She doubted one particular thing remained. Looking behind the counter, she saw the glaringly empty space.
“Someone filched the cashbox. Luckily, it was nearly empty since we haven’t been serving customers.”
Charles’s hand stilled on her back. Then perhaps realizing the impropriety, he moved away a few feet. “I suppose your builder has finished for the day?”
“He ought to be here,” she said, and they both looked at the mess he’d left. “Do you think he’s coming back?”
Charles’s grim face was her answer. They walked over to the mess of wood that would never be proper stairs.
“Has he already been paid?” He picked up a split piece of lumber.
“Some of it. Half to start, then a little extra for more supplies.”
She heard Charles sigh and knew what he was thinking. Then he asked, “What is his name?”
She told him.
“And do you know where his office is?”
Office?She doubted the man had any such. “No.”
“How about where he lives? Or Edward for that matter. Perhaps it’s the same place.”
She shook her head feeling ever stupider.What must Charles think of her?
Groaning, Charlotte gazed around her and thought how just a couple of weeks ago, Rare Confectionery was bustling. Not only did they have many customers until the terrible newspaper review, they also had good contracts, and no hole in the ceiling.
Now they had double the rent, someone selling their sweets at Covent Garden, they were down two contracts, maybe three, they had no customers at all, and a massive hole in the ceiling.
Feeling lightheaded with worry, she knew she must be pale for Charles stared at her a second before saying, “Let’s make tea and discuss what to do next.”
Following him into the back room, she began to remove the pilfered things from the sack on the floor while Charles lit the stove and put the kettle on.
“I did it!” he exclaimed as she righted Amity’s bottles of raspberry and orange essence that had been knocked over.
Glancing at him, and at his pleased expression, her heart lightened a little.
“I suppose you don’t have to make your own tea at home,” she realized aloud. “Or anywhere for that matter. Well done.”
“Are you making fun of me?” he asked, taking a toffee tray from her hands and setting it on the shelf where she was reaching to put it back.
“Oh, no, Charles. I am speaking in earnest. You lit the stove, filled the kettle, and put it on as if you knew what you were about.”
He grinned. “That was the extent of my kitchen abilities, I assure you. I would starve to death even with a well-stocked pantry if I didn’t have a cook.”
“I doubt that. You are a capable person who would figure it out. You would probably buy a recipe book and be a chef in no time. You have sense and you think ahead. You are never rash, not that I’ve seen.” She felt the tears well up as she compared him to herself. “And you would never pay a man to build you a staircase without knowing if he truly could do it.”
The tears flowed down her cheeks, and he took her in his arms. So disappointed in herself and in Edward, and especially in Edward’s uncle, Charlotte couldn’t enjoy being in Charles’s arms, despite trying to find comfort there.
If only she wasn’t so angry at herself.
“Maybe the boy will return tomorrow,” he said, “and you can find out where his uncle lives.”
“And if he doesn’t?” she said against his coat.
“Then I shall help you find him anyway. Edward Percy and Mr. Tufts both. I know some detectives at Whitehall who can help.”
“Oh, how embarrassing!”
