Page 52 of Payback

After declaring the orange marmalade cake delectable, Mrs. Carbuncle leaned forward. “Do you know what she did next?”

“I dread to think,” replied Edward.

“She got all the other little girls to report him to the police for hanky-panky.”

My brows lowered. Mom used to play a catchy old Madonna song called Hanky Panky. I leaned into Blake and whispered, “Does that mean spanking?”

“In this context it means fucking,” he murmured. “Or close to it.”

I ground my teeth. That lying bastard. And how could Mrs. Carbuncle believe any woman with good eyesight and a sense of smell would throw themselves at her grimy gorilla of a son and then take such drastic revenge because he turned her down?

“Why are policemen harassing you?” asked Edward.

She sniffed. “They think I know his whereabouts, but I don’t. He’s a great outdoorsman, my Ernest. He took his sleeping bag and might be anywhere.”

Blowing out a breath, Edward shook his head. “I’m certainly glad this trollop didn’t get the better of dear Mr. Carbuncle.”

“But I’m the one who suffers.” She took a bite out of the red velvet cake. “Do you know reporters came to my house, wanting to take photos? And a seedy Frenchman called Philip.”

“Philippe?” asked Henry.

“How did you know?”

He shrugged. “Je parle Français.”

Mrs. Carbuncle pressed a napkin to her lips. “They teach you all sorts in that Mercia Academy, don’t they? It was where the aristocrats used to go to school when I was a girl. I wanted to work in the kitchens, but they said I wasn’t qualified.”

“And the academy is poorer for not being graced by your lemon drizzle pudding,” said Edward.

“He could charm the knickers off a goat,” muttered Blake.

“So can you,” I whispered. “Let’s pay attention.”

“Does Mr. Carbuncle have connections in France?” asked Henry.

“No.” She reached for one of the finger sandwiches. “But each time this Phillip leaves an envelope for Ernest, the police come to visit days after.”

I swallowed a chunk of citrus peel in my lady gray. Mr. Carbuncle probably used Mercia as a base with his mother’s address as a pick-up point for his instructions. Since he had his mobile, he likely visited his mother whenever Philippe left a package. But what the fuck did Philippe send him?

“I think he’s the trollop’s fancy man, set out to get his revenge. He’s always getting my boy into trouble.”

I rolled my eyes.

Edward placed his hand on his heart. “It’s a travesty that so many should harass an innocent woman. Why don’t you stay in my guesthouse for a few days? It overlooks the mansion’s rose gardens, and we have a butler available to tend to your needs. You can see it as a sort of holiday until the trollop is caught and reprimanded.”

Her scone dropped to the china plate. “Y-you would do that for me?

My jaw dropped to my chest. I leaned forward and whispered, “Edward’s kidnapping an old woman?”

“I believe he’s treating her to a luxury holiday she’ll never forget,” said Blake.

“Edward,” said Henry. “Why don’t you escort Mrs. Carbuncle this evening in your limousine?”

“I’ll be ready at seven o’clock,” said the old woman. “Do you think they’d let me take home the cakes I didn’t eat?

A boulder of dread rolled through my belly. What would Mr. Carbuncle say if he knew we had taken his mother?

Chapter 15