Trifling Favors (Redcakes Book 7) (21 page)

“I suppose you are right. Ultimately, he did the most damage.” He forced a smile.

“It makes me wonder how he managed to kill Manfred Cross, if he’s so inept,” Betsy mused, touching his face with her towel again.

“I don’t care. I miss the days where the police simply picked a murderer and strung him up. All this waiting for investigations is destroying my business.”

Betsy stepped back instinctively.

“What?” he asked. “Is my cut clean?”

Her hand shook as she dropped the towel into her basin. “How can you say that to me? Of course the police should investigate thoroughly. What if they pick the wrong person?”

“Why?” He frowned. “You surely don’t think your mother wasn’t guilty of those murders.”

“I’d feel a lot worse if she was innocent.” She glared at him.

“Betsy, this isn’t about your mother.”

“Of course it is. The story never ends. Victor was there because of my mother. Because my mother killed his father after he attacked her.” She laughed harshly. “At least I can have no doubt that he was as evil as she, given the behavior of his son.”

“Then you can’t doubt Victor is a murderer.”

“What about Violet? Or even Prissy, my mother’s daughter. Or Simon Hellman, the blackmailer.” She spit out each name, each betrayal.

“My money is on Victor. He’s the one hanging around.”

“What is his goal?”

“To punish you, I think. You tried to help his sister get away from him, and you’ve had a good life, despite what your mother did.”

“A good life,” she said softly. “I might have, for a moment, but it never seems to quite work out.”

“Betsy,” he said.

She shook her head. “I’m very tired, but I’ve had half a night’s sleep and you have not. I’ll rest another hour or two, then go into the shop and explain what has happened to Mr. Soeur. You can sleep until early afternoon.”

 

Betsy went to Redcake’s at six
A.M.
and talked to Mr. Soeur. Stoically, he canceled his plans for tearoom cooking and baking and said he would have the kitchen thoroughly cleaned when they were done with what the bakery needed. They stocked the bakery as usual, but few people came in. She blamed the boarded-up window, but even during the late afternoon, after it had been mended, when everything appeared to be back to normal, not many customers entered.

She had all her work done by the time the doors closed and had no excuse to stay. Winnie Baxter left with her and faked a shiver as they walked out of the door by the loading dock.

“That poor watchman was assaulted right here,” she said. “I can still feel the vibrations.”

“That would probably be a cart,” Betsy said.

“You are entirely too practical, Betsy,” Winnie said. “Don’t you believe in anything outside yourself?”

“I used to believe in the power of hard work. I believed in my father,” Betsy said.

“Used to? What is wrong?”

“You know as well as I do. No matter what we try to do, Redcake’s is failing. It’s not right.”

Winnie linked her arm with Betsy’s and pulled her toward the street. “Are we going to lose our jobs?”

“I think we’ll find out tomorrow. People didn’t stream into the shop after the window was fixed, but the tearoom was still closed.”

“They have to return. The murderer has been caught. When our customers see that in the papers, they’ll be back. I’m sure a lot of fussy old men refused to allow their wives and daughters to patronize us, but that will change now.”

“I hope you are right. I wish I could meet the chief of the fussy old man tribe and have a word with him.”

Winnie chuckled. “I believe you would, and that is why you are the assistant manager.”

Betsy winced, knowing her days in that exalted position would soon be over, but Greggory had yet to officially make the change. If they still had a shop to run, he’d hire a replacement first. She hoped.

Winnie separated from her on the High Street and she continued walking instead of turning toward home. Eventually, a milliner’s shop caught her eye, and she stood in front of the window display, trying to imagine herself in the costly, imaginative designs.

“What kind of hat are you going to wear on your wedding day?”

Betsy whipped around. “Prissy!”

Her sister smiled, the remnants of her black eye giving her a slightly menacing look despite her expression of pure happiness. “Are you delighted? I’m so happy Victor has finally been caught.”

“You are supposed to be in Bristol,” Betsy said, wondering what game she was playing at. What had Prissy ever wanted from her?

“But I don’t have to be now. I’m ready to start your wedding dress. I’ll need some money for the fabric.”

The hair on the back of her neck prickled. “You already had the money.”

Prissy cleared her throat delicately, still smiling. “I had to spend it, you know, for lodgings, when I couldn’t go back to the Fairs. I lost my position, thanks to that awful boy.”

“Greggory gave you money for the train.”

“Yes of course,” Prissy said with an impatient air, “but it’s all gone now. And you’ve a couple of weeks pay I know you haven’t spent. I’ll take it now for the dress, please. You know I’ll need it to make a dress nice enough for a Redcake wedding.”

“No,” Betsy lied. “I’ve spent it all on a new dress. I needed a new wardrobe.”

“I don’t believe you. Greggory would have paid for all that.” Prissy’s mouth twisted. “How lovely for you to have a fiancé. Wedding plans underway?”

“Jealous?”

“Of course not. I’m getting married, too.”

“To whom?”

“I’ve heard about you for years, you see, Betsy Popham, friend of the rich and aristocratic Redcakes, and now you’ve made it to the top. Guess what, little sister? I’ll have a piece of that life, too, please.”

Betsy tried to look over her sister’s shoulder without drawing attention to herself. She wanted a constable, even though she couldn’t have Prissy arrested for simply being a liar. Could she claim blackmail? The thought made her senses tingle and she swiveled her head.

She realized why immediately. Simon Hellman was standing a shop’s length away. When he saw her, he smirked and moved forward.

“Give your sister some money, Betsy dear,” he said. “We know Redcake didn’t have the payroll on Friday, so you must have your paycheck now.”

“That’s not true,” Betsy said. “I have nothing but small change.”

“Then you’ll have to take us home,” he said, still smiling pleasantly. “Share your stash with us, like you used to do with Victor.”

She glanced frantically at both of their hands. Empty, no knives. Her stomach cramped, reminding her of the pregnancy. She couldn’t take risks, couldn’t run. Then she saw the top of a man’s head. She thought he wore a custodian helmet.

“Help!” she screamed, desperately hoping she’d seen a constable. “Thief! Murder!”

Hellman stepped away from her, a picture of surprise. A whistle blew. Prissy turned to run, but two constables, resplendent in dark blue, converged from opposite directions, striding rapidly toward them. Hellman swore and leaped into the street. A hansom driver yelled at him and stilled his horse just in time. The first constable reached them and hauled him out of the street.

“He’s Simon Hellman and he’s a wanted criminal,” Betsy said.

“Who’s this one?” asked the constable, pointing at Prissy, who stood, unusually still, clearly in shock.

The second constable chuckled, his red lower lip showing beneath his black bushy mustache. Before Betsy could respond, he said, “I’d recognize that one anywhere. Priscilla Dempsey, my love.”

“Dempsey?” said the first constable.

“She’s been wanted in connection with the theft of the Princess of Wales’s bracelet during a charitable event at the Children’s Hospital,” the constable said.

“She’s a jewel thief?” Betsy asked, incredulous. “Like Manfred Cross?”

“Or I’ll eat my buttons,” the constable said, taking her arm. “Come along, love. I’ve a special place for you.”

Prissy turned to Betsy, dignity on display in her serene expression, the haughty tilt of her chin. “You must tell them they have the wrong person.”

“A jewel thief?” Betsy repeated, injecting all the sorrow and indignation she felt into her words. “A jewel thief was murdered at Redcake’s, just when you appeared out of nowhere. Now I learn you are one, too. Do you know what I think, Prissy Weaver? I think you are just like our mother!”

“Manfred wouldn’t steal anymore,” Prissy said, attempting to wrench her arm free. “I had to end our relationship. I didn’t want to pay all his bills.”

“Why would you end it at Redcake’s?” Betsy asked.

Her expression hardened. “That was Simon’s idea.”

Simon was half bent over, a constable behind him, his hair in his eyes, but he managed to look up and smirk. “Never say I didn’t think of you, Betsy.”

So Simon had been involved. He must truly hate her for her rejection of him years ago. “Oh, Prissy. You decided to marry Simon Hellman? Could you possibly do worse?”

“His mother is dying,” Prissy said. “He’ll inherit her house. If you’d just been willing to speak to him, you’d know that. I came up to London with her originally as her nurse, so she could say good-bye.”

The constable tugged at Prissy, and she was forced to walk away, still smiling at Betsy, while Simon snarled.

Tears blinded Betsy as she walked away from the scene. Two more constables arrived to take orders from the two holding the prisoners. How could she marry now, when her blood was so clearly tainted?

She walked for hours in Kensington Gardens, piecing the story together. Prissy must have been with Manfred and killed him as she ended their relationship. Except she was with Simon already, it sounded like, so maybe he had done it to have Prissy for himself. It didn’t matter. They were in the murder together. Eventually, as night fell, she found herself on Greggory’s street. The front door opened as she walked by, not sure she was ready to go in.

“Betsy,” her father called.

“What?” Her feet dragged.

Her father stepped outside, still dressed for work. “I was worried about you.”

She stopped to answer. “Prissy was arrested for being a jewel thief. She was with Simon Hellman.”

Her father held out his hands. “We know. PC Rivers came to speak to Mr. Redcake. He wasn’t here so I spoke to Rivers. I’m so proud of you, dear. Very smart of you to start screaming when you saw them.”

“I’m sure the police need to speak to me,” she said dully.

“I’m sure they do, but you need to rest first. Where have you been?”

“Walking. Thinking.” Coming to conclusions.

“Now you can concentrate on your wedding. And happiness at last.”

“No,” she said. “I’m going to leave Greggory. Give the child to an orphanage. It will be tainted, Papa. The grandchild and nephew or niece of a murderess. Greggory can’t want either of us now.” She pressed her lips together to hold back a sob.

Her father put his hands to his bristly cheeks. “Child?”

“Your grandchild,” she sniffed. “If there is one.”

He blinked, scratched his balding pate. “You’re too clever a girl for this.”

“G-Greggory said the police should just pick a murderer and string them up. Not even a trial. This baby won’t ever be innocent in his eyes. I can’t put my child through that. An orphanage is best. It will be a chance, a chance to grow up free of being my child.”

“Greggory won’t see it that way.”

“I’ll disappear. Start over somewhere,” she said. “He’ll consider it a blessing. You’d better pack your bags, because once I’m gone, you’ll have to go, too.”

“B
etsy, you need to stop this silliness now and come inside and rest. Of course you are overset and half-starved and exhausted, but a good night’s sleep will set you to rights. You are a smart, sensible girl, and nothing like Prissy Weaver.”

“Of course I am,” she mumbled.

“Do not forget, her father was a violent drunk,” Her father said. “And she was raised differently from you, and never had your gifts.”

“She looks just like me.”

“But inside, she is very different. Why, she never attracted a good man like Mr. Redcake. Here you are, twenty-two and about to be a bride.” He cleared his throat. “And a mother.”

Betsy couldn’t think about herself. “I don’t think men have treated her very well.”

“She’s rotten on the inside, but you are not. You’ve never lied in your life, Betsy dear. You’re accomplished, trusted, and well-deserving of any praise. I’m so very proud of you.”

Out of steam, Betsy sat on the front step. “Truly?”

Her father sat next to her, nodding. For the first time in weeks, she allowed herself to touch him, leaning her head on his shoulder. His arm came around her.

A little while later, she went inside and went to bed, heartsick and exhausted. She hoped the next day’s papers would hold the news of Simon and Prissy’s confessions to the murder of Manfred Cross, but she could take no joy in it. At least Redcake’s would go on. And she would too, somehow, somewhere.

 

The next afternoon, Greggory sat at his desk and opened a telegram from his brother Dudley, inviting him to a theater benefit that night. He decided to agree to go because he’d wanted to speak to Dudley. Betsy might enjoy it, too. He wrote a response and gave it to Oscar, then went to Betsy’s desk.

She didn’t smile when he approached, just looked quiet and serious. “I haven’t seen you since yesterday.”

“I was over at the other Redcake’s all morning, discussing the advertising with Lord Judah after dinner with my cousin last night.”

She frowned. “Did you speak to the police?”

“About what?”

“The capture of Prissy and Simon Hellman yesterday.”

Greggory pushed a pile of ledgers off a stool and pulled it toward her desk. “What? I’ve heard nothing of this.”

She explained her encounter to him. Greggory was aghast. “Why didn’t you tell me last night? Why haven’t I heard from the police?”

“I went to bed right after I spoke to my father.”

“I didn’t see him either.”

“It was such a sad thing for us, to realize Prissy was so corrupt,” Betsy said, speaking much slower than usual. “I guess we were utterly heartsick.”

“I can understand that,” he said, taking her hand across her desk. He frowned as she pulled it away.

“I imagine you haven’t heard from the police since they tried to see you yesterday because they haven’t confessed to anything.”

“I don’t understand what you think they did, precisely.”

She didn’t argue with him, or raise her brows ironically, but just stayed blank, a cauldron bubbling beneath the surface. “What do you mean? Do you think I am Manfred Cross’s murderer? After all, I am a murderer’s daughter.”

“Of course you are not. You were with me. Of anyone in the world, I know you did not do it. Why are you speaking such nonsense?”

“One of the constables recognized Prissy as a known jewel thief.”

Greggory had to plant one foot on the floor to keep his balance. “Prissy?”

She nodded. “Yes. I had no idea of course. And Simon was with her. She tried to con me, said she was so excited that Victor had been captured and asked me for more money for my clothes, but the story unraveled when I saw Simon. So I called for help.”

“I don’t know what to say. She or Simon obviously killed Manfred Cross. We know Prissy was nearby.”

“And engaged to be married no less. You can see why I have to go.”

“Yes, well, no, w-what?” Greggory stammered, stunned by her rapid change of topic.

“My own sister responsible. I can’t stay at Redcake’s, I cannot marry a Redcake.” Her voice was shrill, so unlike her.

Not this again.
“You are having my child.”

“If I have your child, I will find a proper home, where no one will know he or she is the grandchild and niece or nephew of a murderess. You know that is the child’s best hope.”

His hands went cold. “No, I do not know that, Betsy. I do not know that at all. Any child needs to know their parents, and neither of us has an evil bone in our body. Nor does your father. The child will be fine.”

“We aren’t wed yet, and this is my decision. I may not be a murderer, but I am too impulsive. The child needs a good, moral home.”

He rubbed his hands together, trying to generate some warmth. He couldn’t touch his fragile, pregnant fiancée if he was a block of ice. “Now you are sounding like your father. Look at how properly he raised you. We can do the same for our child.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m going to leave. I pray the police finish solving the matter soon, so that Redcake’s can survive. You’ll all be better off with me gone.”

“You’re hysterical,” he stated, feeling as worn as if he’d aged a decade in the past minute. Why couldn’t he get warm? “Not precisely that, but so very sad. You were betrayed by your sister yet again yesterday. It is a hard thing. The specter of your mother colors your every thought. You need to rest, to think of the baby.”

“I need to go.” Her paleness troubled him.

“I wanted you to go to Bristol and you refused. Now, all of our tormentors except Violet are in police custody, and I want you to stay. But not here at Redcake’s. You need to rest.”

“I’m not sure Violet was that involved.” She pressed her lips together.

“Victor seemed to be looking for her,” he mused, wishing she would touch him.

“Violet is practical. I expect she is very happy to escape her current situation and start over again, which I understand.” She changed the subject abruptly, a symptom of her disordered thinking. “I need to pack.”

“You haven’t enough money to go anywhere. What have you? A couple of weeks’ pay?”

Her gaze moved rapidly around the room. “You cannot prevent me from going. We aren’t married.”

“I can terminate your employment,” he said.

For a moment, she did look at him, her expression unchanging. “Very well. I needed to go.”

“You’re breaking my heart,” Greggory said, his voice rising as panic set in. “I didn’t mean it. Let us solve this together, please, Betsy.”

She stood up and took her coat from the peg. “I told my father to pack. I hope we can leave your house tomorrow.”

“I’ll speak to him,” he protested. “Persuade him otherwise.”

“I think you’ll find he takes my side in the end.” She walked away.

He dropped his face into his cold hands, feeling utterly impotent. They couldn’t fight at the shop; they couldn’t fight at all. He needed to have a care for her emotional state and her delicate condition. What he needed to do was to speak to Ralph Popham. A telephone call to her father, that was just the thing.

 

The last thing Greggory wanted to do was leave the Pophams to their packing and meet his brother at a theater that was doing a benefit for a woman whose theater manager husband had recently died, leaving her two small children to support, but he had agreed to do so, after Ralph had barred him from their floor of the house, counseling patience. He probably could use the company.

The theater was small and a bit out of date, focused on providing entertainment to the working classes. Dudley met him outside and handed him his ticket.

“You look like a proper theatergoer for a murder mystery,” his brother said.

“What?”

“They are reviving the old
The Red Barn
play tonight. It’s about the 1827 murder of Maria Marten? You know the story, where her lover kills her, then tells her aged parents he took her off and married her, but then her old mother sees her in a dream three nights in a row, and then her old father finds her buried in the barn?”

“That suits my mood,” Greggory said sourly. “I’ve spent the afternoon at Redcake’s.”

“What do you mean?” Dudley said, allowing an usher to escort them into the lobby.

“It’s like a tomb, we have so few customers. The advertising did no good. Victor’s vandalism seems to have done us in completely.”

“What are you going to do?” Dudley glanced at their tickets, then led them to their seats.

“I fired Betsy. She’s the employee with the highest salary.” His stomach lurched as he said it.

“Your fiancée?”

He rubbed his temples. “She’s refusing to marry me now.”

“Oh. Women. What are you going to do?”

“Watch this play, I suppose. I feel like we’re waiting, just waiting, for life to go back to normal, but it can’t.” Betsy had lost her home, her position, gained and lost a sister, was expecting his baby. He’d lost his best friend.

Dudley had responded to him, but he hadn’t heard. He grabbed his brother’s arm. “She’s my best friend, you know. Betsy is my closest companion.”

“Of course. You’ve seen her more than anyone else since Letty died, and now she’s living in your home.”

“How can she be all that to me and yet I don’t understand her at all?”

“I expect you do understand her; you just don’t agree with her. It isn’t the same thing.” Dudley pointed. “Look, the curtain is going up.”

Greggory watched the melodrama play out on the stage. Maria fell in love with her murderous swain, had his baby, her third by three men, then was ignominiously murdered by the man, who thereafter proceeded to advertise for a wife and become the owner of a girl’s school before being caught and strung up. He wondered what became of her three children. The play didn’t reflect on any of that.

Three babies with a murdered mother, and one of them with a murderer father. At least Betsy had had Ralph, however beset by his own demons he might be.

He didn’t speak to Dudley as they left the theater afterward.

“What should we do now?” Dudley asked.

Greggory’s laugh was dark. “I don’t know why I’m even here. I need to go home before it is too late.”

“Are you sure? I could come with you.”

“No, but I’ll tell you, I think I’m going to go back to Bristol for a while, clear my head.”

“You could use a break from London and the tea shop.”

Greggory nodded. “Cable me the updates on the hotel business, will you?”

“Of course.”

Less than an hour later, a hansom pulled up in front of Greggory’s house and he descended. He was afraid he’d find the Pophams already gone, but Ralph was sitting in the parlor, reading a book of sermons. Greggory sat down next to him.

“Been at the shop all evening?”

“No, with my brother, watching a murder play.”

Ralph closed his book over his finger. “Oh?”

“How did you get it right? Raising Betsy, I mean. You did a wonderful job with her, after everything you went through.”

“I tried to live day to day without reflecting too much on the past or the future,” Ralph said. “We left Bristol when we could and simply looked forward. I raised her to be a lady as much as possible. Working for the Redcakes worked out wonderfully. I knew what a good influence the shop and people were for her.”

“She was raised in the business.”

“Yes. You Redcakes as a tribe are a most unusual lot, but we fit in.”

“I know you did. And Betsy is going to be a wonderful mother, just like my cousins. Cousin Rose is expecting her first child next month, you know. Now everyone on that side will have offspring.”

“That’s good to hear. Everyone has always expressed such concern about her health.”

“She is stronger than my Letty,” Greggory said. “Ralph, did any news come from the police while I was gone this evening?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“I think I’ll leave the tea shop closed until they wrestle a confession out of someone,” Greggory said. “There is a sad air about the place. I’ll take the twins to Bristol for a few days, visit family.”

“Betsy has told me she is going to move into one of those ladies’ lodgings.”

“We’ll stay gone until you move out,” Greggory said. “That way she will not have the stress of seeing me.”

“I don’t understand what went wrong. Aren’t you still engaged?”

“She doesn’t think I know her for who she really is, that fine, strong young lady. But I do, you know. I do not confuse her with her mother. I cannot do so. You raised her to be something so different. She is nothing like Prissy either.”

“Her mother was not all bad,” Ralph reflected. “But she always wanted the easy way. And I think, once you murder a first time, it must be easier to do it again.”

“Am I taking the easy way out by shutting down the teashop?”

“It depends on how much money you want to lose,” Ralph said.

“I’ll have to spend tomorrow in meetings, talking to all the staff.”

“If you close for more than a few days, you’ll lose your best employees to other shops.”

Greggory nodded. “At this rate, I think the bloody shop needs an exorcism.”

Ralph shook his head. “It is astounding how quickly you’ve lost business.”

Greggory forced a smile.
An evil breeze.
“I will say good-bye tomorrow.”

“Do not give up on my daughter,” Ralph said. “I understand how bleak life seems to you right now, but it will get better.”

“The only thing that allows me to continue is the belief she’ll relent and marry me if I give her a little space, as you counseled.”

“I know my Betsy better than anyone. She loves you or she wouldn’t have panicked like this. She’s a girl who bucks up and gets on with the hard parts of life untroubled, normally. It’s only love that would have her doing this to-ing and fro-ing. You’ll have her back.”