Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

M atthew had other plans and so wasn't able to join Victoria and Richard for a late supper the following Thursday, but true to form, he had managed to dig up one useful piece of gossip from the various balls which he'd chaperoned Victoria to over the past week. According to the hostess of the first party at which they'd made an appearance, the Duke of Saffron Walden had indeed attended the function, but he hadn't stayed long.

She couldn't blame him. The clever but rather elusive Duke of Spice had done himself a service and been spared the long, slow death of the supper table.

"Lady Victoria, could you please lean a little closer," said her maid.

Victoria blinked back to the now. It was close to nine o'clock and she was standing in the foyer of Mowbray House, her gaze half focused on her warm evening gloves while Mary fastened her woolen cloak. At two and twenty she was more than capable of putting on a cloak and gloves herself, but the duchess insisted on having the servants do it.

If he is in the spice trade, I don't expect the food at the duke's table is boring.

Her imagination filled with thoughts of spicy curries, and rich hot dishes flavored with lashings of herb-based gravy. Every last drop of food would be sopped up with freshly-baked crusty bread.

Bliss.

Tonight she was going to visit the restaurant whose review had appeared in the Morning Herald earlier that day. All her hopes were pinned on enjoying an evening of culinary excellence. If things went according to plan, she'd write to the newspaper and share her own considered opinion of her dining experience. It may well be the beginning of a long and beautiful correspondence.

Please let all the dishes be a delight. I just want to eat food worthy of my desires.

This was London, a major city of the world. It shouldn't be that hard to find an excellent eating establishment, but her recent efforts had mostly been in vain. The usual dining haunts of the upper class did little for her imaginative palate. Roast beef was roast beef, and most cooks were content with a pinch of salt and some dried herbs to finish what was in truth a rather plain dish.

Her expectations for joy had now become firmly fixed on the writings of the weekly restaurant reviewer. He had to come through for her tonight.

"Ready to leave, Victoria?"

She turned as her brother Richard appeared at the bottom of the grand staircase which led down from the upper floors of the elegant Georgian mansion. His gaze went to her reticule and Victoria's heart sank. That look could only mean one thing.

He's gambled away all the money I gave him just a matter of days ago.

With Gideon no longer supporting his habit, and Coco and Matthew both tight with their own coins, Victoria had become Lord Richard Kembal's de facto bank.

Her maid finished with the cloak and bobbed a quick curtsy. "Have a good evening, Lady Victoria."

The second Mary had disappeared down the servants' staircase, Richard cleared his throat. "I'm happy to chaperone you this evening sister dearest, but…" A tight smile formed on his lips. "The cards are just not running my way this week. So I'm afraid I am at your mercy for the bill."

I can't recall the last time the cards did run his way. Not last month. Not this year.

It had occurred to Victoria that while she was being asked to play her role in the family, no one seemed willing to take Richard to task over his reckless spendthrift ways. She dreaded to think just how much money he had lost at the card tables, but suspected it was close to a small fortune.

The sound of their parents' raised voices reached her ears. At the top of the stairs, the Duke and Duchess of Mowbray were having an argument. A domestic tiff. Victoria and Richard exchanged a knowing look.

This wasn't a real fight between Anne and Clifford—their children knew the signs of one of those all too well. No, this was one of those…

She didn't want to think about her parents in that sort of way. The mere notion of them being naked and doing ‘things' made her stomach churn.

"I think it's time we left, don't you?" suggested Richard.

Victoria nodded her approval. If things went as they usually did with the duke and duchess, they would disappear into their private apartment and not be seen for several days.

The Duke and Duchess of Mowbray had made spousal fighting a gladiatorial sport, one only bested by their long sessions of making up in private. Victoria shuddered.

"Well past time we were gone. I do not want to be thinking of what our parents are getting up to as I put my food in my mouth."

She moved past him, signaling for one of the footmen to open the front door. Richard fell in behind, muttering. "Yes, perish the thought."

If the Rose and Thorns lived up to its review, the food should be top-notch. The reviewer for the Morning Herald had used the word ‘sublime' in his piece. Any reviewer worth his salt wouldn't throw that word around too lightly. It was something to be used rarely, like finely shaved truffles. Just a taste, and nothing more was needed.

The Mowbray town carriage drew up out the front of an address in Oxford Street. As the coach slowed, Victoria peered out the window. "Hmm." She opened her reticule and took out a piece of paper. "Well this is the right place, but I can't see anyone inside. Nor are there any lights showing."

Richard shifted to the door and opened it. "Wait here. I'll be back in a jiffy."

He was good to his word. Within a minute of stepping out of the carriage and making his way to the door of the restaurant, her brother had returned.

"The Rose and Thorns is closed. There is a small note pinned to the front door which read: ‘Due to supply issues, we are closed until further notice.' Isn't that the same thing the waiter at the Graceful Swan said they were experiencing?" said Richard.

"Yes, he mentioned a spice war, though I didn't take it all that seriously at the time because it sounds utterly ridiculous."

How hard could it be to buy spice in London?

"Don't you think it odd that both restaurants have experienced supply problems after they have been featured in the Morning Herald ?" he replied.

She wasn't by nature a suspicious person, but Victoria smelled a rat. Had the newspaper reviewer been trying to get people to come to his friends' restaurants not because their food was good, but because they were in trouble?

Had he been taking liberties with his loyal readers? If he had, that was an outrage. A scandal. And Lady Victoria Kembal knew a thing or two about scandals.

Food was a serious business and anyone publishing an opinion in the papers had to be beyond reproach. Favors could not be sought nor given.

Or am I just being a na?ve young miss?

"There is no point in us lingering here in the street," she said. They could turn the carriage around and simply go home, but the risk of them finding their parents still engaged in an amorous argument was too great. Richard gave her a look which reflected her own thoughts. They were not going home.

"How about we head over to Leicester Square and see if we can find a table at one of the supper clubs that welcomes ladies," he said. "Worst case we end up at a fish shop down by the river."

Her brother's suggestion was a solid one. They were both hungry, and Victoria knew more about the eating establishments in that part of town than most people.

"Alright. We shall try the Café Lyon and see if they can seat us. If that fails, then we head to the river."

Richard climbed out and instructed their driver where to take them. He climbed back on board, and after closing the door of their carriage, slumped back against the seat. Victoria could just imagine what was going through his head. If they did end up eating fish and oysters by the river, it was going to be difficult for him to ask her for money. Usually when they went out to a restaurant, she'd hand him the coins to pay for their meals, along with a little extra. A subtle move that meant he didn't actually have to beg his younger sister for a handout.

She was sure they would find a way to sort out the food arrangements along with Richard's money, but it still left the matter of the restaurant reviewer unresolved. Twice he had failed her. She wasn't in the mood for giving him another chance.

Sitting and staring out the window of the carriage as it rattled through the dark, cobbled streets of London, Victoria pondered her next move. It was time to take action.

I shouldn't be subjected to restaurant review fraud.

Tomorrow morning she would write her first letter to the editor of the Morning Herald , but instead of it being about the restaurant she was meant to have just visited, it would be a strongly worded missive noting her displeasure at the behavior of the restaurant critic.

She'd decided to make it her business to ensure that the reviewer came to regret toying with the sensibilities of the newspaper's readership. Of taking so little care with the serious subject of food. He'd failed her for the last time.

Perhaps this gentleman, whoever he was, might take her words to heart and graciously put his pen and ink away, allowing someone who truly appreciated fine dining to take up the lofty mantle of restaurant reviewer. Someone who could be relied upon to write honest and critical reviews.

And she knew exactly the right person for the job.

Me.

Victoria chuckled softly to herself. It was an impossible dream. The owner of the newspaper would never knowingly permit an unmarried woman to write for the Morning Herald .

But if a gentleman reader who regularly followed the column showed his depth of knowledge, the editor might take him more seriously. She had a whole journal full of her personal reviews which she could draw upon. Extensive notes which would add weight to her argument.

It would take a little effort on her part to copy some of those reviews, but it would be worth it. They would help to establish her credentials. The reviewer would then understand that this particular reader was not going to go quietly into the night.

With her heavy piece of correspondence, the editor of the Morning Herald was sure to sit up and take notice.