Trifling Favors (Redcakes Book 7) (7 page)

“She needs friends,” Betsy said, not sure she was equal to the task. She felt so much more mature than Violet Carter. But she would try, because both the situation and her father seemed to require it.

“Grace Fair seems a nice young woman. If she would take Violet under her wing?”

Mr. Redcake’s words seemed to suggest he understood her reluctance to become too involved in the girl’s life. She stared at him, feeling a moment of connection similar to when they had almost kissed early that morning. What was happening here? She knew better than to succumb to a momentary infatuation. The only future that offered was losing her position.

“Grace might befriend her, but she can’t offer Violet lodgings. Her home is full. I will think about who might have a bed to let among our little community.”

“Check with Mr. Soeur. I remember he had a daughter marry recently.”

“I will. Good night, Mr. Redcake.”

“Miss Popham.”

If she thought his smile seemed a little forced, she chalked it up to exhaustion. After she collected Violet, they went out the back way through the loading dock. Betsy didn’t want to walk past the front windows again. She had shuddered each time she’d had to enter the tearoom that day. On Monday, she’d have to face her fears. Her workplace could not be a location to dread all of a sudden, no matter what had transpired there. Carters or not, she had to make a living.

“Are we supposed to go out the front or the back?” Violet asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Betsy said, opening the rear door, “assuming it is before or after business hours and there is someone to lock up behind you in the front. The rear door is self-locking.”

“Betsy!”

She heard the voice, the enthusiasm in it, and recognized it with nauseating precision.
Simon Hellman
. He’d lost his position, been interrogated by the police, according to Mr. Redcake. Why was he still tormenting her? Of course; he wanted money.

She stepped back, reaching for the safety of indoors, of Mr. Redcake, but Violet had stepped out behind her and closed the door. When she bumped into the girl, she apologized.

“Go around the front,” she told Violet. “Go back inside if you can.”

“Who is he?” the girl asked, instead of listening to Betsy.

“I’m Mr. Hellman, Betsy’s fiancé,” Hellman called.

“You are not,” Betsy shouted, furious.

“I told you I was thinking about marrying you,” he said. “Now that I’m out of work, it’s the perfect time. You can support us while I decide what profession I’m best suited for.”

“Picking oakum is what you’re best suited for.” Betsy cast about for something to use for protection.

“I see you’re busy with a friend. Why don’t you toss me a few shillings? I’ll pick us up some dinner, fish and chips, darling? And meet you at your house in a bit.”

“This man bothering you, miss?” a rough voice said. It belonged to a large man walking down the alley. He stopped when he reached the loading dock and stared up at it.

“That’s my affianced wife; kindly leave us,” Hellman said coldly.

Violet wrapped her hands around Betsy’s arm. Betsy shook her off, not wanting to be encumbered by the girl.

“He’s not my fiancé,” Betsy said. “He’s bothering us.”

“I’m doing nothing of the kind, dear. I understand you’re a bit hysterical, what with the murder at your place of business. Redcake’s, you know,” Hellman said as an aside. “But there is no need to show your weakness to a stranger.”

“I’m no stranger, sir, but an employee of Mr. Redcake. Who are you, miss?”

“Betsy Popham. And that is Simon Hellman.”

The large man scowled. “Hellman, eh? That’s one of the name’s on this ’ere list.” He pulled a piece of paper from his coat. “You ain’t allowed on these ’ere premises.”

“I need to collect Miss Popham.”

“No,” said the man. His tone wasn’t precisely menacing, but his looming posture was. “I don’t know what your game is and I don’t care, but you ain’t employed by Redcake’s and you aren’t welcome here.”

Hellman scowled. “Come now. Betsy? Kindly straighten this man out.”

“Mr. Redcake knows about my mother,” Betsy said. “I don’t have any more secrets, so you can’t hurt me anymore. Go away.”

The man ignored the conversation. “Look, miss, Mr. Redcake’s is employing me and others to see to safety ’ereabouts. I’d be happy to escort you to wherever you need to go.”

“We need the bus,” Betsy said.

“Come on, then. I’ll wait with you until it comes, and make sure this gentleman doesn’t enter it with you.”

“Thank you.” Betsy waved in front of her. Violet took the steps down to the mews, blushing prettily as the security man offered his arm to assist. Betsy was right behind her, glaring at her tormenter.

“Stay away from us, lest you find yourself visiting the police again. Don’t think I’m not pointing the finger at you,” she said.

Hellman rolled his eyes. “Hysteria is so unattractive in a female, and so common. I’ll straighten things out with Lord Judah and your father. Never fear, my dear, we’ll be together one day.”

Betsy forced herself to face forward, refusing to give Simon Hellman the satisfaction of her looking back. Nonetheless, her flesh crawled with each step she heard behind them. How close was he? The watchman might prevent him from getting on the bus, but he’d just be on the next one. She didn’t think he knew where she lived at the moment. They had moved since she had changed positions, and her father knew she didn’t care for his colleague. But for a man like that, her address would not be hard to find.

The security guard tipped his hat at them when they boarded the bus. Simon Hellman was a dark stain a few feet away.

Violet shivered as they found seats inside the bus. “I don’t like that man.”

“Nor should you.”

“Is he in love with you?”

“I don’t think he’s capable of such an uplifting emotion. Obsessed, maybe. Out for what he can get from me, definitely.”

“Does Redcake’s employ many men like him?”

“None, I should hope, at least at our location. The flagship operation is much larger. We have very few men at Kensington.”

“I confess I am disappointed at that,” Violet said, pushing out her lower lip and rubbing it against the upper. “I should be looking for a husband.”

“You do know that your brother wants you at home waiting on him? He told Mr. Redcake as much.”

Violet snorted, looking a bit like her mule-headed brother. “Then who is going to pay our bills?”

“You don’t expect my father to?”

“I think his arrangement was with my mother. Did you know he courted her?”

Only the presence of others on the bus kept Betsy from standing and gasping. “You cannot be serious.”

“I am,” Violet said. “But my mother said she was done with men, even one as gentle as Mr. Popham.”

Betsy put her fingers to her temples.
Oh, Papa.
“I had no idea.”

“I think your father wanted to care for my mother as a husband would for a wife, even when she rejected him.”

“I suppose they had some kind of relationship,” Betsy said slowly as she digested the notion. “Saw each other regularly. He always brought the money.”

“Yes, and she’d make him a cup of tea and always kept biscuits for him. I don’t think he liked them particularly, but we weren’t allowed near them.” Violet made a face.

“It does explain why he never married again. You’ve given me a new perspective on the situation.”

“And now she’s dead and it’s just us. Just me, really. Victor will have to go to prison.”

“He could hide in the East End forever, if he has friends.”

“He does not,” Violet said. “We moved twice, first from Bristol, then within London. No one ever liked him enough to come visiting. My mother was careful not to give him much pocket money, so he couldn’t get into gambling or such.”

“No girls?”

“There was a rumor.” Violet paused. “It was why we moved the last time.”

“Did he hurt a girl?”

“I don’t know. She was the sort of girl who might have cried wolf, but then, my brother might be capable of what she said. I know your father spoke to the family.”

Betsy shivered. Even if Hellman didn’t know where she lived, Victor did. “At least it was years ago, and no rumors since.”

Violet nodded. “He knocked our mother around a bit, though.”

She had expressed the information so calmly that it took Betsy a moment to process. “Like your father did?”

“I wouldn’t know. I was a baby when, well, your mother—”

“Yes, of course. It’s what I have heard, you understand.”

“Oh, yes, me too,” Violet assured her. “I know I’m not very well-versed in the world. I’ve been protected, not very well-educated. I’m not sure what my mother thought would become of me, with no work skills and no opportunity to court. I have a lot of lost time to make up for.”

“Please don’t make up for it under my roof,” Betsy said, attempting a joke. “My father and I live so quietly that the very walls might sob.”

Violet smiled. “It’s not that I don’t miss my mother, you understand. But life hasn’t been fun.”

When the bus stopped on the edge of the Terrace, Betsy signaled to Violet and they stepped down. While the horses paused to relieve themselves, Betsy scanned the street, ready to jump back on if necessary. She didn’t see anyone she recognized, other than a schoolmaster who lived two doors down walking home. He nodded to her as he passed by, and she took Violet’s arm to follow the man.

The schoolmaster turned into his home and Betsy continued to the iron gate separating her small walkway from the street. She opened it, Violet close behind her. It only took two steps to reach the empty flower box that rested in front of the wall next to the bay window.

That was when she saw Victor, huddled inside the recessed doorway, deep enough that she hadn’t seen him before, even though it was not yet dark. She held up her hand in warning. Violet stopped and peered over her shoulder.

“What are you doing here?” the girl hissed, stepping forward, pressing against Betsy. The two of them could not have entered the doorway at the same time, narrow as it was.

Victor leaned out, with a smirk for his sister. His head seemed separate from his body, hovering in the air. His clothes blended into the wall. “I hung around Redcake’s long enough to know today is payday. I want that money for our rent. Mother was paying her doctor instead of the rent, and the landlord is going to toss us out if I don’t catch up. You think I don’t do anything for you, Vi, but I do. You just don’t notice.”

“You call stealing doing something for me?” his sister demanded.

Victor stepped out of the doorway. “Give me the money, Betsy, and I’ll take my sister and get out of your way.” His hand came away from his body. A knife flashed in the waning sunlight.

Betsy only half-listened to his confident words, more concerned with the knife. It was only a little sticker, something that might be used to cut up meat, but it looked sharp.

“Why are you stealing from the Pophams?” Violet demanded, as if the knife didn’t bother her. Did Victor often make threats while waving knives?

Victor sneered, his pug nose bunching up under his eyes. “You think Ralph is going to give us any more, now that his ladylove is dead? We’ve talked about the possibility often enough, you and I.”

“That’s why we need to work,” Violet said. “We’re grown now. You don’t need to steal. Find a job, Victor, just like I did.”

“You’re never keeping that job,” Victor said in a voice that made it clear what a silly idea he thought it. “We have grander plans, us two.”

“We do not.” Violet stamped her foot. “Get out of here. Leave us alone.”

Victor’s mouth screwed up and his eyes narrowed. Betsy tried to push Violet back, but the girl wouldn’t move. With the low stone wall surrounding the small confines of her front garden, she had nowhere else to go but in front of the bow window. And what might happen if her father saw her and came out of the door? Victor might knife her father.

Betsy looked around, frantic, as Victor stepped forward, waving his knife. Violet grabbed her arm, and the sudden gesture made Betsy take a step forward instead of trying to get closer to the window. Victor leaned forward just as Betsy jerked into his path. His knife slid along her neck.

F
rantic, Betsy wondered what to do. She glanced from brother to sister. Each had similar angry expressions. She’d never noticed how close together Victor’s eyes were before, how protruding his forehead. The twins had always looked fairly similar to her. Now she saw Violet was tall for a woman and Victor short for a man. She stood with erect carriage and he slouched.

None of it mattered. Her father might see her at any moment. At that thought, she saw Victor’s confused, stupid expression and felt something hot drip down her neck. Pain gouged suddenly, where none had been before. Had he murdered her? Afraid for her life, she pulled the envelope Mr. Redcake had given her, a full week’s pay, and threw it into the street.

“There, Victor, there’s the money.”

Violet tugged her, outraged. “Betsy! You mustn’t give him any more.” She paused, stared. “Oh, sweet Jesus. He’s cut you!”

Betsy put her hand to her neck, imagining the worst. When she removed it, her hand came away with a streak of blood, nothing too bad.
Thank God.

Victor pushed Betsy aside and ran through the gate, then grabbed for the envelope and raised it over his head, as if he’d won a prize. “Come, Violet. We’ve won.”

Violet crossed her arms over her chest, her full attention returned to her brother. “I’d rather go hungry.”

“I’ll toss everything that’s yours into the street,” he threatened. “All your unmentionables. All your ribbons. I’ll burn your Bible.”

“Your slippers,” Victor taunted. “Your Easter bonnet.”

What a pitiful collection of belongings. The money her father had given the Carters over the years didn’t seem to have benefited Violet very much. She wondered if Victor had pawned Mrs. Carter’s possessions by now. It had been more than a week since her passing.

“I don’t care.” Violet lifted her nose into the air.

“What are you going to do? Seduce Ralph?” Victor smirked widely to show what he thought of this preposterous idea and wiped the corners of his mouth. Then, as if he’d just remembered it, he hid his knife back into the recesses of his clothing.

Betsy edged toward her door, one hand against her neck, holding the key she’d pulled out along with the envelope. She remembered something one of the cakies had taught her, a way to put the bow of the key between her fingers so she could use the blade as a short weapon. What good it would do she had no idea, but her nerves were all but shot after the twinning effect of Simon Hellman and Victor Carter.

“I plan to work. Betsy has done well. Why not me?” Violet spoke more loudly. “I’ll find a husband, too. Someone kind and thoughtful, not a brute like you. I still have bruises on my leg.”

She marched to Betsy and shook her hands at the door. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

Betsy stared at her, then at the street, where Victor stood, openmouthed. Behind her, the door opened, and her father peered out myopically.

“There you are,” Violet said, as if to a dear friend. “I’m staying with you tonight.”

In the street, Victor harrumphed loudly, then stomped off, almost as if he were afraid of Betsy’s father. Betsy could not fathom why. She considered herself the stronger person in her family. Her father was rather tall and muscular, though, from years of hefting bakery trays. Maybe Victor responded to physical strength.

Betsy followed Violet in, then sagged into the chair they kept in the narrow front hallway, feeling boneless. She let the key drop into her lap. Violet seemed unaffected, chatting pleasantly with Betsy’s father. Betsy wondered if she was softer than she realized. Maybe Violet was the tough one, trapped with an unstable brother.

“Someone should go to the police and tell them Victor was here.” Betsy looked at her father. “He’s meant to be arrested for what he did at Redcake’s this morning, and to be questioned about the murder.”

“I don’t want to leave you girls here alone,” her father said. “I didn’t know he was outside. We’ll tell them in the morning.”

“He’s foolish enough to return home. The police will pick him up there,” Violet added.

“You think he’s really going to use my money to pay off your landlord?” Betsy asked.

Violet shrugged. “He has no imagination. He just wants things to remain as they are.”

“Your money?” her father asked.

“He took my pay envelope,” Betsy said. “I hope you have your pay, because he took everything we had in the house a few days ago.”

“I paid for Mrs. Carter’s memorial stone today,” her father said, smoothing his hair over his bald spot. “It was every penny I had. I thought you would pay the rent.”

Betsy stared at her father.
He hadn’t
. But, clearly, he had. She wanted to scream at him. It was as if he’d had a second family most of her life. She didn’t just need to escape the Carters, she needed to escape her own father, the only relative she had.

“The landlord will toss us out. The rent is due tomorrow,” she said. Her breathing had sped up. She could see black spots dancing in front of her eyes.

Violet glanced at the pair of them. “Well, I don’t have any money.”

“You’ll have to go home to Victor,” said her father.

“Never,” Violet said. “I’ll ask one of the cakies for a bed. Someone will help me.”

“He cut my neck,” Betsy said. “He’s violent, Papa. We can’t send her back to him.”

As her father peered at her, a knock came on the front door. At least it didn’t sound angry or forbidding.

“I’ll get it,” her father said.

“I will see if Mr. Redcake will give me an advance on my salary,” Betsy said.

Her father shook his head wearily as he passed her. “Don’t ever do that, Betsy, especially when the money might be stolen. Never be a borrower.”

He opened the door slowly, but when the visitor was revealed, Betsy was sure everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

“Hullo, Ralph, dear. I’m here with a delivery for Violet Carter.”

Ralph stepped aside so that Prissy could enter.

“A delivery?” Betsy asked.

“Yes. Grace asked me to alter one of her uniforms for Violet so she’d have something clean for tomorrow.”

Violet squealed happily as she took the wrapped package. “This is surely not just the uniform.”

“And a nightdress, courtesy of Mrs. Fair. When she heard the story, she wanted to contribute something. Nothing new, of course, but it’s better than going without.”

“She could have borrowed something of mine,” Betsy said.

“You’re much too short,” Prissy pointed out. “But I’ve brought your skirt. If you have anything I can make over for Violet, I’d be happy to take it back to the Fairs with me.”

“Why don’t you take the girls into the parlor?” her father suggested. “I think I have enough sausages and toast for everyone. I’ll just do a spot of cooking.”

Betsy’s lips trembled as she considered Prissy’s suggestion. Not only did she not have any extra clothing, she had no money for more, or anything, not even the rent. She would be homeless tomorrow.

“My goodness, little sister, are those tears?” Prissy asked, her forehead creasing in concern. “And what is that on your neck? Blood?”

“Victor took everything,” she said. “And cut me—by accident, I think, though he had the knife of course.”

“Violet, go see if you can find a basin of water and a clean cloth,” Prissy said.

“I never had much money for clothes. Everything I have is tailored to the last quarter inch to save money. There’s nothing to let out.” She sniffed.

Violet and Prissy exchanged glances and Prissy offered her arm. “Come, let’s go into the parlor.”

“Shall I turn on the gas?”

“No, we can’t afford it,” Betsy said. “But do use up the last of the coal in the fireplace. We won’t want to take it with us.”

Violet went down the hall and came back with a basin and a kitchen towel. Then, she dutifully took up a position at the fireplace when Prissy maneuvered Betsy into sitting down on an old, sprung couch that had come with the rental. They sat next to each other, Prissy patting Betsy’s hand at regular intervals after she had sponged Betsy’s neck clean.

“The bleeding has stopped now,” Prissy said. “You’ll mend.”

“Any hope you can get some of my money from Victor?” Betsy asked Violet when she sat back on her heels.

“More likely to get my ears boxed,” Violet said. “No, I won’t have any money either until I receive my first pay, next week.”

“I wish I could help you girls, but I’ve only been working a month myself. And it took a bit to find this position as it was.”

“I have been working since I was twelve,” Betsy said. “Ten years and I have nothing to show for it.”

When she looked up, Violet’s face had gone blank, but Prissy made soft noises of comfort and patted her hand again.

“It’s hard for a woman,” her half sister said. “Not enough pay, and always a man to take it.”

“Who took your money?” Betsy asked.

“I was engaged once, about three years ago. John was badly injured at his work and died,” Prissy said.

“How unfair.”

“He was a bounder. Always one to live beyond his means,” Prissy said flatly. “I made his clothes. I was quite good at it. I’ve never found another man I wanted to dress so well again, but I want a little shop of my own someday.”

“No special followers?”

“I did have another beau, more recently, but we had a falling out. He wouldn’t engage in his profession, thought it was beneath him.” Prissy sighed. “Still looking for the perfect one.”

Violet undid the string on her parcel and pulled out the uniform, examining it by the light of the fire. “Lovely, neat stitches, Miss Weaver. Much better than I can do.”

“That’s practice, that is,” Prissy said with a prideful air. “But Betsy, are you sure Ralph is correct to tell you not to ask for an advance on your salary? Mr. Redcake would hand it over, I know. He’s sweet on you.”

“Oh, I never,” Betsy said. “Mr. Redcake?”

Prissy smiled and patted her hand one last time before releasing it. Violet moved to kneel at Betsy’s feet.

“Oh, how lovely. Are you courting?”

“Of course not. I don’t believe he’s so much as looked at another woman since his wife died, and that was only about a year ago,” Betsy said. “I hope he sees me as a trusted employee, and that’s quite enough for me.”

“But if you could catch him as a husband,” Prissy mused. “Think of all it could mean for you. He has connections in fashionable society.”

“Not really. Just his cousins. He’s the first of his immediate family to come to London.”

“But there must be loads of money,” Violet said.

“I imagine,” Betsy agreed.

“Grace Fair told me you were very friendly with Lady Hatbrook,” Violet said.

Prissy’s eyebrows rose. “Does she have all the best clothes?”

“Lady Hatbrook was never one for fashion. She used to complain about her sisters and their love of clothes, but in the end none of them became the sort of ladies who are painted and such.”

“A pity,” Prissy said. “I wish I could have a commission for a real lady’s dress. I have some lovely sketches I’ve done, really new ideas.”

“Maybe Betsy can marry Mr. Redcake and be your first wealthy customer,” Violet suggested.

Betsy felt tears well up in her eyes again. “I’ll be happy to simply have a roof over my head by Monday. Oh, Violet, how can we both end up homeless at the same time?”

“It’s a wicked legacy, my father and your mother,” Violet said solemnly, completely losing her earlier air of mischief. “It’s up to us to stick together and mend our fortunes.”

“Ralph will be fine now, won’t he?” Prissy asked. “Now that he doesn’t have a second family to support. Wasn’t he paid this week?”

“It’s all spent,” Betsy said.

“That doesn’t mean much, as long as you have the cash in hand.”

“We don’t,” she told her half sister. “Believe me, there isn’t a shilling to be found in this house.”

“I wonder if you should ask Mr. Redcake to act as your banker in the future,” Violet said. “So Victor can’t come and steal from you. I’ll consider it myself, when I’m paid.”

“He’s too busy for anything like that,” Betsy said.

“Might be a way to make him concerned for your welfare,” Prissy suggested. “Really, Betsy, he’s looking for a second wife to raise his babies. A society girl won’t be as interested in him as she might have been if he were unencumbered. You should make a play for him.”

Violet nodded. “Or see if I don’t!”

Ralph came in with the simple meal he had prepared. They ate in front of the fire, before Prissy went to catch the bus back to Paddington. By the time Betsy had said her good nights, she felt utterly exhausted. She’d offered Violet half her bed, but the girl had decided to stay in the parlor on the couch, because the room was so warm.

In bed, Betsy tossed and turned, plagued by dreams in which Lord Fitzwalter’s youthful face and form of four years before, naked and bent on erotic pleasure, was transformed to Greggory Redcake’s more mature person. By morning, she wondered how she would be able to look her manager in the eye, so thoroughly had she spent the night loving him physically.

Violet looked concerned when she joined Betsy and her father in the kitchen for oatmeal and tea. “Didn’t you sleep well?”

Betsy yawned. “I’ll be fine after a cup of tea.”

Ralph smiled. “Now, you aren’t going to ask Mr. Redcake for money, I hope?”

“No, but I’m going to go into Redcake’s. Maybe he’ll give me a bonus for extra effort,” she said.

“I like that idea,” Violet said. “Shall I come, too?”

“I think we should see Victor,” her father said. “Assuming the police haven’t picked him up. Try to take your things away from him, if nothing else. He won’t try anything with me present. If he isn’t there, more’s the better. We can pack your things.”