Page 11 of Thief of the Ton
She drew near Springfield Village and skipped along the main street. The aroma of damp leaves—which always foretold the onset of winter—was joined by the deep, smoky scent of log fires, eliciting images of families huddled over a fire, warm and snug, protected from the elements.
Mr. Bates had shown her how to lay a fire. Aunt Edna would have a fit of apoplexy if she knew.
But what her aunt didn’t know couldn’t hurt her.
“Good afternoon, little miss!” a voice cried.
A plump, ruddy-faced woman stood in the doorway to the bakery and raised her hand in greeting.
Lavinia waved in response.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Jenkins!”
“I’ve some muffins doing nothing. Would ye like one?”
Lavinia skipped over, her stomach growling at the scent of freshly baked bread, and Mrs. Jenkins held out a packet.
“I’ve no money, Mrs. Jenkins,” Lavinia said.
“Lord bless ye, I’ll not want no payment—not for a stale old muffin!”
Lavinia held the packet to her nose and inhaled the warm aroma. “It smells fresh.”
“Well, it’s not,” came the reply. “Tell your Pa, if he asks, that I’d have only given it to the pigs otherwise. I know he’ll take no charity.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Jenkins,” Lavinia said, cradling the packet.
“Be off with you, then! Ye’ll not want to keep yer pa waiting. Mary said he’s got a guest for tea this afternoon.”
Lavinia skipped through the village and, ten minutes later, turned into the gate leading to Springfield Cottage.
It looked less forlorn than when she’d first arrived with Papa. Mr. Bates had repainted the door and windows, then weeded the garden—with the exception of where her den was located. The chimneys had been swept, so the fire in the parlor no longer smoked.
Mrs. Bates had proven to be an exceptional cook, and she often let Lavinia help in the kitchen. It was through Mrs. Bates that Lavinia had come to know many of the villagers—Mrs. Jenkins was Mrs. Bates’s sister, and she always had a smile for Lavinia. The first time Lavinia had seen Mrs. Jenkins, she’d been given a whole basket of cakes to take home, but Papa objected and told her to return them. Thereafter, Mrs. Jenkins only gave Lavinia the occasional stale cake or biscuit—though they always tasted the same as the fresh ones.
Lavinia entered the cottage and caught sight of Mrs. Bates bustling about with a tea tray.
“Miss Lavinia—help me with the tea, would you? There’s another in the kitchen needing fetching.”
Lavinia dashed into the kitchen and placed the packet of muffins beside the sink. On the table that dominated the kitchen was a tray laden with neatly cut sandwiches and an enormous, brightly decorated cake.
Heavens!She’d never seen anything so luxurious. Fashioned into two tiers and decorated with sugar roses in myriad colors, it must have taken Mrs. Bates all day. She plucked a sugar rose off the top tier and popped it into her mouth.
It melted on her tongue, flooding her senses with sweetness, and she closed her eyes, relishing the taste. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d eaten cake, let alone one that had beeniced.
“Mercy me, Miss Lavinia! What are you dawdling about here for?” Mrs. Bates bustled into the kitchen. “Your papa’s guest will be here soon.” She set her empty tray aside and approached the table. “Miss Lavinia! Have you taken one of the roses?”
Lavinia nodded. She’d never possessed a talent for concealing her emotions. Even when she was not at fault, her cheeks always warmed in anticipation of transgressions, past and present, being discovered. Besides, she didn’t have the heart to tell falsehoods to Mrs. Bates, whom she’d come to love a great deal more than Aunt Edna.
“Tiresome child!” Mrs. Bates cried, though her voice carried a note of affection. “Never mind—it’s nothing I can’t fix, but don’t let your Papa find out, or he’ll be right angry.”
“Who’s coming for tea?” Lavinia asked.
“It’s not my place to ask,” Mrs. Bates replied. “But it’s a fine lady, I’ll warrant. My Joe was up all night seeing to your father’s cravats.” She glanced at the wall clock. “Be off with you now, and change,” she said. “I’ve set aside your best dress in your chamber.”
Lavinia nodded and exited the kitchen. As she approached the foot of the staircase, she spotted Papa at the top, resplendent in a charcoal-gray jacket and cream breeches, with a satin embroidered waistcoat and matching cravat.
“Papa—you look wonderful!” she cried.
