Trifling Favors (Redcakes Book 7) Read Free Page A

the parlor to say hello to her father.
    “Sausages tonight,” she said, waving her packages at him.
    “I brought home irregular tartlets for dessert. Want any help?”
    “No, it’s better if I keep moving,” she said. “If I sit I’m going to stay in the chair.”
    He nodded. “I’ll let you be.” He puffed at his clay pipe, the one bowl of tobacco he allowed himself each night. The rich smoke of the Virginia leaf curled around his head.
    Betsy smiled and left him to his vice. Forty minutes later, she had the sausages cooked and a tidy pile of toasted bread on a plate in the center of the table. She called her father in and they ate a companionable meal, sharing the small details of their day.
    “Looked haggard, did he?” her father said, shaking his head at Mr. Redcake’s vague behavior that afternoon. “Must be the little ones getting to him. Can’t be easy, losing his wife just after his twins were born.”
    “I do not know very much about him,” Betsy said, setting her napkin on her plate. “He keeps to himself. How old are the babies?”
    “About a year.” Her father shook his head again. “I remember Lady Hatbrook speaking about him, back when he was in Bristol at the factory. Meant to be a proper husband and father, she said. Such a pity to lose his wife so soon, but I suppose there is none better to take responsibility for the children.”
    “He is a mild man,” she agreed. “I told him about the unsatisfactory performance of the new bakery girl and instead of telling me to remove her, he said to give her a few days more.”
    “Might be too nice to run a business,” her father said. “But it was kind of Sir Bartley to give it to him as a wedding gift. You’ll keep him sorted, my girl. You’re made of tougher hide.”
    She nodded. He was right of course. Having no mother from the age of four made for a hard life.
    “Did you hear that?” Her father frowned.
    “Someone knocking,” she guessed. “I’ll see who it is because you’re still eating.”
    The small house made her arrival at the front door almost instantaneous. She opened it assuming she’d find one of the neighbors begging for something they needed for their own meal.
    Instead, she saw the back of a short, stocky young man with a pouf of dark blond hair that she knew was far too angelic for his soul. Her sausage dinner threatened to reappear.
    Victor Carter, Violet twin’s brother, had come to visit. Whenever Betsy dealt with him, she understood a little why her mother might have felt it necessary to kill the father, if he was anything like his son.

Chapter Two
    “B etsy,” Victor said, in a voice that seemed older and deeper than his nineteen years.
    “Miss Popham,” she said. “Thank you very much.”
    “Sure,” he said with a careless wave, and attempted to get around her and into the house.
    She lifted her arms and placed her hands on either side of the doorway. “You know you aren’t welcome here.”
    “Lost me mam on Sunday,” he said conversationally, as if she was meant to offer some personal sympathy.
    “I know. It’s such a pity.” She forced the words out. While she’d never had much of an opinion of the Carter women, Victor made her flesh crawl.
    “Who is it?” her father called from the kitchen.
    When she turned to answer him, Victor dashed past her and into the house. He veered left to go into the small parlor they kept just for themselves. On the other side a slightly larger room was ready for guests, not that they had many, but passersby could see through the bay window, so they kept their best furnishings on display there.
    Immediately, Victor went to the mantel above the fireplace and opened her father’s tobacco tin. He took a short clay pipe from his pocket and helped himself liberally.
    Betsy pressed her lips together and went to direct her father upstairs. While he was head of the family and it was his job to protect her, she knew he was too soft and would probably give the young man