by Carla Kelly
‘I don’t follow you,’ she said. She moved closer, then stopped herself, wanting him with all her heart, even as her heart broke, because he had no idea.
‘I’m an impresario, too, so I know one when I see one. So what if you live behind the ovens! If something ever happened to the man…the man you might love some day…you would carry on and prosper. That lucky man would never fear for his children.’ He tugged her braid. ‘Do you have any notion how seductive that knowledge is? I thought not.’
‘You belong in Bedlam,’ Grace said at last, but it sounded feeble.
‘I’ve never been more serious. While you’ve been feeding me, worrying about me, giving me things to do to keep away boredom, I’ve been studying you. I did it first because I was too ill to move. Then I started to pay attention because you’re interesting.’
Grace decided that was unexceptionable enough. ‘And this will render me irresistible to some poor fellow some day?’
‘Absolutely,’ he agreed promptly.
‘That’s a relief,’ she teased in turn, grateful for the light-hearted tone the conversation now took. ‘But there are more important issues and you know it. We can’t find Mr Selway and we don’t trust anyone.’
‘The Wilsons. I trust them,’ he told her. ‘I trust you.’
It would be better for my heart if you didn’t, she thought. ‘And you know that if Lord Thomson can, he will find a way to return you to Dartmoor.’
‘I almost depend upon him to do that.’
She couldn’t help the tears that welled in her eyes. He brushed them away with his fingers.
‘Don’t worry so much, Grace,’ he said, his voice soft. ‘Some day soon, God willing, I’ll just be a memory. You’ll own the bakery and find yourself a wonderful man.’
The tears spilled out of her eyes at that. I don’t want anyone but you, she thought.
He kissed her cheek with a loud smack that made her laugh out loud through her tears. ‘Tell me this, because I’m curious—why did you choose me?’
She was silent for a long time then, remembering Dartmoor, and the dying captain and the bearded skeletons grouped around their commander. Why did I choose him? she asked herself. ‘I…I’m…’
‘Think. You were kneeling by Captain Duncan. Did he say anything to you?’
‘Be quiet! I’m thinking.’
She sat up suddenly, the event clear in her mind, even though she had hoped never to revisit that corner of her brain again: the dying man, the filth, the stench, the fear. There was something more. Funny she hadn’t thought of it before.
She spoke slowly. ‘I don’t think you were aware of this, I barely was. Rob, when I looked around to choose someone, the other men moved slightly away from you. It was as though they wanted me to see you. That is what happened. I swear it.’
It was his turn for his eyes to fill with tears. Knowing she shouldn’t, she put her hand on his face, because he seemed so bereft.
‘The crew of the Orontes obviously held you in high esteem,’ Grace said.
‘Hold, not held,’ he contradicted swiftly. ‘Pray God they are still alive. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for them.’
‘And they knew…know…it. Oh, Rob. What are we going to do?’
‘“We”, is it?’
‘Yes, of course,’ she replied, trying to sound brisk, even though she wanted Rob Inman more than she had ever wanted anything in her life. ‘The war won’t last for ever.’
She looked at him, a handsome, healthy man her own age. She thought of him in the stream, chewing on watercress with a singleness of purpose that told her volumes about his will to live. She knew he would take charge of his own life, if he could. Until that happened again, no matter what she felt, she would help him. ‘I’ll help you all I can, but no more escape attempts. Don’t even think it.’ She shuddered.
He nodded and she released his hand. He made a face and wiggled his fingers. ‘Your grip must come from all that kneading.’ He blew her a kiss from the safety of the doorway. ‘Tomorrow, madam, it’s doughnuts.’
‘What?’ she asked, taken off guard.
‘Doughnuts. I plan to make the Wilsons’ fortune with doughnuts. You are not the only impresario in the room.’
‘Doughnuts?’ Grace made no effort to hide her scepticism.
‘Aye-yah, as my Nantucket neighbours would say, Gracie. And don’t give me that prune face! If your face got stuck that way, no man would ever marry you!’
‘You’re right,’ she whispered, after the door had closed behind him. ‘How could I marry someone else, when I love you?’
* * *
‘They’re only doing this to humour me,’ Rob whispered to Grace the next morning as he stood over the bread trough, blending the yeast into the flour with a paddle. ‘I find that flattering.’
‘They like you,’ Grace whispered back, as she stirred another batch of Crèmes. ‘You did ask for a lot of lard and Mr Wilson barely batted an eye. You’ve piqued his curiosity. And mine.’
‘Just wait, Gracie. This’ll be the best thing you ever ate.’
Whistling to himself, he added sugar. ‘Hand me that nutmeg and grater,’ he said. He grated a small mound of the fragrant spice into the bowl and added the milk Mrs Wilson had warmed just so. He covered the bowl and stood back. ‘Now, it rises.’
* * *
An hour later, the risen dough was rolled out and resting on the table. ‘At home, the bakers use a tin circle with a smaller circle inside it,’ Rob said. He glanced at the lard Mr Wilson had put in an iron pot. ‘Since I have no doughnut cutter, I’ll pinch off a little dough, roll it into a rope, like this, and join the ends.’
He worked swiftly until he had a dozen doughnuts. Grace watched as he carefully lowered the doughnuts into the hot fat, which quickly sizzled and set off the smell of nutmeg. She handed him a long-handled fork, which Rob twirled about. He struck a fencing pose, which earned giggles from two boys waiting to select biscuits.
‘Now I turn them over until this side is golden brown, too,’ he told Mrs Wilson. ‘Ma’am, would you put sugar in this bowl? Grace, spread out that cloth, will you?’
In another moment, the doughnuts, brown and sparkling from the grease, rested on the cloth. When they were still warm, Rob dipped each one in sugar, then set them on a plate. Everyone came closer to look at the doughnuts.
When the air almost hummed with suspense, Rob declared the doughnuts cool enough. He handed the plate around.
‘My word,’ Grace said, even before she swallowed. ‘Ro…Captain Duncan!’
He was eating his own doughnut. He nodded. ‘Yep,’ was all he said, then, ‘Well?’
Grace swallowed and took another bite, entranced by the crispy outside and warm, smooth interior, with a hint of nutmeg to tantalise. She closed her eyes, savouring the experience. Rob nudged her. ‘Look at Mr Wilson,’ he whispered.
She did and almost laughed at his beatific expression. ‘I think your tenure here is secure until the war ends,’ she whispered back, then finished her doughnut and eyed the ones remaining on the plate.
Mr Wilson beat her to a second helping. ‘I disremember when I’ve had anything so tasty.’
‘If you think this is good, trying dunking a doughnut in coffee, or even milk. I prefer coffee.’ Rob came closer to Mr Wilson. ‘You could sell a batch of these each morning to that coffee shop at the other end of the High Street. Give out free samples one day, and shazam, you’ll have orders for the week.’
‘Where did you learn to make doughnuts?’ Grace asked. She reached for another doughnut and he whisked them out of reach.
‘You have to kiss me first,’ he teased.
Mrs Wilson marched to the parolee, grabbed him by the shirt front and kissed him full on the lips. ‘Irma!’ Mr Wilson said, even as he laughed.
Rob came around the counter, holding the plate high and out of reach of the little boys, and stood in the doorway, scanning the street. ‘Grace, come here a moment.’
She stoo
d beside him, enjoying the trailing odour of nutmeg.
‘Isn’t that Ugly Butler…what is his name…over there?’
‘Nahum Smathers,’ she told him and made a face. She looked down the street and sighed. ‘And there is Emery.’
‘I’m going to take them each a doughnut, so you’d better come along, my favourite jailer.’
‘Only if I get half of that doughnut.’
‘You still have to kiss me.’
She kissed his cheek. He divided one doughnut, put one half in her mouth and ate the other, crossing the street to the doorway of the candlemaker’s, where Mr Smathers read the London Times and lurked.
‘Have a doughnut, Mr Smathers,’ Rob said cheerfully. ‘We went to Exeter yesterday. Should have invited you, I suppose, but you’re not much fun.’
His face impassive, Ugly Butler took a doughnut. Not taking his eyes from the captain, he ate it. ‘I’ve had better.’
‘Where?’
Perhaps Smathers hadn’t meant to say that. Face red, he snapped the newspaper shut and went into the candlemaker’s.
Rob nudged Grace again. ‘Look there, it’s Emery. He’s watching Smathers for us.’
They walked three doors down to the greengrocer’s. Rob held out the plate to Emery. ‘Here you are,’ he said with a smile. ‘Mr Smathers wasn’t too polite about his doughnut.’
Emery took the doughnut and ate it. ‘Excellent! Did you make these?’
‘It was my late wife’s recipe,’ Rob said modestly. ‘Her mother was a Dutchwoman from New York City. You like it?’
‘Very much, sir,’ Emery replied, then lowered his voice. ‘Grace, I was checking at the greengrocers for you.’
‘I didn’t ask…’
‘I know,’ he replied. ‘I thought I would ask and he assured me that the invoice he sent to Mr Selway, care of that post office in Exeter, was answered and payment made.’ He shook his head. ‘I can only assume that Mr Selway has an ulterior motive in making himself scarce.’
‘I mean to write to him anyway and ask for a little more expense money,’ she said, and couldn’t resist smiling at Rob. ‘I think we will need more operating expenses to keep us in nutmeg and lard.’
‘Then he will likely send you a sufficiency,’ Emery replied.
‘“A sufficiency”?’ the parolee joked. ‘Emery, you may claim to be a yardman, but you’re sounding more and more like a butler!’
‘I know it,’ he replied modestly. ‘Ain’t it a wonderful thing?’ He bowed as grandly as he could. ‘Now I shall go back to watching Mr Smathers.’
They laughed and returned to the bakery, handing out the last doughnut to Lady Tutt and her mousy companion, who happened by. He smiled at Lady Tutt’s cries of delight.
He stopped in front of the bakery, looking up. ‘Do you know if there is a length of canvas in the bakery?’
‘Probably.’
‘Paint?’
‘Yes. What do you have in mind?’
He took a stance and spread his hands out. ‘A sign. How about Yankee Doodle Doughnuts?’
‘You are destined for Bedlam. I know it now,’ she said, trying to keep her voice stern and failing miserably, because she couldn’t help the enthusiasm she felt, right down to her stockings. ‘Quimby prides itself on being discreet, Captain Impresario!’
‘I would rather the Wilsons were a little crass and much wealthier. This, my dear, is our first joint effort. Maybe others will follow.’
‘Only if peace takes its sweet time being declared,’ she assured him.
‘That’s true,’ he agreed. He took her by her shoulders, his face close to hers. ‘I dare you to tell me a time when you’ve had more fun than right now.’
‘I’d be lying, if I did,’ she said quietly. Whatever magic this was—call it love, call it fun—she felt that peculiar, persistent feeling somewhere in her stomach. Maybe it was heartburn—that doughnut was rich. It felt more like hope.
Chapter Seventeen
The sign was up by mid-morning the following day. Mr Wilson carried two dozen doughnuts to the coffee house. When he returned, he had an order for two dozen each day, except Sundays.
‘And there I was, showing them how to dunk a doughnut in coffee,’ he said. ‘I feared for a moment that Squire Redd would burst into tears.’
‘Why?’ Rob asked.
‘He served in New York City during that late unpleasantness when your country declared its independence,’ Mr Wilson explained. ‘He told me his whole regiment left the city with heavy hearts, because the Dutch cook wouldn’t come along with them.’
Rob laughed, and Grace felt her heart turn over. He is enjoying this, she thought.
* * *
Was it the sign? The little boys from yesterday? Lady Tutt? The bakery soon filled up with interested customers, ready to sample the wares. Grace had always been intrigued how quickly news could pass from house to house.
‘It’s that way in Nantucket,’ Rob said to her as he rolled a half-dozen of the nutmeg-flavoured doughnuts in oiled paper and handed them to the vicar’s wife, who had condescended to visit the bakery herself. ‘Thankee, ma’am. Tell your friends, if you please. If you have any,’ he muttered under his breath after the vicar’s wife looked down her long nose at him and left the shop. ‘Aye, news travels just as fast back home. Something happens at one end of Orange Street, and before you can say Jack Robinson, the miller on the hill has heard it!’
* * *
The doughnuts were just a memory before noon. Rob mixed another batch and set the dough to rise while he and Grace went to the tinsmith’s shop to request the fabrication of two doughnut cutters. Rob perched on the edge of the smith’s workbench and sketched the cutter in the wood with a piece of charcoal. He had brought along the sole remaining doughnut for the smith, who ate it in two bites and promised to have the doughnut cutters ready in the morning.
The smith studied the simple diagram on his bench. ‘What do ye do with the little hole that’s left over?’
Rob ran his tongue over his lips. Grace laughed inside to watch the tinsmith’s expression. ‘The doughnut hole is probably the best part. A handful of those and a glass of milk, and I guaran-damn-tee ye that nothing will go wrong for the rest of your day.’
The smith and the sailing master laughed together, all because of doughnuts. Grace beamed at both of them. The smile drained from her face when they left the smith’s and saw Smathers across the street, his arms folded as he watched them.
‘Now let us look for Emery,’ Rob whispered to her, his eyes lively. ‘Ah, there he is, trying to hide behind that elm. He’d be more successful if there were less Emery and more elm.’
He waved cheerfully at Nahum Smathers, who glowered back. ‘Testy fellow,’ he murmured. ‘I wish I knew why my continuing presence at Quarle was such a burr under the saddle to Lord Thomson. If that’s why he’s here.’ He started across the street. ‘Let’s ask him.’
Grace grabbed his arm. ‘Rob In—’ she looked around
‘—Captain Duncan, behave yourself!’
‘You’re a killjoy,’ he protested, but not without a smile playing around his lips. He whispered to her and winked, ‘You probably wouldn’t let me have my way with you, if I said please, and now you won’t let me twit Ugly Butler. Must you earn your thirty pounds per annum so relentlessly?’
Grace couldn’t help her blush. ‘Rob, how on earth did Elaine put up with you?’
His expression turned a little faraway. He touched her shoulder—just a pat, but his hand on her shoulder felt so good. ‘She just loved me, Gracie.’
So do I, she thought. ‘Right now, you will not bait Ugly Butler.’
He sighed, but still waved to Smathers and gave Emery a thumbs up when they passed the elm tree. Grace closed her eyes and counted to ten.
* * *
Everyone in Wilsons’ Bakery counted higher than ten that evening after Mr Wilson closed the shutters and locked the door. He rubbed his hands together and chortled as Mrs Wilson car
efully emptied the cash box onto the counter. ‘Wife, we are in the money!’ he announced to the rest of them when Grace finished totalling the pennies and halfpennies, and occasional shilling.
Humming to himself, the portrait of contentment, Mr Wilson portioned out Grace’s share into a small canvas bag. He portioned out another share and put it in front of Rob Inman. ‘That’s for you, lad,’ he said. ‘I should probably give you the lion’s share.’
Rob shook his head. ‘You’re kind,’ he said, fingering the small pile. He glanced at Grace. ‘I was just the impresario. You’re the man with the yeast and flour.’ He turned to Mrs Wilson and blew her a kiss. ‘And you’re the better half.’
To Grace’s surprise, the redoubtable Mrs Wilson smiled and actually blushed, something she never did, and so Grace told Rob on the walk home after dark.
‘The first time she smiled at me like that, I knew that all would be well in my world,’ she said. She gave him a little push. ‘But it took me more than a year to earn such a smile! You’re working some sort of Yankee magic on her, I vow.’
‘Jealous, Gracie?’ he teased back.
‘No, just grateful,’ she said honestly. ‘Rob, I think you need all the allies you can find, especially if Smathers keeps hanging around like a bad smell.’
* * *
Dinner just naturally took place in the kitchen now, Grace laughing with Emery over his surveillance of Ugly Butler, as she stirred and braised and soon had a simple meal on the table.
‘I tells myself, says I, “Just watch the old plug ugly”,’ Emery said. ‘He thinks he can hide from me, but he can’t.’
‘It’s cat and mouse,’ Grace said. ‘Today, Mrs Wilson even told me she wasn’t sure if you were watching Smathers, or he was watching you!’
Emery laughed and shook his head. ‘No one ever said Mrs W. was a genius.’
‘That’s a little small of you, Emery,’ Rob said, frowning at him. ‘I’m surprised.’