'Twas the Night Before Mischief Read Online Free PDF Page B

looking for shelter, there was no one at the piers.
    Penelope turned and went into town. Gray stone buildings lined the main street, and the wind blew in the faint smell of whisky from the town’s distillery. Penelope stopped at the butcher’s shop, a fish market, and a grocer’s, but the men shook their heads when she inquired about work.
    â€œYe’d not be likely ta find anything after fishin’ season, lass,” the grocer told her.
    Penelope thanked him and plodded on through the growing darkness. Surely there had to be something…She stopped. A shop window beckoned to her like a talisman. Iced cakes and buns sat piled on plates, surrounded by decorative holly and Christmas ornaments.
    She hurried to pull open the door and inhaled a warm rush of cinnamon-and-sugar-scented air. Longing tightened her chest, surprising her with its speed and intensity. Twelfth Night cakes and loaves of bread sat upon the counter, and the baker bustled out from the workroom with a tray of comfits.
    â€œHelp ye, lass?” he asked as he began setting the comfits on a plate.
    â€œI…I’m looking for work,” Penelope said. “Just for a few days. I’m new to town, but I’m a hard worker. My father owns a bakery and confectionery in London, so I know all about how your establishment operates. You must have an increase in customers before Christmas. I know my father always does.”
    He studied her for a moment. “You worked in your father’s shop?”
    â€œOh, yes. I spent most of my childhood there too. I can arrange the displays, assist customers, even help with decorating the cakes.” She wasn’t too certain about that last bit, but she’d watched her father ice cakes enough times that she could no doubt muddle her way through.
    The baker shook his head with evident regret. “Sorry, lass. Me boys are here ta help for the holidays.”
    When Penelope sighed with disappointment, the baker extended a small cake. “Take one of these, if ye like.”
    Penelope touched the coins still in her pocket. Foolish thing, to waste her money on a Christmas cake…
    â€œGo on, then.” The baker set the cake on the counter and waved his hand toward it.
    Surrendering to the urge, Penelope thanked the kind man and took the still-warm cake, cradling it in her palms as she returned to the inn.
    She hurried upstairs to her room, where the pot of tea still rested on a table. Not caring that the tea was now cold, Penelope poured a cup and sat beside the fire as she ate the sweet cake.
    The taste of cinnamon elicited a new sorrow, and again that peculiar longing for her father’s shop at Christmastide. If she closed her eyes, she could picture the customers crowded around the counter buying chocolate drops, her father bustling around with a tray of almond cakes, the faintly bitter scent of cocoa drifting from the workroom…and herself sitting invisible in the corner.
    She blinked back tears. She was proud of her father. He’d worked hard to make Darlington’s Confectionery a successful establishment. She didn’t resent him because of the time and labor involved in owning a business that had drawn the approval of Her Majesty. And with the promise of a royal warrant, Darlington’s Confectionery was poised on the brink of the country’s greatest approbation.
    Penelope would be a selfish girl indeed if she begrudged her father such success. She just wished he had realized she was more than the obedient daughter he’d always expected her to be. She wished he hoped as much for her as she hoped for herself.
    After finishing the cake, Penelope crawled into bed and tried to sleep. She was up at dawn the following morning and set forth again to try to find work. A seamstress finally allowed her to hem a gentleman’s waistcoat for two pence, and though the pay was meager, the woman offered her a supper of boiled ham, potatoes, and bread.