Chapter Twenty-One
Charles glanced at Charlotte. The bloom was off her cheeks to be sure. She marched up to the woman.
“Do you have marzipan, too?”
“Of course, missus.” The woman said, glancing at Charles, then back to Charlotte. “Would you like a bag of it, assorted shapes?”
“Yes,” Charlotte said, her voice barely above a whisper. Her stare was plainly one of fascination as the woman reached down, lifted the crude lid of a plain wooden box and drew out a bag. “Hold on, that’s all chocolates.” Dropping it, the woman grabbed up another. “That’s the one, missus.Marchpane, as my mother called it. And this is the most delicious you’ll ever taste.”
“How much for the bag?” Charlotte asked, her tone soft and quiet, making Charles more worried.
“It’s dearer than toffee, to be sure. Made with almonds, which ain’t cheap,” the woman added. “A farthing for the bag. There are cute shapes in there. Three pieces. Sometimes a fruit shape, sometimes a pig—”
Charlotte snatched the bag from her and opened it, releasing a soft gasp as she did.
“Here now. That ain’t free,” complained the street seller.
Charles quickly dug into his pocket and pulled out some coins, paying the woman, which made Charlotte scowl. Then she smoothed out the bag, and he could see the sapphire blue words with a little arching design over it and squiggly bits on either side.Artistic, he thought, but hardly the point.
“Rare Confectionery?” Charlotte prompted the woman, as if reading the bag.
“Yes, missus. I call it that because the sweets are so delicious as to be rare around these parts.”
“Indeed,” Charlotte said, and her tone was becoming harsher with each word.
Charles considered the situation and made a decision. “How long will you be here today? We might want more after we’ve done our shopping.”
The woman glanced at the clock tower visible above the stalls. “I’ll be here for a few hours longer, sir. Got to put food on my table. I have three young ones to feed.”
At those words, he saw the anger drain out of Charlotte. Nodding, he turned away, but when she didn’t accompany him, he took hold of her forearm and drew her with him.
“But—” she began.
“Let’s talk first,” he murmured into her ear, leading her farther away. “Come along, be sensible.”
She let him take her to the end of the row of flowers, but then she yanked her arm free.
“Be sensible? I find my own confectionery being sold at less than half price by a stranger — and you paid her for it instead of denouncing her! Now you are telling me to be sensible.”
“I know you felt sorry for her when she mentioned her children.”
Again, he saw her righteous anger leave her like air from a deflating balloon. “You cannot be angry at a mother,” she agreed.
“Did you recognize her?”
“Edward’s mother by the resemblance,” she murmured. “Undoubtedly so. She looked like him about the eyes and mouth.” Putting a hand to her forehead, she sighed. “Goodness, what a mess!”
“I thought perhaps we should discuss what you want to do. Call the police or simply confront her. Does Edward know you know about this?”
“No, but I questioned him about the deliveries being off. We had two of our steady contracts cancel yesterday. I was depending upon that money while the shop is closed.” She clasped her hands together. “Edward didn’t show up today. It was the first time he’s missed work since I hired him. I made the deliveries myself and found we’d nearly lost the other contracts, too. Then the manager at The Langham told me someone was selling confectionery exactly like ours, and he was right.”
“Since Edward knows he’s been found out, he will probably tell his mother tonight. I doubt she’ll be back tomorrow, either.” Charles hoped that made Charlotte feel better. “In any case, he won’t be able to steal any more sweets to give to her.”
“Stealing! How could I have misjudged so terribly? I am an idiot. I treated Edward like family.”
“That was good of you. You’re a kind, decent woman, but ultimately, he had his own family to whom he owed more allegiance.”
“What do you think I should do about...?” and she gestured back toward the woman in the blue cape.
