Trifling Favors (Redcakes Book 7)

by Heather Hiestand

  She came forward to block the door, but the two women were already inside.

  “We were walking by and saw the lights were on,” Grace explained. “Is something wrong, Miss Popham?”

  Betsy looked from one woman to the other. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  The seamstress’s nostrils flared. “Something smells very bad in here.”

  Grace turned to her in alarm. “You are right. What is that?”

  “Death,” Betsy said. “Someone was murdered in the tearoom.”

  “Oh, my goodness.” Prissy put her hand to her throat and was across the hall and peering through the open tearoom door before Betsy could protest.

  Mr. Redcake had left his post in the doorway and was inside, gesturing animatedly to the window as he spoke to one of the policemen.

  Grace shrieked and grabbed for Betsy’s arm when she saw the legs of the dead man, but Prissy, a much bolder character, stepped right up and stared down at the man.

  “Why, I know him,” she announced after a long glance. Betsy couldn’t see the seamstress’s expression, but she sounded cool and composed.

  One of the policemen turned toward Prissy. “You do? Who are you?”

  “Prissy Weaver, Constable,” she said pertly.

  “All right, then.” He took out a notebook and a pencil. “Who is the deceased?”

  “Manfred Cross,” Prissy said.

  Betsy heard no doubt in the woman’s voice, but it wasn’t the name of the man that struck her. It was Prissy’s surname. Weaver? That had been Betsy’s mother’s name before she married her father. Who was Prissy Weaver? With her similar looks and suspicious name, she had to be a relation.

  Grace still held her arm. Betsy asked the girl, “How long have you known Prissy?”

  “She started working for my mother about three weeks ago.”

  “Do you know where she came from?”

  Grace nodded. “Bristol.”

  “I’m from Bristol,” Betsy said.

  Grace frowned. “I hadn’t noticed before, but she looks so much like you. You could be cousins for certain.”

  “If her name is really Weaver, she can’t be my cousin.” She could be my sister, though.

  “Why not?”

  Betsy shook her head. “Just thinking aloud.”

  “Who is Manfred Cross?” Grace asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  Mr. Redcake had moved back toward the body now, and was talking intently with Prissy and two policemen. His usually friendly, animated face looked drawn. Prissy, on the other hand, was smiling when she turned around and came toward the two women.

  “What a shock that I actually knew who he was,” she said, as if proud of her accomplishment.

  “I think you should take Grace and go home now,” Betsy said. She could feel the younger woman’s body trembling. “This is really upsetting her.”

  “Don’t you want to know the story?”

  “No, I want you to take care of Grace,” Betsy said. She could learn all she needed to know from Mr. Redcake. As for Prissy herself, she wanted to talk to her father.

  “Oh, she’ll be fine. Murder is so exciting, isn’t it? It’s like a novel come to life.”

  “But you did know the person.”

  Prissy gave her a blank stare. “I recognized him, that is all. He’s quite notorious in some circles.”

  Grace swayed.

  “Please take Grace home,” Betsy repeated, though not without a faint sense of irritation, because she did want to know why the dead man was notorious.

  Prissy gave a sharp little nod. “Very well. Come along, Grace. We were meant to fetch sausages for your father’s dinner.”

  At that, Grace turned green. She doubled over and was sick on the entry-hall floor. Betsy glared at Prissy, who merely shrugged and handed her handkerchief to Grace.

  A minute later the two women were gone, leaving Betsy nauseated. Two of the constables came out of the tearoom.

  “I’ll fetch the doctor,” the taller one said, and walked out to the street. “The sooner we can have one here, the sooner we can have the body moved to a morgue.”

  The other constable came up to Betsy, who was glad to hear the body wouldn’t be staying on the premises for long, and pointed at the locked doors in the middle of the room.

  “Where do those lead to?”

  “The back rooms. Mr. Redcake and I were on the floor above, in the offices. We found the body when we came downstairs.”

  “Everything locked up?”

  “Not the tearoom or that one window. The bakery was locked.”

  “You been in there?”

  “Yes. We used the telephone in the bakery to call the station.”

  The policeman nodded. “If it were locked up tight, no need to investigate. But the back rooms weren’t locked if you were still there.”

  She nodded. “But we were definitely alone on the top floor.”

  “What else is on this floor?”

  “The kitchen and loading dock and storage rooms. But nothing smelled funny in the back. I mean, no blood or anything.”

  “We’d still better have a look.”

  “I don’t have the keys. Only Mr. Redcake does. He is the owner as well as the manager.”

  “And you are his assistant? I suppose he doesn’t trust a woman with such responsibility.”

  “His housekeeper has an extra set of keys and he lives nearby. I could access the keys if I needed them,” she said, maintaining dignity with an effort.

  “Very good,” the constable said, making a note. “Anyone else have keys?”

  “To their respective departments, storerooms, and so forth, but Mr. Redcake is the only person with every key.”

  “I will see him about the keys, then. You might want to go home, miss. Getting late, and we’ll have to remove the body soon.” He tucked his notebook away, then lifted his brows. “One more thing. You must have cleaners. When do they come in?”

  “When the bakers do. In the wee hours.”

  “A few hours from now, then. Electric lighting here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Night watchman?”

  She shook her head. “There’s been no need. This is a good area. No trouble here.”

  “Not like other parts of London, to be sure. I used to walk the beat in Lambeth.” The constable shook his head. “All but a different race living there. Know anything about this Cross chappie?”

  “That woman, Prissy Weaver, said he was notorious. She’s just moved from Bristol apparently, so I don’t know if he was notorious there or here.”

  The constable made a noncommittal noise. “Speak to your guv, then, but I think you should be getting home, now. He’s vouched for your being with him the entire evening.” He tucked his tongue into his cheek.

  The mere idea. The constable must think they were having some sort of sexual encounter. “It was a business meeting.”

  “Of course, of course.” He crossed his arms.

  Stone-faced, she left the constable, reluctantly returning to the tearoom to ask Mr. Redcake for the keys. “The constable wants the back rooms opened up.”

  Mr. Redcake nodded. “Keep an eye on them, will you? Let’s not allow them upstairs if we can help it.”

  “He’s telling me to go home. Doesn’t think this is any place for a woman.”

  Mr. Redcake scrubbed his eyes with his hands. “Look, Miss Popham, I know who the dead man is now, and I’m going to have to tell the family.”

  “Oh, dear. Is he connected to Redcake’s in any way?”

  “I’m afraid so. Now, I know you don’t want your father to worry, but with you as second in command, I need you here, so I can leave.”

  “Of course, sir. I’ll do anything you need me to do.”

  “Very well. I suppose we’ll have to keep the tearoom closed tomorrow, but the bakery will be open. One of us is going to need to be here at first light, to speak to the cleaning staff and the bakers.”

  The tall cons
table reappeared, accompanied by a cadaverous man in a black frock coat, holding a Gladstone bag. “I have the doctor here to do the examination.”

  The constable who seemed to be in charge appeared in the tearoom doorway and gestured the men in with some impatience.

  “I could stay upstairs on the sofa outside your office,” Betsy offered, turning her attention back to Mr. Redcake. “You have children to go home to.”

  “It’s not suitable. And it is eight hours or more until Mr. Soeur arrives.” His hands went to his tie and he loosened the knot slightly. “Now I see we do need a bakery manager, so that we have more men around in a crisis.”

  Betsy froze. Was she going to lose her position because Mr. Redcake and the constable didn’t think she could be relied on? “If I could get word to my father, he would come.” She glanced out the window and happened to see Grace and Prissy walking by again, with a package wrapped in newsprint. The sausages, probably.

  She trotted to the door and opened it. “Grace?”

  The girl saw her and came up to the front door. Her color had been restored, though she looked exhausted.

  “I’m sorry to trouble you, but I need to get word to my father in Chiswick and it’s too late to send a letter. Is there any chance you or your father could go to my house and ask him to come here?”

  “I’ll do it,” Prissy said. “What’s the address? If you give me money for a cab, I’ll go right away.”

  Betsy was reluctant to have the woman assist her, but she was older than Grace. She went back inside and asked Mr. Redcake for the cab fare, then borrowed a piece of paper from the constable to write her father a note.

  Five minutes later, she’d sent Prissy on her way, not knowing what the sight of the young woman would do to her father. She didn’t even know if she or Prissy looked particularly like her mother, Sarah. Her father had made sure not to have any photographs of her around, and her memories from early childhood were cloudy at best.

  At least, when she demanded the truth about Prissy Weaver from her father, he would know exactly who she spoke of.

  Chapter Five

  “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but your wife’s brother, Manfred, has died.” Greggory sat in a comfortable chair in the private study of Lord Judah Shield’s new Mayfair home. While the man had a decent income from managing the flagship Redcake’s, he’d also made a fortune trading in gems, due to his contacts from his days serving with the army in India. “I was there when the doctor came to examine him, and waited until they took him to a morgue. He was murdered, Lord Judah, only a couple of hours ago.”

  “Why are you here and not the police?” Lord Judah asked. He leaned against his monumental desk, hip perched on one edge, swirling the brandy he’d poured for both of them when he’d welcomed Greggory into his private chamber.

  Greggory took a deep sip of his own brandy. The burn in his throat reminded him of his exhaustion, and he set his snifter down. It wouldn’t do to fall asleep. “I vaguely recalled that Lady Judah has an older brother, and I assume the police will go to him, or even to Earl Gerrick, as head of the Cross family.”

  Lord Judah stared into his brandy glass. “Right. You are likely right.”

  “Were you close?”

  “No,” he said, not looking up. “I knew the boy would come to a bad end, ever since I saw him during his brief imprisonment in Newgate. He had that death’s head grin.”

  Nonetheless, Greggory could hear the affection in the man’s voice. “When was that?”

  “Must be about three years ago. He’d turned jewel thief, you see. We think he procured for a highborn lady, who has a well-known love of jewels and plenty of money. He was up in Edinburgh when he was captured, but with the lady’s government connections, Manfred managed to see the charges dropped and himself released.”

  “I take it he didn’t become a sober-minded citizen after that.”

  Lord Judah glanced up, twisting his lips into a wry smile. “We couldn’t see him after that, not socially. My wife does love fashionable society. She’s at the theater right now, viewing the latest Oscar Wilde play with her cousin, Viscount Napsea, and others of the same ilk.”

  “She gave Manfred up, then?”

  “Not entirely. He came here sometimes, after dark. It’s been a couple of months, though. We won’t have much to tell the police. I have no idea who his associates were, where he lived.”

  “Not even that?”

  Lord Judah ran the knuckles of his thumb under his right eye. “Must have an eyelash . . .” he muttered.

  The tears he wouldn’t admit to shedding made the amber striations in his eyes glow. He swallowed hard. “Manfred was a charmer and a scoundrel, but he had his good parts. He tried to help my wife when their older brother was sunk deep into drink after his wife died. He even tried to take care of my sister when she ran away.”

  “I always wondered how she ended up in Edinburgh, but I never heard the story. I met her husband a couple of years ago, however, when he was down in Bristol.”

  “Yes, when Lady Fitzwalter’s son was kidnapped. What a mess. And now this shocking event. I suppose we’ll have to plan a funeral.” He cleared his throat. “Magdalene won’t be home for hours.”

  “At least it is fairly late. She shouldn’t be able to hear the news before she arrives home.”

  “That is a blessing.”

  Greggory couldn’t think of anything else to add on the subject of the murder. “There’s something I should tell you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “How well do you know your bakery manager, Ralph Popham, and his personal history?”

  Lord Judah picked up his glass again. “Good man. Widower, one daughter, who works for you presently.”

  Greggory captured his counterpart’s gaze. “Did you know his wife was an executed murderess?”

  Lord Judah’s eyes narrowed. “You must be joking.”

  “I’m afraid not. Miss Popham told me the entire story tonight. To make matters worse, your Simon Hellman seems to have some kind of obsession with her, and has blackmailed her for years.”

  “Blackmail?” Lord Judah slid from the desk to his feet.

  “Yes. He was lurking around the Kensington shop today, and Miss Popham is afraid he might have had something to do with the murder.”

  Lord Judah set his glass down. “Manfred never worked for Redcake’s. My wife has, of course. I don’t know when Manfred would have met Hellman, nor have I ever heard that Manfred was involved in blackmail schemes.”

  “But you don’t really know much about him.”

  “He was so secretive that even my sister didn’t know the truth, and they lived in the same home for a time.”

  Greggory scrubbed at his eyes and suppressed a yawn. “It seems likely that his profession was the reason for his death. He had been and possibly still was a jewel thief. But why Redcake’s?”

  “Could he have chosen the place for a meeting?” Lord Judah suggested. “I can’t imagine why, but he must have the skills of a housebreaker. You said a window was unlocked?”

  “It was more than that. The tearoom door was unlocked as well.”

  “I wish we knew if he knew Hellman,” Lord Judah said. “But I hardly think Manfred was in a position to be blackmailed. He had not been restored to society. While most people don’t know about the thieving, he never had the money to spend time in society, even as an earl’s nephew.”

  “That’s not the story I’ve heard. My cousin Alys said she first met Manfred at a party at Hatbrook’s home, before they were married.”

  “It must have been when I was still in India,” Lord Judah admitted. “I can’t say I know everything.”

  “It is amazing what we never hear,” Greggory said. “Not only do you now have a dead brother-in-law, you’re going to have to figure out what to do about Hellman. I’ve told Miss Popham that she can hire the daughter of one of her mother’s murder victims to be a cakie, now that both of her parents are deceased.”
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  Lord Judah chuckled darkly. “Is she going to be any good at the job?”

  “I’ve never spoken to her, only seen her. But Miss Popham has always demonstrated good judgment in the past.”

  “You think she should have allowed herself to be blackmailed for years? After all, the crimes were her mother’s, not hers.”

  “She must have thought she’d lose her position, and her father’s, if it was known. That they’d be shunned.”

  “Ralph is a personal friend of Sir Bartley’s. You can be certain he knows all there is to be known about the Pophams,” Lord Judah said with confidence. “I think Betsy suffered needlessly.”

  “I don’t know if you are right about that.”

  “She must have been all of eighteen then,” Lord Judah said. “Not an age for making the best decisions. I’m glad we both know. I will terminate Hellman’s employment. You should keep a closer eye on Miss Popham and I’ll do the same with her father. They’ve always seemed to be exemplary employees, but it seems their personal lives are troubled.”

  Greggory felt defensive. “They are victims here.”

  “If she talked you into hiring an unsuitable cakie, then that is a judgment problem,” Lord Judah said coolly. “It could be a mark against her. And, Greggory, if her family’s actions brought murder into Redcake’s, I wouldn’t want her about. You have your income and family to consider.”

  “Time will tell. It’s difficult to imagine hardworking, conscientious Betsy Popham destroying my business,” Greggory said.

  “It’s murder that will destroy it. The case needs to be solved right away. The lower classes might find murder to be a spectator sport, but I can see every upper-class paterfamilias in Kensington forbidding his wife and daughters to patronize the tearoom for now.”

  He crossed his arms. “That would be dreadful. I suppose I had better find out if Mrs. Popham’s crimes touched upon the life of Manfred Cross in any way.”

  “I’ll speak to Ralph in the morning. He’ll know far better than Betsy.” Lord Judah put his hands behind his back and began to pace. “I think I’ll go to the theater in my carriage and collect my wife. I won’t be able to relax until I know she is safe.”