“What are you up to?” The captain stared at a rolling table covered in boxes.
“My father needed a few special orders early. Lady Burnham’s maid arrived sooner than expected to pick up her decorated cakes.”
He gestured to the table. “Why aren’t you using the elevator?”
“The bakers have it.”
He grunted. “Right. We’ll help you.”
She batted her eyes. “I’d appreciate it very much if you do, sir, but Magdalene is needed to finish another special order.”
Magdalene set her jaw. Betsy had never called her by her Christian name. What an insult that she’d use it in front of Captain Shield, as if she was some lowly subordinate. “Why, Betsy, I am so sorry you’ve been overwhelmed. I shall rush forthwith.” She lifted her head and, after a nod to him, walked toward the Fancy with a stately gait. Two could play this game. Betsy must be jealous of their morning walks, but surely the girl didn’t think Captain Shield, brother of a marquess, would be interested in the likes of her.
Unless she wanted to be his mistress. The thought gave her pause just as she reached the Fancy door. Betsy would lose her position if she had a child, but she probably thought the captain would support the child until its majority, and her too. She’d need to keep a close eye on Betsy’s flirtation.
The next morning Judah walked up to Nelson’s Column, glad to see the end of the rain for now, but he wasn’t happy to see the state of his favorite newsboy. That the sun poked through the clouds now and then only illuminated the condition of Eddy Jackson’s face. He’d lost his cap again, and one arm of his jacket had been torn away from the shoulder. Judah noted a black eye, bruises on the young knuckles, and the way Eddy ran his tongue over his teeth indicated concern for a loose incisor.
Nonetheless, his smile was bright. “Paper for you, guv?”
“In another fight?” Judah said.
Eddy shrugged, but not without a wince of pain. “Knock, knock?”
Judah rolled his eyes. “Who is there?”
“Boo.”
Judah knew what was coming, but he appreciated the boy’s pluck. “Boo who?”
“Do not cry, guv, it’s only a joke.”
“Your face isn’t a joke, Eddy, particularly if you were hit hard enough to loosen teeth. Now I see your lip is cut and you’ve a mark on your jaw. Can’t you avoid these bruisers?”
“I live with ’em, guv.”
“Your father?”
“No, I ’aven’t one of those, nor a mam either, but I’ve got a roof over me ’ead, and food to eat.”
“Did these friends of yours steal your hat?”
Eddy touched his head. “Lost it somewhere, I expect.”
“Right.” Judah dug in his pocket, found three shillings. “Mind that you do not lose the money.”
“Ah, guv, you don’t need to pay for another.”
“It’s bad enough that you have to be out in bad weather. I won’t have my personal newsboy looking disreputable. Mind you sew up that jacket.” A shabby man brushed by him. Judah clapped his hand against his pocket, thinking the man might have seen the money and come to rob him, but the man stopped a couple of feet away at a milkwoman, a yoke over her shoulders holding her cans as an advertisement to passersby.
Eddy grinned and tossed him a paper as Miss Cross arrived. “Yes, guv.”
“Oh, Eddy, your face!” she cried.
Judah put a hand on her shoulder. “The lad is fine, and you are running late this morning, madam. Shall we go?”
She nodded at Eddy and walked beside Judah briskly as they left the Square. “Who did that to him?” she asked as they left Eddy’s earshot.
“Someone he lives with, apparently. I believe he’s an orphan.”
“Oh, dear. I wish there was something we could do for him.”
“Keep buying his papers is the best thing. Money gives a man options, and a lad too.”
“Yes, you are right about that.”
“Why were you late this morning?” He pulled her around a puddle.
“George didn’t come down at the usual time this morning, so I had to help give the boys their breakfast. It won’t happen again.”
“Is George ill?”
He noted that she hesitated before answering. “I think the boys should go away to school. The earl wrote a lovely note that came home with them, offering to pay their way at St. George’s School in Ascot.”
“That is a generous offer.”
“Yes. It will position them well in life if he is willing to pay for their education. They will need to do some kind of work. The trust income won’t be enough for them to go on as my brother has.”
“I am glad your nephews have an opportunity presented to them. Do you think George will accept?”
“I do not think he has even read the note yet.”
“He must be very ill.”
Miss Cross poked at her eye as if an eyelash had fallen into it. He took her elbow in order to cross the street safely, as she was not paying attention.
“He is ill, yes.”
“You are under a great deal of strain,” he observed.
“I can still do my work.” She moved away and he let go of her elbow.
“I didn’t mean to suggest you could not. Is there anything I can do? Speak to George?”
“He has not even read the note,” she repeated.
“When he does, if he is hesitant, I could speak to him, to show where no education leads a man.”
“Where does it lead?” she inquired.
Judah pointed at himself. “To the army. I would imagine, when a man has lost his wife, his children become even more dear to him. He won’t want his sons serving far away, years going by between meetings. If they need to work, then get them education. Perhaps they can go into politics or some such.”
“You should not put yourself down, Captain. You have done very well for yourself.”
“I am very pleased with my accomplishments, but I don’t think your brother would want my life for his children.” His laugh was harsh. “Even my own brother does not want it for me.”
“We are not the regular sort of people, you and I, content to do the things our well-meaning relatives have planned for us.”
“No.” He guided Miss Cross through the back door and nodded his good-bye, unable to discuss the matter further. It wasn’t until he was seated at the chair behind his desk that he felt like he could breathe again. How did it hurt boys to be effectively without a father? He knew it well, could see what it was doing to Eddy Jackson, a lad with all the brightness and cheer you could wish, but no future to speak of. He suspected George Cross was simply staying drunk. Was this a habitual problem or merely a temporary situation created by the loss of his wife? He would not dare to prod in the man’s personal life, but Miss Cross, as an employee, was under his protection, and if she worried about her nephews, so did he.
He had done quite well for himself, despite being all but fatherless, but he knew himself to be unusually lucky in his friends. And his brother. What would he be doing with himself now, if not for Redcake’s?
It troubled him that his gem ship had not yet arrived. He had expected to hear news at any moment over the last week. A call on the captain’s wife, who lived somewhere in London, might be in order. He made a note to look up the address when he arrived home, and send her a letter with his respects.
Eddy looked even more disreputable the next morning. He’d fixed his jacket with white thread, which showed against the fabric like sutures in a savage’s skin. While he had purchased a new cap, which sat jauntily on his head, his bruises had turned purple.
Judah felt a raindrop on the back of his hand just as Miss Cross raced across the Square, clearly determined not to be late again. He and Eddy exchanged nods and he moved toward Miss Cross.
“Just a moment,” she gasped. “I wanted to give this to Eddy.”
“Of course.”
She went past him, holding out a little bundle. “Here, Eddy. We roasted potatoes this morning, and I thought you might like one in each pocket to keep warm.”
His smile was infectious. “Oh, thank you, miss. I do not mind if I do.”
She opened her cloth and he popped out the potatoes, then dropped one into each pocket.
“Lovely and warm, miss. Thank you. I shall ’ave an ’ot lunch too.”
“You are welcome.” She hesitated, then trotted back to Judah.
“That was nicely done.”
“I wanted to do something for him,” she whispered. “I think about my brother in India, how he was injured, and wonder if anyone cared for him.”
“Your brother is a grown man.”
“I know, but wounded people tug at my heart.”
She had hesitated at the word “wounded” but he didn’t know why. He wanted to pursue the subject, but she glanced at the sky and a fat raindrop dropped on her nose for her trouble.
“Where is your umbrella?” she asked.
“The sky looked fine twenty minutes ago.”
“You must always have one with you in London,” she scolded. “This makes it very clear you never resided here until now.”
The rain fell harder and they sped up, trying to duck under awnings as much as possible as they made their way through Regent Street. Miss Cross’s shawl was soon wet, and her black bonnet dripped dye down her cheeks.
“This is too much,” Judah said, after five minutes. They happened to be passing by a woman’s clothing shop. He took her elbow and sent her through the door. Despite the early hour it was open, probably because of the strain of keeping deliveries up at this time of year.
A shopgirl took one look at them and her expression went from pinched frown to pleasant smile. “Can I help you, sir?”
He stared at a display. “I want that coat, and can you tell me if the bonnet above it is for sale?”
The salesgirl walked over and picked up the items. “I will sell it to you.”
Miss Cross frowned. “Those are women’s clothes, Captain.”
“You aren’t dressed warmly enough.”
“I have a cloak.”
“I’ve seen it and it isn’t good winter wool. This is. And you can’t possibly wear that bonnet you have on anymore.”
She wiped at her face. Her fingers came away black. “It is a coat meant for traveling.”
The salesgirl tutted. “I will find you a cloth.”
She sighed. “You do not need to buy me a coat and hat. Besides, they are both gray.”
“You need to be practical, Miss Cross. I will not have you catching a chill. Look, you are shivering.” Impatient, he yanked at her bonnet strings, untying them from her soft under-chin. His gloved fingers stroked her. He could feel the fine texture even through the leather. “You travel through the streets each morning, so do not speak to me of fashion.”
“You have a soldier’s attitude of practicality,” she said.
The salesgirl brought the towel and Miss Cross cleaned her face, then the girl helped her put on the new bonnet before holding up the coat.
“Your friend is right. It is very warm. Not fashionable, but warm. You can dye it if you have to.”
Magdalene took off her soaked shawl and let the girl drape the coat around her. Her smile told Judah she was finally warm. He checked her shoes but they looked sturdy enough for the weather, though the leather was worn. When was the last time anyone took care of her, this young woman who brought potatoes for newsboys and fretted over her nephews more than their own father did?
Judah paid for the garments and asked for Miss Cross’s old things to be packaged and sent to her home address, then he took her arm and steered her out of the shop.
“We’re going to be terribly late.”
He turned her to him while they were still safely under the awning and checked the bow under her chin. “I will excuse you. Warm enough?”
She smiled. “Gloriously,
and you know, all of this has put what I meant to tell you today quite out of my mind.”
Chapter Eleven
“You meant to suggest I roast some potatoes for my own fingers?” Judah teased.
Miss Cross laughed as he led her back to the main thoroughfare so they could hurry their tardy way to Redcake’s. “I should have thought to bring you a couple as well.”
“Quite. What did you forget to tell me?”
“I wanted to suggest you contact Sir Cyril Kirkville.”
“Do I know him?”
“Your mother certainly did. The family are notorious libertines of the kind a lady should not know about, but of course I am a Cross and therefore have had relatives mixed up with them.”
“Ah. Are they gossips as well?”
“No, but they do like a public spectacle. Still, they know everyone, and if there was ever a person who might know the truth, it would be him.”
“Any chance he is the one?”
“Anything is possible, but I expect he is a bit too young.”
“I shall send him a note then.”
“He should be in London, since he is active in politics.”
“Excellent.” When they arrived at the back door, they found Betsy lurking by. He sensed her disappointment when she saw Miss Cross was with him. Had Betsy wanted to yell at her for being late?
“You’ll have to forgive us, Betsy. I insisted Miss Cross take part in an errand of mine. Inexcusable, I know.”
“Will you always be walking together?” Betsy asked.
“We come the same way at the same time,” he said blandly. “And of course I am a friend of the family.”
Betsy glanced sidelong at Miss Cross. Could the girl see the bonnet was new? Probably. Women always seemed to know these things.
He patted Betsy on the shoulder and passed by. “Much to do this morning, ladies.” He fairly leapt up the stairs, anxious to avoid feminine stares and get to his letter paper in order to dash off a note to Sir Cyril.
Magdalene arrived home that afternoon, basket under her arm, tucked with slices of cake that had crumbled into a less than spherical shape and therefore could not be sold to the public. She felt cozy and daring. The bonnet, with its tilted brim, was fashionable, and quite the nicest she’d ever had as an adult, and the coat had appeal.
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