Taffy knew The Raven well; it was a rather less than reputable place, on a dingy street called Ram Alley. Not the kind of place your better butlers would frequent, that was for certain sure, Taffy thought. Why, most of these butlers were stuffier than their masters; you never caught them taking a pint of th’best in the local, with a baker on one side and a wagoner on the other. No sir, butlers gathered in flash pubs and traded discreet gossip amongst themselves. He felt a glimmer of hope about Staple. This was likely to be a man influenced by a bit o’th’ready, in Taffy’s opinion. Fired by the mistress herself, the kitchen maid had said, delight stiffening her tone. Fired for not behaving like a gent, it sounded like.

Better and better, Taffy thought. Butlers what as thought themselves one step under God Himself were likely to get their noses out of joint when they were told they weren’t acting like gentlemen. Taffy cast one more look at Sheffield House. Patrick Foakes must be gone by now. Taffy set off for The Raven.

Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Two weeks later Taffy achieved what he felt sure was the apex of his career. He unfurled his morning Tatler and looked at it lovingly. He had the whole gossip section to himself, just as they had promised him. He checked his own name first. There it was: Mr. Peter Taffata. He sighed in satisfaction. Last time they had spelled his last name with one F and it gave him indigestion for days. “Butler Tells All,” he read. “Honeymoon Crisis; Wedding Trip Canceled, the Countess’s Tears.” Lovely. Really lovely. And then his favorite headline: “All’s Well That Ends Well: the Countess and the Twin.” Taffy really liked the literary touch—using the title of a Shakespeare play. He thought it gave the article a touch of class that The Tatler didn’t usually get. His thoughts wandered to a dream of writing for The Times.

Charlotte took one look at the paper that Molly silently brought to the breakfast table, and almost gagged. Her wedding night was down in black and white where everyone could see it. A wave of humiliation flooded over her. She couldn’t even read the whole page; she pushed back her chair and ran upstairs, tears prickling her eyes.

At the top of the landing, Charlotte stopped. Where was she going? She turned into her room, picturing the eager faces of ladies reading the gossip column, and shuddered. I have to leave immediately, she thought frantically. What if someone calls around to sympathize? Or to ask questions? Charlotte clenched her teeth together, hard, and ordered herself fiercely not to cry. She had to leave now, within the hour.