Only years of speaking to aristocratic ladies kept Betsy’s back straight and her arms from folding protectively around her rib cage. “Anything is possible, I’m sure.”
“Is it my dress?” the woman asked.
“Mama?” said a much younger lady, rushing forward. She was dressed in what might have been half mourning. The dress had large panels of lavender silk that were offset by white and black designs on the sides that resembled piano keys and a fussy lace-trimmed bodice.
“This woman is wearing my dress. I gave it to the maid,” the older woman said.
“Oh, Mama. I’m sure it is not. I do apologize,” the woman said, turning to Betsy.
Mortified, Betsy didn’t know what to say. She had begun to form the opinion that something was failing in the woman’s intellectual powers, but that did not mean she was wrong about the dress. She stared helplessly at the younger woman, who obliged by putting her arm around her mother’s back and turning her away.
Betsy glanced back into the mirror and saw three other women staring at her in open interest, but they all turned away when they saw she had noticed them.
The embarrassing encounter had ended, but Betsy wanted to sink through the floor, into the basement kitchen of the hotel, where she probably belonged. How could she return to the ballroom? What if the woman followed her and made these remarks in front of the Redcakes? Greggory might know the dress couldn’t possibly be new, but his family did not.
Why hadn’t he offered to buy her a new dress? Being the practical sort, she assumed he’d realized she’d be more likely to obtain a secondhand dress than a new one in such a short span of time, but he hadn’t even suggested it. Wasn’t she worthy of a new dress? Didn’t he care about his own reputation?
She had worked herself into quite a state by the time she reappeared in the ballroom. All the romantic thoughts she’d had about Greggory since their lovemaking early the previous morning had vanished in the face of her own inadequacy. She had turned herself into a mistress, nothing more. To think, she’d imagined she had a reason to reach higher than her sister had.
Greggory had found himself unable to focus much on work on Monday, which was utterly depressing because it seemed more and more like he owned a failing teashop. Dudley had arrived for luncheon with a mocked-up floor plan of the hotel, and then again on Tuesday with a list of ideas for his proposal to open a Redcake’s Tea Shop and Emporium inside, instead of the usual coffee room hotels of that sort had.
He had explained to Dudley what was going on, and that he might not want to have a Redcake’s inside, as the name was being blackened, but Dudley, with typical optimism, assured him that everything would return to normal after the murder was solved.
He wondered if that would be true of his relationship with Betsy as well. She’d scarcely spoken to him since Sunday. Something had frightened her at the charity ball. She’d started to shake when she saw an older woman in a beautiful but rather vulgar gold gown walk by and then pleaded a headache. He hadn’t recognized the woman but knew Betsy was done, and he’d have to take her home. He couldn’t very well get to the bottom of the situation in the middle of the Hotel Victoria ballroom.
All in all, they’d stayed for less than an hour and had never moved beyond his immediate Redcake circle to chat with anyone, or even dance. On the ride home, she’d rested her forehead against her hand and refused to speak. He knew he had angered her, but not being a mind reader, he didn’t know how.
While he had apologized for his condemnation of her gossip, he thought he might find his way back into her good graces if he saw Lady Mews himself. Therefore, he sent the woman a letter, and she agreed to see him during her at-home on Wednesday.
On Wednesday afternoon, he presented himself at the door of Lord Mews’s Georgian terraced house on Portland Place at three P.M. and gave his card to the spotless butler at the front door. A few minutes later, he was shown into a grand drawing room with several different seating arrangements and a beautiful grand piano. While the space was lovely, it also felt depressing and heavy to him. He could do without the blood-red drapes and much preferred the newer styles and colors Letty had used in furnishing their house.
With Letty on his mind, he had to blink hard when he saw Lady Mews. While he knew the middle-aged female was not his wife, she had the same limp blond hair, the same ethereal blue eyes, and the same razor-sharp cheekbones and dimpled chin.
“Mr. Redcake,” she said with obvious delight. “We finally meet.”
He smiled politely as two ladies who had been visiting stood and said their good-byes. They had the look of his customers, but because Regent Street was nearby, they probably were customers of the flagship teashop.
“I feel as though I’m seeing my late wife’s sister,” he confessed when he finally had Lady Mews’s full attention.
She smiled coquettishly at him, an expression he’d never seen on Letty’s face. “We were cousins, you understand. Second cousins, once removed, I believe.” She patted him on the arm with her fan and gestured to the empty seat next to her on an overstuffed sofa.
He sat, ignoring the dog hairs liberally decorating the cushion. “What kind of beast is that?” he asked, lifting his chin at the adorable black-as-night creature sunning itself on a cushion in front of a window. It looked like a tiny, rotund bear as much as a dog.
“My Chow Chow, Bijou,” Lady Mews said. “She does shed dreadfully. Do you enjoy animals?”
“I do, but I’ve no time for them at present.”
“Widowed with babies, correct? I did send a card when poor Letty passed away.”
“I’m certain you did, my lady, but I admit I do not remember a great deal from that time.”
“Dreadful business, that fever. Why God sees fit to take so many young mothers I can never understand.”
“Nor can I,” he said.
“But that cannot be why you came to see me. I hadn’t seen Letty since she was a very young girl and my great-aunt passed away. No contact with that side of the family after that.”
“We did not see family very much. I was busy with Redcake’s, and she had the house to manage.”
“You must have been very much in love,” Lady Mews said smoothly.
He nodded, the thought, especially in front of a woman with such a resemblance to Letty, choking him up. His loss still had that power over him. He had to change the subject or embarrass himself. “I’ll have to bring a dog home someday, when the children are older, so they have an animal to grow up with.”
“Very important for a boy especially,” Lady Mews said, accepting the change of subject with grace. “My husband had quite a lonely existence as a child. He’s told me if it wasn’t for his dog, he’d have had no one to love.”
Greggory nodded. “Very touching. Is this breed a good one for children?”
“I shouldn’t think so, between the shedding and the nipping. She’s drawn blood from a couple of the footmen with too rough a touch.”
“An Irish setter perhaps,” Greggory said, remembering a beloved pet from his childhood. “Lots of energy, enough for two boisterous children.”
“Excellent choice,” Lady Mews said, fluttering her fan.
He knew she was likely to have more visitors arriving soon, so he changed the subject yet again. “Are you a Redcake’s patron?”
“No,” Lady Mews said. “We are friendly with some of the Redcakes, like your cousin Rose Courtnay, because her husband is an old friend, but Lord Hatbrook does not approve of us.”
“Not to be indelicate, but does that have something to do with Manfred Cross?”
“Poor Freddie,” she said. “Yes, I suppose it does. My husband and Freddie had a fight at a party one year and Lord Hatbrook had to break it up. He was a dear boy, but not much of a moral compass, I’m afraid.” She fingered the stunning emerald choker at her neck.
“Because you knew him, and there are few in my acquaintance who did, do you have any theories about what might have happened to him?”
“If the Redcakes were a thuggish sort of family, I’d have pointed the finger at them, you know, after what happened with Lady Elizabeth, Lord Hatbrook’s sister.”
“I haven’t heard the story.”
“It’s best you don’t. I think Freddie wanted to do the right thing always, but he had terrible instincts. The truth is, he had turned to a life of crime. I’m sure he died as a result. Criminals are a bloodthirsty lot.” She fingered her emeralds again.
How Greggory wanted to ask her more questions. He suspected if he had some kind of supernatural gift, he’d be able to see bloodstains on the magnificent jewelry Lady Mews wore, from her emeralds to the three enormous diamond rings on her blue-veined hands to the pearl bracelets she wore on each thin wrist. No, she really didn’t look like his generous, sweet Letty to him anymore.
“Do you have any specific knowledge of the criminals he associated with?” Greggory asked, wondering if he should speak to the police.
“I do not. Lady Elizabeth will not be of any help either. He is, or I should say, was, known to the Edinburgh police, but I would assume it was someone here who killed him. If the London police weren’t aware of his activities, there probably isn’t anyone outside of the criminal class who was.”
“Sadly, or happily, the criminal class doesn’t spend that much time in Redcake’s,” Greggory said.
“Wolves in sheep’s clothing,” Lady Mews said with a small smile. “I imagine you are wrong about that.”
The butler appeared at the door before he could respond to the intriguing remark.
“Do you know of anyone specific?” he asked quickly.
“My dear boy, you ought to know your own clientele and staff.” She smiled at the trio of well-dressed ladies who had entered.
Greggory said his good-byes so the next set of callers could have the lady’s attention. He walked out bemused and went to Redcake’s in the hope of seeing Lord Judah, but he was out. Greggory made an appointment with him for the next day and took a cab back to Kensington.
“Why do you want me to go with you to meet with Lord Judah?” Betsy asked. “That leaves our shop without a manager on the premises.”
“Mr. Soeur is temporarily in charge,” Greggory said, helping her into the carriage waiting outside the tea shop.
She felt mildly queasy, which was normal this day of the month. Of course she was lucky to only have one bad day a month, and usually she could avoid swaying cabs. There were a couple of cakies she had to cover for somewhat for up to four days each month, they had so much pain with their cycles. Sometimes womanhood felt cursed, but it was hard to feel that way when you sat next to a handsome man smiling down at you, offering you a fresh strawberry.
She allowed him to feed her the fruit. “Early for that.”
“Warmer in the south. Came up by train this morning,” he said, taking the last bite, then flinging the hull out the window. “Want to lick the juice off my fingers?”
She smiled. “Not in public, thank you, Mr. Redcake.”
He grinned. “This is the first time I’ve had you alone in days. Are you ready to speak about what happened at the charity ball?”
She sighed, losing the sense of a picnic holiday, and told him about the woman and the dress.
Greggory shook his head. “Imagine the chances of that. I’m so sorry.”
“It might not have been hers,” Betsy said. “She didn’t seem quite right, but I was afraid of a scene in the ballroom itself. While her daughter took her away from me, they didn’t leave the event.”
“Perhaps it was for the best. No need to antagonize the elderly. What if she had demanded you return it? And we can’t afford any more scenes involving Redcakes. My cousin Gawain would have felt the need to defend you with that lethal walking stick of his.”
“And you’d have gone after the daughter with your mighty boxing fists,” she teased.
He chuckled. “I did box; before, you understand.”
“I remember. You came to my desk with a cut lip early on. The wound reopened. Alarming, to say the least.” She touched his lower lip, where the wound had been nearly two years before, with a gloved finger.
“I remember that, too. You put a chilled glass of water against it to soothe the pain.”
Her hand trembled against his lip. “At the time, I felt I had overstepped my bounds. You were married. I didn’t want to be forward.”
“You were kind. I remembered that.” He kissed her finger. “After Letty died, I felt as if I was traveling through the world in a gray fog. Every so often I’d see a bright spot. You were one of those places that glowed a bit, like the sun behind a rain cloud.”
“Has the fog lifted now?”
“Sometimes entirely. When I’m exhausted or life is going badly, though, it is easier to return to that place, having spent so much time there.”
“Is that when I find you staring out the window in your office?”
“Or holding the babies. I feel such an inadequate parent at times.”
“You do more than any father I’ve ever heard of,” she said. “How is the new nursemaid, by the way? Mrs. Roach has been training someone?”
“It has been two days. I can’t understand her accent, but she seems kind. I’ve been hovering. Where have you been in the evenings?”
“I consulted with Prissy on the ball gown. We decided to dye the bodice to change the appearance and redrape the skirt somewhat. Otherwise I didn’t want to keep it.”
“Very smart. You’ll need a dress like that again. One never knows. We should have something new made for you as well.”
Was he offering to pay for a dress now? That made her a mistress, didn’t it? Or was it a courting gift? No, that couldn’t be right. She had no idea what rich men gave girls they were decently courting. “All in good time. I have spent too much time with Prissy as it is. I’ve neglected my father terribly.”
“I’ve thought that might be for the best, for both of you.”
“You aren’t wrong. He’s been with friends these past couple of nights. It is good for him.”
“Who are these friends?”
“Mostly Redcake’s people. Bakers, the man who replaced Simon Hellman.”
The carriage pulled up at the corner of Oxford and Regent Streets. Greggory helped Betsy down and they went through the elegant door. She glanced at the display window as they entered, and saw that the flagship store had strawberries, too. In the window were luscious cream-filled tarts topped with the ruby berries, fresh from the garden. More cut fruit decorated slices of iced cakes, and strawberry-flavored tea tins offered architectural detail at the rear of the display.
“Someone in our shop really needs to learn from whoever does the display here,” Betsy said.
“I know Lady Judah often does them. She has the artist’s eye.” Greggory brushed a trailing fern from his hat.
“That was one important way Lord Judah courted her,” Betsy recalled. “He respected her talent. I tried to teach her the entire business of the Fancy when he hired her, but he only wanted her to do the wedding cake decorations. I suppose I overstepped my bounds. I knew she was an earl’s niece, but she was the first person I trained.”
“He probably had an eye on her from the start. Lady Judah is a very beautiful woman.”
It was jealousy, but she didn’t like him noticing another woman, particularly one with such a different kind of appeal from hers. “Oh, I know.” All that blond-haired, blue-eyed beauty attracted the eye, just like with Violet.
“You sound sour,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “Were you romantic rivals?”
“I might have fancied Lord Judah a bit; everyone did. He seemed determined to be a regular man of the people back then, didn’t use his title.” She shrugged. “So why not?”
“Blood will out.”
His tone was light, but she was nearly paralyzed as she attempted to understand his meaning. “Aristocrats, you mean?”
“Of course. It is hard to marry outside
your social class. Lord Hatbrook did it, of course, but he’s never been a traditionalist.”
“Why are you trying?” she asked pertly.
Before he could answer, the doors to the back rooms opened and Irene, who had worked in the Fancy for years now, appeared.
“Is that a wedding ring?” Betsy asked.
Irene smiled. “Yes! A very short engagement.”
“To whom?”
“You won’t believe it, but I met Tom Mumford again. He used to bake here.”
“Of course. Always singing.” A very nice man, Tom Mumford, but loud.
“Yes! He’s a professional singer now, quite successful. Going to be touring the Continent, and I’m coming along!”
Betsy clapped her hands together. “How lovely. He’s so lucky to have you.”
“The Fancy’s loss is his gain. I’m sure you’re glad you don’t have to train my replacement.”
“I hope you’re going to.”
Irene nodded. “Oh, yes. I have two months before we leave.”
“I’m so very pleased for you both,” Betsy said. “Two of my favorite Redcake’s people, joined in matrimony.”
“I hope we shall hear the same for you soon. Your father has made certain predictions.”
Greggory held back a smile as Betsy blushed. “I’m much too busy with the Kensington shop to worry about that,” she demurred.
“Don’t wait too long. I’m just scraping into matrimony at age twenty-five. There’s such a thing as being too focused on one’s career.”
Betsy nodded. “You are correct; I know it. My half sister is twenty-five, and I’m sensing real desperation in her. She lost one fiancé and never troubled to find another.”
“The trouble is very important,” Irene pronounced. She had such a lovely, cultured voice that everything she said sounded eminently sensible. Betsy had tried hard to emulate her speech, but Irene could never quite be matched.
“Let me shake your hand and give you my congratulations as well,” Greggory said. “I never met this Mumford fellow, but I know my brother Dudley has seen him perform. He said your husband made the ladies cry with his sentimental ballads.”
Trifling Favors (Redcakes Book 7) Page 21