The Chocolatier's Wife

by Cindy Lynn Speer

  He folded her against him without thought, “What is it? What has passed? Has someone hurt you?” He’d murder them, he would. Then his troubles would be over because there would be a real reason to hang him.

  “Someone took my dress!” she said, “When I woke up this morning, I found that my dress had been stolen. I didn’t notice last night because, well, I was so tired I didn’t light a lamp and when I got up it wasn’t there, and don’t you dare say it was only a dress or I’ll start hitting you, and I won’t stop until you say you’re sorry.”

  “I know, I know ... hush.”

  “No, you don’t know.” She hit his chest. “You can’t possibly know.”

  He curled his hand over her fist before her strikes actually started to hurt. “It’s your family dress, of course you’re upset.”

  “It’s all my dreams and my hopes and now I won’t have any luck at all and my marriage will be hell because my ancestors’ well wishes won’t rest on me and they won’t be able to rest on my daughters, either.”

  He winced. “My marriage”,“my daughter”, and the way she’d said “hell”, it was dismaying.

  Well, he supposed he’d asked for it, hadn’t he? And hadn’t he just been sort of wishing she would go home? But now, he cuddled her close and forbore to say anything else. Now he could hardly let her go across the room from him, let alone to the North, and sending her home was the farthest thing from his mind. “I will find it for you,” he said, when the sobs had softened and now she was breathing normally.

  “You have your own problems.” Her voice cracked.

  He started to point out that she was always willing to shoulder his problems, so it was only fair, and then realized that he had a chance to mend the bridge between them a little. “If it is the dress you are to wear on our wedding day, I suppose that it is our problem?”

  She looked up at him, and he couldn’t tell if her gaze was narrowed because her poor eyes were so puffy, but he saw a bit of anger there all the same. He waited for whatever biting response she would throw at him. He was prepared to apologize, even, but she pulled away and shrugged, and that hurt more than anything she could have said.

  “Why did you come here?” he asked. The unsaid question was, why not to me, but that, he knew, was answered already.

  “I could not bear to be in that” —she jerked her head towards the main house— “another moment. I do not really have anywhere else to go, do I?”

  The butler appeared at the door. “Your brother will see you now,” he said, ending the conversation.

  William stepped back, choosing not to risk speaking, bowing instead and taking his leave without even saying farewell. He would not see her again today, he amended, but he would find that damned dress.

  Andrew was standing by the window, looking out across the yard to their parents’ house, which loomed like a foreboding guardian over the small garden sandwiched in between them.

  “I want my shipment,” he said without preamble.

  “Good morning, William, won’t you sit down?” his brother said, throwing himself into the chair by the fire.

  “There’s nothing good about it, or about yesterday morning, either. My cacao is absolutely not on record in any of our warehouses. I need it if I am to start my bloody shop back up.”

  “Maybe the police confiscated it?”

  “There would have been a writ. They gave me one for what they confiscated from my shop, and then I was informed I would have to pay for the cost of destroying it. A double bitter blow, to pay for the supplies then pay for them to be burned! And now my own brother refuses to help me.”

  “I refuse to help you? Some of us are working ourselves to madness, picking up the pieces others left behind.”

  William’s eyes narrowed. “I left everything in perfect shape.” That was one thing he had made certain of. “Not one mess did I leave for you, little brother, save for this infamous accusation of murder. I handed you the family fortune and all I ask is that you help me find my own. I think it’s fair.”

  “I keep trying to tell you.” His brother’s voice was gentle, almost pleading. “I am not made for this.”

  “Then hire a manager, little brother. Most men in your position do. Then all you have to do is keep an eye on him.”

  “You never did.”

  “Well, I suppose I didn’t want another voice telling me what to do, even if I had power over it,” he said ruefully. “Besides, father never did, either.”

  “You two are just alike.” Andrew leapt up to get himself a drink. William thanked him for the brandy, remembering that his own had never arrived. “I am nothing like father, not in the least,” he protested. He did not manipulate for his own ends, he did not buy people when nothing else worked, or worse, sell them.

  “You both charge ahead, do what you want to do, without thinking of anyone else. You threw this in my lap to go and try chocolate selling, for God’s sake. Couldn’t you have at least chosen something usual? Something people have done and that we know works? Tell me, did you even mention this to your poor fiancée before you leapt? And what about Lavoussier? If you hadn’t charged in and taken the Pandora the poor man would have been able to marry his sweetheart, but no, you had to do it all,” he said darkly.

  “Ah, so that is why he hates me. He was not able to make his fortunes in time to wed? But what is to stop him now? ‘Tis hardly as if the woman can marry another in his place.”

  Andrew blinked. “That is true.”

  “My brother. You want so badly to hate me you’ll believe anything anyone says, without properly thinking it out. I am sorry. I did not realize I was wronging you by giving you this. It didn’t occur to me that you wouldn’t wish it.”

  They’d certainly lost no time moving into the house, once his father told him the house came with the duties as heir.

  “But you are right. I did wrong both you and Tasmin. I shall make it up to both of you, if possible.”

  “It is.” Andrew smiled. “Come back. We can move out of this house easily enough. Not half settled in, we are. I just want to be a clerk again. My share was generous enough, and you can give me whatever you think just, if you feel guilty. Tasmin can have the life she believed she was getting.”

  “And what would Bonny say to that?” He felt the panic and rebellion rise again. “But this is not what I want with my life.”

  He liked cooking. He liked the idea that with chocolate he could make a lot of people happy, not just those who could afford to pay him to do their trade. He was sick of the sea, even though at first he had loved her beyond all things. Well, perhaps not sick so much as afraid of the voice that whispered to him. The idea of asking ... no, it would be begging, even though he knew it was what his father wanted ... to come back made him feel trapped in a metal box, thrown overboard into the Vining Sea, no air and no chance to ever be free.

  Andrew looked disappointed. “See? Nothing anyone else wants concerns you.”

  “Why does it have to be either or?” William asked, trying to be reasonable. “Can we not think of another solution? It might not make father happy, but we can surely think of a better way for ourselves?”

  His brother looked away, and so William stood and left, tired of the nonsense. The maid, when he asked if he could speak to Bonny, said she was indisposed, and so he found himself standing on the path, staring at his childhood home. He knew to make good on his promise to Tasmin he needed to visit, to talk to the servants, to see her room, but he didn’t have the strength to face her again.

  Coward, he thought with reproach, but still his steps turned. He needed to visit Pencote’s.

  The clerk was a mousy little brown-haired woman who had the ability to look quite severe. So severe in fact, that it took some courage to ask, again, “But you are certain that no one from Pencote’s delivered a package that night? Or any other night, say, that week?”
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  She frowned at him and flipped through the logbook pages. It took her several moments, and he realized when he got a look at the date on one of the pages that she was being a bit smart with him, and looking at a longer range of time.

  “The last delivery to the Bishop’s house was three weeks ago. Of that I am perfectly certain.”

  He nodded. “The authorities must have been surprised.”

  That stopped her. “What do you mean?”

  “Didn’t the authorities come by, asking you if anyone scheduled a delivery, if anyone was missing a uniform coat?”

  She blinked, and then shook her head.

  William felt like he was finally getting somewhere. “Then, may I ask, is anyone missing a uniform coat?”

  She stepped away, looking nonplussed. “I’ll ask around. I didn’t think of it, really. Until you said authorities, I didn’t make the connection between the date and what happened to the Bishop. Most curious.” She held up one finger, to make him wait, and went into the back. When she returned, her movements were even more awkward. “Five weeks ago a jacket went missing from the laundry. I hope that helps.”

  “Thank you. It does indeed.” Good. One more thing to look for.

  His next stop was just a few blocks down, to the location of Miss Dovlington’s Boarding House for Employed Ladies. Most people, when they heard the name of the place, would wink and nudge each other, but in truth it was an austere, serious place. It was not the kind of place he could easily imagine Cecelia living in.

  He could not get farther than the front gate, so he pulled the bell and waited. His eye was drawn to a flash of bright color. It was Cecelia, wearing orange and red under a green cloak as she half-ran out the door to him.

  “Please tell me you have work for me; they have me sewing and if I have to do another stitch I shall throw a curse on them all.”

  He frowned. “Why do they have you sewing?”

  “Ah, ‘tis actually a good thing. When the ladies are between jobs, they can sew to make a few pennies, or to work their rent. I’ve been sewing here and there for extra funds while waiting for you to get back to the shop.”

  “But I thought you were all right, rent wise?”

  “Stop fussing. I would rather occupy my time making a few coins. Now, how may I serve you?”

  “It seems that someone has stolen Tasmin’s wedding dress. Have you ever seen it?”

  She looked a bit shocked. “No, never. Why would anyone do such a horrid thing? It was in her room, wasn’t it?”

  Now was his turn to be surprised. “I would have thought that you had seen it, yourself. I was under the impression she had it on display, of sorts. Surely you helped her air it?”

  She shook her head. “I am not allowed into the house.”

  He frowned. “But they know you work for me?”

  “Exactly. I am not allowed in the house because I am a single woman working for a single man. Very improper.”

  “What the devil is improper about that? You are in the front of the shop, in plain view, the majority of the time!”

  She shrugged. “That is what I was told. Still, I visit Tasmin often. We have great plans for when the shop opens again.”

  “Indeed?” He wanted to remain noncommittal, but she snorted so he knew she didn’t believe it.

  “I am determined to remain a part of your life, at least until my debt is paid.”

  “You owe me no debt,” William said, as they began walking. “I pay you to perform a reasonable service.”

  “You are a man of honor, William; you know there is more to us than that. You saved my life.”

  “Nonsense. Your husband saved your life. Anything I do is simply because I am a fool for a pretty face.” He helped her across the street and up onto the sidewalk, then said, “I would thank you if you searched the grounds for Tasmin’s dress. I do not know what it looks like.”

  She accepted the change of subject, or rather the return of it, with grace. “White, pearls, silver embroidery. She said things about cut, but as I am not from this land it sounded much like what they wear now, so I paid little attention to it.” She shrugged. “I have eyes; I can recognize a dress made for a wedding.”

  He took one of his calling cards and wrote a short, rather unpleasant message on the back.

  “This will get you into the house. If they still give you trouble, tell them it is a sad day when a man must bribe his own servants. I am still a son of that house.” He frowned, feeling rather grim. “Whether they care for it or not.”

  “At last!” she said, snatching up the card. “I will stick close to thy lady’s side, sir, and protect her with my very life.”

  He gave her a curious, but still fond, look. “I doubt that will be needed.”

  “But how else can I repay you your many kindnesses to me?” She reached up and stroked his face gently. “I’ve always thought it a pity you were in love with your wife. But now I see why. Still, we could have had fun.” She gave him a wicked look that, like her romantic preference, he could not make out as a tease or a truth, and left in a flurry of colorful skirts.

  “In love with her? How could I have been in love with her? I didn’t even know her.” But he was talking to the wind. Still, her words made him feel pensive. How could he be in love with a woman he did not know and had not chosen?

  Back to that old saw again, are we, William? You have become dull.

  “Found you at last!” a young man said cheerfully. He was wearing Pencote’s clothes, and he held a message out to William with a smile. Pencote only hired handsome young men and lads. This one still had a few years of employment left, but once his “youthful zest”, as William had overheard the owner of Pencote’s call it, was gone, he would be looking for other means.

  “Forgive me. I did not realize I would be so hard to find. Here is a shilling, thank you for your perseverance.” The lad flipped the coin over his fingers, bowed, and left William staring at odd, angular handwriting. He couldn’t recall seeing handwriting slanting in quite that way before. But, his name was on the outside, so he supposed he should read the inside as well.

  Shortly before noon several boxes marked with a blue and red insignia will be moved from Angel Street Vista warehouse to a cart, to be taken outside the town, where they will be sold to a trader to take them west. One thinks one might find their way there after the cart is loaded, to demand payment for their goods, if not their return.

  A Friend

  Lovely, more questions, he thought as he studied the letter again. A Friend was not the most imaginative way of signing the letter, but he knew that he would be infinitely grateful if this was in earnest and not a joke. The note had brought with it the hope of some small recovery. I am not in the doldrums yet, he thought, walking swiftly along the cobbles. As he walked, he began to piece a picture together that was not altogether pleasing.

  William seated himself in a small tea shop where he used to go after working all morning in the warehouse, and bought himself a round of apple cake to munch while he watched the cart being pulled up to the doors. Soon, familiar boxes were, indeed, loaded onto it, and he almost bit his tongue to keep himself from cursing aloud. My family truly are wholeheartedly intent on scuppering my shop. Which, he thought as he dusted his fingers and wandered across the street, rather made one feel a bit as if the whole world was against one.

  There were three men, one in the back securing the load, whom William recognized immediately, another who had been lounging against the side of the wagon but straightened quickly, and a third who left the second William came into view, doubtless told to go and fetch Philip if William showed up.

  “Good day, men. Ah, glad I am to see that you have recovered my goods for me. I was quite vexed, for as we know, when I ran this warehouse we had a reputation for never losing anything.”

  The two men looked at each other, conf
used. And, with their jobs on the line, confusion led easily to upset, so he kept cheerful and certain. Ayers, who had served under William on the Tregaurde, jumped off the back of the cart. “Begging your pardon, sir, but these here boxes are going out of town. I don’t think they are yours, sir.”

  “Nonsense. They have the mark of the cocoa plantation I order supplies from. I dare say that it is not possible that anyone else would have ordered cocoa in such large amounts from them, so they must be mine. I came for them yesterday but they couldn’t be found, despite my brother reassuring me that they were here.”

  “Sir... ” Ayers looked torn, and William understood that the man knew precisely what was going on.

  He looked at the remaining man. “I thought Philip would have been here by now.”

  “He is.” Phillip came out the main door, looking red-faced and sounding breathless. “Mister Almsley, please, this has gone quite far enough.”

  Philip looked scared out of his wits, and William almost relented. But he knew what his account book looked like and knew that ruin loomed for him if he allowed this.

  “Does anyone not recognize me as William Almsley, formerly your employer? The one who engaged most of you to work here?” He waited for their response, and when none arrived said, “Take your concerns to my brother, or my father. Tell them you had no choice. And if they release you, tell them that I am no fool ... simply that, and I doubt you will suffer for my actions today.” He got up on the cart, hoping he remembered enough of this sort of thing so as not to kill anyone. “If they still try to punish you, come and see me, and I shall make amends.” He pushed off the brake, and then slapped the reins, lightly, on the horses’ sides. The drays were not impressed.

  “I’ll go with him, bring the cart back,” Ayers said, and leapt up onto the bench next to him. “You were always fair to me, sir,” he whispered, taking the reins. “Even before we was on the Pandora Chase together. I won’t let you down now.”