Sipping the tea, feeling a little sick to her stomach, Charlotte wondered whether to close the shop until she could sort the mess out when she heard the bell. Feeling heartsick, not to mention weary from poor sleep, she nearly stayed where she was and let Edward handle it alone. However hearing him ask if he could help the customer, his young voice sounding as much like a girl as a boy, she rose to her feet.
“Two pounds of toffee,” was the reply as Charlotte pushed open the curtain. “One plain, one smothered in chocolate.”
Oh, sweet mother!It was a footman from the palace, wearing the royal livery. It happened only a couple of times a year that the queen sent someone. The other times, they received a notice asking for confectionery to be delivered. She must want to eat some immediately if she’d sent a servant.
Now Charlotte really did think she was going to be ill.
“Good day,” she began, watching Edward start to open the display. She ought to have pulled out every last piece of toffee and dumped it into the rubbish, but the task had seemed monumental, not to mention wasteful. Still, she was in charge and ought to have been decisive.
“You’re from the palace, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Yes, miss,” replied the footman.
“I assume, then, that this toffee is for Her Majesty?”
“Yes, miss, and the queen’s guests.”
Edward promptly dropped the tongs he’d been using, luckily onto the counter and not the floor.
“Does she need the toffee this very moment?” Charlotte persisted, trying not to become flustered at the notion of sending the servant on his way with two pounds of inedible toffee.
“I beg your pardon, miss, but she did send me so she would have it today.”
Where was Beatrice?That question popped into her mind first. Followed by a rash hope that the chocolate smothered toffee was perfectly fine.
“Would you care for a sample?” Then she frowned. Maybe having the footman try it wasn’t the best course of action, but she and Edward couldn’t start munching on it as if unsure of its quality. Besides, footman or not, he would know good toffee.
“I beg your pardon, miss,” he said again, “but I am not sure I am allowed.”
“Everyone who comes in gets a sample,” said Edward. “Even I did.”
The liveried servant looked bemused. “But you work here,” he pointed out.
“I didn’t at the time. Go on. What would you like to try? Miss Charlotte’s marzipan is ever so good.”
“No,” Charlotte interrupted, practically with a yell. She already knew there was nothing wrong with her own confectionery, but the rest was dodgy at best.
“I mean, I hope you will try the same as you are taking to Her Majesty. Please, have a chocolate-smothered toffee.”
She looked at Edward, who picked up the tongs and blew on them. Charlotte made a mental note to tell him later that wasn’t the way to clean a utensil in front of a customer. Then he put a piece of the toffee on a plate and handed it to the footman.
With a nod of thanks, he removed his glove, tucking it under his arm, picked up the sweet, and popped it into his mouth. For a moment, Charlotte thought all was well. Then the man’s placid smile altered. He frowned slightly, which turned into a puckered expression of distaste.
Then to her dismay, Edward proudly proclaimed, “I made that myself!”
Dear Lord!The mystery was solved, but at such a cost. The footman was chewing manfully but not with delight. The texture was probably correct and even the chocolate might have been tasty, but the toffee! Their renowned delectable treacle toffee!
Charlotte had tasted the burned, bitter flavor, like stale coffee, twice already while trying to determine if each batch was bad. It had been a nasty experience.
“We will not be able to sell you any toffee, as you have determined,” she told the man.
“What?” asked Edward, clearly stunned.
She would explain to him after they got rid of the queen’s servant.
“I apologize. Please tell Her Majesty—” she broke off at the footman’s expression. Obviously, he was in no position to tell the queen anything. He was to deliver it to some lowly kitchen maid who would deliver it to the cook or housekeeper who would probably deliver it to the butler or whoever waited on the queen.
Perhaps she could ask the footman to tell everyone at the palace that they were sold out.Would he lie for her?
