Page 54 of Murder in Blackfriars

We loaded two baskets, and Joanna sent us off. Once more Grace and I risked the underground trains and emerged to walk up Portobello Road.

The woman with the bakery stall lower down the slope gave me a scowl as we trundled by, but she was surrounded by customers and had no time to disparage me.

I was gratified to see people already queuing while Hannah brought out the folding table she stored for me and helped me set up my wares. She retreated with a grin as some of the people who’d purchased from me last time started asking for the same again.

The scones went quickly, as they were a treat one could eat while perusing the rest of the market. I’d made certain to bring more newspaper, Joanna having saved all of Sam’s from the week. News of financial dealings in the City or winners of the most recent horse races wrapped pork pies and apple, fig, or damson tarts.

I’d brought more today, as I’d be able to stay here longer, including two extra tarts to cut up as samples, but by midafternoon, my table was bare. I’d made more than two crowns today, I realized as I totaled up the earnings. I felt rich, successful, and pleased.

Grace and I took apart the stall and carried the things back to Hannah, who, as usual, sat behind her table with her feet up. She never worried that she didn’t have a crush of patrons, but then, she was here most days. I supposed her sales balanced out over the week.

“Well done,” Hannah praised me as she rose to help me stow the folding table. “I knew you’d do well, Katie. Give up working inside a stifling mansion and stay out here with me. You’d make plenty if you came every day.”

“I’m certain they’ll grow tired of me.” My self-deprecation was not to admonish her but to remind myself not to become too optimistic. “Cooking in a well-stocked kitchen allows me to experiment with recipes and decide what to bring here to sell.”

Hannah was skeptical. “I doubt the fine ladies and gents you cook for want you to experiment. Plain meat andpotatoes, with cheese and fruit for after, is more what they demand. You’re wasted there, you are.”

She wasn’t far from wrong, but I did not give way. “It is better that I do this a little bit at a time. Diving straight in might be more exciting but could bring disaster.”

Hannah’s dimples showed. “My always cautious Katie. Life races by, my friend. Grab it by the horns. Grace, me love, what would you like today? Pick out anything you want.”

Hannah liked to spoil Grace, but I’d allow it. Childhood was fleeting, as was our time together.

As Grace eagerly looked through the pieces of faux jewelry and little boxes that she loved, I also browsed. Perhaps I’d reward myself for all the money I’d made today with a small purchase.

Hannah had acquired a stack of books since last week, leaving them in a pile on the corner of the table. I sifted through them idly, finding that most of them were children’s picture books, too young for Grace’s tastes.

One book caught my eye, and I paused.

The board cover had been printed with a colorful depiction of the ocean, with children playing on a shingle strand in the foreground. The edge of a cottage poked into one side of the picture, and a few clouds floated through an unrealistically blue sky.

The cover had cracked and chipped with wear as it was handed from owner to owner, but the picture had my fingertips tingling, as did the title of the book.

At the Seaside.

17

“I’ll have this,” I told Hannah, lifting the book.

Hannah regarded me quizzically. “That’s for a tiny lad or lass. Do you have a secret?” Her eyes twinkled.

“Certainly not.” I pretended indignation, but I was too distracted to heed her teasing. “It is for orphan children. Looked after by a vicar.” The boys and girls in Mr. Fielding’s brood might not be interested in picture books, but it was a plausible excuse.

“Mr. Fielding is ever so kind,” Grace put in. “Has six children in his care that he rescued from the streets.”

“Six?” Hannah’s brows climbed. “He sounds like a saint, he does. I don’t hold much truck with saints. Too interfering and holier-than-thou.”

“Mr. Fielding is a different sort of saint,” I said. “I doubt you’ve met one like him. Here is the farthing for the book. Thank you, Hannah.”

Hannah took the coin without fuss but regarded me incuriosity. Thankfully, she asked no more questions, and I tucked the book into my basket.

Grace and I departed. My rival’s stall still had waiting punters, likely because I’d told them that if they wanted tea cakes and biscuits, she had them aplenty. When she ceased being so belligerent, I might drop her a hint as to how to add a bit of oil to the cakes to make them tender instead of dry.

Back we went on the train. Grace chatted readily about the day and how wonderful it had been. She didn’t mind the work of wrapping up the purchases, enjoying the fact that I was selling so much. Indeed, it had been satisfying to see how many of my first customers had returned.

Once we reached Joanna’s home, I had only enough time to leave my baskets and earnings and say good-bye to Grace.

When I’d told Joanna my worries about carrying so much money around, she offered to keep it for me. Sam could exchange all the small coins for larger notes, and I could send these to the building society.