“We’ll be leaving Bath soon. The town house here could use a night porter, someone who can sort out trouble.”
Doug nodded. “That might do, my lord.”
Chadbourn put his mug down on Doug’s desk and set a card beside it. “Send him here and tell him to ask for Smythe, the butler. I’ll warn him to expect a new footman. Is there anything else I can do for you?” He appeared to mean it.
“Do you happen to know a Lt. William Linder?”
“No. Should I?”
“To be honest I’m not even sure he exists, but if he does, he needs to take better care of his woman.” Doug described “Mrs. Linder” and her desperation. “Worn out soldiers aren’t the only ones wanting help,” he concluded.
“I have contacts in the War Office still. I’ll see what I can find for this woman of yours.”
Long after the earl left, Doug stared at the wall deep in thought. …this woman of yours. She wasn’t Doug’s, but, by God, she ought to be someone’s.
CHAPTER4
Doug endured nightly questioning by Aunt Edna. Every evening when he pulled up in front of the narrow town house, a bit removed from the more fashionable parts of Bath, the old woman waited for him at the window; he learned to watch for the curtains to twitch shut. That meant she went to order up supper trays for the family parlor, and he would find her in her wingback chair by the fire ready to pour his tea.
His aunt’s days centered around this time when she could catch up on gossip about their employees, news about customers, and the ebb and flow of the business. At first, he thought she wanted only gossip, but Aunt Edna quickly disabused him of that notion. She and Uncle Horace had been partners in the enterprise, and he had to admit her shrewd business sense made his abrupt transition into the thing easier.
The evening after the earl’s visit was no exception. He handed a loaf of fresh bread and Butterfield’s sweet buns off to the maid of all work and joined her. They began with the people who mattered the most to her.Yes, Joey continues to learn the craft as well as his menial tasks. The new warehouseman is as eager as Doug hoped. Mrs. Potter’s grandchild’s croup appears to have improved, but she still keeps her mother up nightly.
That done, she wiped her mouth with her serviette, put it back on her lap, and studied him with sharp eyes. “How did your meeting go with the swells at the Assembly Rooms?”
“Well enough. The Master—old King— behaved as you predicted, looking down that long nose of his and throwing Merriam Soap and Candle Works in my face.”
Her face fell. “They’ll be needing boxes and boxes for those chandeliers. If we could supply even half, it would help. Horace sent them our best beeswax samples yearly to no avail.”
Doug bit back a smile. “I brought whales’ candles.”
Her brows rose. “Did you now. The old goat probably turned up his nose.”
“I didn’t give them to him. I gave them to his manager, Fowler. If he tries them out, the old goat, as you call him, won’t notice the difference. And they will save money.”
She looked thoughtful. “We won’t make as much, but the margin will be the same, given the lower costs. What did the man say?”
“I had him with the cost, I believe. He’ll try them, sure enough. Then we’ll see.”
Mary, the cook’s niece who kept house and generally looked after his aunt, came in and cleared their trays. Doug moved to the other wingback chair—the one they would always call Horace’s—while the girl went to fetch more tea, anticipating those sweet buns, which were, he had to admit, every bit as wonderful as Aunt Edna claimed.
Once she had poured him a cup and he’d bitten into the little bit of heaven in his hand, Aunt Edna asked what other news he had.
“An earl visited my office this afternoon.”
She sat up a bit straighter. “A new customer? Can’t have too much word of mouth among the fashionable.”
Doug chided himself for not thinking of it. “No. An old comrade. He won’t be in Bath long enough to do business.” He made a mental note to talk to the butler after they hired Corporal Browning, though.
“Is he the one you sent those unfortunate soldiers to?”
“He hires workers. Yes. I may have another for him.” His aunt had been supportive of hiring when they could but stern in her warnings that their ability to pay had limits. She encouraged him to find places for the men.
“He promised to look for Lieutenant Linder.”
“You mean for that woman?” She frowned down at her tea, lost in thought for a moment before murmuring. “Poor mite. I doubt he exists, but it won’t hurt to inquire.” She glanced up, remembering something. “Did you send round to the dairyman to keep sending milk?”
“How did you know about that?” He asked ruefully.
