The Confectioner's Tale by Laura Madeleine Read Free Book Online

It won’t end well.’
    Gui laughed along with his friend, but in truth, he was uneasy. Why had Mademoiselle Clermont asked him back? Had she recognized him from the station? He could not fathom it, and relived their conversation in his head, only to remember time and again how she’d flushed when he had taken her hand. By the time Saturday night rolled around, he was a mess of relief and excitement.
    It was strange to slip out of the silent dormitory, to walk the frozen streets sober and fully dressed. There was not another soul to be seen, all the way to the river. The cart was waiting in the Place de la République. The horses stood patiently beneath the gas lamps, their nostrils steaming. A figure was huddled in the driver’s seat. When Gui approached, the man checked his watch and motioned to the back. Two other men stood there; they grasped his outstretched arms and hauled him onto a narrow ledge.
    Soon they were rattling through the streets towards Opéra. Gui examined the other workers, clinging to the tie-ropes. One was a boy around his age who looked like a taller version of Luc, the driver. He had the same square jaw and wide shoulders. The other man was older and sinewy. His greying blond hair poked out from beneath a battered hat. He caught Gui’s eye and grinned, breath fogging the air.
    ‘Had a wager going on whether you would show or not,’ he said.
    Gui shifted his footing on the step.
    ‘Why wouldn’t I?’
    ‘Why would you, is more the question. Hoping to get in good with herself?’
    ‘Enough, Yves.’ Luc’s voice rumbled back to them from the driving seat.
    ‘Does she,’ Gui began eagerly, ‘I mean, Mademoiselle Clermont, does she run the pâtisserie?’
    Yves snorted with laughter. He began to speak only for Luc to interrupt.
    ‘Doesn’t run anything of account.’ His voice was taciturn. ‘It’s her father’s business.’
    ‘He allows her to work there?’ Gui could not help but ask. ‘Receive deliveries at night?’
    ‘He does. Whether he likes it or not is none of our business. As long as there’s someone to take the goods, we get our money. It’s nothing to me who does it.’
    His words were followed by silence, save for the sound of the horses’ hooves slipping on the frozen cobbles.
    ‘The old night manager there was a drunken sot,’ Yves whispered, rolling the gossip around his mouth. ‘Don’t think Monsieur rightly noticed, but the girl did. One day she appears, cool as you please, holding the order book. Reckon she pestered her father until he gave in. Monsieur hates to be disturbed in his work, see.’
    Luc made a noise like a laugh. They all craned to look at the large man. His eyes were fixed ahead into the darkness, but he was smiling.
    ‘Known Mam’selle Clermont since she was a child. Mother died when she was barely a week old. Little thing used to hang around the kitchens like a lost kitten till they got her a governess. Even then, she’d run back again. Just wanted her papa, but he’d no time for her. He blames himself for her accident, though.’
    ‘Accident?’ Gui asked.
    Clearing his throat, Luc urged the horses into a faster trot.
    ‘Like I said, nothing to me who does the job, and Mam’selle Clermont is as good a clerk as any.’
    The lane was dark and quiet as they shuddered to a stop. Gui peered around. An old man with a handcart stood waiting, smoke curling from a cigarette jammed between his lips. The only other sounds were the jingle of reins and the creak of leather as they dislodged their chilled fingers from the tie-ropes.
    Luc hammered on the door, already shifting a crate to prop it open. Yves flexed his hands, smirking at Gui.
    ‘Hope you’ve got a head on your shoulders, boy.’
    The door flew open before Luc could land another knock. The Clermont girl was there, as before. In her gloved hands she held a huge ledger.
    ‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ she said briskly. ‘The kitchen is on night shift, so you shall have to have your