Page 64 of Murder in Matrimony
“Good afternoon.” A clerk in his fifties, with a stylish mustache, greeted them briefly. He was attending a shopper who requested a halfpenny roll, which he procured for her to enjoy immediately.
Meanwhile, Amelia and Kitty inspected the biscuits displayed prettily in the front windows. At one time, biscuits were for sailors and seamen, nourishment that would keep during a long voyage. These, however, were much more than that. They might even rival some baked goods. Their variety was extensive, with many flavors and types, and the packaging tins were stylish. Any woman would be proud to carry them home from her shopping excursion.
With a sigh, Kitty picked up a mint green and pink tin. The wordsBaker Biscuitswere etched in beautiful cursive letters.
“Have you ever seen such a variety of biscuits?” Amelia gestured to the display of baked goods.
“Never.” She finished inspecting the tin and returned it to the table. “I understand how they mean to compete with Huntley & Palmers. They must be in high demand.”
Amelia agreed. Two young women waited to be helped before themselves. The clerk worked quickly, perhaps understanding from Amelia’s and Kitty’s clothes that they were not from theSoutheast but West London. The discovery often led to proclaimed higher prices by shop owners or clerks, but if anyone knew how to negotiate for goods, it was Kitty. She would not be overcharged. Amelia never had to worry about being taken advantage of when she was with her.
When the women left with their packages, the clerk turned to Amelia and Kitty and thanked them for their patience. “I apologize for keeping you waiting. Have you been here before? I have not had the pleasure of assisting you.”
Amelia understood he was trying to determine if they, like the other customers, lived in the area. She hoped they could use their unfamiliarity to their advantage. “We have not. We live in Mayfair.”
“Welcome, welcome.” He opened a glass-covered cabinet, and they understood they were meant to follow him. “Our biscuits are one of a kind. If you please, try a sample.”
She and Kitty each took a piece.
“Very good.” Amelia thought it was quite satisfactory, considering its mass production. But she didn’t need samples; she needed entry into the factory. “I’m looking for something special. My sister is getting married next week, and I’d like my breakfast to be unique.”
“Ah!” The clerk looked over his shoulder, making sure no other patrons had entered the store. They hadn’t. “I have just the thing.” His voice was lower, and his mustache twitched with excitement. “I do not have one here, but if you would permit me to step next door? The factory has something new you might be able to sample.”
Amelia was eager for the chance to gain entrance to the factory. “Yes, something new is what I want. We will join you.”
He tutted. “A factory is no place for fine ladies like yourselves. I will bring the samples here.” He spread out his arms. “For your approval.”
Amelia could do nothing but nod and agree.
After he left, Kitty said, “I wish we could find a way into the factory.”
“But how?”
Kitty tapped her chin. “I can think of no excuse. Perhaps we might wander in accidentally?”
Amelia lifted her eyebrows.
“A stretch, to be sure, but what else?”
“I confess I don’t know,” Amelia admitted. “Maybe something will occur to us when he returns. Until it does, we can ask about Miss Rothschild. If he could describe her position, it might clarify the amount of money she received during her employment.”
They were prevented from saying anything else by the clerk’s arrival with a man of prestige, dressed in nice trousers and an aptly tied cravat. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, reminding Amelia of someone. Perhaps it was her grandfather, who used to roll up his sleeves in the same fashion when he sat down with her with a bag of marbles. In his hand, the man carried a silver tray, as decent as any Amelia might use for tea, with two frosted biscuits.
“Ladies, you are in luck. Not every day is the owner onsite.” The clerk’s voice quivered with excitement. “May I present to you Mr. Baker, of Baker Biscuits. I told him of your wedding breakfast, and he wanted to bring you the selection himself.”
“I do not have the pleasure of knowing your names, I’m afraid.” His step was light and his words well spoken. His manners did his trade justice, and Amelia understood why Mr. Cross had encouraged his parishioners to seek employment at his factory. He appeared to care a great deal about his work and workplace.
“I am Lady Amesbury, and this is Mrs. Hamsted.” She smiled at Kitty. “We have heard extraordinary things about your biscuits and came to see—or should I say taste?—for ourselves.”
Upon hearing the honorific, the clerk inhaled a breath, beaming at Mr. Baker, perhaps gratified at having brought the owner over for the titled visitor.
Mr. Baker’s face was placid but pleased with the information. “And Mr. Jefferies tells me it is your sister, Lady Amesbury, who is to be wed?”
“Yes, it is.” Amelia wished her voice was more confident. It sounded as if she answered the question with a question.
Luckily, Kitty, who excelled at events, picked up the strain of the conversation. “Lady Amesbury is hosting a breakfastfor her sister in Mayfair, and she requires the best for her party. I assume those are your best biscuits?”
“Not only the best, Mrs. Hamsted, but the newest of our offerings.” Mr. Baker paused for effect. “Indeed, we have not placed them in the store for this very reason.”
