‘Okay, I know the ending to the garden party wasn’t brilliant,’ Amelia interjected when Clemmie paused, her voice kind but firm, ‘but don’t let Fiona Fairweather or Oliver take this away from you. You know what she’s trying to do. She wants that cookbook in her name. But you were there on your own merit.Someone nominated you. Someone chose you, and decided your baking was worthy of being showcased among the elite, and they weren’t wrong.’
Clemmie nodded weakly, though her tears hadn’t entirely stopped.
Amelia pressed on. ‘If there is an investigation, so what? You’ve got the evidence. That recipe book dates back decades. Generations. It’s as authentic as they come. I’m sure they won’t even find grounds for an investigation. At the end of the day, it’s a baking competition, not a political scandal.’
Betty snorted at that. ‘Honestly, I’m sure what Fiona Fairweather baked wasn’t some cherished recipe passed down by her great-great-grandmother either. It was probably something she pinched off the internet and her personal chef whipped up last minute.’
That drew a small, watery smile from Clemmie, and Amelia seized the moment to lighten the mood further.
‘As for Oliver,’ Amelia said with a dramatic eyeroll, ‘he’s got a long way to go to redeem himself. If he’s even capable of that.’
Betty’s expression darkened. ‘He’s not welcome in my café, I’ll tell you that much. If I see him, I’ll chase him out with my rolling pin.’
The image of Betty wielding her rolling pin like a sword sent the three women into a fit of giggles, the tension in the room easing ever so slightly.
As the laughter subsided, Clemmie took a deep breath. ‘It doesn’t matter as he’s off to America. I don’t think I’ll ever hear from him again. Thank you. Both of you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
Betty said simply, squeezing her hand, ‘We stick together, always.’
Amelia leaned forward. ‘You said, the Queen mentioned the Earl of Aberford. Who is he and how does he factor into all of this?’
‘The Earl of Aberford.’
Betty froze, the colour draining from her face. ‘Say that again?’ she said staring.
‘The Earl of Aberford,’ Clemmie repeated slowly. ‘Apparently, there was some kind of scandal. He decided not to use his title and then disappeared from royal life, years ago. Why?’
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the soft ticking of the clock on the wall.
‘I’ve actually heard that name before,’ she said.
Clemmie and Amelia exchanged a curious look.
Betty’s eyes looked up towards the hatch in the roof in the hallway. ‘And I’ve seen that name before.’
‘Where?’ asked Clemmie.
‘There’s a box in the loft with that very name on it. I asked my mother about it and she said it belonged to her mother and it was never to be opened.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Betty and Amelia stood at the bottom of the loft ladder, peering upwards into the shadowy space beyond the hatch. The floorboards creaked faintly as Clemmie shuffled about above them, her voice drifting down in muffled bursts.
‘What exactly am I looking for again?’ Clemmie’s voice echoed faintly in the space, the words punctuated by the soft thuds of her shifting boxes and old trunks.
‘It’s a cardboard box,’ Betty called back, cupping her hands around her mouth. ‘Should be labelled simply “Earl of Aberford”. It’s not too big, I don’t think. Your great-great-grandmother was very particular about labelling things.’
‘If it’s so particular, why’s it buried under all this?’ Clemmie grumbled under her breath. ‘Honestly, there’s a century’s worth of dust up here. I’ll be sneezing for days.’
‘Do you need some help?’ Betty called up, craning her neck.
‘No, no. I’m fine. I’ve just got to… Oh, hang on… What’s this?’ Clemmie’s voice grew sharper, edged with curiosity. ‘It’s a suitcase. Feels empty though. Not what we’re after.’
‘Keep looking,’ Betty urged.
The floorboards creaked again as Clemmie moved further into the loft. A thud followed as she tripped and crashed to the ground and muttered, ‘Oops. Sorry about that!’
‘What was that?’ Betty demanded.
