One Taste of Scandal (14 page)

“Shhh,” she soothed. “Manfred is fine. It is unspeakable to have this conversation.”

“Pardon me for saying, miss, but there ain’t no point to keepin’ it private, leastways when you have a gentleman concerned,” Eddy said, handing Judah his paper.

“I am your protector, Miss Cross,” Judah said, inspired to his theme by Eddy’s words. He tossed the lad a penny.

She blinked.

“As your employer,” he explained. “You are in my care, and this is unsupportable.”

She smiled faintly at Eddy and took Judah’s sleeve, to pull him to the side of a fountain on the Square, where the noise of the water might make their conversation more private. “He is my brother.”

“He isn’t the head of your family. The earl is. Is he comfortable with your treatment? Do you know the news about your young nephews is all over Town? I had to hear it from Sir Cyril, of all people.”

Her chin went up. “You saw him? Did he give you any answers?”

“I am not concerned with myself at this moment, but with you. Miss Cross, you cannot go on like this.” He opened his umbrella to protect them from the drizzle that had just started misting the pavement.

“You do not live in my house,” she said stiffly. “You cannot know what goes on in my private life. If someone had damaged my face at Redcake’s, that would be very different. I allow you are my protector there.”

Was she going to dismiss her pain, and the risk, so lightly? “Are we not friends, Miss Cross?”

“You claim to be my brother’s friend, too.”

“Then I shall go to him this instant,” Judah said. “As soon as you are tucked into the Fancy, I shall take a hansom to your brother’s door.”

“That is rude and presumptuous. It was a momentary derangement, brought on by my wearing gray. It shall not happen again.”

He regarded her still-gray coat until she flushed. “If you truly thought that, your nephews would not be gone.”

“That was Manfred’s plan.”

“Did he witness this act of brutality?”

She looked down, then sighed. “Yes. It is as if he became a man overnight.”

“So he is there providing protection whenever George is there?”

After a moment she shook her head. “George is always there. Manfred has his own company to keep.”

“With Lady Mews.”

“Do not gossip about my family, sir,” she hissed.

Judah felt abashed and wondered if he were more like Sir Cyril that he realized. All those years he’d spent in the officer’s mess where shop talk was not allowed at table had had its effect on his conversation. “Could you not go to your uncle’s, too?”

“I can’t leave George. He only eats what I hand to him. He is disconsolate.”

“But he drinks.”

“A great deal,” she responded in a tired sort of way.

Judah scratched his chin. “Was it like this before his wife died?”

Her expression soured. “You’d never have known he cared about her until she became ill. He was not a very good husband, any more than most gentlemen.”

“I wonder that you lived in his house.”

“I never thought to consider anywhere else. Nancy kept the tone as high as she could, though circumstances diminished over time.”

“You have been placed in a very difficult situation.”

“I do not deny that. Nancy kept things calm as long as she could, and he certainly loves the boys, but he did not trouble himself much with family before he fell into debt.”

“Were you able to get the boys’ things to the earl, or to the school? From what Sir Cyril reported, they didn’t have their trunks.”

“George has insisted they’ll be coming home as soon as his illness has passed. He doesn’t want them to go to school.”

Is “illness” what they are calling habitual drunkenness now?
He had always smelled liquor on the man’s breath when they met, but he had never seemed impaired. “That is terribly selfish of him.”

“They are all that is left of Nancy, he says.”

“He does no credit to her memory. The boys must go. Who shall reason with him?” Judah stared down a trinket seller who had moved toward them, a professional smile on his face.

“Who can reason with a man in his state of mind?” she countered.

“And he claims to be ill?”

“Yes. It is the drink, of course, and grief. He can call it whatever he wishes.”

“Meanwhile the boys have only the clothes on their backs.”

“It isn’t as bad as that. I made bundles for them, nightshirts and so forth. Mostly they will wear their school uniforms.”

“If George will not sign for them, can they go to school?”

“I believe they will trust the earl’s word at the school. They are his great-nephews and no one would be surprised if he says their father is not well enough for paperwork.”

Without considering his actions overmuch, he took her hand in his and squeezed. Their gloves squeaked coldly against each other, but she looked down with a tiny smile.

“I know you are my friend, Captain Shield. You have done so much for me.”

“I would do more,” he said on instinct. His hand moved from her glove to her hair, and he tucked a strand back into her bonnet. “You will need to repin, I think.”

“Manfred had only so long to wait for me this morning. I didn’t do a very good job.”

“How can I make your situation more safe?”

“Keep employing me,” she said. “Money makes a world of difference.”

“Do you mean to set up your own establishment?”

“I do not know what my plans are. I hope my brother will resolve his grief and get hold of himself.”

He wondered what might go wrong before that happened, if it ever did. “I think your uncle should have a chat with him.”

“I’m sure he will when the boys are gone from Gerrick House.”

“Do you have friends you can stay with?”

She shook her head. “My oldest friend lives in Yorkshire. Her father died young and she went to be a ladies’ companion due to her family’s changed circumstances. There is Lady Bricker, of course. I’m sure she would take me in.”

“Also in Yorkshire.”

“I am afraid so.”

“What about Lady March?”

“She is back in Derbyshire.”

“You could speak to your brother about Lady Mews. Perhaps you could stay in her household.”

Her mouth fell open for a moment. “Good heavens. That is no place for a single woman.”

“No? A pity. Your circle is very constrained, it appears.”

“We are still invited to parties, but I have few intimates. Once Nancy became ill, we couldn’t return calls. And I have a secret life now too. That would become evident to anyone I stayed with.” She smiled ruefully.

“You could go to Hatbrook Farm, but that would mean leaving your position behind.”

“I do not want to be dependent,” she said. “I am not fragile or helpless.”

“No, it is merely your home life that is the trouble. But we will think of something.”

“Thank you for including me in the decision making about my own life,” she said tartly.

“There’s that lock of hair again.” He tucked it back under her bonnet.

“We’re going to be very late for work,” she said.

“Just tell Betsy you were courting,” he said. “She will understand.”

 

Judah thought Betsy would understand, but Magdalene most certainly did not. Who was she to claim was courting her, particularly when he bussed her unbruised cheek a full block from Redcake’s? If he was going to claim to be courting her, he could at least kiss her in front of the loading dock.

“Why did you do that?” she asked, putting her hand over the kiss.

“Because I’m worried about you, and felt you needed a sign of affection.”

But then, peeking out from under the umbrella, she saw a trio of cakies trudging into work, their cloaks damp with rain. One of them had an expression of utter astonishment as she stared at them. She turned her head to the others and started speaking rapidly as they trotted through the rain.

Had Judah noticed them? With three cakies having seen the kiss, no matter how brotherly it had been, word would be all over Redcake’s before it opened to the public.

“We are very late to work if cakies are on the streets. I’m always in the Fancy before the serving girls arrive.”

Judah’s expression was all innocence. “If they saw us together, all to the better. No one will think to ask about your cheek when they have me and kisses to gossip about.”

He was wrong. “They will be terribly jealous and you’ll have crying girls with their aprons over their heads at the end of every corridor.”

He chuckled. “I do not think my powers are so great as that.”

“A marquess’s brother, and the manager of Redcake’s? Oh, your power is great.”

He smiled wolfishly.

“But truly, Captain Shield, speaking of your family. What did Sir Cyril say when he wasn’t gossiping about my family?” She wanted to think of something other than herself.

“The timing was about correct, as you suspected. But I had the sense it was unlikely that he might be my parent. Not impossible. But how does one ask these things? I could not be blunt about my mother’s behavior. It would ruin her reputation if he did not know.”

“Even you do not like embarrassing your family. You see how it is for me?”

“I tend to think of your family as being perennially embarrassed.”

“How dare you?” She wanted to cry. What a horrid thing for him to say.

“As is mine,” he said hurriedly.

“Really, Captain Shield?” She injected all of the hauteur of her position in Society into her voice.

“My parents, in the past. And given the disaster with Matilda Redcake, now.”

“Which your family blames upon mine.”

“I should not truly think so. Lady Bricker is an easy scapegoat. I feel constantly irritated by my own situation and I do apologize for slurring your family.”

“It was not kindly done.” She sniffed.

“I quite agree. But here, we are standing on the street. We will both catch a chill if we remain.” He tilted the umbrella toward the pavement.

“I wonder why you associate with me.”

“We are both in distress,” he said in a short tone that indicated he desired to close the subject.

She let the conversation end, appalled that it had ever started. How she wished she could rewind time a couple of days and never have accepted the coat and bonnet. However, George might very well have found some other occasion to attack. He was not in his right mind.

C
aptain Shield did call at her home the next day, Saturday. Manfred received him. Magdalene had been at Gerrick House saying her good-byes before her nephews boarded the train to school with a tutor come from that establishment to fetch them. Thankfully, the earl had called Friday and persuaded George school was best for the boys. Magdalene had even been able to prepare more of their clothing and send it with the earl’s servants. She knew Captain Shield and Manfred had engaged in indiscreet conversation regarding the situation, but since George had remained locked in his room during that visit, he had not been the wiser.

Now, she wondered if a calm household would help George, or if his inactivity would send him deeper into the bottle. She ordered a lower quality of claret from the wine merchant, assuming George wouldn’t notice if he was drunk, and sent Hetty to buy a black coat from a secondhand stall. It would do for the streets, though it wasn’t as warm or dashing as the gray coat. It was folded into the back of her wardrobe, ready to reappear when mourning ended.

On Monday morning, she buttoned herself into the coat, which fit very well over her modest cakie uniform, thanks to slight alterations she’d made to the sleeves the night before, and pinned a black wool shawl over her shoulders to make it warmer. Her new bonnet was the only item of apparel that made her feel like a lady. Still, if she couldn’t have everything, at least she had a handsome gentleman meeting her in the Square.

Eddy doffed his cap when she walked up to him. “New coat, miss?”

She twirled. “What do you think?”

“Serviceable, miss, if thin for London.”

She noted Eddy had on a new coat himself, a bit large for his wiry frame. “Your coat looks nice and thick.”

“One o’ me regulars gave it to me, because his boy had grown too large for it,” Eddy boasted. “Me customers are a loyal lot, and that’s no joke.”

“I can see that. You’re a good boy, Eddy.”

He puffed up his bantam chest. “I’m no boy. I takes care of meself.”

“Of course. My error,” she apologized, wondering if her nephews would have his bravado when they were a bit older. Of course they would. The school would mold them into British gentlemen and courage was one of the primary characteristics of the breed.

“How are you?”

Magdalene whirled around, her hand on her chest. “You startled me, Captain.”

“The wind is up. Makes it hard to hear footsteps.”

He had a muffler tucked around his chest and lower mouth, in addition to his heavy coat and lined hat.

“You poor man. The cold must make you suffer terribly.”

“I am not accustomed to it,” he admitted, giving Eddy a penny. “Walking will stir my blood.”

Eddy gave him a friendly grin and tossed him the paper. “Stay warm, guv. This is only the beginning.”

“By next winter I’ll be so well acclimated that I’ll be in a linen suit with no coat on.” He grinned.

She shook her head. “As long as you bring your umbrella you can wear whatever you want.” That gave her a pang. She had no intention of still being employed at Redcake’s a year from now.

The captain tucked her under his umbrella as they set off, her mind churning. She had to find a suitable husband so she could escape George’s roof. But how could she do that when she was in mourning? Even if she went to Society events, she couldn’t dance, and she looked best on the dance floor. Her long body gained grace with movement. Certainly she wasn’t her best on calls now, when she was tired from a long day’s work, and besides, with Nancy gone, she had no one to take her.

Perhaps she needed to move in with Lady March, although she didn’t go out much. Would the earl officially pardon Lady Bricker in time for next spring’s Season? Then she could live with her, and try very hard to find a husband before summer. Yes, that was the best plan. Work on the earl to pardon Lillian.

“You are very deep today, Miss Cross.”

“Just making plans,” she said absently.

“I had a good visit with Manfred on Saturday. I was sorry to miss you.”

“Yes?” she said, thinking how few men called. Didn’t Manfred have any friends a little older and less debauched than he was? “Thank you for calling. I’m sure Manfred told you I was at Gerrick House.”

“Yes. I am glad the earl was able to aid the boys.”

“It has all worked out for the best,” she said.

“Except you sacrificed your new coat.”

“I made that choice to have peace,” she told him. “It will do fine for these walks, and I can keep my bonnet.”

“The crepe will stain it.”

“I’m sure it will be out of style by the time my mourning ends. That is the way of things.”

“Of course. You must be a slave to fashion.”

Her smile felt sour. She certainly must be if she was to get a husband. Perhaps she could persuade the earl to offer a small dowry for her? All she had now was two hundred pounds from her mother.

With that kind of dowry, she’d be lucky to get a nice, respectable vicar, and what man of God would offer for a Scandalous Cross girl? A soldier couldn’t afford her and a peer wouldn’t want her. She didn’t want to marry into the merchant class.

If she didn’t act soon, before her looks faded, she could see a long descent into spinsterhood. She’d end up keeping house for Manfred, and he had no more money than she did.

In frustration, she increased her pace to a march, then realized her high stepping walk was sending tendrils of muddy water up her boots onto her skirts. She shuddered as the cold water soaked past her petticoats to her stockings.

“I have a question to put to you,” Captain Shield said.

She had scarcely realized he was still there. “Yes? I apologize for woolgathering.”

“You have had a most trying week, and here it is only Monday.”

She laughed at his little joke. “At least my face is mended.”

“Yes, I can scarcely see the bruise. Which brings me to my subject. You are aware that the marchioness worked the cake table at parties for a time, the best parties? She used the opportunity to share information about Redcake’s and it often brought in new clients for wedding cakes and other special events.”

“No, I did not know that.”

“We have a fashionable wedding on Friday morning, with a cake table after the breakfast. I wondered if you would be willing to serve the cake. I know it’s one you’ll be completing this week, so it will be your handiwork.”

“Who is in the bridal party?” she asked.

“The Earl of Fitzwalter’s daughter and some American,” he said. “I cannot recall the American’s name.”

“I couldn’t possibly, Captain,” she said. “I have met Lady Honoria many times. You would ruin me in Society if you sent me thus.” How could he even ask? Didn’t he realize how tenuous her hold was?

“Ah. I thought they weren’t the most fashionable, because of marrying the American.”

“I believe they are land rich and cash poor,” she said tartly. “I hope you’ve settled their bill.”

“I will check on that, but I assume the American father has funds.”

She snorted. “He won’t care about a London tradesman once he sets foot on the boat to America.”

“You may be right. Are you certain?”

“Very much so. Lady Hatbrook was not in Society at the time she was serving cake, but I am. Decorating is one thing. We did have an arrangement.” She folded her arms.

“Yes, of course. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable with my request.”

“Not at all.” She was happy to see the loading dock as it put an end to the conversation. However, Betsy was hovering by the loading dock once again.

“Ah, Miss Popham,” the captain said, surprising Magdalene. “If you have a moment, I’d like a word in my office.”

Her beady dark eyes lit up, like a bowl of tobacco being set on fire. “Yes, sir. Shall I follow you up?”

The captain closed his umbrella, pointing it into the alley so he didn’t spray all of them with rain. “Very good.” He nodded serenely at Magdalene and walked off, dratted Betsy trailing him like a fat puppy.

Magdalene sniffed and went down to the Fancy. Was he going to ask Betsy to be the server? She had no idea how to speak to the wealthy and powerful. It would be a disaster.

Later in the morning, she could no longer stand the cat-in-cream expression Betsy had been holding since she reappeared. “Why are you so pleased?” she asked, finishing a lacework tier for the wedding cake on the schedule before Lady Honoria’s.

“I am just so pleased the captain saw fit to consult with me,” Betsy said, affecting an accent she had not been born with.

“Oh?”

“Yes. He asked me who the most intelligent and genteel cakie was, for a Society wedding. They are going to serve at an earl’s wedding breakfast.”

“An earl’s daughter?”

Betsy waved a plump hand, sticky with sugar from the dried fruits she’d been slicing. “I suppose you are right. I do not know if we’ve ever made a wedding cake for an actual earl’s wedding.”

“Who did you recommend?”

“Irene. She knows the Fancy and she’s very pretty. Her voice is cultured because she worked in a shop for a time.”

“A good choice,” Magdalene said grudgingly, wondering why the captain hadn’t asked her advice. Was he angry that she’d refused his request? He could not be surprised that she had.

 

Judah continued to be concerned about Miss Cross. She arrived late for their walk to Redcake’s on Tuesday, her bruise showing again because she was so pale. Her boots were wet because she’d dashed across the Square too quickly to ignore the rain puddles. He knew she’d be damp for hours, even in the hot bakery.

“May I inquire if I have upset you in any way?” he asked, when she hadn’t spoken for five minutes of their walk.

“Not at all, Captain. I did not have a restful night.”

“It must be hard to have the boys gone.”

Her lips pressed together before she spoke. “Yes, it is.”

He knew from her pause that her trouble wasn’t because of the boys. “Were your brothers distressing you last night?”

“Do not trouble yourself, Captain. I am in no danger.”

“You may not be the best judge of that. Your love and concern may color your thoughts,” he said, trying to keep his voice gentle.

“I am not a fool,” she said in low, measured tones.

“You do not have the mien of one without troubles,” he said.

“I am in no way incapacitated and will do excellent work today,” she countered.

“That is not enough for me, Miss Cross. I am your friend.”

She caught his gaze for a second. “I do know that. But you have your own tortures. Should you not focus your intellect on the search for your father, since it troubles you so?”

“I have reached a dead end,” he said. “The letters can tell me no more. I have spoken to every old friend of my mother’s in London.”

“There are certainly more. In the spring many more of them will be in Town.”

“You are right, of course. See? We can offer each other counsel.”

She smiled faintly. This did not relieve him. He liked his pretty girls fresh and carefree, not worn down by life’s tragedies.

Betsy Popham waited for them by the back door. When Judah had unbuttoned his coat, he took a quick look at his pocket watch, to see if they were late, but they had made it with a minute to spare. What did she want now?

“May I speak to you, Captain?” asked Betsy, her lips shining from the dart of her pink tongue over them.

He nodded. “Come upstairs, Miss Popham.” He waved a hand at Miss Cross, who bore a look of resignation, and gestured Betsy up the stairs in front of him.

He could not avoid noticing how she made full use of her hips and skirts on the stairs. Despite the lack of a bustle in her uniform, her hips twitched and her skirts twirled. She had a voluptuous form, the kind old women said was made for babies and men said was made for, well, the same thing, really.

He was holding back a smile as they reached the top of the stairs. Hales was ready with his tea tray, exactly what he needed after such a damp walk. Judah opened his own office door and ushered in both of them.

After Hales set the tray on his desk, he ushered the man out. “I will be with you in a moment for the day’s schedule.”

“Shall I shut the door?”

Judah kept his best poker face but felt his male parts shrivel slightly in horror. “No, no. Leave it open.”

“Such a lovely teapot you have, Captain,” Betsy purred, running her finger along the forest green spout.

He thought the thing far too feminine, with the hand-painted daisies decorating the sides. “It is a sample from a line the marchioness considered selling.”

“I am sorry she decided against it. I’d have been happy to purchase a cup and saucer and drink my tea out of them at home.”

He had never noticed how she purred over her words, pursing her lips breathily at every opportunity.

“Shall I pour?”

“No, Miss Popham. Kindly state your business. I need to be about the day’s work.” He noted how very bright the whites of her eyes seemed around the very dark pupils.

“Of course, sir. I only wanted to say, well, you see, about the servers.” She put her hand to her chest, between the lapels of her white collar. It seemed to make the shape of her breasts pop from her dress.

Judah swallowed hard. How could such proud, British breasts make him recoil? They seemed the breasts of some tracking beast, a tiger waiting to pounce. He glanced over his shoulder, making sure the door was open still. Should he have asked Hales to remain? He took a step toward the door.

“What about the servers?”

She moved toward him, still pushing out her chest. “If you need any more advice, sir. I’ve worked here since the day the doors opened, you know. I can give you a list of the more cultured girls, to serve at fashionable events.”