Agents of Time: Chapter Nine; The bakers daughter and the note.

James tapped a beat on the metal hood of the car, tempting burned fingers with how warm it was. The women had disappeared into the row of shops quite some time ago. He was starting to wonder just what measure of time the countess used for “Not very long.”

He inhaled intending to let out a bored sigh. Instead, he stopped mid breath, and inhaled harder. What was that smell? Savory and tangy armours tinted the air, milling with the sweet smell of gasoline and oil that lingered around the car.

“Something sweet this way comes.” He murmured as he looked around, scanning the street. Nothing really seemed to stand out, just rows of townhouses with quaint shops built into the first levels, signs stretched out above the sidewalk or plastered above the windows.

James hazarded a step or two out into the middle of the street, gloriously empty, in fact the whole street was strangely lacking a crowd. He glanced at this watch, maybe people frequented the pubs close to lunch time, stayed off the streets. It certainly wasn’t a pub that he smelled.

James glanced at the car and continued his slow wander down the street. IT should be fine parked there, if he could just keep it within his view. Not like there was really anybody around to steal it right now. He squinted, looking in shop windows. Where had the women disappeared to? But he only saw fuzzy reflections of himself and the street in them.

His nose found another burst of sweet, oranges? He looked up at the shop signs, tracing them down the lane, almost skipping over a small white storefront crammed in-between two tall townhouses.

The sun glinted off the metallic writing on the window, he moved closed to read it.

Bettys cake shope

A cake shop? He grasped the handle and entered, stepping to the side and he narrowly avoided colliding with a leaving customer, carting a bag of steaming bread. With his eyes relived from the strain of sun glare, he could take in his surroundings with ease. The floor creaked too loudly as he took a slow step forward. A glass case and counter stood a few feet from the door, racks of freshly baked bread displayed up behind it. while the cases themselves glittered with colourful baked goods.

James stepped up to the glass cases, getting a glimpse of what was behind them. It was a cafe setup, with small round tables and chairs. Seemed like the reverse of what was usual. But in a way, it cleared the front for moving customers to come in and out without disrupting the customers who wanted a quiet place to sit and have a warm cuppa.

“Anything I can get for you?” James just about jumped. A small young woman smiled at him from behind the register.

“Oh no-I’m just looking. For now. I can’t decide. I’ve never been here before.” You’re a spy for goodness’s sake, get it together

Somehow, she smiled wider, her short brown curls bouncing with a tilt of her head. “Of course! I’m Amber, the well.” She waved toward the sign.” My mother owns the place! Just let me know when you decide. Oh, I do recommend the Grantham or the Fairy baskets, if that helps.”

Fairy baskets? Apparently, James’ face must have looked more confused than he meant to, or maybe she just found him amusing. Either way the woman’s face lit up in another smile.

“These are the Grantham’s.” She tapped the glass case where a tray of neatly lined pale cookies topped with a chocolate glaze were displayed. “And these are fairy baskets!”

The case beside it held a variety of cupcakes, but these “fairy baskets” stood out. Arranged huddled together on a platter, the cupcakes had coloured cake instead of icing. A sparse swirl crowned them instead. The rest of the cake looked to be sprinkled with coconut flakes and topped with a thin strip of candy.

James eyed the rest of the goods, but his eyes inevitably wandered back to the woman behind the counter.

Suddenly, choosing seemed entirely impossible.

“Well.” He leaned over and tapped his knuckles on the counter. “I’m new in town, so why don’t I take a few of your recommendations? Build a bundle of your best goods, maybe?”

A smile spread across Amber’s face; James couldn’t help but mimic it. “Of course I can do that. What do you fancy?” She started probing through the case. “I’m guessing you have excellent taste. You look like you’re from the big house.”

“I’ll eat just about anything. Surprise me. “He drew closer to the cases stopping just short of the glass. Getting prints on them may earn him a stale loaf of bread. “The big house? You mean the estate?”

“Us locals here just call it the big house. I’m sure I would have remembered you. Have you been in service long?”

James shook his head. “Actually no, I mean-yes.” Just form a straight sentence man! “I’m the new chauffeur. Chadwick Rodsworth. At your service.”

Amber’s eyes lit up. “Oh! You must have arrived with her ladyship! The Princesses, final and fourth lady-in-waiting.”

“Yes, that would be me. Well, I’m not the Lady in waiting, obviously, but. Yes.”

“I think it’s interesting how her Majesty took a lady-in-waiting from each of the surrounding provinces. North, South, East and West. Fitting, I think, being as we’re in the middle of it all. “

James nodded, watching as she picked up another confection and added it to the growing basket of goods.

“Have you been around the town yet?” Amber’s inquiry drew his eyes upward again.

“Not really. I’m escorting the ladies right now, well, not now. They released me for a few minutes on the account that I bring back pastries.” The lie tasted sour in his mouth, he swallowed, a useless lie really. He should probably get back to the car. Wouldn’t do any good if they were stuck there waiting for him. He glanced over his shoulder. Surely a few more minutes would be okay.

She giggled, “It’s amazing what baked goods can get you.”

“Yeah…” James leaned on the counter, sensing the end of Amber’s scavenging. “Actually, I need to furnish the cottage with something more than kitchen scraps. Where’s a good place to buy some fresh food?”

“Ooh.” Amber lugged the wicker basket up onto the counter, plonking it down by the clunky register. She tapped a finger on her chin. “Well, the Sunday market is always good. We set up a booth there, and there is always lots of fresh produce from the local farmers. It cycles based on the season. Since it’s autumn there won’t be much of a harvest. But there will be some things! You can put in an order with the general store, but they’ll only do dry goods.”

“Sunday market sounds nice. I’ll have to come visit my favourite baker.” He winked.

Amber smiled as she typed up a few things on the register. “I look forward to seeing you then. Now, let me grab you a cloth for the basket. Keep the bugs off my baking!” She disappeared in the back, and James dug out the coins Verena bestowed upon him before they’d left.

Foreign pieces of metal that hardly resembled the modern British pounds he was acquitted with. He peered at the display cases looking for any hint of prices. Had Amber mention the price? He tried to peer over the register. Surely, he could decipher them somehow. Usually, the smaller the coin the less its worth. He moved them about in his palm, looking for any significant numbers.

“Chadwick?”

“Hum?” James looked up. “Oh. Amber.”

Amber glanced down at the coins. “I can put some things back.” She lifted the newly laid cloth from the basket. “I probably should have considered that you haven’t been here long enough to receive your wages yet. Since you were picking things up for the royal party, I thought-I shouldn’t have assumed. Well, I think I got carried away and-”

James caught her hand with his free one. “Oh. No, no Amber, it’s fine. Ve-Her ladyship gave me some, I just. Well.” How could he explain this? How could he lie to such a kind woman? Of course, he already had, technically. That was a casual lie, the sort that slipped off his tongue like butter. An ability he was well acquainted with in the world where you had to spin tales from thin air. Sometimes keep yourself alive.

He breathed in. “Well, you see, it’s just, I can’t-” He closed his mouth. He wasn’t sure what would come out.

Amber snaked her hand out from under his. “It’s okay if you can’t count, James.”

He blinked in surprise. She thinks I’m illiterate. “Oh, oh no, I um. It’s just a different-”

“May I?” Her fingers lingered inches away from his fist; “I don’t mind counting it out for you. I do it all the time for Mrs. Casper down the road. If you don’t trust me, I could always open a tab-”

James relented, relaxing his fist, sometimes it was better to let people make their own assumptions, no matter how pure. Even if it hurt some strange part of his chest. She doesn’t think your dumb, just- He interrupted his own thoughts. “No, that’s fine, actually.”

She smiled and drew the coins out of his palm, her fingers grazing over his skin, leaving the absence of the cold coins.

One by one, she placed them on the counter, muttering under her breath as she counted.

James watched. Strangely entranced.

Whether it was the girl or the unfamiliar coins, he didn’t know.

Amber’s head rose, and she slid a pile of coins over the counter. “This is your change.” She swept the rest towards herself, catching the coins before they fell if the counter, “and this is mine.”

James placed a hand gingerly on the basket handle; “then, I suppose I’m done here.”

“I suppose.” Amber fiddled with the coins, leaving the register waiting. She arranged them in a stack, holding them together between her fingers. “Well! Maybe I shouldn’t have given you so much food. You might not have cause to come back now.”

James lifted the basket up. “I’ll always want more, anyway.”

Amber lit up. “I guess I’ll see you around? Do come to the market on Sunday!”

“I’ll make it even if I have to fake my death to get away from the house.” He’d done it before.

Amber’s laugh followed him out the door and left a burning smile on his own face.

He emerged from the bakery, a basket laden with goods piled in his arms. This was not how he had envisioned this day or the last hour going. But he wasn’t particularly mad about it.

Voices carried on the wind, feminine voices. He looked at the car. Had he strayed too far? He really should have just stayed with the car. At least the car was empty, and still there. He didn’t see anyone on the other side of the street either.

“Mr. Rodsworth?” He heard Rodina's voice behind him. That was not good.

James adjusted the basket so it sat lower in his arms, and he could comfortably look over it. He could feel Verena's eyes burning holes in the back of his coat. He slowly turned, glancing towards the windows of the bakery. He should have stepped out of view. He’d humiliated himself Infront of Amber once already. Although only he knew that.

“Ladies!” James exclaimed.

“You’re a little farther from the car, aren’t you, Mr. Rodsworth?”

“Yes, well, since you-”

“I asked him to pick up some things for us, since it’s so close to noon. I apologise for not mentioning it sooner. Simply slipped my mind with all the gala shopping.” Verena interjected, almost literally. Placing her hand on the basket, effectively drawing Rodina's attention to her.

James hoped his apology and his thanks were conveyed in the gaze he quickly shot her.

The Countess eyed James once more before plucking the cloth on top of the basket. “Very well. What have you brought us then?”

“Ooh, yummy! Why don’t we have a little picnic on the lawn outside the castle? Those grassy hills are full of daisies. They’ve been calling to me.” Fiona peered around Rodina.

The Marchioness, who James felt, rather than heard her step up to his side, offered her support of the idea. “I could use a nice luncheon in the fresh air. It’s still early in the day. We can avoid most of the bugs. Shall we?” With that as her closing statement, she turned and started walking back towards the car. The rest followed. James pulled the cloth back over Amber's baking before following.

Now, how was he going to arrange these in the car? James set the basket on the passenger seat. A strange benefit of the class stigma meant that sitting beside the driver was generally considered…well, it wasn’t even considered. It was lowering yourself.

“Guess you get shotgun,” James muttered as he set the basket snugly on the floor. A lack of seatbelts meant that he didn’t trust it not to fly out of the seat mid-turn.

As James crossed to the other side of the car, he noticed a little slip of paper sticking out from under the windshield wipers. Surely, they didn’t have ticketed parking yet?

Slipping it out, he examined it as he stepped into the drives seat. It didn’t look like any sort of ticket. Made of yellowed, rough paper and folded into an intricate little square.

“Well, aren’t you a mysterious little thing?” James started the car, letting it run for a few seconds while he carefully unfolded it. His brow furring deeper at the scrawled black ink letters were set in large font across the page.

DON’T TRUST THE AGENCY.

A million and one questions raced through James' mind, broken by the reminder that he had a job to do. He tucked the ominous note under his leg as he pulled the car away from the sidewalk.

He glanced at Verena in the rearview mirror. She was preoccupied with looking interested in whatever conversation was happening in the backseat. The buzz of his thoughts pulled him in different directions. Blocking his ears to what the discussion was.

He needed a way to bring this up with his partner. He glanced at her again, hoping to catch her eye.

As they left the structured town streets and inter the worn gravel roads that lead to the castle, James’s hazard to clear his throat. Spinning the tale that he’d started constructing in his mind. “Lady Parker. You got a reply to the telegram you asked me to send.”

“ Telegram?” Verona gave him her full attention, leaning forward in the seat.” Do pass it back.”

James pulled the note out and unfolded it as best he could with one hand. The jiggling streeting wheel demanding he keep on hand it at all times, les a rut in the road unlash chaos. He pressed it into her hand, hard. “The sender said it was of utmost importance and would like a reply as soon as possible. I apologies for not bringing it up in town.”

“Oh. Don’t worry, the castle has a machine, you can send it from there.” Rodina said.

“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you.” Verena said smoothly. James couldn’t help himself from glancing from the road to her in the mirror repeatedly. Her reaction was well guarded, but she met his eyes for a brief second finally.

As they neared he grassy hills in front of the castle, Verena brough the subject up again. “Where did you say the castles, telegraph machine was Countess?”

“I believe it’s down in the servant halls, the butler can help you send it.”

“I see. I think I’d better reply to it right away. I was going to wait until after the picnic, but.” She paused as if contemplating her next words. “I think it’d be better to get it off and sent.”

“Aww, you’ll miss the treats.” Fiona said.” Are you sure you can’t just get Mr. Rodsworth to carry the message to the butler?”

“It’s better if I see to the task myself. I promise I’ll come join your afterwards.”

James slowly stopped the car on the side of the road. Every muscle in his body demanded urgency, wanting to rush and do away with everything so he could find out where and who, that note came from. He flexed his hands, needing somewhere to put the anxious energy bouncing around in his chest. The three women stepped from the car, lighting brushing his raise hand, not sparing him a glance as they surveyed the grassy hill before wandering into it to consider where to place the picnic basket.

James stepped round the car tightly, narrowly missing catching his suit on the bumper as he reached for the basket. Verena took the opportunity to lean in and whisper to him. “Where did you find it?”

“It was on the windshield when we returned.”

“And you saw nobody.”

“No. The street was strangely empty at that.”

Verena hummed, thinking and leaned back. James picked the basket up with one hand, determined to hoist it out to the field of grass and flowers, instead of carting it in his arms. The women had started to resemble tall flowing flowers themselves. With the distance they had set off from the road. Their skirts and hat ribbons rippling in the breeze that brushed over them.

“Over here!’ Fiona raised both arms and waved, dropping them when the countess waved a hand at her, but she remined staring at James, as if she could become a honing beacon just by looking at him. Of course, you couldn’t miss them with their dresses in such a sprawling hill. If it had been a few hours earlier, he would have wanted to join them.

Thankfully they didn’t keep him longer than it took for him to set the basket down, and he was heading back to the car, resisting the urge to run back, settling for a fast-paced gait that thudded into his mind, punctuating each thought that buzzed around.

Who had left it? Why had they left it. And, most importantly. Did they know, and how did they know.