Page 37 of Love with a Notorious Rake

Ah, the accent had been exaggerated. But Aidan wouldn’t comment on it now. “Again I ask: where do the pies come from? Are they made here?”

Rokesmith shook his head. “No. A man from the village brings them every night. Sometimes he wears an apron like a baker.”

“Listen to me, lad. I want to assist you. But we must keep it secret. As far as the master is concerned, I’m on his side. When I can arrange it, I will bring extra food. Might manage some clothing, extra water for washing…”

Rokesmith shook his head. “No. Washing and different clothes will be noticed. The food? Aye, I’ll take it. The younger ones are hungry all the time. And it must be small bits of food, easily hid.”

Clever. “I will see what I can arrange without causing comment. If anyone asks about me, I’m of a like mind with McRae. But you and I will know differently.”

“Why do this?” The lad gave him a wary look.

“When we know each other better and trust begins to build between us, I will answer your questions—and you will answer mine. Do you accept this compact between us?” Aidan held out his hand.

“I must be barmy,” the boy muttered as he took Aidan’s hand and shook it.

“Do you have enough water? What about the necessary?” Aidan asked.

Rokesmith pointed to a small wooden structure leaning precariously against a large oak tree. “Privy is there. Water buckets are delivered in the morn and for supper. No cups, but we have a ladle. Enough to drink, but not to wash, if ye get me meanin’.”

The lad was laying on the thick accent again. “Yes. Loud and clear. We have an understanding. I take it there is no schooling of any kind? Can you read?”

Rokesmith frowned. “No schooling. And I don’t trust you enough to answer the other.”

“Fair enough. If you ever need me after hours, I’m staying at the Dog and Gun Inn. My name is Aidan. Top floor, room fifteen.”

The boy gave him a dubious stare. Aidan couldn’t blame him. With a salute, he turned and headed for the village. At the inn he sought out the innkeeper’s wife, Mrs. Atwood. She had been receptive to his harmless flirting since his arrival; he could use that to his advantage.

“There you are, Mrs. Atwood. I was wondering if I could ask a favor. I find the food at the mill, what little there is, entirely inadequate. Perhaps you could supplement me with your astounding cooking?” He smiled, showing all his teeth, batting his lashes for good measure. “I would pay extra, of course.”

The older woman’s eyes twinkled. “What did you have in mind, Mr. Black?”

“Well, I’m not long recovered from a lingering illness.” Not a lie. “I need heartier fair, but small enough that I may carry it for when I become peckish or feel weak.” His smile widened. “And to share with my fellow managers, if so inclined.”

She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “I can make an oatmeal biscuit that melts in your mouth. It has rye, mullet, beetroot, as well as a little sugar and cut-up cherries. Robust ingredients to build up the blood. Sugar is dear, mind. But you are willing to pay.”

He bowed slightly. “That I am.”

Mrs. Atwood became animated, clapping her hands together. “I also make a lovely cheese roll loaded with onion, watercress, and tiny bits of ham.”

Aidan gently took one of her hands and laid a kiss upon it. “You are entirely kind. And I am eternally grateful.”

“Oh!” She blushed. “Shall we say two dozen—”

“Three dozen, three times a week. Same with the biscuits. I will pay you three pounds each week.”

She tore her hand from his. “Three pounds? That’s unheard of.”

“Then let us make it four pounds, and ask you to keep this agreement between us. Call it a special order.”

“It is far too much.”

“Nonsense. You are worth every penny. Do we have a contract, Mrs. Atwood? Do you agree to the terms?”

“Well, I would be a fool to say no. A special order it is. I’ll have the first lot ready for you tomorrow morning.”

Aidan gave her another dazzling smile. “Brilliant. Now, a bit of information: Is there a pieman in the village?”

She frowned. “Yes. There is a loathsome man who takes advantage of those too poor to cook their own meals. Most of those horrid flats and rooms have no stoves; many also have no fireplaces. Tattle has it he uses whatever dead animal he finds along the road.”