Page 16 of Speculations in Sin

“Ah, Mrs. H., you are cruel. Can a man not rest his feet a moment?”

“You’ve had plenty of rest since you arrived here, nattering on about all sorts.” I pretended to be severe. “Add the price of the oranges and flour to our account. Mrs. Redfern will pay up as usual.”

My scolding only made Daniel’s eyes sparkle. He hoisted the crate and tramped out with it, making for the larder. He was back very quickly.

“Always a joy to see you, Mrs. Holloway,” he said as he skimmed through on the way to the back door. “Keep yourselfon the straight and narrow, Tess. Remember, your beau is a policeman.” Daniel winked at her, and Tess flushed.

“Cheeky,” she said, but did not look offended.

Daniel waved at us, said a good-bye to Elsie in the scullery, and was gone.

Tess sighed. “Always feels dimmer in here when Mr. McAdam’s gone, don’t it? A breath of fresh air he is.”

“A whirlwind, more like,” I said, keeping up my no-nonsense briskness. “Now cease your chatter and get on with things. We have much to do.”

* * *

The next day was Saturday, Tess’s day out. Without her assistance, I was run off my feet in the kitchen. I did make the almond-orange cake, which turned out light as a feather, every piece devoured in the dining room. I’d wait to begin the sorbet until I had Tess here, as I’d need much help juicing the oranges, then cutting the rinds into shapes.

Cynthia came downstairs that afternoon to tell me that her uncle had fixed an appointment with her at Daalman’s Bank for Monday afternoon.

“You can come with me,” she announced. “As my chaperone.”

5

I regarded Cynthia in surprise as she beamed at me across my work table. “Why would your uncle not take you?” I asked. “I thought Daalman’s wouldn’t let you darken the door if he was not with you.”

“Because Uncle is far too busy, of course,” Cynthia answered without rancor. “He believes that once I am in the hands of the competent bankers, they will relieve me of my cash to make me richer. I have only to sit demurely and let them make all the decisions. Then Uncle will come round later and sign all the forms for me, or they’ll send them to him, or something. He has arranged for me to be seen by the top banker, who has decided it is all right if I have a lady companion with me to guard my virtue. Uncle approved of my choice of you as that companion. You are quite respectable in his eyes.”

Her light tone and good-humored smile overlaid Cynthia’s bitterness that she could not be trusted to invest her own money. However, she’d used her dependency on the males inher life to arrange for me to see the bank and its inhabitants for myself.

“Thank you,” I told her. “This will be very helpful. I only hope your aunt will not forbid me to accompany you.”

“I did not plan to inform her,” Cynthia said, her smile broadening. “If Uncle mentions it, I will invent some explanation. But what you get up to on your day out is your business, I say.”

Not every mistress agreed with this idea. Maids or footmen who disgraced themselves during their day out reflected badly on the household that employed them—or so it had been stressed to me since I’d begun life in service. Such servants were usually dismissed and removed from their agency’s books.

I agreed to the plan, since it was clear Cynthia would not hear of my disagreeing. I did want to see the bank and the people who were accusing Sam of stealing from them, and afterward, it would be a short walk to Joanna’s house and Grace.

Cynthia sailed out, happy with her plans. I wasn’t certain whether she’d yet had time to consult Mr. Thanos, but I assumed she’d tell me what he’d advised.

The rest of Saturday was taken up with much cookery. Though Mrs. Bywater went out to the theater with friends that evening, and Cynthia had plans to attend a soiree at Miss Townsend’s home on Upper Brook Street, I did plenty of preparation for Sunday’s dinner and more for Monday when I’d be out. I did not like to leave Tess obligated to concoct meals from nothing.

I heard no word from Joanna that day nor did I on Sunday. Sam would be home enjoying his own Sunday roast, the bank shut. Almost all businesses took a day of rest on Sunday. “Only the domestics worked as hard as usual,” I muttered sourly to myself.

Tess and I juiced a good bit of the oranges on Sunday, putting the juice aside in the larder, and started carving theorange rinds into pleasing shapes. I showed Tess how to fashion them into a tulip-like cup or make an undulating rim to look like a pretty bowl. The cut oranges would keep in the larder, which was quite cold these days, until we were ready to make the sorbet itself. That I’d do on Tuesday, serving it at a supper Mrs. Bywater had planned on Wednesday. There would be enough left over for treats for the staff the rest of the week.

Mr. Davis spoke little to the rest of us throughout the week’s end. He was stiff lipped around me, very cool to Mrs. Redfern, and snapped at the footmen if they weren’t instantly obedient.

I missed the friendly Mr. Davis who would spread his newspaper across my table during quiet hours in the house and read out interesting bits to me. I wondered if Daalman’s Bank had ever featured in any stories he’d perused, but in this present state of affairs, I could not approach him to ask.

On Monday, I helped Tess set up the luncheon for both upstairs and down, then I changed into my best frock and hat. Giving final instructions to Tess, who shood me off in some exasperation, I departed.

I was tempted to announce loudly to Mr. Davis that I was leaving, and what time to expect me back, but I decided to keep my silence. Such a thing would not help mend our fences.

Clouds had lowered, and the wind blustered as I walked to Berkeley Square. There, as I’d requested, Lady Cynthia was to await me in a coach she’d borrowed from Miss Townsend for the errand. While Mr. Bywater had approved of me accompanying Cynthia, I preferred that her aunt, who disliked my friendship with her niece, did not watch us rolling off in a fine carriage together.

The sleek coach with liveried coachman lingered in Berkeley Square on the corner closest to Mount Street. A fascinated street boy held the horses while the coachman—his name wasDunstan, if I remembered correctly—assisted me inside as though I were a titled lady.

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