“I know,” Mrs. Bentley said. “We had the doctor in, but it didn’t matter. He died anyway.”
The words sounded callous, but tears ran down Mrs. Bentley’s face, catching in the network of fine lines.
Tiffany took out one of the handkerchiefs she had hemmed, and gently mopped the tears away. Then she offered Mrs. Bentley some tea.
“What is in it?”
“Just lemon balm and a little feverfew. Sip it slowly and let us see if it will stay put.”
Mrs. Bentley sipped a little then lay back on her pillows. “That helps. I was so thirsty.”
“Could you eat something? I found some wild strawberries. Here, try one.”
Mrs. Bentley opened her mouth and accepted the morsel, chewing it thoughtfully. “So good. Just like a tiny lump of sugar. Could I have another?”
Tiffany carefully fed her another.
Mrs. Bentley savored it, then lay back on the thin pillow. She lay still for a few minutes, then she began to speak. “Tiffany . . .”
“Yes, Ma’am?”
“I’m sorry, child. I’m not always myself. I say things and I do things . . . but right now my mind is clear. I want to tell you something. Mr. Bentley left the shop to you.”
“He did?”
“Yes, he did. He knew I had no head for business. But I don’t think he meant for you to have it when you were quite so very young. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but you had such a saucy mouth. And then that man came into the store.”
“Man?”
“Michaels. He is a pirate, you know.”
Tiffany burst out laughing. “Oh, he was. These days, he is only a night cook in charge of the roast.”
“Did he hurt you, my dear?”
Startled by the endearment, Tiffany blinked for a moment. “No, never. In fact, I had not seen him since I ran away. Not until recently, anyway.”
“Such men, they can hurt young girls, you know. Even in marriage, as happened to your mother.”
“You knew my mother?” Tiffany stared at Mrs. Bentley in astonishment.
“I met her once. Only briefly. She was only shortly before her time. Your father brought her into the bakery to buy cakes to go with strawberries. Isn’t it odd how we can come full circle.”
“Why are you telling me this now?” Tiffany asked.
“Because, dear child, I do not think I have much longer to live. There are things you should know before it is too late and I cannot tell you.”
Tiffany had heard about people having moments of lucidity shortly before death. Could this be what was happening here? In all events, she did not want to waste this moment.
“I am listening,” she said.
“In your father’s desk is a will. They could not sell all of our things because of it. The building is entailed to Sir Barrette’s estate. They could evict me because my name was not on it, but the building stands empty.”
Tiffany felt a shiver run through her. Whether from fear, tension, or anxiety, she did not know.
“There are debts. They sold all my effects. My pretty gowns and the pins Henry got for me. They even sold the pots and pans out of the bakery. But the desk is built into the wall, and it was locked.”
“Where is the key?”
