In the North, where magic was quite mundane, the tavern would be lit by cold light, and the main room would be brightly lit and clean. Here, they were afraid of using magic too often, and since the coals they used in the torches outdoors often burned so hot they were dangerous, they were left with oil lanterns, candles, or fire. Oil was what this place used, and the smoky smell of burning animal fat clouded the room, making it a dense yellow. William led her to a shadowed corner where they huddled together for warmth.
The maid came over, took their order, and soon they were sharing a mug of hot cider. It was not the best. In fact, Tasmin wondered what it was a cider of, because it didn’t taste like apples. It was bitter water, but it was hot, and with William’s arm around her and her fingers around the mug save when she passed it to him for a sip, she felt as if life were returning to her.
There was a group gathered around a table stretching a short pace to the bar. They were a gossipy, getting drunk sort of group, comfortable with each other, one that had a central core and many hangers on. “She was his lover, she was,” one of the women said authoritatively. “She was carrying his love child, but he wouldn’t have nothing to do with it.”
“Come on, now, the Bishop was too old for that sort of going on. A child? At his age? His heart would have burst from the effort of making it long before she knew she’d caught.”
“I think he bloody did it. The Almsleys are rich as King Krom. His daddy could have set up everything.” William stiffened at this, and she put the cup on the table so she could better burrow under his arm, settling her own arm around his waist.
He placed his cheek on the top of her head and held the mug up to her lips. She drank of the sweetish-bitter stuff, and moved enough so he would get the idea she was done. She wondered if they knew that the man they spoke of so unkindly was amongst them or if someone would recognize him. How foolish I am, she mocked herself, for she had thought that with the confession William was free and clear, but obviously the rumor mill would keep churning. Even if they found the truth, would he ever be free?
“Have you had enough?” he asked a few moments later.
“I am quite ready to move on, dear.” She took the coin from his hand and gave it to the maid herself, reasoning she was less likely to be known. It mattered little; the woman was too busy paying attention to the increasingly ridiculous rumors being bandied about by the gossips.
It was a silent walk to the shop, partly because the cold made it hard to speak, partly because she just couldn’t think of anything to say of merit.
“I fed them some milk and crumbled cake, as you asked,” William said. “I fear there’s no chocolate yet.” He took the key out of his pocket and placed it to the lock, and the door opened itself.
A breeze came out and pulled Tasmin in, laughing and stumbling, as many eager little hands grasped their clothes. Warm little fingers tapped her cheeks and hair, patting her. She couldn’t help laughing as they swirled around her, playing with her skirts and cloak. William’s eyes widened and she realized she must look as if she was in the middle of a cyclone.
“They love me,” she said with a blush as things settled down. They resumed what she thought must have been the game they were playing before, whirling back and forth, chasing a handkerchief. The piece of cloth—hers, she saw—flew through the air like a miniature ghost, puffing along, being whipped into loops and spirals. She was relieved to see that the sprites were enjoying themselves.
“As well they should.” He smiled and got a small dish from a cupboard, placing the chocolate on it. He carried it to the table, studying it intently. There was a puff of breeze, and Tasmin cried out, scared that one of the sprites would eat of it, but they didn’t. They were pulling the dish away.
“Don’t eat it!” Moro, usually so fierce and quiet, said in her ear.
William had grabbed the dish, looking a tiny bit annoyed, and Tasmin placed her hand over his.
“They don’t want us to eat it. All’s well, my sweethearts, we aren’t. We’re just going to look at it.”
The tension and worry that had filled the room faded.
“It is poisoned, then?”
She nodded.
William addressed the air, “Thank you so much for telling us. It is most kind of you. I promise, when I get my stores back, to make certain you get to have your fill of much better chocolate than this.”
He started a little, looking over to his left shoulder. His lips lifted at one corner, and he looked at her, his expression now tinged with wonder. “I think they liked that.” Then he looked down at the chocolate again, and all signs of pleasure faded as he prodded it, and then started skimming the chocolate off as one would peel an apple.
She wondered why he was so troubled, but kept her peace as he removed a nut. It was odd, like an almond, but rounded on both ends.
“A Halsey Almond. Can only be found in the Southern Jungles of Alremeida, if properly prepared it makes the perfect accompaniment to chocolate.”
“And if not roasted correctly it can be a deadly poison.”
“Ah, forgive me, I did not mean to forget your training.” He put it down, and then sliced it in half. “You see, I was shown chocolates, but they all look fairly the same, especially when you are upset and ‘tis early morning.
“When Lavoussier asked me if these were like chocolates I’ve sold, I said no, rather vehemently, because I would never sell chocolates that did not look absolutely perfect. And the ones they showed me, they weren’t very appetizing. But, on the other hand, when I’m experimenting I don’t always take care for aesthetics.”
The center of the almond was reddish pink, showing that it had not been roasted correctly, and that it would kill anyone foolish enough to eat it. She wanted to put her head down on her arms and throw a fit. Leave it to William and his love of exotics to want to add Halsey Almonds to his repertoire.
“The thing is,” he said, “I know they were fine. I ate two or three of them while I was making the chocolates.”
“You tested them by eating them?” Her voice must have been a little tense because one of the sprites sat on her head and reached down to pat her forehead.
“Well, I did slice them open first. Besides, I’d rather they kill me than someone else, wouldn’t I?”
“You are quite daft! It is no small wonder you are still at this table, if that is your way of looking at things.” The sprite made a little sound and smacked her forehead. Oh, lovely, he feeds them a little cake and now they side with him. She thought it was Tatu. Had the little one become impressed by William, spending the day with him? The man who dominated her thoughts was strangely quiet. Maybe they sense his feelings, too? “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I worry for you.”
“What you said was not worth apologizing over.”
She didn’t know what to make of that. “And of course, you didn’t sell them.”
“I’m sure of it. It was my first week open. I sold creamy chocolate sea shells, dark chocolate squares, and ganache truffles. My variety was not exactly overwhelming. And hot chocolate, of course. I sell an awful lot of that.” He thought about it, and said, “I prepared about a half dozen of them, and then set them on a plate to firm up. I didn’t even put them on the rack, like I usually do with things, so Cecelia wouldn’t have confused them with new stock.”
It really did sound reasonable. “I don’t suppose you remember when you saw them last?”
“Before I went to dress for dinner with my family. I do not enjoy those events, and so was preoccupied with it when I returned. I told the authorities that I swept up, but really I made sure all was closed and went directly up to bed. I read and drank some rum, and when I didn’t feel quite so ready to chew on the walls I went to sleep. Later I assumed my experimental chocolates had been confiscated with the rest.” He looked disgusted. “It took me four hours to roast those damned almonds.”
/> “And you did eat some of them,” she said helpfully. “The four hours must have been enough.”
“Only a few. They were from the center of the pan, but ... ” He gestured at the almond, refusing to look at her, genuinely upset. The sprites, who had been mostly silent, felt the upset, thick in the air. Usually they didn’t react to anyone’s upset but hers, and while she was not exactly happy, she was not upset enough to make the sprites slam back and forth through the cabinets, rattling pans and crockery. She used a calming spell to shush them, seeing the set of William’s shoulders become tighter the more the noise grew. She rose and rubbed his shoulders, and, though he was very still, he radiated a feeling of do not touch so loudly that she gave up.
“I actually killed him. I may not be the one who sent the chocolates, but I’m at least an accomplice.”
She knelt by his chair, and when he refused to look at her she pinched the inside of his thigh, next to his knee, hard. He glared at her fiercely, and she grabbed his face in her hands. “Stop sulking, William. As you said, you did not deliver the almonds. You did not wish to kill the Bishop, you had no desire or intention, yet someone did. We still have that.”
“The evidence is damning, Tasmin, the court will not see the subtleties you pointed out. And they would be right. I must be responsible somehow. Even Cecelia didn’t know anything about the almonds besides the fact I didn’t want her to touch them. And she didn’t know that the experimental ones were potentially dangerous, I never thought to tell her because she doesn’t like nuts. She could have sold them; I spent so much time roasting them that we were getting low on stock, because we did better that day than I’d expected.”
She could see what he was thinking, that Cecelia, beleaguered with customers, perhaps one who didn’t want the truffles on display or the tiny squares, perhaps one expecting to purchase something special for an important person, demanded something else, and Cecelia, seeing the freshly made chocolates sitting invitingly on a plate, had boxed them and sent them on their way.
“But they said they were from you. There was a note.”
“Perhaps not. The head of the investigation has somewhat against me. He may have showed me a forged note to seal the case or to try and get me to confess. I know I certainly didn’t write it. It would not be the first time a man in his position has lied about evidence.”
“You do draw a grim picture, but I do not believe it. It does not sound right to me, William. Not with what I know of you.”
“But you do not know me. You know my letters,” he said softly. He placed his hand, lightly, on her head. “Perhaps you should go.”
“It is late. Do you think I will have better luck with the stone this time?”
His fingers lifted her chin gently. “I mean home. Your home. To the North. Leave me; this is too much for you to have to live with. It will soon be too late, and you will never be able to escape.”
She looked at him a long moment, applying his words of escape, of implied entrapment to him. A man who ran away to sea, a man who could not stand to be on land and successful if it meant being under his father’s thumb, a man who had not asked for his wife. He was not a man who could stand being trapped. “You don’t want me here at all.” He flinched, but she did not give him a chance to reply.
He caught up with her and made sure she got home safely, walking a pace behind her. They spoke not a word.
Chapter 15
Auguro fifth Gold Mn. Qtr. 1789
Tasmin,
We have been at our home port for several days, yet I have not had time to take quill in hand to write you, for father wishes me to leave immediately to deliver a cargo that will take me through the Vining Sea and into the very waters that the infamous Pandora sails. She has become the terror of the waters, even though the Navy has sent its best ships after her.
She possesses some cunning that makes the men speak of magic. I pray that you will not be worried, for I am not. I have hired a small contingent of half-pay soldiers who will help with any fighting, and bought more guns, which even now are being levered into place. I only speak of it at all for I know you will hear of it in any case, and I want you to know I am prepared.
The last voyage ended well, but ‘twas not easy going. We ran into Shronese raiders and acquitted ourselves well enough, though I would have rather avoided the matter altogether. Still, the outcome was not without some profit.
Do you recall my First Mate, Isan Deitson? I do not know if I mentioned, but his intended died as a young girl in the Capital during the fever that swept through it many summers ago. He has wed a woman from the Stairs of Alessyn. She will make him a fine wife, I think, despite her tendency to take everything far too lightly. (Which wore on me quite a bit, I must confess, and therefore am glad to have put her, and my first mate, ashore to begin their lives.) I will miss Isan, but I do believe he is quite happy, and therefore I am glad.
I must close for now. My new first mate wishes me to inspect the new guns, as I see they have finally set the last in place.
Yours,
William
He would not see her that day.
He determined it that morning when he awoke. He shaved and dressed and poured more milk for the sprites, then set out to his brother’s house.
The accusation in her eyes, quiet, to the point, cut him deeply, and the fact that it affected him at all annoyed him even more. He hadn’t asked her to come, to set up shop in his home, to leave her sprites to vex him, to make the bed smell like her hair, to put her things in his closets. Just this morn he’d found a summer cloak and boots with tiny little buttons in the back of one, and he’d found himself bringing the cloak to his nose, seeing if it carried that odd smell of hers, of wind, and rain, and drying herbs. The realization of what he was doing had not changed his mood for the better.
But he didn’t want to send her home, damnation. Couldn’t she see he was trying not to be selfish and to think of her reputation and life? He liked her well enough; he just resented the idea that he couldn’t choose anything. From the day he’d been born, people had chosen what he would wear, and what he would eat, and what he would learn, and how he would spend his life.
Even his spouse was not his choice. Not that he wouldn’t choose her, himself, given the chance, but it was unimaginable to him that there wasn’t somewhere in his life he could pick to do as he would. He supposed it was why he’d wanted to open his own shop. He was rebelling to the point of self destruction.
He could, even now, be sitting in some comfortable chair, watching Tasmin fussing about their home on this very road, a place with a study of its own, and servants, and bedrooms enough for a man and his wife and their children. The thought made him sigh, just slightly disgusted with the perverseness of his nature. By now he knew, had he not rebelled, he doubtless would have had children of his own.
He stopped at the wrought iron gate that opened up on a neat stone path leading up to a lovely, many-windowed, stone cottage. Up until his rebellion, this house had been meant for him and Tasmin. He forced himself to stop gritting his teeth and pushed the gate open. Part of his annoyance with her was that, now that he had met her, he was wondering if he had made a mistake in waiting.
His brother and sister had wed the moment Bonny turned eighteen. That turned his thoughts to what his life would have been like again, and he realized it would not have been an intolerable one, not truly, but he closed his mind to those notions. When he was a captain he had lived by one rule: that he was not always right, but he was always certain.
As he passed under the window of the study on his way to the kitchen door, he could hear Bonny and Andrew screaming at each other. Well, Andrew was speaking forcefully when Bonny paused in screaming at him to draw a breath. Interesting coda to your thoughts, William, he thought, though he was certain he and Tasmin would never lose their dignity in such a way. They would always be reasonable. Still, it did h
ave to be admitted that Bonny had been miserable a lot, of late, as had Andrew, who had gone so far as to ask him the other day if the spell could not have made a mistake. Childless, despite their five years of marriage, with Andrew even more desperate to have an heir now that William had taken himself and his own line from the running of the family fortunes (would Tasmin resent that in time? Would his sons and daughters?), a darkness had settled over the house that nothing could diminish. I wonder if I have much more to answer for than I thought?
Perhaps the spell was wrong. Maybe it needed recalibrated, like a box compass. Certainly it was a cruel creature, saddling Tasmin, who ought to be up in the North where she would have the freedom to continue with the University, where she had a promising life of her own, with a stubborn fool such as himself, who could not stand to take the easy and good things that were handed to him out of some twisted sense of pride.
If he had set out on the walk thinking his mood could not be darker, he had been greatly mistaken, he reflected, as he waited at the servant’s entrance to be let in. The servant who opened the door was surprised to see him, but the front entrance was easily seen from the main house, and he did not feel like visiting his parents today.
The butler told him his brother would see him shortly.
“Does my brother still carry a decent brandy?” he asked.
“I shall bring it forthwith, sir.”
He found it curious that the man didn’t direct him to the parlor, so he went himself, only to find it was already occupied.
Tasmin was not a pretty crier. She did not weep delicately, but hunched up, bent over her knees as she sat on the sofa, a hand over her mouth to smother her sobs and an arm around her waist as if trying to give herself some sort of comfort. He froze for a moment, then crossed the room quickly, throwing his hat on the table. “Tasmin?”
She looked up at him and then, as if acting on instinct, leapt up from the sofa, crossed the final steps across the floor and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest.
The Chocolatier's Wife Page 11