The Marquess of Cake (11 page)

Here and there, she did see a young woman alone, some dressed in quite modest stuff. The better shopgirls perhaps, having a Christmas treat, or spending their Christmas bonus on a taste of a higher class of life. She so easily could have been one of those girls if her father hadn’t spent all the profit from the mill he inherited to build a factory, and then another mill with that profit. After that, the money seemed to earn itself and he brought them to London to create a flagship bakery. Or maybe he’d just been fleeing from the place of Arthur’s death. What does it do to a man to lose his heir? Would he sacrifice the dreams of other children to save one? She wondered how Rose’s health came into her father’s thought processes, or if that was a womanly concern. Surely the marriage market was better in London, if his only concern was to find his daughters husbands.

“I’m sorry I was so long, Alys,” Betsy said, coming to her table in a flurry of flour, sugar, and salt. “I had to change my apron since it was covered in frosting.”

“Sit down, please.”

Betsy glanced around nervously, perhaps making sure her father hadn’t slipped in, then sat across from her.

“Do you want a bun?” Alys asked, holding up the plate.

“No, thank you.”

“Are you sure? They’re really good today. Must be just out of the oven.” She shook it enticingly.

“No, I don’t like raisins.”

“And you work here?”

“Father procured the position for me. It’s a wonderful place to work, even if I don’t like all of our goods.”

Alys tried to hold back a laugh. “Did you have other dreams?”

“You know I want to decorate cakes.”

“But before.”

Betsy waved her hands. “Oh, art of course. I longed to have time to paint. But Mother was ill and I cared for her until she passed, and then Father found me this. I’m luckier than most.”

“I’m sorry you lost your mother, though. But I’m glad you found a way to express your love of art, here. Are you going to be able to take over from me?”

Betsy’s eyes widened. “There isn’t anyone else with the eye for it.

I don’t think anyone had planned for you to leave. My father has been quite upset each time he checks your papers.”

“I didn’t choose—” Alys paused, realizing once again that no one seemed to know what had really happened. “Listen, Betsy. We are only two days away from the Marchioness of Hatbrook’s event.”

“I saw the cakes. They smell lovely.”

“I need to be sure the pastries are on the schedule and the cake is finished. Can you frost the layers? Then if you let me in the back on Friday morning I’ll do the decorating with you and make sure Simon and his boys get the shipment out.”

Betsy’s freckled face broke into a smile. “Are you sure? You must have other things to do, now that you’re a lady of leisure.”

“The marquess especially asked me to make sure the job was done right,” Alys said. “I can’t say no to a marquess.”

Betsy put her hand to her forehead. “Good heavens, Alys. Of course you can’t.”

“Then it’s settled? You’ll check on everything and let me in through the back on Friday morning?”

Betsy nodded. “Of course.”

Alys felt as though an anvil had been lifted from her chest. She knew once her mother saw the invitation to the marchioness’s ball that they would be attending and she’d be so embarrassed if the special cake and pastries never arrived. Then she would have to bury herself in the country until she was old and gray.

Two hours later, she had arrived home again. Lucy dressed her in a tidy navy-blue sateen gown, suitable both for dinner and the modest place Alys saw as hers in this world.

Her sisters stumbled into the dressing room like a couple of young pups, red-cheeked from the cold. Or was it from the cold? She smelled a strong hint of sherry wafting through the air.

“I do not think we shall go down for dinner, Lucy,” Matilda said, pronouncing each word very carefully.

“I have a headache,” Rose said, with a cough.

And a wheeze.

Alys closed her eyes. Her sister sounded worse.

“Undress Rose immediately,” she said to Lucy. “I’ll fetch Mother.”

Matilda sank down on the vine-patterned love seat next to the fire.

Her expression was goofy and vague.

Alys swore in quite an unladylike fashion under her breath as she went toward her mother’s suite. The marquess had been correct. What kind of calls had Lady Lillian taken her sisters on, that they drank spirits instead of tea?

She knocked on the double doors leading to the suite and her mother’s maid, Edith, answered the door.

“Yes, miss?”

“Is Mother available? It’s important.”

The maid nodded and stepped aside. Alys entered the art-filled room and found her mother sitting in front of her fire, reading a book of poetry.

“Darling,” her mother said. She looked up, then frowned. “Your hair, Alys. Do I need to speak to Lucy?”

“She wasn’t finished yet,” Alys said, touching the windblown mess on top of her head. “Matilda and Rose came in from their calls.

I’m worried about Rose.”

“Oh?”

“I’m worried about both of them, because they seem worse for drink, Mother, but Rose is wheezing.”

Her mother tossed her book aside and stood. “Edith, have a can of hot water and some lavender oil brought to the girls’ room immediately,” she said.

“Yes, my lady.” Edith went to the bell pull while Alys followed her mother out of the room.

“Drink, you say? That can make breathing worse. You won’t remember Lewis’s mother, but she was much the same. What have those two featherbrains been doing?”

“They were on calls with Lady Lillian, Mother.”

“And you stayed at home?”

Alys ignored the implied rebuke. “She doesn’t have an excellent reputation. I heard this from an unassailable source.”

“You haven’t been spying on your sisters, Alys.”

“No, Mother. I merely mentioned the Gerrick name in passing and the information came my way.”

“Alys, I hope you are not becoming jealous of your sisters. It is unfortunate that you aren’t younger now that things have changed so much for our family, but it is no fault of Matilda’s or Rose’s that they are younger.”

Alys rolled her eyes. “Mother, I am not in the least jealous of them. I am merely sad that my own pleasures have been taken from me, but I am happy to make sacrifices for their happiness, of course.”

Her mother sighed. “I wonder if that is true. The way you have lived has perhaps developed a more masculine personality than a feminine one.”

“Mother!”

“It is true. That frightful rag you are wearing, for instance. Is that a mended tear at the hem? And I swear Grandmother Noble might have worn that pattern in eighteen-thirty-six!”

Alys couldn’t quite hold back her giggle. “Only family is dining.”

“You are the daughter of a knight now, Alys. Dining with family is a bit more consequential than before.”

“Yes, my lady,” Alys said, with a little curtsy.

Her mother sighed. “Come, we must deal with your sisters. Let us hope we can find a niche in society more salubrious than Lady Lillian’s.”

“And suitors better than the Earl of Lathom mentioned at the investiture, Mother. None of them are worth having.”

“And I wonder how you would know that?”

“From the papers, Mother.”

“I should not have thought you in the habit of entering your father’s study. You know he dislikes that.”

“At Redcake’s, Mother. There is always a great deal of reading material available there.”

“I see. Be assured that your father will investigate the background of any man interested in his daughters. He will do well by you.”

“Me? I thought we were speaking of my sisters.”

Her mother gave her an unreadable glance as they reached the sitting-room door. They opened it to find an unspeakable mess, courtesy of Matilda, on the stone flags before the fireplace.

Their mother sighed. “Rose, dear, you might feel better if you do the same.”

Already looking green in the face, Rose complied. The smell was such that Alys felt ill herself. She hastened to open a window while her mother reached for the bell pull. Lucy came running with towels and a basin of cold water and did what she could to clean up the mess.

When a housemaid entered the room, her mother said, “Bring the tincture of lobelia and one of Sir Bartley’s cigars.”

Soon, Edith arrived with the hot water and lavender. Her mother applied the lavender to a handkerchief, then made Rose breathe in the steam and the scent with her head under a shawl. When the tincture and cigar arrived, she mixed the medicine with hot water and lit the cigar.

“The tincture has alcohol in it,” Alys said.

“If she vomits again it is all to the good,” her mother replied.

“Otherwise the medicine should help.”

Alys sighed. “I’m going to get Matilda to bed.”

When her mother nodded, she and Lucy undressed the swaying young woman and cleaned her face.

“Could you put a brick in her bed, please,” Alys asked the housemaid who had brought the water. She pulled a nightdress over Matilda’s yawning head.

A few minutes later, she had her sister tucked into bed. As the housemaid stirred up the fire, Lucy fetched a basin and set it by Matilda.

“In case you need it, miss.” Lucy coughed.

Matilda yawned again.

“Go to sleep, Matty,” Alys ordered.

“You sound like Mother,” her sister said softly.

“Then obey me like you would Mother.”

Her sister smiled and closed her eyes. Alys judged it was safe to leave her and went back to help her mother. At least Matilda’s health was sound.

The next evening, everyone was in the back parlor just before dinner, except Rose, who was confined to bed until her breathing recovered, and Sir Bartley. Matilda looked pale, but composed. Even Lewis had come in, though he stared at the fire instead of speaking to anyone.

When Sir Bartley made his entrance with Ralph Popham, Alys wanted to run upstairs and crawl into bed with Rose. Her father had never brought any of the employees to dinner before, even when he was plain Bartley Redcake. He introduced Popham to the family. She could tell Popham was nervous from the way he groomed his mustache. He always fingered it when he was upset or emotional. A man of strong opinions on subjects he knew nothing about, he could be most tiresome, though he was good at his position and the bakery thrived under his care. He loved nothing more than to persuade customers to buy a more expensive cake than they asked for, which nicely increased profit.

She had never thought to judge his age, though he must be about forty years old since he had a seventeen-year-old daughter.

Popham walked over to her place by the pianoforte and offered her his hand. She’d never touched him before, but was not displeased to find his grasp firm and palm dry. “Miss Redcake, so pleased to see you again.”

“Until recently you saw me almost every day,” she pointed out.

“Yes, and I’ve missed your shining face.”

Shining face? What was she, a tidied street urchin?

“I can’t deny I miss my position,” she said. “Have my notes made sense to you? About the scheduled events?”

He glanced at her father, then spoke. “I understand you are soon to leave for the country?”

“Yes, London does not agree with my sister.”

“I am sorry to hear it. I have always considered you a rather urban sort of person.”

“I do believe I thrive here,” Alys admitted. “But it cannot be helped.”

“Perhaps your father would allow you to stay here,” Popham said, touching the left side of his mustache. “If you had a reason.”

Alys knew where this was going, but proceeded, even though it felt like ripping at a fresh scab. “And what reason do you believe I would need?”

“If you were affianced to a London businessman, for instance,” he suggested.

“Alys is not interested in marriage,” said Lewis loudly, turning from the fire.

Matilda gasped and put her hand over her mouth.

“Every woman is interested in marriage, I believe, sir,” Popham said.

“Not Alys. I ought to know,” said Lewis. “She has yet to respond to my proposal, yet I know she loves me.”

“Lewis!” said Sir Bartley.

Alys fought to keep a smile from her lips. While she felt terrible for her cousin, she could not suppress a sense of pleasure at the way Popham was being put in his place. She only hoped Betsy heard nothing of this.

“Is this true?” her father thundered. “You think to marry my daughter, though you are dependent on me?”

Lewis put his hands on his hips. “More like you are dependent on me, sir. If I hadn’t improved your ovens and your mixers, your factories would not have been profitable. You’d never have come to London and received your knighthood from the queen. Just because you haven’t paid me fairly for my efforts doesn’t mean they aren’t worthy or valuable.”

Her father’s face had reddened noticeably during Lewis’s speech.

He pointed one finger toward the parlor door. “Out of my house.”

Lewis bowed. “Alys, you may find me at my machine shop. I have a cot there.” He walked out, his back very straight, his head held high.

Alys felt faint. She put a hand to her stays. Her mother moved to her side and put an arm around her waist. As her heart fluttered, she realized she’d never seen such a virile show from her cousin. Though he’d never be more than a brother to her, she knew he’d make some woman magnificently happy. Just not her.

She stared at the back of Popham’s head. His lank, brown hair had gray strands floating up from it. He was too old for her. How could her father think they would make a match? And did he think a man of stature would be inclined to marry into a family that included Popham? No, this merely spoke to her father’s desperation.

“I find I have the most appalling headache, Father,” she said.

“Would you please excuse me?”

Matilda’s horrified expression spoke volumes. She might not want to be the only Redcake sister at the table, but Alys couldn’t talk Redcake’s business with Popham and she had no other interest in conversation. She had more to discuss with the Marquess of Hatbrook than she did with Redcake’s bakery manager now.