Page 25 of Miss Delectable
“One other condition,” Goddard said, rising.
“You aren’t having any compote?”
“The sweet doesn’t tempt me. Help yourself to mine.”
Sycamore would, once he’d seen Goddard out the door. “What’s your other condition?” he asked, getting to his feet.
“As your waiters serve the champagne, their trays will contain not only the filled glasses, but also the bottle from which the glasses were poured. You will also display the bottles at the bar, and if anybody asks—which they will, for my wines are superior to the pedestrian product you’re serving now—you will reply that, as a favor between family members, I have generously allowed you temporary access to some of my humbler stores.”
Admiration for Goddard’s strategy warred with surprise at hiscoup d’audace.“You have?”
“I am not in the habit of dissembling, Dorning. I will take it upon myself to acquaint Miss Pearson with the terms of our agreement. Hannah can start at the first of the week, and I expect you to provide her lodging, as you would any other apprentice.”
Goddard swiped two sandwiches from the tray, wrapped them in a plain handkerchief, and slipped them into a coat pocket. “I can see myself out.”
“Why do I feel,” Sycamore asked as he accompanied his guest to the door, “as if my superior officer has just come through on inspection?”
“Because he has. Please give Jeanette my most sincere regards. I’ll await your articles of apprenticeship for Hannah.” Goddard slapped his hat onto his head and gathered up his walking stick and gloves. “Jeanette is truly faring well?”
“She’s blooming. My family adores her. She already has favorite-auntie status with my oldest niece, and we are looking for a property of our own in Surrey. You need not worry for her, Goddard. She made a splendid match.”
Goddard merely glowered, which he did quite well, and slipped out the door. For a big man, he moved quietly, and for a man with a hitch in his gait, he moved with dispatch.
Sycamore returned to the breakfast parlor, there to finish up the leftovers. Jeanette found him polishing off Goddard’s apple treat ten minutes later.
“Did I, or did I not, hear my brother’s voice as I was getting dressed?” she asked, allowing herself to be pulled into Sycamore’s lap.
Sycamore hoped, ages and ages hence, that he and Jeanette were still on pulling-her-into-his-lap terms. Jeanette was striking rather than pretty, with strong features and red hair, but what Sycamore loved most about her was her ferocious heart and loyalty.
She was devoted to her idiot brother, more’s the pity, though in his way, Goddard was equally loyal to Jeanette.
Sycamore offered Jeanette his cider. “Goddard was asking that we take on a female apprentice in the Coventry’s kitchens. I agreed. Have some compote.”
Jeanette allowed him to feed her a bite. “Orion asked a favor of you?”
Sycamore thought back over the conversation. “I am nearly sure he did, but then, I ended up placing an enormous order for champagne with him and agreeing to advertise his vintages at the club, in addition to providing employment for one of his pickpockets.”
Sycamore was not entirely certain how all that had transpired under the guise of a favor between family members, but he had the niggling suspicion that the outcome, from free meal to free advertising to free transportation of the bottles, had gone exactly according to Goddard’s plans.
“This is progress, Sycamore,” Jeanette said. “That Orion would ask this of us is progress.” Jeanette offered Sycamore an apple-flavored kiss, and all thoughts of Rye Goddard’s schemes and skills went straight out of Sycamore’s head.
* * *
Yesterday’s meetingwith Sycamore Dorning had gone well, though Rye had been disappointed to catch not even a glimpse of Jeanette. He needed to see her blooming, needed direct evidence that her second marriage was an improvement over the first.
Perhaps soon…
He rapped on the blue door of the house next to the bakery that rendered the entire neighborhood redolent of fresh bread and cinnamon. No wonder Ann Pearson had chosen to bide here. The location was not only close to her place of employment, but her delicate nose would enjoy the ambient scents.
“Good day, sir.” A small, elderly woman in an enormous muslin mobcap peered up at him through a half-open door. “Deliveries at the rear, and we’re all Church of England here.”
“Colonel Orion Goddard, at your service. I have come to call on Miss Ann Pearson.” That Rye wouldcome to callon a young lady was a peculiar notion, but he had a debt to repay.
The door swung open. “Have you now? Have you indeed? Well, stop dawdling on the stoop like a contrary cat, Colonel. Miss Ann never said anything about expecting a caller, but then, my hearing isn’t what it used to be.”
“I hazard your hearing is quite sharp, ma’am, and your eyesight keen as well.”
The old dear cackled merrily and made no move to take Rye’s hat or walking stick. “You hazard correctly. You may pace in the parlor for the nonce, looking earnest and gallant, and what shall we do with your pretty basket?”
