The Merchant and the Rogue by Sarah M. Eden
by Mr. King
Installment IIin which an Unkind Deed causes sorrow in Innocent and Roguish hearts alike!
Royston Prescott could not understand why he was so very bothered that the local confectionery merchant didn’t seem to care much for him. He’d heard talk of Miss Tallulah O’Doyle and had been intrigued over the weeks since her arrival. At long last, his curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he had slipped in to discover for himself if what he’d heard of it was true.
The children in the village adored her, proclaiming her the kindest lady of their acquaintance. Many throughout the area applauded her generosity. A few expressed some concerns that her tender heart would make it more difficult to turn a profit, but overall, she was declared an excellent addition to the shops at the market cross.
He had seen her about town, always from a distance. She was lovely, animated, and seemed a decidedly happy sort of person. He also saw in her something he recognized: loneliness. There was a certain melancholy resting deep in her eyes that spoke of someone who felt out of place, longed for someone to recognize what she struggled with.
She had taken up his banter readily and had thrown back as many quips as he had tossed at her. She was funny and clever, and he appreciated that. But it had become quickly obvious that she saw him as everyone else did—as he made certain everyone else did—dismissing him as little more than a hopeless scoundrel bent on shallow and meaningless interactions.
It shouldn’t have bothered him, but it did.
He stepped inside her shop two days after his initial visit and found the place quite busy. She, of course, had children inside staring longingly at the jars of colorful candies and displays of petits fours. This was a place of dreams for young, poor children. How easily she could have made it torturous for them, but she didn’t. When a child produced a ha’penny or, if they were particularly blessed, a pence, she helped them select the very best assortment of candies.
“You’re very kind to our little ones,” Mrs. Morris said. “We’ve never before had a confectionary shop in town. Your corner of Chippingwich has become a place of dreams.”
“My dreams as much as anyone else’s,” Miss O’Doyle said. “I like the baking and making, and the children are a delight to have about. And the town is proving right friendly, which I’m needing being so far from m’ home.”
“Perhaps this’ll become a home to you.” Mrs. Morris echoed the words of the squire from two days earlier, but she sounded sincere.
“Miss Tallulah.” Georgie Kent, one of many children in Chippingwich seen pouring in and out of the shop, held a ha’penny up to her. “Anise candy, please, Miss Tallulah.”
She accepted the coin. “You are in luck, Georgie. Anise candy is reduced in price today. You’ll get an extra piece.”
Georgie bounced in place, his eyes pulling nearly as wide as his grin. He left, as so many did, utterly delighted with their local confectioner.
“Mr. Prescott,” Miss O’Doyle greeted, his turn having arrived. “What may I do for you?”
“I have heard quite a lot of praise for your petits fours.” He offered what he knew was a very winning smile. “I simply must judge for myself.”
“You realize, of course, I will charge you the full price.”
He pretended to be affronted. “Am I not endearing enough to be granted the Adorable Village Youngster price?”
She made quite a show of regretting the necessary answer. “Even were you endearing, you would be disqualified on account of your advanced age.”
Oh, she was a delight!
“Do you not offer generous pricing to the exceptionally aged?”
“The shock might send you into your somewhat early grave.”
He tipped her a flirtatious glance. “I’d be willing to take the risk.”
She quoted him the usual price, but with a laugh in her eyes he felt certain was answered in his. He purchased two petits fours and sat at one of the two dainty tables in the establishment set there for the use of the customers. He would enjoy watching her interact with the villagers as he ate the tiny cakes. There was something very calming and pleasant about Miss Tallulah O’Doyle. Even one such as him could appreciate that.
Before any of the little ones or their parents could request their preferred sweet or baked good, Squire Carman slid inside, making his way directly to the counter. He was not one to wait his turn. Neither was he one for any variety in his clothing. Always the red hat and cape. At times, like this day, he wore a crimson waistcoat as well.
“I’ve come for the cake I commissioned,” he said.
“Of course.”
Miss O’Doyle turned to the curtained cooling cabinet in the corner and pulled from a low shelf a queen cake, dusted liberally with confectioners’ sugar and decorated with candied fruit. Sugar came dear. This offering, elegant and no doubt delicious, would not be inexpensive. Of all the people in Chippingwich, only Clancy Carman could afford such an indulgence.
The cake was set on the counter before him. The other customers looked on in awe. It was a beautiful creation, one sure to inspire envy in the hearts of everyone not permitted to partake. The squire’s lofty guests would be duly impressed.
Was Miss O’Doyle? Or did she see the squire for what he truly was?
“This is not what I asked for.” Mr. Carman eyed the baked marvel in much the way one would a decaying corpse.
“It is what you asked for,” Miss O’Doyle replied, calm yet firm.
Mr. Carman raised his chin to an authoritatively arrogant angle. “I remember my requirements precisely.”
She opened the drawer directly beside her and pulled out a slip of paper. “And I wrote down your requirements.” She held the paper so he could see the writing thereon. “Which of these demands does the cake fail to meet?”
The shop had gone quite still and as near to silent as two children and four adults could be. The squire was not known to be a generous man, and many people whispered a warning about his temper. Miss O’Doyle might not have known that.
“If your list”—he sneered out the word—“matches what you have just placed on this counter, then you wrote down my requirements incorrectly.”
“I did not.”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
The snap in his tone silenced Miss O’Doyle. She watched him, brows drawn, expression both confused and concerned.
“The cake is a disappointment,” Mr. Carman said, an infuriating veneer of satisfaction touching every inch of his face, “but I haven’t time to obtain a replacement. I’ll pay you half.”
“Half?” Miss O’Doyle’s eyes opened so wide one would not have been surprised if they simply fell from her head. “I paid more than that just for the ingredients.”
Carman was unmoved. “You are fortunate I am willing to pay you at all.”
Miss O’Doyle’s eyes darted about the room, clearly searching for someone who could help her make sense of this turn of events. Royston left his petits fours on the table and moved with feigned disinterest to the counter, stopping behind it, beside her, and addressed the baffled woman in a low voice.
“He has done this before. I doubt we’ve a merchant in the entire market cross that hasn’t had him balk at some purchase or another.”
She kept her voice to a whisper like his. “He’s claimed disappointment at your haberdashery? I find that difficult to believe; you do have a reputation.”
A corner of his mouth tugged in an unfeigned show of amused pleasure. “Let us simply say he has saved a great deal of money in my shop.”
“And no one ever fights him on it?” she asked.
“He is powerful. It has generally seemed best not to rock the boat.”
“Until the boat capsizes,” she said.
“What are you two whispering about?” Squire Carman demanded.
Royston looked over his shoulder at the weaselly man. “I was telling Miss O’Doyle that I am enjoying the tiny cakes I just bought from her.”
The squire’s gaze narrowed on him, and a chill washed through the room. Mr. Carman had that effect. The people of Chippingwich could not say precisely why, but he made everyone uncomfortable in eerie and disconcerting ways.
“Does he ever grow violent?” Tallulah asked in an even quieter whisper than they’d been employing.
“No one doubts him capable of it,” Royston said.
She released a small, heavy breath. “I suppose some payment for the cake is better than none. And it would afford me time to decide what I mean to do moving forward.”
He nodded, not necessarily to give approval of that particular course of action over any other but as a means of acknowledging that she had chosen a path.
Miss O’Doyle looked once more to the squire; Royston got out of the way.
“Have you come to your senses?” Mr. Carman asked.
“I have come to the realization that I am neglecting my other customers by prolonging this transaction.” Miss O’Doyle held her hand out for the meager coins she had been offered.
The squire dropped the coins not in her upturned palm but on the counter before taking up his ill-gotten cake and leaving with a smug air.
The other villagers present in the shop stood frozen on the spot. Carman held enough sway to inspire wariness, and he was enough of a fiend to inspire fear. He was not missed when he left a place and gained few friends by arriving.
How would their relatively newly arrived confectioner respond to the man who’d been making life miserable in Chippingwich for years? Would she rant and rage? Weep and crumble? Loudly decry the unfairness of it all? They were reasonable reactions, each and every one.
She did none of those, however. She simply looked out over the gathered customers, her dignity firmly in place, and said, “Next, please.”
