Page 2 of The Song of the Siren (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #2)

Bea turned to see their family nanny, Mrs Mabbs, at her elbow. “Them cakes are delicious too. Not what I’ll say so to Mrs Adie. More than my life’s worth,” she added with a confiding wink.

Bea laughed, well aware of the rivalry between Mrs Adie and The Mermaid’s Tale’s Mrs Fairway.

Though the two women were friends, that did not stop them being fiercely competitive.

Any fair or village affair where they both provided cakes could become fraught if you accidentally favoured one’s creation over the other.

“Do you think I ought to go now?” Mrs Mabbs fretted. “Caspar is quite a handful and—”

“No.” Bea patted Mrs Mabb’s shoulder. “Mrs Adie is perfectly capable of looking after the children, and you made an agreement. She will come next time, and you will have the children and look after things at the vicarage. Today is your turn. Stop worrying and enjoy yourself. Look, there’s Mrs Peacock.

Her daughter Sarah had her baby boy last week.

You remember how upset Mrs Peacock was when she moved to Rye after she got married, though it’s not exactly far away.

I’m sure she is simply bursting to tell you all about it.

You might have some good advice for her, too. ”

Bea smiled as she saw this idea take hold.

“Well, Sarah always was a delicate little thing. It wouldn’t surprise me if she needs some help. I’ll see how she’s getting along,” Mrs Mabbs said with a nod, and bustled off.

Lifting her teacup to her lips, Bea watched as the women of Little Valentine took the first step towards making new friendships.

She saw Mrs Marwick and Miss Halfpenny talking quietly and even laughing.

Madame Auguste, who considered herself rather above the rest of the shopkeepers in the town, was chatting animatedly to Miss Doomsday, the haberdasher’s daughter.

She’d been noticed walking to church with Mr Twyner’s son, and the entire town was now agog to see if there was a romance blossoming.

Bea wondered if Madame had an eye on the wedding gown and trousseau that would be required and then scolded herself for being cynical.

Setting down her empty teacup, Bea helped herself to a cake and had just taken a bite when the door to the dining room swung open.

She glanced up, sucked in a breath, and began to choke and splutter as a crumb hit the back of her throat.

The woman in the doorway stood rigidly upright despite her advancing years, her keen gaze raking over the assembly with the sharp scrutiny of a bird of prey seeking its next meal.

Utterly confounded, Bea put the cake back on her plate and hurried to the door.

“Your grace,” she said, dipping into a low curtsey before the august personage of the Dowager Duchess of Hawkney.

“Is this the Adventurous Ladies Club?” the dowager demanded.

Bea stared at her for a moment. “The Venturesome Ladies Club,” she corrected gently. “Yes, it is.”

“Hmph,” the dowager said with a sniff. “A pity. I’d rather join the Adventurous Ladies.”

Bea opened her mouth and closed it again.

“Why was I not invited to join?” the dowager asked, narrowing her eyes at Bea and brandishing the small advertising pamphlet that they had given out in the town. “It says to all the women of Little Valentine. Well, I’m a female person, am I not?”

“Indeed, your grace,” Bea replied, blushing at the realisation they had neglected to invite the most aristocratic woman in the town to join them. “In truth, we did not think our little club would interest you.”

“Know me, do you?” the woman said, a mocking lilt to her voice as she quirked one elegant eyebrow.

“No, indeed, and I beg you will forgive us for making assumptions. That was very wrong of us. The principle of our club is that all women are included, from all walks of life. You are most welcome here and I would be delighted to make introductions, if you would allow me the honour.”

The dowager nodded, still scrutinising Bea. “You’re the incomparable, one of those Honeywell chits. Your pa and your sister came for a visit, but not you. Frightened, were you?”

“No, your grace,” Bea replied placidly, too used to sharp-tongued old women to allow herself to be further discomforted. “Unfortunately, I was unable to come that day as I had a prior engagement. However, I should be delighted to call upon you at another time, should you like me to.”

“Hmmm. I might, at that. Come when it suits you. I’m old and cantankerous so I don’t get many visitors, and I don’t go about like I once did. You’ll find me at home.”

Bea smiled. “Then I shall certainly come. Now, do let me make you known to our club. I’m afraid our numbers are not great yet, for this is our first meeting, but with such an esteemed member as yourself, I feel certain we shall be a great success.”

“Oh, you do, do you? And how do you know I want to join your blasted club?”

“You are here, ma’am,” Bea said, holding the woman’s gaze.

The dowager snorted. “True enough,” she said, and then gestured behind her. “Mabel! Come along. Don’t dawdle.”

A nondescript woman scuttled forward. “Here I am,” she murmured, offering her arm to the dowager, who did not look as though she needed the support offered by either the woman or the ebony walking stick she held.

“Come along then, gel,” she said, making shooing motions at Bea. “But I warn you, I can’t abide toadies.”

“Understood, your grace,” Bea said, anxiously scanning the room for the woman most likely to entertain the dowager without being utterly terrified. “Mrs Adamson?”

Anne turned, the colour leaving her face as she noted the woman beside Bea. Still, she put up her chin and a polite smile curved over her full lips.

“Your grace,” Anne said, sinking into an elegant curtsey. “You honour us.”

“Who are you?” the dowager asked, narrowing her eyes at Anne. “Who are your people?”

“I am Mrs Adamson, proprietress of this hotel, and I am nobody in particular.”

The dowager looked thoughtful. “Them green eyes and all that hair, dreadful colour of course, but striking. Don’t see red of such a bright shade often. Unusual, I’d say.”

“Not terribly, no. Half my family have the same colouring and many others too, I’m sure. Now, can I offer you a cup of tea and one of our splendid cakes, perhaps?”

“You may and find me a seat for heaven’s sake. These old bones can’t be doing with standing about for hours.”

Within minutes, they had installed the dowager duchess in the centre of the dining room, a cup of tea on a small table beside her, and a plate with a variety of cakes and biscuits in her hand.

“These Ratafia biscuits are exceptional,” she said with surprise, regarding the small biscuit she had just taken a bite of. “Who made them?”

Somehow, everything the dowager said seemed to be uttered as a demand or a command, and Mrs Fairway leapt forward, bobbed a haphazard curtsey and said, “Me, your grace.”

“Excellent. You have a talent for sweet things. Might I have the recipe for my cook?”

Mrs Fairway opened her mouth to reply but was halted by the sudden sound of a throat clearing. She glanced at Miss Marwick, who stood beside her, gazing at the ceiling and appearing quite innocent, though Bea was certain it was she who had coughed.

Mrs Fairway blushed scarlet but held the dowager’s gaze. “I’d be honoured to give you my recipe, your grace, but the thing is, we have a rule in the Venturesome Ladies. If you give a recipe, you get one in return.”

Bea glanced at Anne beside her. “We do?” she whispered.

Anne shrugged. “We do now. Well done, Mrs Fairway.”

For a moment the entire room held its breath as the dowager glared at Mrs Fairway, then a pleased smile curved her lips. “Certainly. I have an excellent recipe for lemon cream. It is tart and refreshing. How’s that?”

Mrs Fairway looked like she’d just been given access to the crown jewels and was so overcome she ran forward and shook the dowager’s hand.

“Done,” she said, and then blushed scarlet at her own behaviour.

Cooks did not touch aristocrats under any circumstances, let alone negotiate with them, but the dowager looked entirely satisfied by the transaction.

“Excellent. I shall have my man send it around to you tomorrow, if you would have your recipe ready to give to him. I suspect I shall have guests arriving shortly and these delicious biscuits are just the thing to soothe prickly tempers.”

“It will be my pleasure,” Mrs Fairway said, turning to Miss Marwick and shaking her head. “Just think. My own recipe that is, and to be served by the dowager duchess too! Maybe the duke will eat them.”

Miss Marwick returned a rueful smile. “Whilst it is certainly an impressive achievement, I fear not. The duke is a high stickler, and I doubt he would ever lower himself to visit Little Valentine.”

“Well, she might take it to town with her,” Mrs Fairway said, determined not to be downcast.

“Indeed, she might at that,” Miss Marwick said with a laugh, meeting Bea’s eye and smiling.