One Taste of Scandal Read Online Free PDF Page A

saw a man in a checkered waistcoat turning dials and pushing switches behind a large machine that appeared to be mixing dough. A little farther into the room, a fog of floury particulate matter coated the air.
    The dough mixer stopped abruptly and he heard coughing as the flour fog spread.
    “Mr. Melville?” He called in a loud firm voice that had gotten him what he needed even in the midst of battle.
    The man in the checkered waistcoat turned. Half of his face had been splattered with dough. His nose was disfigured with the stuff, making it appear twice as long as it was.
    “I’m not hiring today. Who let you down here?” The man stomped forward, taking the towel someone offered him and wiping his face.
    Judah stood his ground. “I am the new temporary manager.”
    “Eh? You are, are you? Some lordling, right?”
    “I am Captain Judah Shield, recently of the Royal Sussex Regiment,” he said evenly.
    Melville rubbed the towel against his nose. The hook the dough had created disappeared, leaving a blob. “Well, Mister Captain Judah Shield, recently of the Royal Sussex Regiment, you can take yourself up to the offices where you belong. Ask Hales to send a note around to Lewis Noble, will you? We’re going to need him to fix this.”
    “I hope you didn’t speak to the marchioness in this condescending manner.”
    “Who, Alys? Why, she’s one of us. She’d be the first person at the controls, trying to shut down her cousin’s blasted machine.”
    “I’d understood these machines were the wonder of the baking community.”
    “Aye, we have the best conditions for bakers in London, when they are working. But as you can see, they are not. We’ve patched these bloody machines together as best we could for months.”
    “Why patched?”
    “Because Lewis fell out with his uncle, and I suspect there is more to the story than that, because Alys wouldn’t call on him either. But you’re a stranger to them, and you’ll pay him a fair wage, right? We can’t keep on like this.”
    “I thought the bread had been baked by this time of day,” Judah said. “The marchioness gave me a timetable.”
    “The bread went fine. This is the scone dough for the tearoom.”
    “Any idea what happened? Sabotage?”
    “Now you’re thinking like a military campaigner. This isn’t some outpost with tribal Indians about; it’s just a business, with machines that break. If you can’t get me Lewis Noble, then you’re no good to me.”
    “I’m the man who signs your paycheck,” Judah warned. “I would think about that and adjust your attitude accordingly.”
    The man rubbed at his nose again. “I am never my best during times of disaster, and for that I apologize.” He sneezed.
    Judah regarded him for a moment. The clanking and cursing and thumping as someone slid on flour and toppled onto his backside fell away. “We’ll let this go then, but I am not as informal a manager as the marchioness apparently was.”
    Melville sneezed again.
    Judah stalked out and went in search of Hales, who he could only hope had Lewis Noble’s direction.
     
    “They can’t fix the machinery without him?” Ewan Hales, an urbane man in his mid-twenties, asked as they stood in the outer room of the manager’s office, where his desk was located.
    “They say not. Sounds as if it’s been held together with bits, bobs, and a prayer for months now.”
    Hales rubbed his nose. It seemed the flour cloud had permeated the building now. Judah could feel it too, tickling his nostrils, but he’d ignored worse physical discomforts.
    “I think it would be best if you wrote a personal entreaty,” Hales said, “mentioning you are the new manager. Say nothing about being temporary, but do say that you’ll pay a fair wage.”
    “Wouldn’t that be expected?”
    “No, Captain; he’s family. Grew up with the Redcakes after his parents died. Sir Bartley never paid him much of anything for his work.”
    “Are we sure he’ll remember how to fix the