Trifling Favors (Redcakes Book 7) (16 page)

“I’m only sorry I couldn’t update it completely, but you don’t possess the corsetry for quite the current waist. The scarves also hide a stain on one side of the bodice.”

“I’m perfectly happy,” Betsy assured her.

Prissy stepped back and clapped her hands. “Mr. Redcake will be, too. I hope he proposes tonight. Do you think that is his plan?”

Betsy watched her eyes go wide in the mirror. “Oh, I do not think so. He has so many other things on his mind. You know why his brother wants him to attend.”

“Why?”

“His idea about investing in a new hotel project. Mr. Redcake is thinking about investing, too. I’m sure I’m just an afterthought.”

“You would never be that. I saw how he smiled at you when I came in. He’s besotted, my dear. Soon, you will be a wife.”

Betsy smiled, then turned to give Prissy a hug. “We shall see. And if I am to be wed soon, then your turn will be next. I’m sure I will meet many eligible gentlemen if I become part of the Redcake circle.”

“We can both wear gowns like this every week,” Prissy said dreamily. “And dinner gowns every night. I saw the sweetest one at the shop. Fur edging on the bodice. Not for May of course, and I could never afford it now, but to be able to wear a gown like that. My stars.”

A knock came at the door and Prissy opened it to find Mrs. Roach.

“The cab is waiting downstairs, Miss Popham. Are you ready?”

“Thank you,” Betsy said. She paused. “I hadn’t thought about what to wear over the dress.”

“I brought you a shawl because you don’t have a cape,” Prissy said. “Here.” She wrapped a length of navy fabric around Betsy’s shoulders.

Betsy smiled and followed Mrs. Roach down the stairs, with Prissy in the rear. Greggory waited in the front hallway, in evening dress.

No man could look any more handsome
. His glossy black hair shone in the gaslight and his clothing was new and perfectly tailored to his lean form. Even his shoes were polished perfection. Betsy felt a moment’s inadequacy at daring to think she could be a match for such a man, but his eyes trailed up and down her with approval.

“Prissy, you did a wonderful job,” Greggory said. “Are you sure you don’t want to go into service as a lady’s maid?”

“Oh, I like a bit more freedom than that,” Prissy said.

“You could dress a duchess with your skills,” he said.

Prissy blushed with pleasure. “You are too kind, Mr. Redcake. I will say no more for fear you might actually know a duchess.”

Greggory chuckled. “I’m sorry to say I do not. My cousins, on the other hand, do.”

“Are any of them coming tonight?” Betsy asked.

“Just my brother.” Greggory tilted his head. “I might be wrong about that, to be honest. There’s Gawain. He could be there.”

“His wife knows Queen Victoria,” Betsy confided to her sister, whose eyes grew wide. “She is appointed to Her Majesty’s medical team.”

Prissy shook her head. “What a distinguished family the Redcakes are.” She gave Betsy a significant glance.

And Greggory was far from a minor figure in the clan, given his ownership of the second Redcake’s Tea Shop and Emporium. How could she have thought she was an appropriate match for him? She hadn’t even arrived at this charity ball yet and she felt thoroughly cowed.

“Will many of our customers be there?” she asked.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Greggory admitted.

Her nerves intensified.

Mrs. Roach came back into the hallway. “The driver says he’ll have to walk the horses around the block if you are going to delay.”

“No, it is time.” Greggory nodded at her and held out his hand.

Betsy, gripping her borrowed shawl securely, passed through the front door. Greggory took a minute before stepping through. She gazed at him curiously.

“I gave Prissy some money,” he said.

“I paid for the dress,” Betsy said. “Because I don’t have rent to manage.”

“I knew you must have, but I wanted to pay her for her time. She did a great deal of work.”

“Yes, but she’s my sister,” Betsy said. Did she have a right to expect a sister she had only recently learned existed would do nice things for her without expecting payment? She puzzled over that on the drive to the Hotel Victoria on Northumberland Avenue in Charing Cross.

“You are very quiet,” Greggory said as they pulled up in front of the grand hotel.

Betsy noted the elaborate Portland stone façade of the building. When they entered, they would pass under a glass and iron canopy that seemed mismatched. “If Dudley did something nice for you—I’m not sure what, perhaps buying you a new suite of bedroom furniture if you didn’t have time—would you pay him for his time?”

“Possibly. I would if he was starting a trade as a furniture salesperson. Your sister is a seamstress, and she probably missed out on paying work to remake your lovely dress. I meant no insult by it.”

“I know, Greggory. But it makes me feel like you don’t see her as a social equal.”

“Or you?”

“Or me,” she confirmed. “Which I know I am not, but if you really are courting me, and not just keeping me as a mistress, then I have to think of the appearances of such gestures. You must have given Prissy the money in front of Mrs. Roach.”

Greggory took her hand in his. “I’m sorry. I do have to say it is easier for me to see Prissy in a different light. She does not have your cultured speech or relationship with my cousins.”

“Yet she is my sister.”

“Half sister, which does give us some latitude.”

“Prissy has dreams of reaching as high as I have, in terms of marriage.”

“You need to gently disabuse her of that notion. She’s older than you, for one thing. Instead of wasting time dreaming, she should be setting her sights more realistically.”

“You do not believe a woman should dream?”

“Not a twenty-five-year-old woman with a strong working-class Bristol accent. Her time for dreaming was years ago. She’s very pretty and dresses well, but that can only get her so far. In a couple of years she is going to be beyond hope.”

“I don’t know why she waited so long to come to London. It is possible her dreams were only formed when she met me.”

“I suspect she followed a man here. That’s usually how it goes,” Greggory said.

“She did say she’d had a falling out with a beau recently. It sounded like he was too happily unemployed.”

“No seamstress can pay a household’s bills. She was wise to stop the courtship.”

Their turn arrived to climb down from the carriage and venture under the canopy into the enormous, electric-lit grand hotel. While the entire Italianate space was impressive, Betsy was overwhelmed by the grandeur of the ballroom when she entered.

Blazing with light from chandeliers that reflected onto stained-glass windows, the space was partially walnut-paneled and marked out by columns with fabulous design at the bases and tops. Mirrors reflected light around the enormous space, where tapestries didn’t cover the upper walls.

While she had occasionally served at a society wedding, she’d never seen one held in a room like this. “What charity is this for again?”

“Disadvantaged something or other,” Greggory said with a lopsided grin. “I’m not sure.”

Betsy saw his brother approaching from across the room. Behind him were Sir Gawain Redcake, his exotic half-Indian wife, Lady Redcake, who had once worked with her very briefly, and another man whom she did not recognize. The foursome crowded around Greggory, seeming genuinely delighted that he was out in public. It reminded her how isolated he had made himself since his wife’s death, between his teashop and the babies. If nothing else, his family should be grateful to her for inspiring him to venture back into the larger world.

She smiled politely and drank champagne while they spoke about the hotel venture they were all considering. After a while, Lady Redcake lost interest, though she had owned a hotel in Leeds with her first husband, and discussed fashion with her.

“I do like navy on you, Miss Popham,” Lady Redcake said. “It suits your coloring very well.”

“Thank you. I am not used to wearing ball gowns.”

The other woman smiled. “I was not either, once upon a time. But the world is changing. Men like my husband have far more position than they once did. And therefore we ladies have to learn to wear the correct gowns.”

Betsy smiled and nodded, wondering if Lady Redcake’s speech meant she had been approved by the wider Redcake family. It didn’t seem possible. She knew she had ruffled Lady Judah’s feathers back in the day, and Lady Redcake had no reason to love her either. Naked ambition had been her watchword for most of her career.

Eventually, the conversation turned to the tearoom murder and why the police hadn’t solved it. Betsy felt tired of the repetitive conversation and excused herself to a ladies’ withdrawing room. The elaborate curlicue carpet, or perhaps her lack of a decent meal all day, made her head spin, so she happily seated herself on a stool in front of a mirror and fanned her red cheeks.

Behind her, she saw a woman staring. The older woman wore an elaborate gold gown with a draped bodice and a train that did no favors for her stout body. Her graying hair was partially hidden under an elaborate headdress. The overall effect gave Betsy the strong hint that the dress had come straight from Paris. Surely no English designer would be so outrageous. She attempted to memorize the details, from the train that could double as a curtain to the elaborate brooches dangling on ribbons on the skirt, so she could share it with Prissy.

The woman did not cease staring. Betsy didn’t think she recognized her as a Redcake’s customer, but something had the woman’s attention.

“May I help you?”

The woman blinked and focused on Betsy’s face instead of her dress. “I was only thinking that I used to own that dress.”

B
etsy stared down at herself in horror. The withdrawing room mirrors seemed to be projecting her embarrassing attire all around the room. “Oh, I shouldn’t think—” At the very least her simple navy draped gown didn’t seem fussy enough for this woman to want to wear.

“Yes, one of my simpler dresses, from a few years back,” the woman mused. “Gave it to my maid.”

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.”