“ ‘I’ll make you a bargain,’ said the shade, its voice as caressing as shards of ice.”
“No bargains,” Penelope said around a mouthful of scone. The jam had stained the corners of her mouth red. “Bargains are always bad.”
“Tell that to the princess,” Victoria said smartly. “Now, back to the story.
“ ‘What must I do?’ Princess Everilda gasped. Her stomach grumbled and she dearly wished for a bowl of frumenty.
“The shade smirked, as much as shades can smirk with their faces going in and out of focus. ‘Save the merman in the sea, visit two croaking ravens, let three bells stay unrung, allow four jars to be unopened, notice five melting coins cold, see six tarts untasted, bring seven swans their lives untaken.’ ”
“ ‘That’s only seven,’ said the princess sharply, for she was no fool,” Victoria said.
Penelope giggled and thrust out her foot, kicking over an overflowing bagful of Redcake’s Tea and cookie tins that belonged to patrons at the next table.
“Oh, dear. Terribly sorry,” Victoria murmured without looking up. Penelope added her apologies.
“ ‘You’ll give up long before that,’ said the shade, with a hint of the black humor the dead queen had possessed in life. ‘You never had much sticking power.’
“ ‘How dare you!’ Princess Everilda cried. ‘This is Prince Hugh’s life at stake!’ ” Victoria said.
Someone at the next table tittered, and Victoria glanced over to see one of the Redcake sisters, the youngest one the same age as she, staring at her with amusement.
“What?” Victoria asked. Had she been too loud or overly dramatic? Her own story was carrying her away.
“That isn’t a very Christmassy story,” the blonde Redcake said with a cough. “It sounds like something for All Hallow’s Eve.”
“Dickens used ghosts in a Christmas story,” said Victoria, defensive.
“Very well,” said Miss Redcake. “But it needs refinement. Why is the princess so obsessed with food? Aren’t princesses all perfect?”
“Not my princess,” Victoria snapped.
Miss Redcake tilted her head. “You can’t ever have been terribly concerned with food. You have a dashing figure.”
Victoria blinked. “You must never have seen me before today. I used to be as plump as a Christmas goose.”
“Actually, I thought we were acquainted,” Miss Redcake said. “Or I wouldn’t have spoken. I’m in London so rarely that I simply thought I’d forgotten your name.”
“I’m Lady Allen-Hill, but I was Victoria Courtnay before I married Sir Humphrey.”
“Oh, your name does sound terribly familiar. I’m Rose Redcake,” she said.
“I’ve met your brother-in-law and his brother,” Victoria said. “The Marquess and Lord Judah? And I’ve seen the rest of you at parties and things.”
“Yes, their mother was a friend of your father, correct?”
“Yes, but that was simply ages ago, before she died. I met Lord Judah later, when he came to a party at my father’s house.”
“You haven’t been to London since?” Miss Redcake inquired.
“No. I was in mourning, you see. My husband died.” Victoria picked at the jet mourning ring she still wore on her left hand.
“How dreadful. One goes to such trouble to find a husband, you don’t want to lose one.”
“Exactly,” Victoria murmured. “Found one for yourself, yet?”
“No. I’m buried in the country, thanks to my lung problems,” Miss Redcake said. “I can’t come into Town without becoming ill, you see.”
“You’re here now,” Penelope interjected.
“Just to run errands, really. I only spent one night here, but I had some new dresses ordered. Then it’s back to Sussex on the train.”
“We’re leaving for Sussex soon too,” Penelope said. The high pitch of her voice told Victoria that her cousin was eager to join in the adult conversation. “We’re going to Pevensey.”
Miss Redcake smiled. “We live near Polegate, only about four miles from Pevensey. Are you going to the house party at Pevensey-Sur-Mer-Fort? Some friends of ours are going, and we’ve been invited for dinners and balls and such.”
“Speaking of the Fort, we should leave for Victoria Station soon,” Victoria said.
Miss Redcake looked up at the clock on the wall, which had been wrapped in red ribbon for the season. “So should I.”
“Let’s share a carriage,” Penelope said eagerly. “Then we can hear more of my cousin’s story.”
“I’m sure Miss Redcake doesn’t want to hear that,” Victoria protested.
“But she was listening to every word,” Penelope insisted. “I saw her.”
“It’s not polite to watch people,” Victoria said, her cheeks flaming.
Miss Redcake looked amused. Then her expression shifted and she lifted her handkerchief and coughed, a phlegmy, rattling sound. “I would be happy to join you. I didn’t expect to travel alone, but my sister was delayed in Bristol.”
“Uncle Rupert was delayed in Liverpool. We weren’t supposed to travel alone either,” Penelope said.
“I’m sure three ladies together will be perfectly safe,” Victoria said, pulling out her reticule and putting coins on the table. Miss Redcake hoisted her rattling bag, which made her cough again. This time, a wheeze came with it.
Victoria reached out her hand and grasped the bag. “I’ll take that, shall I? We sent our baggage on ahead.”
“Oh, well, thank you,” said the girl, flustered. “I just have this small valise.” She hefted a heavy-looking leather case that had been resting under her table.
Victoria looked at the case, then at Penelope. The girl was too small to carry it. She handed the shopping to her cousin and took the valise herself, thankful her new slimness and less cumbersome second-stage mourning attire gave her the energy to haul heavy luggage.
Thankfully, her carriage was only a couple of paces away from the front entrance of Redcake’s, and the luggage was soon stowed away for the trip to the station. An hour later, they were seated in a first-class compartment heading to Sussex. Victoria found the gentle jostling rather restful, but she could tell the train fumes made Miss Redcake increasingly ill.
“I have a flask of cognac. Would it help?”
“No,” said Miss Redcake, pulling out a vial. “But I shall apply my smelling salts.” She opened the vial and breathed deeply. A hint of color returned to her pale cheeks.
The scent of lavender oil filled the cabin. Penelope wrinkled her nose, but Victoria found the scent soothing.
“You know,” said Miss Redcake, “ghost stories go very well with Sussex. We’ve been told Roman and Norman soldiers haunt ruins near our house. There are shell keep remains on the grounds.”
“Can you tell us a story?” Penelope asked.
“I think Miss Redcake should rest,” Victoria said. She hoped this part of her holiday didn’t foreshadow how the house party would go. She was hoping for some good old-fashioned fun of the sort that had doors opening onto corridors and tiptoeing around late at night, not tea with children and ghost stories. By Twelfth Night, she wanted all the mysteries she’d been denied exploring to be completely open to her.
“I know a story about birds,” Miss Redcake said dreamily. “I particularly remember it because my cousin Lewis used to make automaton birds. They spoke in the eeriest voices. When I hear the story, I think of his creations.”
About the Author
Heather Hiestand was born in Illinois, but her family migrated west before she started school. Since then she has claimed Washington State as home, except for a few years in California. She wrote her first story at age seven and went on to major in creative writing at the University of Washington. Her first published fiction was a mystery short story, but since then it has been all about the many flavors of romance. Heather’s first published romance short story was set in the Victorian period, and she continues to return, fascinated by the rapi
d changes of the nineteenth century. The author of many novels, novellas, and short stories, she has achieved best-seller status at Amazon and Barnes and Noble. With her husband and son, she makes her home in a small town and supposedly works out of her tiny office, though she mostly writes in her easy chair in the living room.
For more information, visit Heather’s website at www.heatherhiestand.com.Heatherlovestohearfromreaders!Heremailisheather@heatherhiestand.com.
eKENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2014 by Heather Hiestand
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
eKensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
First Electronic Edition: September 2014
eISBN-13: 978-1-60183-260-3
ISBN: 978-1-6018-3260-3
The Kidnapped Bride (Redcakes) Page 13