Page 47 of Murder in Blackfriars

“Which you will not play, young lady,” I admonished. “You sit quietly and help wrap the things, as we discussed. I will talk to the customers, not you.” Grace was very comely, I had her out in a crowd, and my mother’s fears did not settle.

“Yes, Mum.” Grace’s grin showed me she wasn’t contrite.

Hannah winked at her. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. If you find it dull going, Grace, you can always come to my table.” She laughed at my frown, waved to us, and departed, her dark skirts swinging.

* * *

I did not expect to sell anything more that afternoon, but to my surprise, I had a number of people stop by my stall. My first customer must have indeed told his friends and even passersby, because men and women in all shapes and sizes came to look at what I had to offer.

A small, plump woman with a basket on her arm claimed she’d heard I had the best fruit pies on the street, and was it true? I cut up one of the tarts and offered her a bit for nothing. She ended up purchasing four.

Another gent, in a hurry, snatched up one of the meat pies and threw a penny at me, stuffing it into his mouth as he went.

By the time shadows lengthened and a chill wind blew upthe road, I’d sold every single pie I’d brought, excepting the one I’d cut up. Letting people sample that one had helped enormously, I decided. I’d make a few extra for that purpose next time.

“Congratulations, Katie,” Hannah told me when she came to help me shut down. “I heard people singing your praises.”

“Yes, this is much easier than I feared.” I gathered up the few pieces of newspaper left over and swept the remaining crumbs from my platters.

Hannah laughed. “Do not become too full of yourself, my friend. Some days you can’t keep the goods on the table. Other days, you sit and wonder if London has emptied, so few people wander by. Better have a way to rid yourself of the extras if they don’t sell. At leastmywares don’t spoil.”

I knew that what she said was true, but I could not help a buoyancy as we stacked the plates in the baskets and prepared to make our way back to Joanna’s.

Grace and I said good night to Hannah and trudged back down the hill toward the station. I’d sold enough for us to ride in a hansom all the way across London, but it would be foolish of me to spend all the money I made in one go.

A woman from a baked-goods stall farther down the street abruptly stepped out in front of us as we approached.

She had threads of gray in brown hair under a straw bonnet, wore a drab gray dress, and had the sourest expression on her face I’d ever seen. She did nothing, only stood blocking our way.

“Good afternoon,” I told her. I’d purchased from her stall before, and she’d been almost gracious then. “Excuse me. We must get home.”

A young man behind the table she’d come from spoke. “Now, Mum. Don’t cause trouble today.”

The woman stepped close to me. “You want to watch yourself, missus. I’m the best baker on the Portobello Road, and don’t you forget it.”

I blinked at her. She certainly wasn’t the best baker anywhere, as the tea cake I’d bought from her had been far too dry, with only a tiny amount of currants in it.

“There is plenty of custom for both of us, surely,” I countered. “The market was lively today.”

“Ain’t you queen of the mountain,” the woman sneered. “All dressed up and stealing me punters. You won’t last long here, mark my words.”

“Mum,” the young man said.

The woman glowered at us a moment longer, then took two steps to the right, keeping her eyes on me. I nodded at her to show her I could be cordial in all circumstances and led Grace away.

I noted that the stall holders around us had watched the exchange with high interest.

We reached the bottom of the hill and walked down the stairs into the station. Our train was just pulling in, and Grace and I hurried to board it.

“Well, she was nasty,” Grace said once we’d sat down. “But you’ll show her, Mum. You are definitely the best baker in the market. See how everyone ran to buy your things?”

“I will not begin a battle,” I said calmly. In my life below stairs, I’d dealt with surly women—and men—before, who were certain I’d come to knock them from their places of relative power.

The woman’s son had begged her not to cause troubletoday. Which meant she was wont to cause it at any given time. The other vendors had gathered to watch, as though waiting to see whether we’d go a round of fisticuffs.

“The best thing to do is ignore her,” I said to Grace. “And not lower ourselves to her level.”

Grace looked a bit disappointed that I didn’t intend to wrestle the woman for control of the market, but I’d wait to see how things played out. If my goods were better than hers, it was not my fault.