The Chocolate Tin

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘That’s reassuring,’ she said, cutting him a soft smile. ‘Joseph Terry, the founder of Terry’s Chocolate of York, schooled here but perhaps the most infamous student was Guy Fawkes.’

  ‘Really?’ His eyes sparkled with pleasure and Alex noticed the absence of the monocle he’d worn last night.

  She nodded, smiling. ‘I can show you where he was christened too. One of the co-conspirators of the Gunpowder Plot attended St Peter’s as well. Boyhood friends turning to dark deeds. Um, I should have checked earlier, but you don’t mind walking to the tram, do you? I didn’t think it was necessary to drag Mr Potter out and be driven to the hospital.’

  ‘I don’t mind at all,’ he replied. ‘I find your guided tour of The Mount charming.’

  ‘I prefer the other direction, to be honest, as I spend most evenings riding on the Knavesmire but today I needed some air. You’ll have to forgive my mother in particular, Matthew. She thinks her spinster daughter needs a mate.’

  He smiled gently, his gaze fixed well ahead. ‘And how about you, Alex? Do you think she needs one?’

  She hadn’t been ready for such a bald response; she had expected something witty. ‘I really haven’t thought that far ahead.’

  ‘No? Surely. A beautiful woman like you and of such an eligible age.’ He couldn’t entirely disguise a hint of sarcasm.

  There was no hiding from Matthew, it seemed. ‘Why does beauty have anything to do with it?’

  ‘Don’t be naïve.’

  ‘Now you sound like my mother.’

  They were approaching the convent but she could tell he’d lost interest in his sightseeing, pausing instead, and thus forcing her to slow and face him. ‘Forgive me, have I upset you?’

  She frowned, shook her head. ‘No. I’m just perplexed.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I don’t understand why you’re helping me.’

  ‘To do what?’

  ‘Oh, come now, Matthew. There’s a temptation to accuse you of lacking acuity and yet I know that’s likely something you’ve rarely had to answer to.’

  They stared at each other and she noted the intensity in his gaze.

  ‘All right; it’s obvious to me that you want to get into the Rowntree’s chocolate factory and while I don’t entirely understand why, I’m happy to help.’

  ‘Didn’t my father tell you all of this last night? You both seemed incredibly chummy.’

  ‘He made bare mention. But I’d rather hear it from you. It’s got me intrigued.’

  She explained her desire to pursue a career. ‘Curiously, though, it was only last night while you were talking about Rowntree that it occurred to me the potential might lie with the very product our county is famous for. Perhaps more importantly at the moment, though, I experienced a feeling that I’d be betraying the men at the Front if I didn’t volunteer at the factory. So that’s my interest.’

  ‘What sort of career do you envisage you might pursue?’

  Alex shrugged. ‘That’s where it all falls apart. I haven’t got anything in mind. My mother’s right, I don’t know enough about anything to entertain such lofty thoughts.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t know anything about railway networks until I learned. You enjoy chocolate, you say; have an interest in it?’

  ‘I do.’ She grinned. ‘What do you smell?’

  He blinked. ‘Um, coal,’ he said, rather obviously, given that they were nearing the railway station. She nodded. ‘Horse manure,’ he laughed, gesturing over at the road where a carriage had paused moments previous.

  She chuckled. ‘Tanneries, too, I know. Anything else?’

  Matthew sniffed, closed his eyes, then sniffed again. ‘There’s something acidic, perhaps?’ He opened his eyes in query.

  ‘Good!’ Her gaze danced with delight. ‘What you’re smelling is the vinegar note coming from the first stage of conching from the Rowntree’s factory. On a clear day like today and with this hint of breeze we can just catch it. On cloudy days, rain imminent, and if the wind is coming roughly from a more easterly direction, you’d smell something more malty, biscuity . . . from the Clementhorpe factory of Terry’s.’

  ‘And now you’re going to tell me you can work out what’s happening at either factory because of scents on the wind?’ He gave a sound of awe.

  She laughed. ‘Truthfully, I’ve never pondered it previously. I suspect most people who live in this city can.’

  ‘You’re underselling yourself, Alex. Perhaps you should be a chocolatier.’ She slanted him a look of surprise. ‘You know it too, don’t you?’

  She blushed but didn’t answer him because although she’d reached towards that thought this morning, she hadn’t actually conquered it; it was Matthew who was putting her vague notion into words that resonated with promise. ‘You know, if Europe wasn’t blowing itself up right now and turning into one massive killing field, I’d be suggesting you travel to the continent and learn from one of the great chocolate houses in Switzerland or France.’

  She frowned at him, but with pleasure. ‘You’re quite a surprise.’

  ‘How so?’ He grinned back at her.

  ‘You’re not judgemental. Not a note of scorn from you at the idea of a woman in business.’ Alex found this odd, given his wealth and presumed social standing.

  ‘And how about you, Alexandra? Are you judgemental?’

  She scoffed. ‘I certainly hope not.’

  ‘How else do I surprise you?’

  ‘Are you fishing for compliments?’ she asked, her tone light, amused.

  ‘Always,’ he replied.

  ‘Well, I’m impressed that you don’t share the traditional view on women and I’m especially intrigued by you helping me today. You seemed to know what was needed to aid me while not offending my parents. That’s quite a fine line you dance.’

  He looked down at his toes. ‘I have a soft tread and take a small shoe size.’

  She gave a gust of genuine amusement. ‘We wait here for the tram.’ She pointed. ‘Now you’re mocking me.’

  ‘Would I dare? No, Miss Frobisher. I’m completely fascinated by you. I’m laughing because you’re a girl who has everything and yet what you want most is simply to be ordinary. You even walk and take the tram rather than being transported by your family’s driver. Incredible.’

  ‘I want to move freely as an ordinary girl might; I certainly don’t get excited by ballgowns and all that ballyhoo. Anyway, how did you know . . . I mean, about me angling to get into the chocolate factory? I might add, you seemed to sense what I wanted –needed, perhaps – even before I did!’

  ‘I could tell you had become trapped in a fib and that you preferred not to give an outright lie to your parents.’

  ‘But how could you tell? They couldn’t.’

  They dropped back to wait closer to the wall of the building nearby rather than in the queue itself. ‘A fibber knows a fibber.’

  ‘I see.’ Instead of being offended, she was surprised by feeling a private smile of admiration for his candour. ‘And what are you fibbing about?’

  ‘That my arrival at Tilsden was coincidence.’

  She turned and fixed him with what she hoped was a gaze that could intimidate but all he did was shrug.

  ‘I need a wife, Alex. You could do a lot worse than me as a husband.’

  They both looked away from each other when the tram to Haxby Road sounded its bell as it rumbled up for people to troop on. It was a dry, milder morning than expected so most passengers headed upstairs to smoke or enjoy the fresh air before spending the day in the factory. She and Matthew found seats downstairs. This activity gave her time to digest his directness. The vehicle lurched off and within moments was swinging left to pass the grand railway station.

  Alex knew he was waiting for her to speak again. ‘You say that astonishing fact like I might mention I need new riding boots,’ she admonished, not fully hiding her dismay.

  ‘Well, if we’re both entirely honest, then we’d admit that in the
society we both belong to, shopping for a spouse is little different. How sturdy are they? Are they reliable? Is the stitching sound? Is that polish deeply ingrained?’

  Alex didn’t smile at his cunning comparison; she could only frown back at him. ‘Are my parents aware of this?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, in this they are blameless but clearly your mother is onto the notion.’

  In an effort to avoid feeling despair at being cornered to marry to a deadline, she switched topics. ‘I presume you used the York train station to arrive here?’ Alex nodded towards the vast, elegant railway station they were passing.

  ‘Its 800-foot sweep of roof held up on those iron columns had me gawping, I have to admit.’

  ‘Yes, it’s built on a rather amazing curve.’

  ‘Someone told me it’s a monument to extravagance and was the largest in Britain when it was built. Why are we avoiding the real subject I want to talk to you about?’

  Alex stared out of the window as they rattled past the vastly beautiful building of the North Eastern Railway Headquarters that her father was likely seated in this moment. Matthew reached for her elbow and she shifted her head to stare at his hand that gripped her. Alex noted the fingers were neatly kept, with clipped, smoothly filed nails. He took more care with his nails than she did with hers, she was sure. His looked buffed, polished to a near gleam. Matthew dropped his hold immediately. ‘Forgive me. Let me begin again. My parents are keen on yours. Dare I risk vulgarity by pointing out that our family is wealthy enough to match it with the Frobishers, and while I’m third in line there’s plenty to go around? If you became my wife, you wouldn’t starve or have to wear hand-me-downs, I can promise you that. Furthermore, I would make no demands upon you, not even to give me a family, if that didn’t suit you.’

  Alex must have bristled, she realised, because he was suddenly holding up palms in placation.

  ‘I told you, what I want is a wife – a companion whose company I can enjoy and, above all, someone I trust.’

  Trust? Important for a marriage but an odd qualification in this discussion’s context, Alex thought, but he was talking again and it would be impolite to interrupt.

  ‘I don’t for a moment expect you to be a breeding mare, as some men might demand, simply to keep their line going.’

  She was reminded of Duncan Cameron. ‘I wouldn’t starve anyway, Matthew,’ she replied, looking perplexed. ‘I’m embarrassed to point it out but I’m likely an equal, financially. It’s not that I don’t like you but I barely know you.’

  He nodded rapidly to show how well he understood her reservation. ‘Look, you’re an only child. It goes without saying that whomever you decide to share your wealth with will be set up. But I presume so long as you marry within the same social strata, you don’t have to worry about whether the lucky fellow chosen is marrying you for your inheritance. I can assure you, I am the right sort and I wouldn’t be marrying for money.’

  ‘But neither is it for love.’ The words were out before she could dress them up to sound less accusatory and a rip of sadness tore through her in the way she’d watched Lambton ripping apart old pillow cases for polishing rags. She found herself at odds about Matthew, admiring his frankness while at the same time suffering self-pity for being cornered with yet another suitor in a loveless situation.

  Why could she not look forward to having a man to love, someone she actually desired or indeed wanted to marry? ‘Why is it such a burden for everyone to simply wait until the right man arrives?’ She hadn’t realised she’d spoken that aloud and with such fervour.

  ‘Because although you’re hardly old in terms of marriage, you are no youngster. I can understand your parents’ desire to see you joined with a solid man, with a good family name, and in a position to think about starting a family.’

  ‘Which clearly you don’t want,’ she cut in and wished she now didn’t sound so tart.

  ‘I didn’t say that. I said I wouldn’t force you to have children with me. I would love a child and I would spoil the third born as much as my first.’

  ‘Three now?’

  Her comment broke the awkwardness and they both grinned.

  In that naked moment of awkward honesty he endeared himself somewhat; she had to admit that objectively they would indeed make a fine match. He was smart, and possessed a wit she appreciated, plus he presented as generous and seemed to already understand her rather well, despite knowing her for only hours.

  ‘What are you thinking behind that pretty frown of yours?’ he pressed.

  ‘Well,’ she sighed. ‘There’s no denying I do feel under pressure from family. I’d negotiated a sort of truce until peace is declared but you’re right, war could end next week and I could suddenly have several gents banging on the door to make good on pledges they’ve already made to my parents and to me personally.’

  ‘Am I then what you might term the best of a bad lot?’ he posed, sounding not in the slightest offended.

  She couldn’t help but admire this self-effacing manner of his.

  ‘Matthew, I want to discover what it’s like to be in love.’

  He eyed her with an ironic gaze. ‘I understand but frankly, Alex, what do you think your chances are – realistically, I mean – of finding Prince Charming between now and the end of the war?’

  ‘I have to believe he’s out there,’ she appealed.

  ‘All right then, let me put it to you this way. What do you think the chances are of Prince Charming returning from the war in one piece, let alone alive? Could you marry a one-armed man? Or a handsome, wealthy fellow with no legs? A man who can’t see, blinded by poison gas, or someone who has lost his hearing entirely? I’ve heard reports of men losing their minds from the sounds and sights of battlefield mayhem. He may come home in one piece and look hale enough but what if he turns into a shaking wreck each night or threatens to harm you? Or what if his problems only show themselves later . . . a few years down the track? He could take to the bottle. He could hurt himself, your children.’

  ‘Stop! What awful images you paint for me.’

  ‘And yet you feel in your gut that I speak the truth, don’t you?’

  She shrugged, determined not to commit, but dismay deepened, lodged in her belly like she’d just swallowed too much iced tea in one gulp, hurting as it settled. ‘Are you making a point, Matthew, because it’s slightly lost on me.’

  ‘Yes, my point is this. If you are to be pushed into a loveless match, then why hesitate? I am surely the best looking, best groomed, most charming of the lot. I have all my teeth, my breath is sweet, my temper sweeter and I truly like you for who you are. I don’t need your money, your family or your womb. I come to you unencumbered and my agenda is quite plainly that I need a wife to get my parents off my back and you well know how heavy that burden is. I need a wife whose home, family and life are elsewhere from Bristol to give me an incontrovertible reason to start afresh and make my own way. Choose me over your other equally less-than-ideal but more detestable suitors because at least with me I suspect you can look forward to amusing and excellent conversation. And you know enjoying your spouse’s companionship is far more valuable than love because love can wane, dear Alex, but laughter . . . well, it echoes.’

  ‘Oh, a philosopher to boot,’ she groaned.

  The edges of his eyes crinkled and she saw a pinprick of bright pleasure glint within the grey-blue of a pavement puddle. ‘You see, look how you poke fun and can’t offend me. We could be so good for each other. Honesty in relationships is such a rare commodity.’

  He was saying all the right words and yet why was she hearing a hollow tone to them? Why weren’t those puddle-blue eyes that stared at her earnestly causing her throat to catch or her heart to trip over its normal beat? Isn’t that what desire was meant to feel like? There was no yearning here between them. This was a business proposal. Could she live without romantic love, the type that could make you at one moment feel short of breath and in the next as though you could s
cale mountains? Was friendship and companionship enough? She knew he was waiting for her reply and in the silence took the opportunity to pay for their tickets as the conductor arrived whistling.

  ‘Thank you, Miss,’ he said, winking.

  She smiled at him as she took her tickets but looked away again. ‘We’re passing over the famous Lendal Bridge. Now that’s quite interesting because —’

  ‘Are you avoiding my question?’

  Alex turned back. ‘Matthew, we’re at war,’ she said, in a tone that was close to plea. ‘This conversation seems pointless.’

  ‘Why?’ he replied, his voice low, urgent.

  ‘Because you can’t promise me anything right now.’ Her voice wasn’t much above a whisper even though the rattling of the tram and its intermittent bell could drown their words for others. ‘The world’s gone mad; conscription is surely around the corner and suddenly short-sightedness can be overlooked. Where is your monocle, by the way?’

  ‘I don’t need it. It’s an affectation. The reason I couldn’t make it into the army is plainly that I’m too short but that’s hard to explain so I use eyesight as my excuse.’

  ‘You’re not hard of sight?’

  He shook his head patiently. ‘Perfect vision. The monocle is clear glass,’ he said, retrieving it from his waistcoat pocket and holding it up for her to look.

  She peered through it, then at him, half dismayed, the other half of her impressed at his cunning. ‘Thank you for the truth. And I suppose you didn’t happen upon an old friend at the military hospital, either?’

  He shook his head. ‘Pure fabrication but sorely needed in that moment, I felt.’

  She had to laugh.

  The trolley bus swung up the Haxby Road and Alex could see the factory ahead of her with its new ‘Almond Block’ as it was known, standing as a tall tower at the helm. It was here they made marzipan and the other nut treats. Matthew slipped the monocle back into the tiny pocket. ‘I may need it today. But remember, this is what we share, dear Alex. We will always be honest with each other. Most couples cannot ever achieve that sort of understanding. We already have it. We both know each other’s secrets.’