The Chocolatier's Wife

by Cindy Lynn Speer

  She smiled brightly at her aunt, and then asked, shyly, “Will they come? When I am to be wed? Will they see me that day?”

  “They started the day they received notice and are part way here. Your mother and father are staying at Snowdon’s peak to see in the Light. They don’t wish to arrive too previous; after all, they don’t like spending too much time with barbarians.” The last part was added with a mischievous smile. They were both traveled enough that they knew that everyone was a barbarian to all but themselves.

  Even though she loved her aunt and enjoyed speaking to her, it didn’t really help. She had so many things running around in her head at once, she was not having the easiest time speaking about it. She left as they gathered together to sing the spires into existence. There would be no roof, but the place was created to frame the sapphire and pale moons, both sharing the sky this night.

  William couldn’t possibly have anything to do with the murder, even if the Bishop were going to take the shop. And the chocolates were in the clear. Lavoussier is up to something. William is right, there has to be a gain for the Admiral.

  She watched the children playing on the gentle slope. The table she had seen being set up earlier sat directly under the naked arm of his sign. She watched as Ayers poured more hot chocolate into the cauldron on the table while Cecelia filled plain clay mugs full of the inviting liquid to hand to anyone who asked.

  Sometimes she saw a parent pull a child away, but more often than not, the parents would come up as well, speak to Cecelia, who looked as if she was enjoying her role far too much, and take some chocolate. Ayers took a basket of used mugs back in, and doubtless would soon return with them, freshly scrubbed.

  She thought about turning and leaving, for she’d only barely managed to avoid having Cecelia as a chaperone by being extra stealthy and knew she was going to get an ear full. The wind changed, and she smelled the sea, and cloves, and soap.

  “Where’s your sign?” she asked without turning.

  William laughed softly. “How did you know?”

  I could smell you. I could feel you. I will always be able to find you; you can not trick the wind. “Fortunate guess.” She smiled at him over her shoulder. “Well?”

  “‘Tis on order; along with the gift boxes. I have some made without the shop’s full insignia for now, but it would be best if we used our boxes to remind everyone where the contents come from. ‘Tis how they do it in the larger cities.”

  “So, what is the name of the shop?”

  “I haven’t thought of one. I suppose that’s why the sign in still on order.” He offered his arm and she took it, allowing him to lead her to the shop.

  “Really, William! That’s the sort of thing one would have expected you to think of ages ago.”

  He beamed at her. “Exactly. Cecelia, please give my lady here a cup of chocolate and a piece of your mind. She could use both.” He tipped his hat and went inside, while Cecelia glared at her.

  Tasmin snatched up the cup and ladled herself some. “Well, don’t look at me like that. I’m the ... the ... mistress of this business. I suppose.” She sniffed and looked out into the street. “If I decide I need some time alone, I am perfectly within my rights.”

  “Hold that thought. I need to get a slip of paper and write it down, so when William needs to know what to engrave on your tombstone, he can use that.”

  The two women exchanged glares.

  “I go where I choose,” Tasmin said, and then she drank again. “But next time I’ll tell you.”

  Cecelia wrinkled her nose and shrugged. “You’re letting me do your hair for the ball tonight,” she demanded. “Not that whey-faced privy watcher your sister has.”

  “Well, I am not certain if William would consider that part of your duties,” she said wryly. “In any matter, you might actually make my hair pretty. She would probably find a way to accidentally cut it off. Or at least scorch it something terrible.”

  Cecelia served another couple, and then looked up at the clock. “I am only out here for another few minutes. William’s giving the chocolate away for an hour, hoping to build goodwill, he said, but I think he just wanted to do something nice for the children.”

  See? Not at all the vicious murderer. Take that, Lavoussier. “I shall see you inside, then.”

  She went inside where it was welcomingly warm and sweet smelling. A bell on the door, looking like a miniature ship’s bell, rang prettily. She stood on tiptoe and read the name on it ... Pandora. She rolled her eyes and shut the door firmly, making her way to the back. William had food waiting, not chocolate, but meat pasties and what smelled like spiced cider. “Ayers brought enough for all. Cecelia said you would get here eventually, which is why I didn’t chase her off to find you,” William said absently, marking his books.

  “You received my note, I trust?” she asked. “The Bishop was killed some other way.”

  “That was a stroke of brilliance on your part, Tasmin. Now if we could only figure out who, and why, life would be perfect.” He smiled up at her, then dipped the quill again as he went back to his writing. She took one of the pasties and sat down, chewing thoughtfully. Ayers was gone, Cecelia busy, even the sprites were silent, gone to play in the snow.

  “Even so, the evidence points to you. According to Lavoussier, the Bishop was considering repossessing this place. Also, your brother noted that the person who brokered the deal between you and the Bishop, Terrence Derbyshore, doesn’t exist. I wonder if your brother ever traced that. I thought he would, but he dropped the investigation the second Franny Harker allowed her confession to be bought.”

  He looked up at her, slowly, and met her eyes. He made her feel as if she had plunged a blade deep into his heart, and he shook his head slightly, and said. “It sounds as if your belief in my evidence is slipping. Are you going to ask me, then?”

  “What? William, I was just thinking out loud.”

  “But you want to ask if I did it, don’t you?”

  She looked away, ripping off a piece of burnt crust. “It’s what Lavoussier wanted me to ask you.” She brushed her fingers off and reached over to touch his cheek. “Oh, William, do not look so.” But he avoided her touch neatly, disguising it by standing up.

  “How accommodating of you.” He smiled tightly. “Of course, you are right. The evidence against me is quite overwhelming. You were bound to start wondering sometime; I simply took your belief in me for granted.”

  She certainly had not meant this as he was taking it. “It is what Lavoussier would have everyone believe. I spent quite a bit of time with him yesterday. Not as much as Bonny did, but enough to know he doesn’t care for the truth, only that you are the one blamed.”

  “He’s doing a good job,” William observed levelly. “To get you to conduct his interrogations.”

  “That is not fair. Stop being peevish, William. I believed your innocence from the beginning.”

  “It is never pleasant to hear one’s betrothed say such things, especially introducing the subject so as to be a complete surprise. Tell me, Tasmin, did the sincerity of my reaction seem real to you, or do you still have doubts?”

  “I never doubted you.” She poured all her sincerity into it.

  “Really dear. You should practice lying in front of the mirror, at least twenty minutes a day.” He spoke as if he didn’t care, just went about his business. “‘Tis what Lavoussier and his kind do.”

  “If I doubted you, why would I have come?” She studied him, and realized he looked a bit tired. Of course, the events would wear on him. One only had so much energy.

  The bell rang, and William called, “Back here.” He looked at her, raised his eyebrows as if to ask, “Well?” but she looked away, feeling frustrated and a bit guilty. Her head came back up as a young man came in bearing a letter. William paid him a coin, told him to get some chocolate, and began working the seal.
>
  “That coat ... is it common wear for boys of a certain age?”

  “No. It’s the messenger service. Remember Mrs. Hobbs?”

  “And only the messenger service wears that coat?” She took his cider and drank of it, thinking.

  “You would be correct,” he said, reading.

  “Were you in the messenger service?” He gave her a look, to which she replied, “‘tis a fair question!”

  “Nay, I would not have been handsome enough to qualify. Anyway, never needed the position.”

  “Huh.” She sipped the cider again. A peek through her lashes revealed that he was glaring at her over the letter. “Just wondered. I was going through the drawers in your old room, and found the sweetest little replica naval jacket, some shoes, and a jacket exactly like the one I just saw that young man wearing.”

  He sat down next to her, the letter tossed aside. “You are quite certain?” He looked pleased. “You must go and fetch it out.”

  “I can’t.” She looked at him apologetically. “The other day the whole drawer was empty. The same day the dress was taken, someone cleared out your things and the coat.”

  He cursed. “I suppose this goes on the list of evidence against me. After all, it was in my old room.”

  She smiled and made a point of studying him suspiciously. “Hmm. But I am a mage, and I can divine that you do not have a murderous bone in your body.”

  “Ah. Well. Thank you. If I had known it to be that easy, we could have gone to trial.”

  She grinned, and then noticed that the cup was empty. He reached the pitcher over and poured some more. “Do we assume the person who hid it was the messenger, or was it planted there by someone paid by the killer to do it?”

  He took the cup off of her, and drank from the spot her lips had touched. It was not sensuously done, just as if turning the cup specifically to that spot was something he did every time he drank. “The thing about murders is that people tend to try and hide it as much as possible, I reckon. The more people who know something, the more likely the killer is to get caught.”

  One of the sprites had returned. She could tell because it had tromped through some flour spilled on the counter. She watched as little foot prints appeared on the table in front of them, sneaking for a taste of her pie. She broke it in half, and then broke the half open so that it could get to the tasty part, and not fill up, and a sprite would, on the crust. “So, if it was the supposed delivery boy himself, who would be small enough to pass?”

  “A couple of the servants. Mrs. Hobbs would certainly have recognized

  Andrew, though he’s almost slight enough for the role, and you.” He winked at her. She felt quite relieved at this final evidence he’d forgiven her.

  “The delivery boy could not possibly be a woman.” She frowned, trying to remember what Mrs. Hobbs said.

  He seemed to be about ready to disagree, but changed the subject. “We shall have to see what we can find out. Are you going to the Magister’s Masquerade tonight?”

  She grinned. “Oh! For certain! I even bought a dress for the occasion.”

  “Well, I do hope it will match the mask I purchased for you.” He got up and started rummaging around the cupboards. “I do not recall taking it upstairs.”

  “You bought me a mask!” She felt quite happy at the thought, and wished she had gotten him something as well.

  “Well, I do realize it breaks with tradition, as no one is really supposed to know who is whom, but I thought you would like it. Where the blazes?” A door opened, and he smiled. “Thank you.” He got out a box and placed it in front of her with a flourish.

  “I do believe this is the first time you’ve personally given me a present. ‘Tis quite novel, for you to see my reaction first hand, rather than filtered through words.”

  “The other way is easier to deal with.” He watched as she removed the lid and carefully unwrapped the tissue. “As I am used to sending things out with the knowledge that I will never know what you truly think.”

  “‘Tis beautiful!” she gasped, pulling it out of the tissue and raising it to her face.

  “I thought it suited you the other day.”

  She leapt up and hugged him fiercely.

  “You’re not going to like the rest as much, I fear.” She gave him a suspicious look.

  The look he returned was sheepish. “Perhaps you could ... maybe ... keep an eye on Lavoussier?”

  “Ah, do you plan to unmask the villain at the ball?” she teased.

  “Really, dear, I find that metaphor boring. As if I would do something so overly dramatic.”

  “Again, you take the romance out of things.” She sniffed. “We won’t get to dance at all, will we?”

  He settled his arms around her waist. “At least once. I promise.”

  "Before the end of the night."

  He laughed. "Of course." He moved a little closer, and she spun out of reach.

  "Then I will see you tonight." She took the box and mask, curtsied deeply, and left.

  Chapter 21

  Mesa 2nd

  Pale Mn. Qtr 1790

  Tasmin,

  We have recovered a most excellent prize. We have fought and taken the Pandora, that very same ship who has long terrorized the waters of the Vining Sea. She is a most beautiful vessel, over 100 guns and three decks. As you might remember, my own poor ship is only a seventy-five-gunner, but I knew the Pandora had been beaten up pretty badly in her last engagement with the HMS Crien. We managed to prevail and, thanks to the weather gauge being on our side, we were able to take her. I am certain one of your charms is what truly saved the day.

  Bishop Kinglsey, who you may recall asked me to pursue her, is greatly pleased. He tells me that he has secured that thing which he worried so about, though he has refused to allow me to see it. Still, he has promised a great reward, and so I am content.

  I am more or less the same as I ever was, though I dare say a scar or more will not change your impression of me.

  Yours truly,

  William

  The lord mayor and his wife came out onto the platform first, their costumes exceptionally elaborate. No one knew for certain, of course, if the pair taking the fur-covered ice thrones were actually who everyone assumed they were, but it was, after all, the point of the masked ball.

  Andrew was dressed all in gray, his mask clearly representative of an animal, but William couldn’t tell what he was meant to be. Unfortunately everything clicked into place when he saw Bonny’s costume, a slinky black dress, and a cat’s face mask. Cat and mouse? Cruelly clever.

  His mother and father never changed their costumes from year to year; she was Queen Francesca, the matriarch who had led her people to victory over the North, and his father was the consort who had led the troops, Lord Ferdinand. Not exactly the most tactful of choices, either, considering that his intended was from the North. And being from the North, she might consider, as those from that clime often did, that it was her people who had won the war, not his.

  Lavoussier, Lavoussier, what are you wearing? Tasmin thought she would have no trouble at all finding him, and William believed it, but he would feel better if he, himself, knew where to look for the other man. He turned, the bells on his cape tinkling faintly. He had chosen to dress as a jester magician in a robe of patchwork velvet, edged with bells. It was filled with pockets and tricks, both a concealing and memorable costume. He was much more interested in Tasmin’s costume, though, and found himself not quite concentrating on the task at hand, hoping for a glance at his betrothed.

  There she was. He laughed to himself, because every foolish thing he had read in novels (and he did rather enjoy reading novels, though he would never admit that in public) about everyone else disappearing, the room narrowing, everything focusing on one thing, it was all true. And that one thing was her. He thought she was th
e most blessed, the most magical thing he’d ever seen. In her dress of layer upon layer upon layer of sheer cloth in different hues of blue, she looked like the Ice Queen of the North come to do battle with Francesca. Certainly not the dress Mother would have given you. Well played, darling one.

  Her hair lay unbound to her waist, and her mask made her look even more otherworldly, as it had the first time he saw her in it. She looked right at him, and smiled. He placed his hand, clutching, over his heart and bowed until the tails on the ridiculous cap he wore touched the ground. When he looked up, she was gone, to be found, not too many moments later, speaking with a pirate. She walked around the man, and while he was looking away, speaking to someone else, she made eye contact with William, and nodded, once.

  Lavoussier has a sense of humor after all. How droll.

  It would not be an easy night at all, he quickly realized, as the second person asked him for a trick. Another deep bow, a wiggle of the fingers, and he pulled tin stars from behind her ears, dropping them into her hands.

  He looked for Tasmin again. She was trying to disentangle herself from his mother, who was making some ill-tempered remark. He sighed, but he could not afford to defend her, not right now.

  The dancing had started, and Lavoussier took Bonny’s hand and led her out onto the floor. Tasmin curtsied low, her gestures showing that she was asking Andrew to dance, and William smiled beneath his mask. A woman in a Captain’s dress uniform smiled at him nervously, and he bowed and offered his hand.

  He was not overly fond of dancing, partly because he was not at ease enough that he could avoid thinking about it and let his mind wander as much as he would like. Lavoussier, however, made it obvious that he was an excellent dancer, but William did not care for how he ran his hands along Bonny’s waist. There was something both familiar and indecent about how he went about it, as if he were marking his territory. William was grateful that Tasmin kept Andrew suitably occupied. His younger brother was an even worse dancer that his own self, so Tasmin was doing much of the leading while Andrew kept glancing at his feet.