One Taste of Scandal (13 page)

“Walking me to the Fancy door, Captain?”

“I promised to consult with Mr. Melville first thing this morning,” he said.

“How is the busy season going?”

“Busily.” His teeth flashed at her as he opened the door at the bottom of the step.

“I thought I heard your voice, Captain!” Betsy Popham stood just to the right, a flirtatious grin on her plump, pretty face. She brushed her substantial bosom against his arm as she went to the steps.

“What are you up to?” The captain stared at a rolling table covered in boxes.

“My father needed a few special orders early. Lady Burnham’s maid arrived sooner than expected to pick up her decorated cakes.”

He gestured to the table. “Why aren’t you using the elevator?”

“The bakers have it.”

He grunted. “Right. We’ll help you.”

She batted her eyes. “I’d appreciate it very much if you do, sir, but Magdalene is needed to finish another special order.”

Magdalene set her jaw. Betsy had never called her by her Christian name. What an insult that she’d use it in front of Captain Shield, as if she was some lowly subordinate. “Why, Betsy, I am so sorry you’ve been overwhelmed. I shall rush forthwith.” She lifted her head and, after a nod to him, walked toward the Fancy with a stately gait. Two could play this game. Betsy must be jealous of their morning walks, but surely the girl didn’t think Captain Shield, brother of a marquess, would be interested in the likes of
her
.

Unless she wanted to be his mistress. The thought gave her pause just as she reached the Fancy door. Betsy would lose her position if she had a child, but she probably thought the captain would support the child until its majority, and her too. She’d need to keep a close eye on Betsy’s flirtation.

The next morning Judah walked up to Nelson’s Column, glad to see the end of the rain for now, but he wasn’t happy to see the state of his favorite newsboy. That the sun poked through the clouds now and then only illuminated the condition of Eddy Jackson’s face. He’d lost his cap again, and one arm of his jacket had been torn away from the shoulder. Judah noted a black eye, bruises on the young knuckles, and the way Eddy ran his tongue over his teeth indicated concern for a loose incisor.

Nonetheless, his smile was bright. “Paper for you, guv?”

“In another fight?” Judah said.

Eddy shrugged, but not without a wince of pain. “Knock, knock?”

Judah rolled his eyes. “Who is there?”

“Boo.”

Judah knew what was coming, but he appreciated the boy’s pluck. “Boo who?”

“Do not cry, guv, it’s only a joke.”

“Your face isn’t a joke, Eddy, particularly if you were hit hard enough to loosen teeth. Now I see your lip is cut and you’ve a mark on your jaw. Can’t you avoid these bruisers?”

“I live with ’em, guv.”

“Your father?”

“No, I ’aven’t one of those, nor a mam either, but I’ve got a roof over me ’ead, and food to eat.”

“Did these friends of yours steal your hat?”

Eddy touched his head. “Lost it somewhere, I expect.”

“Right.” Judah dug in his pocket, found three shillings. “Mind that you do not lose the money.”

“Ah, guv, you don’t need to pay for another.”

“It’s bad enough that you have to be out in bad weather. I won’t have my personal newsboy looking disreputable. Mind you sew up that jacket.” A shabby man brushed by him. Judah clapped his hand against his pocket, thinking the man might have seen the money and come to rob him, but the man stopped a couple of feet away at a milkwoman, a yoke over her shoulders holding her cans as an advertisement to passersby.

Eddy grinned and tossed him a paper as Miss Cross arrived. “Yes, guv.”

“Oh, Eddy, your face!” she cried.

Judah put a hand on her shoulder. “The lad is fine, and you are running late this morning, madam. Shall we go?”

She nodded at Eddy and walked beside Judah briskly as they left the Square. “Who did that to him?” she asked as they left Eddy’s earshot.

“Someone he lives with, apparently. I believe he’s an orphan.”

“Oh, dear. I wish there was something we could do for him.”

“Keep buying his papers is the best thing. Money gives a man options, and a lad too.”

“Yes, you are right about that.”

“Why were you late this morning?” He pulled her around a puddle.

“George didn’t come down at the usual time this morning, so I had to help give the boys their breakfast. It won’t happen again.”

“Is George ill?”

He noted that she hesitated before answering. “I think the boys should go away to school. The earl wrote a lovely note that came home with them, offering to pay their way at St. George’s School in Ascot.”

“That is a generous offer.”

“Yes. It will position them well in life if he is willing to pay for their education. They will need to do some kind of work. The trust income won’t be enough for them to go on as my brother has.”

“I am glad your nephews have an opportunity presented to them. Do you think George will accept?”

“I do not think he has even read the note yet.”

“He must be very ill.”

Miss Cross poked at her eye as if an eyelash had fallen into it. He took her elbow in order to cross the street safely, as she was not paying attention.

“He is ill, yes.”

“You are under a great deal of strain,” he observed.

“I can still do my work.” She moved away and he let go of her elbow.

“I didn’t mean to suggest you could not. Is there anything I can do? Speak to George?”

“He has not even read the note,” she repeated.

“When he does, if he is hesitant, I could speak to him, to show where no education leads a man.”

“Where does it lead?” she inquired.

Judah pointed at himself. “To the army. I would imagine, when a man has lost his wife, his children become even more dear to him. He won’t want his sons serving far away, years going by between meetings. If they need to work, then get them education. Perhaps they can go into politics or some such.”

“You should not put yourself down, Captain. You have done very well for yourself.”

“I am very pleased with my accomplishments, but I don’t think your brother would want my life for his children.” His laugh was harsh. “Even my own brother does not want it for me.”

“We are not the regular sort of people, you and I, content to do the things our well-meaning relatives have planned for us.”

“No.” He guided Miss Cross through the back door and nodded his good-bye, unable to discuss the matter further. It wasn’t until he was seated at the chair behind his desk that he felt like he could breathe again. How did it hurt boys to be effectively without a father? He knew it well, could see what it was doing to Eddy Jackson, a lad with all the brightness and cheer you could wish, but no future to speak of. He suspected George Cross was simply staying drunk. Was this a habitual problem or merely a temporary situation created by the loss of his wife? He would not dare to prod in the man’s personal life, but Miss Cross, as an employee, was under his protection, and if she worried about her nephews, so did he.

He had done quite well for himself, despite being all but fatherless, but he knew himself to be unusually lucky in his friends. And his brother. What would he be doing with himself now, if not for Redcake’s?

It troubled him that his gem ship had not yet arrived. He had expected to hear news at any moment over the last week. A call on the captain’s wife, who lived somewhere in London, might be in order. He made a note to look up the address when he arrived home, and send her a letter with his respects.

 

Eddy looked even more disreputable the next morning. He’d fixed his jacket with white thread, which showed against the fabric like sutures in a savage’s skin. While he had purchased a new cap, which sat jauntily on his head, his bruises had turned purple.

Judah felt a raindrop on the back of his hand just as Miss Cross raced across the Square, clearly determined not to be late again. He and Eddy exchanged nods and he moved toward Miss Cross.

“Just a moment,” she gasped. “I wanted to give this to Eddy.”

“Of course.”

She went past him, holding out a little bundle. “Here, Eddy. We roasted potatoes this morning, and I thought you might like one in each pocket to keep warm.”

His smile was infectious. “Oh, thank you, miss. I do not mind if I do.”

She opened her cloth and he popped out the potatoes, then dropped one into each pocket.

“Lovely and warm, miss. Thank you. I shall ’ave an ’ot lunch too.”

“You are welcome.” She hesitated, then trotted back to Judah.

“That was nicely done.”

“I wanted to do something for him,” she whispered. “I think about my brother in India, how he was injured, and wonder if anyone cared for him.”

“Your brother is a grown man.”

“I know, but wounded people tug at my heart.”

She had hesitated at the word “wounded” but he didn’t know why. He wanted to pursue the subject, but she glanced at the sky and a fat raindrop dropped on her nose for her trouble.

“Where is your umbrella?” she asked.

“The sky looked fine twenty minutes ago.”

“You must always have one with you in London,” she scolded. “This makes it very clear you never resided here until now.”

The rain fell harder and they sped up, trying to duck under awnings as much as possible as they made their way through Regent Street. Miss Cross’s shawl was soon wet, and her black bonnet dripped dye down her cheeks.

“This is too much,” Judah said, after five minutes. They happened to be passing by a woman’s clothing shop. He took her elbow and sent her through the door. Despite the early hour it was open, probably because of the strain of keeping deliveries up at this time of year.

A shopgirl took one look at them and her expression went from pinched frown to pleasant smile. “Can I help you, sir?”

He stared at a display. “I want that coat, and can you tell me if the bonnet above it is for sale?”

The salesgirl walked over and picked up the items. “I will sell it to you.”

Miss Cross frowned. “Those are women’s clothes, Captain.”

“You aren’t dressed warmly enough.”

“I have a cloak.”

“I’ve seen it and it isn’t good winter wool. This is. And you can’t possibly wear that bonnet you have on anymore.”

She wiped at her face. Her fingers came away black. “It is a coat meant for traveling.”

The salesgirl tutted. “I will find you a cloth.”

She sighed. “You do not need to buy me a coat and hat. Besides, they are both gray.”

“You need to be practical, Miss Cross. I will not have you catching a chill. Look, you are shivering.” Impatient, he yanked at her bonnet strings, untying them from her soft under-chin. His gloved fingers stroked her. He could feel the fine texture even through the leather. “You travel through the streets each morning, so do not speak to me of fashion.”

“You have a soldier’s attitude of practicality,” she said.

The salesgirl brought the towel and Miss Cross cleaned her face, then the girl helped her put on the new bonnet before holding up the coat.

“Your friend is right. It is very warm. Not fashionable, but warm. You can dye it if you have to.”

Magdalene took off her soaked shawl and let the girl drape the coat around her. Her smile told Judah she was finally warm. He checked her shoes but they looked sturdy enough for the weather, though the leather was worn. When was the last time anyone took care of her, this young woman who brought potatoes for newsboys and fretted over her nephews more than their own father did?

Judah paid for the garments and asked for Miss Cross’s old things to be packaged and sent to her home address, then he took her arm and steered her out of the shop.

“We’re going to be terribly late.”

He turned her to him while they were still safely under the awning and checked the bow under her chin. “I will excuse you. Warm enough?”

She smiled. “Gloriously, and you know, all of this has put what I meant to tell you today quite out of my mind.”

“Y
ou meant to suggest I roast some potatoes for my own fingers?” Judah teased.

Miss Cross laughed as he led her back to the main thoroughfare so they could hurry their tardy way to Redcake’s. “I should have thought to bring you a couple as well.”

“Quite. What did you forget to tell me?”

“I wanted to suggest you contact Sir Cyril Kirkville.”

“Do I know him?”

“Your mother certainly did. The family are notorious libertines of the kind a lady should not know about, but of course I am a Cross and therefore have had relatives mixed up with them.”

“Ah. Are they gossips as well?”

“No, but they do like a public spectacle. Still, they know everyone, and if there was ever a person who might know the truth, it would be him.”

“Any chance he is the one?”

“Anything is possible, but I expect he is a bit too young.”

“I shall send him a note then.”

“He should be in London, since he is active in politics.”

“Excellent.” When they arrived at the back door, they found Betsy lurking by. He sensed her disappointment when she saw Miss Cross was with him. Had Betsy wanted to yell at her for being late?

“You’ll have to forgive us, Betsy. I insisted Miss Cross take part in an errand of mine. Inexcusable, I know.”

“Will you always be walking together?” Betsy asked.

“We come the same way at the same time,” he said blandly. “And of course I am a friend of the family.”

Betsy glanced sidelong at Miss Cross. Could the girl see the bonnet was new? Probably. Women always seemed to know these things.

He patted Betsy on the shoulder and passed by. “Much to do this morning, ladies.” He fairly leapt up the stairs, anxious to avoid feminine stares and get to his letter paper in order to dash off a note to Sir Cyril.

 

Magdalene arrived home that afternoon, basket under her arm, tucked with slices of cake that had crumbled into a less than spherical shape and therefore could not be sold to the public. She felt cozy and daring. The bonnet, with its tilted brim, was fashionable, and quite the nicest she’d ever had as an adult, and the coat had appeal.

“That looks like something a cowboy might wear,” Manfred said when he opened the door for her. He was dressed to go out himself, but he raised his eyebrows hopefully when he saw her basket. “Still potatoes in there?”

“No. Cake.” She brushed past him, feeling like a gunslinger in her long, swinging coat.

“I think I’ll stay home for a bit. No need to rush out.”

She couldn’t help noticing that even with her smart bonnet and gunslinger coat, he was dressed far more expensively than she was. “Where were you going? Not to the Mews’s home, I hope.”

They had been out of town during the summer, but had returned a couple of weeks ago. Manfred and Lady Mews were close conspirators of a kind she tried not to think too much about, but that lent itself greatly to the legend of the Scandalous Crosses. Magdalene hoped she’d experienced her only personal scandal when she was ten years old, and it hadn’t been the usual kind of Cross drama at all.

Manfred propelled her into the kitchen and pulled out a chair, then whisked the basket from under her arm and opened the napkin. “This looks like good cake.”

“It was meant for a wedding cake, but it fell apart.”

“To our benefit. Cup of tea?”

“Please.”

She sighed and untied her bonnet ribbon. At least Manfred had a practical side, more so than George in a way. He could take care of himself, as she expected Captain Shield could. He knew how to get a stove going in the morning, knew how to heat water and make tea.

“Does Lady Mews buy your clothing?”

He sat next to her with a freshly filled teapot. “I thought we didn’t discuss these things.”

“I am afraid we are coming to a time when we must discuss unpleasant things in this household.”

“You mean George’s drinking? He hasn’t been at it for long.”

“But there are children in this household who need a stable influence.”

“I could get money for a nursemaid.”

“I think school is the answer. Do you know the earl has offered to pay to board them?”

He shook his head. “I’ll miss the little blighters.”

“So will I, but if George doesn’t come to his senses soon—” She paused when she heard footsteps in the corridor.

Her eldest brother lurched into the room, his face red and his eyes unfocused. Did he have on anything under his dressing gown? She saw a flash of pale, bare calf and turned away with a shudder.

George leaned over her. She thought he was reaching for cake, but instead he picked up her new bonnet, the ribbons dangling in her thankfully empty teacup. His breath oozed wine into the air as he slurred, “Where’d this come from?”

“My old bonnet became too wet and the dye ran all over my face.”

“This isn’t proper mourning.” He shook it at her.

“I only got it today.”

“And the coat?” He pointed an unsteady finger at her, then staggered back a step as if moving his arm unbalanced him.

“Come and have a cuppa,” Manfred suggested, pushing back a chair with his shoe.

“Who bought you that coat? You always say we are poor. I know you wouldn’t spend money on yourself. You’re too s-s-spinsterish,” he stuttered.

Her heart rate increased. “I am not spinsterish. I’ll have you know Captain Shield bought them for me, when both my bonnet and shawl soaked through in the rain this morning.”

“Whore!” His arm swung through the air.

Her eyes crossed as his hand moved, then her head snapped back as his knuckles caught her cheek. She started to fall backward. Manfred leapt up, his chair crashing to the ground as he grabbed for her.

His teeth gritted. She saw he’d knocked over the teapot, and hot tea cascaded over the table, dripping onto his greatcoat. Thankfully he was still dressed for the outdoors.

She put her hand to her cheek, feeling the hot place where George had struck her. Tears welled in her eyes from the sheer sting of the blow. He had never hit her before. She felt the inside of her mouth with her tongue. Blood dripped, hot and coppery, where her teeth had sliced a gash into her flesh.

“You’ve made this house unsafe for both your children and sister,” Manfred hissed at his brother. “Go back upstairs, now.”

“You don’t tell me what to do,” he pouted, his lips trembling.

“Lock yourself in the boys’ room with them, Magdalene,” Manfred said. He seemed to have gained half a decade in maturity in the last minute. “I’m going to Uncle’s.”

She backed out of the room behind Manfred, wanting to take her basket of cakes upstairs for the boys, but not daring. George regarded them with narrowed eyes, his head moving side to side, snakelike, but he didn’t move.

When she and Manfred were at the stairs, she whispered, “Will someone from Gerrick House come get them tonight?”

He pulled out his handkerchief. “Spit.”

She complied and the cloth turned red.

He tucked it back into his pocket. “I’ll make sure of it. Bar the door. Pack what you can for them. Don’t trust the lock. He has all the keys, of course.”

She nodded and dashed upstairs. It wasn’t until she was inside, a chair thrust under the doorknob and the boys asking questions and pointing at her cheek, that she began to shake.

 

On Thursday evening, Judah sat on a plush sofa in a gaslit parlor in Mayfair, at the home of Sir Cyril. The man had returned an invitation by the next post. When the door opened, Judah stood, but it was only a footman with a tray.

He considered it, but one result of working at Redcake’s was he was rarely hungry. Too much sampling of pastry, and he now was able to have a hot bowl of soup each day at noontime, thanks to the new menu. While he had a good walk each day, to and from Regent and Oxford streets, he would like to ride as well. He wondered if his purse would extend to that.

To that end, he noted a variety of paintings featuring horses on the walls. He stood and walked over to peruse them. “Sir Cyril must keep quite a stable.”

“I come from a racing family, Captain Shield,” said a rich voice. “Out of Newbury, though I met your parents at Ascot many years ago.”

Judah turned and saw a man of middle years, comfortably paunched, with an exceptionally thick head of graying brown hair and a full beard. “Thank you for seeing me, Sir Cyril.”

“By all means. I would be happy to thaw relations between your family and mine.”

“I have recently come back to England and was unaware of any tension.” Was he stepping on Hatbrook’s toes yet again? He thought if he avoided the aristocracy he could keep free of Hatbrook’s crowd, but of course politics was another place where his brother might be involved.

“Yes, of course. Your late father and I did not agree on a farm bill. Your brother and I disagree on various points as well.”

“The late marquess was active in politics?”

“Sometimes,” Sir Cyril said. “He was a man of moods and seasons.”

“So you say. I did not know him well. Or my mother, for that matter.”

“Your mother seemed to grow into motherhood. When your sister was born that was the first time I saw the domestic side of her. I often dangled Lady Elizabeth on my knee before I broke with your father politically.”

“You must have been to Hatbrook Farm then.”

“Oh, yes. My grandmother moved to Eastbourne in the early eighteen-sixties so I was in the neighborhood during school holidays and the like.”

“What year? I cannot believe I never met you.”

“I’m not sure of the exact year.”

Judah regarded the man closely. Sir Cyril’s eyes were a watery blue, nothing like his, but his frame was not so different, minus the paunch. Could this be his father?

“Do you have children?” he asked. “Perhaps I would remember them.”

Sir Cyril coughed. “No, an injury, you understand.”

“So sorry.” He wondered when the injury had taken place, but the man had a mortified blush high on his cheeks and it would be ruinous to press further.

Sir Cyril sighed. “My lady would be here to greet you as well, but I am afraid she had a family engagement this evening.”

“Some other time,” Judah said politely.

“I believe you mentioned that Miss Cross told you I had been a family friend?”

“Yes.”

“Are you close to her family?”

“Tolerably so.”

Sir Cyril leaned over, knocking a teacup with his elbow. “Dreadful doings there yesterday. I understand the young Cross boys were sent haring across London to their uncle’s house in little but their short jackets.”

“I did not see Miss Cross today,” Judah said, alarmed. “We often meet in the street, because we, er, live near each other.” He had seen Hetty, however. Their housemaid had come with a note from Magdalene, begging off work for the day, with no explanation. Hetty had seemed rather upset, but he had thought it was because she was forced out in the rain. He’d planned to call after seeing Sir Cyril.

“Grief can do great damage to a household, and of course a man is never so civilized as when he has a kind wife.”

“Do you think there is damage?” He tapped his shoe on the carpet, eager to leave.

“Well, George Cross has shut himself up in his house since his wife passed. Not so unusual under the circumstances, but since he was all but nursemaid to the boys, he usually goes out to the park with them. It is greatly remarked about among local governesses.”

“I am sorry the family pain has become such a source of gossip. I did know the earl had offered to ease their way into his old school, despite the time of year. Perhaps the headmaster was only willing to hold the beds for a day or two.”

Sir Cyril lifted a knowing eyebrow. “It is a good story to put out, at any rate. They do not have enough servants, or live in a good enough street, for too much of the truth to leave their doors. But, if you are an admirer of Miss Cross, you may want to take a close look at her situation.”

“Do you have any immediate fear?”

“I know young Manfred Cross is often seen at a certain lady’s card parties, and he was not there last night.”

“No doubt sharing in the tender family leave-taking.”

“Quite. Now, let’s have a maid in to pour for us, and we shall discuss our friends and interests.” Sir Cyril settled in for a long monologue.

Judah was captive for forty more minutes. Then, he had a cab driver go by Miss Cross’s home, but the lights were all extinguished. “By Jove,” he muttered. “I wish I knew what was going on inside that house.” He tapped on the roof of the hansom so the driver would go on. If things were very bad, Hetty would have told him.

Resigning himself to not seeing Magdalene until the next day, he tossed and turned all night. Could Sir Cyril be his father? He wasn’t sure if he even liked the man. His enjoyment of gossip reminded him of the cakies in his employ, all of them a flock of high-pitched, excited starlings. And Sir Cyril was a bit smug, though he did admire the man’s size, rude good health, and head of hair. Compared to most Members of Parliament, he was a god among men.

It seemed to take double the usual time to shave and dress the next morning. He needed the strong cup of tea that would be waiting on his desk when he arrived at Redcake’s.

Thankfully, he could see Miss Cross in her new coat and bonnet, now covered in black crepe, standing next to Eddy. He felt instantly relieved. What he didn’t expect was their almost matching visages. The marks on her face were fresher than Eddy’s. He swore. Reaching for her chin, he tilted her face into the light. “What did George do to you? That madman.”

She pulled back. “Captain Shield! It was a misunderstanding about my outerwear. He thought I was being disrespectful about mourning.”

“So he hit you? Is this how a man treats his sister? Where was Manfred?”