Wedding Matilda (Redcakes Book 6)

by Heather Hiestand

  Ewan sensed she would start wringing her hands at any moment, too. “Go to the neighbors. Make sure they are on alert. Telephone your parents.”

  “I can do that,” Greggory said. “And I’ll alert the factory managers. We want a lot of eyes watching.”

  Ewan nodded. “I’ll be on my way.” He squeezed Matilda’s arm. It felt like granite from the tense way she held it. To think, a few hours ago she’d been warm and pliable in his arms.

  Chapter Five

  Ewan spent hours visiting shops in Bristol. He had a photograph of Jacob that Matilda had given him, which he showed at every stop. The butcher and the rag merchant professed to know nothing. Neither had seen Izabela, and they both swore the nanny had rejected their suits. Did that mean she had become betrothed to the Gipsy horse dealer?

  Ewan reached Tera’s home hours after Dash, the boot boy, had been there. The woman, her head wrapped in a black kerchief, initially pretended not to speak English and acted quite shifty, but eventually Ewan persuaded her to speak with a combination of charm and threat. She hadn’t seen Izabela since Sunday. She knew the horse dealer’s name, Andrzej Majewski, and that he met buyers at the White Horse tavern, then took them to his camp outside of town. But she swore that her daughter had never been to the camp and probably did not know where it was. She also insisted Izabela was not engaged to Majewski.

  “She’s a good girl, works very hard,” the woman said.

  “What do you think happened to your daughter and Jacob Bliven?” Ewan asked.

  The woman looked shifty again. “I have no idea. We must be patient, no?”

  With that useless and dispiriting experience, Ewan returned to Matilda’s home and sat in the drawing room until Greggory turned up with equally useless adventures to report. He took Ewan home to his father’s house for the night. Not as fine as Matilda’s home, which was set back from the street amid lush plantings, the junior branch of the Redcakes had a large ramshackle house on a busy square, packed to the roofline with various relatives and servants, as well as an assortment of mongrel dogs.

  He didn’t sleep well, with his dreams punctuated by images of Matilda’s anxious face. It had not seemed wise to leave her alone, flagging visibly as the hours passed, but he could not sleep in her house without family present, and none of her family would arrive in Bristol until the noon hour.

  Greggory and Ewan met over the breakfast table the next morning and ate quickly. Greggory had a list of the houses Matilda had visited last night near her home and checked them off, then handed Ewan an assignment of doors to knock on.

  “When do you need to return to London?” Greggory asked.

  Ewan shook his head. “Yesterday. Never. Lord Judah would stay in this situation.”

  “You had better write him.” Greggory yawned. “I’ll fetch a cab to our door. Come out as soon as you are done so we can get started.”

  Ewan spoke to an assortment of tenants in the houses, the voices slowing and slurring as he moved down the economic scale to the smaller properties. Some of them recognized his description of the Polish Gipsy nanny with her cherubic, brown-haired charge, but none had set an eye on them the day before.

  “It was raining a bit yesterday like, just coming down like you see in the spring . . . well, I’m not likely to look out of doors on a day like that, still sort of had the lamps lit and the fire going, fair smoky really,” reported one bored young mother.

  That seemed to be the consensus. Too wet of a spring day to pay much mind. He suspected something foul had been afoot from the first. What had the nanny’s scheme been? Surely Matilda wouldn’t want her two-year-old son being taken to the park in the pouring rain?

  Dripping wet and soaked to the skin, he trudged back to Matilda’s house and was let inside. Droplets from his clothing puddled on the rug in the front hall as the housekeeper clucked at him and took his outerwear.

  “I’ll have Daisy fetch you a spot of tea,” Mrs. Miller promised. “The family has gathered in the parlor.”

  “Who has arrived?”

  “Miss Redcake’s parents are here. Came up from Polegate. A long day for them.”

  “I’m sure they wouldn’t want to be anywhere else under the circumstances.”

  When Ewan arrived in the drawing room, however, he wasn’t so certain about that. Sir Bartley was in one of his red-faced moods, which could lead to an explosion of anger if it wasn’t diffused.

  “I have too many daughters,” he roared. “Why can’t any of you live quietly? Alys about to give Hatbrook an heir, Jacob missing, Rose plotting her wedding, and a less likely bride I’ve never seen.”

  “Surely likelier than me,” Matilda shot back.

  The lady of the house was chalky pale under her freckles, and dark half-moons had sprouted under her eyes. Her hair was pulled back so tightly that her skin looked drawn and stretched. Pale lips moved with minimum effort as she spoke as if she were too tired to bother.

  Ewan, used to Sir Bartley’s rants, interjected, “I’ve just come from knocking on doors, Miss Redcake. Were you aware that it rained heavily yesterday? No one was looking out of doors because of the rain. Did you like Jacob to go to the park in the rain?”

  Matilda frowned. “No, of course not, but it wasn’t raining when I left for London.”

  “You have to give clear instructions to your staff,” Sir Bartley said.

  Matilda blinked slowly as she turned back to him. “This situation has nothing to do with my instructions.”

  “First the problem with the cakes and now a problem with your son. You must hire more wisely, daughter.”

  “We don’t know that Izabela is at fault,” Matilda said.

  “Hales reported that the mother is shifty. Like mother, like daughter, I say.”

  Ewan winced at Sir Bartley’s palpable rudeness. His wife Ellen, Lady Redcake, put her hand on his arm.

  “We have more to worry about than cake,” she said. “Alys will have her baby this week. Rose’s wedding is next week. And now poor little Jacob is missing.”

  “Someone has to worry about the cake,” Sir Bartley snarled. Then he turned and saw Ewan. “Well, boy, what do you have to say for yourself?”

  “We know where the bad flour came from but did not have the time to follow up. Meanwhile, Miss Redcake came up with a plan to ensure Redcake’s has the cakes it needs and changed suppliers for now. She’s doing everything she can, especially under the circumstances, sir.”

  Sir Bartley snorted. “I remember when it was me you toadied up to. Think Matilda’s got the stuff to manage an enterprise of this size? I wonder.”

  Common wisdom had it that Matilda had done very well managing her father as well as the businesses. She had spent a great deal of time at Redcake Manor in Sussex at first, but it had paid off. Now, she stayed in Bristol, managing on her own, while Sir Bartley focused on his estate and the life of a country gentleman. He’d even taken up hunting and whist, according to Lady Hatbrook, who watched her father’s transformation with bemusement. It did not seem that he’d ever lose the bluff manner of a manufacturer, though. Not for him a dose of Town polish.

  Ewan hoped that Matilda didn’t lose her position with her family over the cake mess, even though at this very moment, it might be a blessing due to Jacob. How could she concentrate with pressure from her father to do her job? She looked as though she hadn’t slept a wink the night before.

  “Is it going to cost more?” Sir Bartley barked.

  “Yes, sir, but we will still make a small profit, even so,” Matilda said.

  His red-circled eyes narrowed. “How small?”

  “I need more instructions,” Ewan interjected. “Please, Sir Bartley, we need to focus on the missing child. I need to learn where the White Horse tavern is, and the Gipsy encampment outside town. The nanny might have taken Jacob there.”

  Lady Redcake put the back of her hand to her forehead. “He’s been kidnapped by Gipsies?”

  “Izabela came highly recommended by Mrs. Mille
r,” Matilda said. “I don’t think that is likely. She’s only half Gipsy.”

  “Her follower is a Gipsy horse dealer,” Ewan said.

  Matilda swallowed hard, looking like she might be ill. Ewan wondered if she’d eaten today, as she grasped the back of a chair and used it to support herself. “I didn’t know she had a follower until this happened.”

  “She had three,” Ewan said. “But as best I can tell, the first two can be ruled out for now.”

  Sir Bartley swore. “He’s a pretty child. They’ll sell him!”

  Matilda wrapped her free arm around her stomach. “There’s Theodore Bliven. Could he have hatched a plot to kidnap his son because I refused to marry him?”

  “We’ll need to consult with Gawain,” Sir Bartley said, startled into paying attention to the primary crisis. “He’d know best if the man needed money.”

  “Or he might simply want to raise Jacob as his own. He’s never even seen his son,” Matilda said.

  “A man like him,” Lady Redcake said faintly. “Who behaves as he has. I cannot imagine.”

  “Mother, we must consider the possibilities. And frankly, thinking Mr. Bliven has him is more soothing to me than the idea that the Gipsies have taken him. He might have hired someone.” Her gaze swept the room and met Ewan’s.

  He nodded. “Is Sir Gawain coming here?”

  “He’s on his way,” Sir Bartley said. “He’ll help me sort out the business while Matilda focuses on motherly matters. Hales, you need to return to London and Redcake’s. You are supposed to be the man on the spot.”

  “Recall Lord Judah,” Ewan said. “If you have the right, given that Lady Hatbrook owns the tea shop. I cannot in good conscience leave Miss Redcake under these circumstances.”

  Matilda and her parents stared at him. While the silence ensued, Mrs. Miller and Greggory walked into the room. When Ewan met his eyes, the young man shook his head regretfully.

  “That’s it, then; we’ve done all the neighbors and every house on the way to the park,” Ewan said. “It’s time to concentrate on finding Majewski.”

  “Should we call in the police?” Greggory asked.

  “No,” Matilda said firmly. “I’m sure Mr. Bliven has him, and we don’t want gossip reaching the papers. He seemed unbalanced when we saw him last. It has been over a year, so he must have returned from his most recent trip to India.”

  “And the Gipsies?” Ewan asked.

  “Mr. Bliven may not be alive,” Lady Redcake said. Her expression turned anxious. “Darling, if he was on his deathbed, you could marry him without any risk.”

  Matilda visibly gathered herself, but her expression was still pinched. “Mother!”

  “He might have taken Jacob to get your attention one last time,” Lady Redcake said, her hands fluttering.

  “Good heavens, Mother, you say that like it’s romantic. Jacob is two years old and he’s just spent a night away from home, in who knows what conditions. He might not even be—”

  Alive. Ewan finished the thought Matilda couldn’t. He wished he could take the exhausted beauty in his arms, but he could not comfort her in front of her family, even if she’d allow it at all under such fraught circumstances. All he could do for her was take action.

  “He’s fine,” Sir Bartley said. “They’ll want a ransom, whoever took him. Mark my words, it’s a money matter, whether it’s Bliven or the Gipsies. Let us keep the police out of it lest we panic the criminals.”

  “Or worse,” Greggory said.

  Ewan put his hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Why don’t you and I find this White Horse tavern,” he suggested.

  Outside the parlor door, voices rose, and the stomping of boots could be heard in the corridor. The door was flung open and Ewan recognized Sir Gawain Redcake, trailed by his exotically beautiful wife, Ann, who was half-Indian royalty. Ewan noticed cynically that the pair had not brought their son, Noel, who was about a year younger than the missing Jacob.

  “Came up from Battersea in my horseless carriage,” Gawain said to his father. “Made good time.”

  Ann gave Matilda a hug, but she scarcely bent her elbows to return the gesture. Ewan couldn’t tell if she disliked her sister-in-law or was too emotionally exhausted to care.

  “I can hunt down the tavern,” Greggory said in Ewan’s ear. “I would suggest you follow up on this Bliven situation. Plus, Uncle Bartley will not be satisfied until you return to Redcake’s and he knows someone is in charge there because neither Alys nor Lord Judah can be present.”

  “I don’t care about your uncle; I care about Miss Redcake,” he said.

  “Either way, it makes sense that Bliven would be behind this,” Greggory said.

  Ewan nodded. “Sir Gawain, might I have a word?”

  Matilda’s brother, a tall former soldier with the scars and slight limp to show for his adventures on the north-west frontier of India, pointed to the door. Ewan followed him out into the corridor.

  “I remember the gossip,” Ewan said. “I heard more than a few of Sir Bartley’s rants at the time. You knew Bliven best, correct?”

  Gawain rubbed his chin. He had circles around his eyes from the goggles he’d worn on the drive to Bristol. “No, he was a school friend of Alys’s husband. I have only worked with him on a professional level.”

  “Is he in England?”

  Gawain nodded. “He’s been back about a month. In London, but I can’t imagine he’s behind this.” He grimaced. “I have my reasons for thinking that, but he did me a good turn, and he’s been a useful business associate, so I tend to be more forgiving than the rest of my family.”

  Ewan’s eyebrows rose. “He seduced your sister, got her with child.”

  “Matilda thought she could persuade Bliven to marry her if she trysted with him. She believed that was how our sister won her marquess. It’s an old story. Matilda has always been utterly headstrong and she paid the price.”

  “So he was sinned against,” Ewan said.

  “He should have married her when she turned up pregnant, but he refused, claiming another woman had a previous claim on him. But that marriage didn’t materialize, and he lost his spot in the succession to an earldom when a cousin had offspring. He then showed up in England again, offering to marry her.”

  Ewan realized he had never heard the entire story. Matilda was as headstrong as Betsy Popham. “No one could persuade Matilda to do so?”

  “Bliven was not much of a marital catch by then,” Gawain said.

  Ewan frowned. “Surely anyone would be better than no one, under the circumstances. Your sister must have loved him once.”

  “Headstrong,” Gawain repeated. “Always does what she wants, which isn’t always what she ought.”

  Ewan remembered their kiss and suspected Gawain was correct in his analysis. “Then that leads me to another question. Could there be another lover?”

  “Of this Gipsy girl?” Gawain asked.

  “No, of your sister. If she’s as headstrong as you say, could there be some secret lover who might have taken the child, perhaps to persuade Matilda to marry him, or just to extort funds? No one intimate to her could fail to see she’s wealthy.”

  “I don’t know of any lover, but I don’t live in Bristol any longer. I think she’s too busy.”

  Ewan lifted an eyebrow. “We’re both men of the world. Everyone has time for that kind of thing, if they really want it.”

  The parlor door opened. Ewan had his back to it.

  Gawain grinned. “You’re right. Maybe she has a dozen lovers. Maybe there is a brothel catering to women. I don’t know.”

  “What on earth?”

  Ewan turned to see Matilda, her freckles stark on a paper-white face, her hands on her hips.

  Gawain lifted his hands. “Look, Matilda, cards on the table. Is there anyone else you’ve let get as close to you as Bliven did?”

  “How dare you!” she shrieked, lifting her arms as if to strike.

  Ewan went to her and took her han
ds. They were icy cold.

  “We have to know,” Gawain said, sounding irritatingly reasonable even to Ewan’s ears. “It’s a fair question, and Jacob’s well-being has to come before your privacy, repugnant as that is.”

  “There is no one,” she hissed, not looking at Ewan, even though he still held her hands. “How could you think that?”

  Gawain shook his head. Matilda turned blazing eyes on Ewan. “You?”

  Ewan pressed his lips together. “I am just trying to be thorough.”

  “Leave,” she said. “Go back to London, deal with the flour. You’re the best person for it anyway because that factory will be yours someday.” She wrenched her hands away from his and flew back through the door.

  “What?” Gawain said, his tone flat.

  “I’ve discovered I’m the new heir to the Earl of Fitzwalter,” Ewan said.

  Gawain put his hands on his hips. “Are you Lord Ritten’s son?”

  “No, I’m the son of another, younger son. Both of my parents have been dead for years.”

  “How unusual,” Gawain said. “She’s right, you know. This is a family matter and you aren’t family. Go keep Alys’s business from falling apart.”

  Ewan swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. He was never anyone’s family, not really. Anger filled him when he remembered his high birth and prospects compared to Gawain’s factory worker past, his army days. He shouldn’t let Gawain talk to him like this, treat him like this. Yet this was a terrible time for them, and he’d soon be free of the Redcakes forever. “Very well, if you think it is more important than having another pair of eyes searching for your nephew.”

  Gawain huffed out a breath, clearly offended. “You’ve upset her. What do you want me to do?”

  Ewan pushed his fingers through his hair. “I suppose there is no one I need take my leave of.”

  Gawain shook his hand, then went back into the parlor, leaving Ewan alone in the hall. He couldn’t decide if the Redcakes were a cold lot or simply distracted. A man in his position had never been close enough to find out. His conversation and kiss with Matilda Redcake had been the first time he’d felt like any Redcake’s equal. The thought of her in distress had shocked him like a physical pain. He’d wanted to help find the child, not deal with business back in London. But he wasn’t a friend of the family, merely an employee, so he might as well leave now.