Page 65 of Murder in Matrimony
“They have not been sampled by London, then?” Kitty appeared quite interested and not just for the sake of the investigation. Her interest might have been piqued for a party of her own.
“No.” A smile transformed Mr. Baker’s face, displaying all the kindness of which he was capable. Amelia imagined this was the face he showed his children, or perhaps grandchildren. It was the face of a proud parent. He took pride in his work, and it showed.
Kitty, however, was not taken in by smiles or promises and remained businesslike. “I hope they taste as good as they look, then.”
“I await your estimation.” Mr. Baker held out the tray.
From the first bite, Amelia knew what she was tasting. Soft, sweet, singular. She glanced at Kitty, and Kitty was staring at her. Amelia knew they shared the same thought: these were Mrs. Rothschild’s biscuits. The taste was so distinct that it could not be replicated except by the exact recipe. She must know how he acquired it and knew of only one way—or person, rather: Rose Rothschild.
“I am impressed, Mr. Baker,” Kitty exclaimed.
“As am I,” agreed Amelia. “I’ve never tasted anything quite like it. The biscuit, if it may be called that, is extraordinary. May I ask if it is a new recipe?”
“You may ask, but I will never tell.” Mr. Baker chuckled. “If your reactions are an indication, I believe it will take London, nay the entire globe, by surprise.”
The factory was planning on mass-producing Mrs. Rothschild’s biscuits. The notion was as clear as the pleasure Mr. Baker took from their approval. The factory was expanding, and this recipe would ensure the business’s success. Amelia knew of no other confection like it. But did Mr. Baker realize it was Mrs. Rothschild’s recipe? She saw no deception in hisface, no crookedness. He seemed genuinely pleased with the product and their reaction.
“If not the globe, at the very least my sister’s wedding breakfast.” Amelia attempted to share in his laughter. “I would like to place an order, if I may, for the party.”
“Very good.” Mr. Baker was a professional, and the chuckle faded away. Still his voice held a note of pleasure perhaps in knowing the recipe was approved by fine ladies of Mayfair. “I will bid you a good day and allow Mr. Jefferies to assist you with the order.”
Amelia and Kitty thanked him, and Mr. Jefferies went to retrieve an order form from a cabinet. When they were alone, Kitty whispered, “They are Mrs. Rothschild’s biscuits.”
“I thought so, too.”
“Rose Rothschild must have given them the recipe,” added Kitty.
Amelia raised an eyebrow. “Or sold it to them.”
“Of course!” Kitty exclaimed, and Amelia shushed her. She continued more quietly. “That would explain her influx of monies and extravagant gift giving.”
“We cannot be certain without confirmation, which we might be able to obtain yet.”
Mr. Jefferies returned with the form, and they quit the conversation. Kitty gave her a look that explained she was ready to do whatever Amelia needed to find further answers. What that was, however, Amelia did not know. The recipe was secret; nothing would be shared there. However, she might be able to ask about Miss Rothschild and her employment at the factory.
As Mr. Jefferies took down her address, Amelia introduced the topic. “I must ask, Mr. Jefferies, about the working conditions of the factory. It’s a subject that concerns me. I’m certain you’ve heard the tales of horror that come out of some establishments, and I believe it was not that long ago that I read of a girl falling to her death here.”
“There is no concern about Baker Biscuits. On that you have my word.” Offense entered Mr. Jefferies’ voice. “I know of the girl you speak, Miss Rothschild. She was young and impatient. Her fall was her own doing. She had no business in the upstairs office. She worked the ovens.” He shook his head. “Somefactory girls believe they can do anything. The work has gone to their heads.”
“The girl did not normally work upstairs?” Amelia kept her voice calm but just barely.
“No, never.” Mr. Jefferies tipped his chin. “Miss Rothschild was employed in the bake rooms. She had no business in the packaging rooms.”
If that was true, why was she in there in the first place?Amelia wondered. She could only suppose that Miss Rothschild needed something, and no one was present to supply it.
“You may be assured, Lady Amesbury, that Baker Biscuits is an esteemed employer,” continued Mr. Jefferies. “I’ve been here for ten years, and I’ve always been treated like family.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Amelia smiled. “Mr. Cross was a great promoter of Baker Biscuits. He was my pastor at All Saints on Margaret Street.”
Mr. Jefferies put a hand on his heart. “Dear Mr. Cross. He was trying to make changes to help people in the East End. He will be missed here and everywhere.”
Amelia was glad Mr. Cross at least had one business supporter.
“Indeed,” agreed Kitty. “Did he recommend parishioners to the factory?”
“Several.” Mr. Jefferies returned to his bill of sale with a sigh. “But many in the area do not want change. They want things to continue as they always have.” He pointed to the date, and Amelia supplied it.
“The recipe won’t get out before then, will it, Mr. Jefferies?” continued Amelia. “I hope I can be assured of its novelty.”
