The Chocolate Maker’s Wife

by Karen Brooks

  ‘Is it?’ asked Rosamund, failing to understand what this had to do with her.

  ‘You see, in light of Aubrey’s death, and in the absence of a direct heir, the entire Blithman estate goes to you.’

  At first Rosamund didn’t quite catch what he was saying, she was busy admiring the secretary hand on the pages before her. She only realised he’d said something else when he cleared his throat and saw Bianca staring at her, eyes wide.

  ‘Beg pardon, my lady,’ said Mr Bender, daring to touch her hand where it rested on the arm of her chair. ‘But do you understand what this means?’

  ‘What what means, Mr Bender?’

  Passing her a thick document, Mr Bender pointed to a list on the first page. ‘You may have lost the manor house, but that was just the spire on the church, the nib on the quill. The Blithman holdings sustained some losses due to the embargoes in place during the plague and the forfeiture of perishable stock, but they’ve recouped hefty profits since. Furthermore, the lands Aubrey acquired in Virginia, along with his existing cotton and tobacco plantations, are doing very well, as are the estates Gregory acquired and managed in Guinea up until his untimely death. Even once the Chancery Court takes their percentage, you’re a very wealthy woman, Lady Rosamund. Very wealthy indeed.’ Rosamund saw the figure at the bottom of the third page.

  This couldn’t be happening. Dazed, her mind whirled. What of the letter that Aubrey had threatened to use and thus render her less than a widow? The one that would have annulled her marriage to Sir Everard?

  ‘Forgive me, Mr Bender. But did…did Aubrey ever give you or make mention of a letter from his father? A report from a doctor?’

  Mr Bender gave her a long, steady look. ‘No, madam,’ he said in an expressionless voice. ‘I do not recall such a letter or report. I do not recall that at all. Now, if I may continue?’ He turned a page and went on explaining.

  Rosamund continued to stare at him when she heard a word that unsettled her deeply. ‘Did you say “slaves”, Mr Bender?’

  ‘I did indeed. You see, some of your greatest profits are derived from the trade Sir Everard set up when he signed a contract with the Royal Adventurers into Africa. Currently, he has three dedicated slave ships, but with Aubrey’s additional two ships —’

  Rosamund didn’t hear any more. She saw the light go out of Bianca’s eyes, her full lips draw back in what was almost a rictus. Without being told, she knew where Bianca’s thoughts had travelled. To her long-dead mother, to Jacopo. To those years with the Blithmans. No matter how loyal or clever she was, no matter her paternity, there would always be those who would never let Bianca forget her birth.

  ‘Mr Bender,’ said Rosamund, a tad more sharply than she intended.

  The lawyer waited expectantly.

  Any doubts she had about being in receipt of such beneficence fled. ‘I want to thank you for bringing me such unexpected news. I think it will take me some time to digest this.’ Her hands swept the table. ‘Is it possible to keep these papers so my… friend… Mr Lovelace, and my cousin, Sam, might examine them with me? So Bianca and I might pore over them?’

  ‘Certainly,’ said Mr Bender, arranging them in a stack. ‘I have the originals in my office.’ He paused. ‘If I may be so bold, my lady. With such wealth at your disposal, you’ll have suitors knocking down your door. I shouldn’t be at all surprised if the court approaches you for a loan, what with the privy purse being so… tight.’

  Rosamund inclined her head.

  ‘If I may also proffer a word of advice,’ he said gently. ‘From an old father with a lovely daughter to someone of her age and also possessed of great beauty?’

  ‘You may,’ said Rosamund, a rush of warmth for him blossoming in her smile.

  ‘Regarding the suitors I’ve no doubt will come in droves once word of this gets out.’ He held up a finger to halt her protests. ‘No matter how guarded you might be, my lady, mark my words, it will get out. If there’s one thing all Londoners talk about, it’s tragedy and money. They can’t get enough of either. Except maybe scandal. The news sheets are full of rubbish. If they’re not alarming us, they’re depressing us or turning us into some kind of moral constables standing in judgement of each other…’ He took a deep breath. ‘Forgive me, my lady. Once I get onto the subject, I’m like a preacher at the Cross. What I’m trying to say is, keep your powder dry.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Rosamund bit back a laugh.

  ‘That is, don’t be hasty. If there’s one thing money does buy, it’s the leisure of time — to make decisions. Better still, to make the right ones.’

  Rosamund rose. ‘I thank you, Mr Bender.’ Moving around to his side of the table, she dropped a kiss on his cheek, delighting him. ‘From the bottom of my heart.’ She returned to her seat. ‘You know, advice is a funny thing — it’s too often given by those least equipped to provide it. But in this case, you’re the perfect person and offer the best of its kind. Now, if I may ask some more of you?’

  ‘By all means,’ he said.

  ‘These slave ships you say I’ve inherited. I confess, this disturbs me deeply. Part of me always suspected it might be how Sir Everard made his fortune. I’ve been derelict in not discovering the truth. If only I’d asked Jacopo… Dear God. After Sir Everard died, he’d kept the business going…’ She flashed an apologetic look at Bianca. ‘Forgive me that, Bianca. Forgive me.’

  Bianca gave her a small smile. ‘There’s nothing for you to forgive. Even if you’d known, you had no rights over the business then.’

  ‘She’s quite right, Lady Rosamund. There was nothing you could have done. No difference you could have made… Then.’

  Rosamund stared at first Bianca, then Mr Bender. ‘No. Not then.’ At that moment, Rosamund made up her mind that she would do whatever it took to free Bianca; to rid her of the invisible shackles that bound them to each other and allow her beloved friend to know the joy of liberty and, wherever possible, choice. Taking a deep breath, she gestured to the documents. ‘What I wish to know, is it possible to change the purpose of these ships now?’

  Out of the corner of her eye, Rosamund saw Bianca’s chin rise.

  ‘You mean, from transporting slaves? Of course. It would take time, some money,’ he chuckled. ‘But it can be done. Only, if you’re interested in making considerable profit —’ he avoided looking at Bianca, ‘then slavery is the way to go. The demand in the New World and the territories being opened up there is —’

  ‘You said yourself, Mr Bender,’ interrupted Rosamund. ‘I’m a wealthy woman. Surely, if I wish to change the focus of my shipping business —’ the personal pronoun gave her an intense flash of pleasure, ‘I am now well within my rights to switch from human cargo to something else more… palatable.’ She looked meaningfully at Bianca.

  ‘Ah, er. Quite. Forgive me. Both of you.’

  With dignity that made a royal wave appear the coarsest of actions, Bianca bowed her head.

  They spoke for a further hour as Mr Bender outlined her immediate obligations. He asked her to sign a few papers and then arranged for her to come to his offices in a week. In the meantime, he left her with a generous purse of coins and advised her to hire a capable man as soon as possible to attend to her interests. Someone she could trust. Possibly an assistant as well, as the holdings were really quite vast.

  Barely able to withhold her excitement, as soon as Mr Bender was escorted from the room, she grabbed Bianca’s hands and spun her around.

  ‘Can you credit this? Why, Bianca, this is preposterous. This is bloody marvellous!’ She danced in circles, her hair coming loose. ‘I thought I was a nobody, that I had nothing. I’ve been so worried about what we’ll do, but now all my problems are solved. Our problems are solved. I am somebody.’

  Tolerating her mistress’s ebullience for a little longer, laughing at her evident delight, Bianca finally shook off her grip and sat down. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’

  ‘What’s that?’ said Rosamund,
panting and falling back into her chair.

  ‘You didn’t want to be beholden to the Blithmans for anything, and now you are.’

  ‘True,’ conceded Rosamund. ‘But I also have to be realistic. And the facts are, Bianca, with this kind of money at my disposal, estates, houses, ships and so much more, not only can I make amends — you heard what he said about the slave ships —’ Bianca reached for her hands and held them tight, ‘I can make a difference. A real difference.’

  ‘To what?’ Bianca stared at her mistress, hope radiating from her.

  Rosamund leaned forward, her eyes sparkling.

  ‘Everything.’

  FIFTY-SIX

  In which a new world beckons 4th March, 1667

  The last of the ropes were untied, the anchor weighed and the sails slowly unfurled. Gulls swooped and cawed overhead, their cries competing with those of the sailors clambering up ropes, scurrying across the deck and up and down the stairs between the decks. To stand on the high poop deck of the Odyssey, the two-masted ship of which Matthew was now proud sole owner, brought with it a new appreciation of the water and the crowded banks that dissolved into the distance. The wind brought with it the pungent smells of tar, pitch, brine and the pervasive bouquet of human habitation — Deptford was a large port and carried the sins and graces of all such places. From their position on board, Rosamund could see the long line of houses and businesses, the dry dock where Navy ships were repaired, as well as the numerous berths, many of them empty due to the outbreak of more hostilities. Behind her lay the Isle of Dogs, before them the hill that loomed over Greenwich and, at its foot, Greenwich Palace.

  They had feared they wouldn’t be granted leave to travel because of Dutch aggression and the King’s desire to press every man and every ship into service. However, Sam had managed to use his connections in the Navy Office and at court to get them the necessary documents; his job made easier when the gentlemen responsible found out they were for the lovely Lady Rosamund, who’d presided over their favourite chocolate house. Nothing was too much trouble.

  Rosamund could just make out Sam, Elizabeth, Solomon, Thomas, Grace and Mr Bender standing on the dock, waving their hands, their hats, and shouting out final messages of farewell that carried across the water despite all the wherries, barges and fishing boats using this part of the river.

  They’d made a jolly group as they travelled down to Deptford by barge the day before to meet the ship, which had been refitted over the last few weeks, and proved a demanding party at the lodge where they stayed overnight, almost draining the cellar dry and eating a season’s worth of coneys, eels and mutton, or so the landlady protested. But there’d also been the underlying sadness of imminent farewells.

  Rising early to meet the tide, they’d been subdued, especially Sam, whose cheeks were a little green and his eyes bloodshot. Already on board was another group of folk who’d paid a minimum fare for their passage. What they lacked in coin, they made up for in gratitude and willingness to work, both on the journey and once they made landfall.

  When Rosamund and Matthew learned that Bianca’s Quakers were being hounded by the authorities, who intended to arrest and transport them, they worked tirelessly to squirrel them out of the city and find safe houses where they could wait until such time as the ship was ready to sail.

  After the port authorities had done their final sweep of the ship to ensure the cargo was as stated on the documents and excise had been paid on goods leaving the shores, the passenger manifest scrutinised and matched with those already there, only then were the Quakers smuggled on board under cover of darkness. The Great Fire (as it was now called, though in Rosamund’s mind there would always be two of those) had meant there were also a number of merchants and their families ready to quit the capital for good and seek their fortune elsewhere. Learning a ship was leaving for the colonies in March, they’d sought out Matthew and begged passage. All those applying were questioned closely, and in the end two families, four couples and three merchants came with them.

  The passengers were told to be on board two days before sailing, and had stowed their goods and found their bunks, hammocks and, for the wealthier ones, cabins. When they discovered they were sharing the ship with thirty Quaker families as well, Rosamund and Matthew noted their quiet approval for what they were risking to ensure the Quakers’ freedom. It was a pity their tolerance didn’t extend to Bianca as well. As they stood on the deck, Rosamund could sense appraising eyes upon her friend, looks Bianca was all too familiar with and was able to ignore, even if she could not. She would never understand how one could be judged so superficially by the colour of their skin. Perhaps it was her own experiences that made her peculiarly sensitive to it, but she preferred to think not. She liked to imagine a world where things like that no longer mattered. She prayed the New World might be that place, even though Matthew had reminded her it was no Utopia, merely another version of what they were leaving behind but without many of the social constraints. In other words, a place where opportunities weren’t so contingent on birth. For the men, at least. For the women, there was still a long way to go.

  It wasn’t enough, but it was a start.

  The fine mizzle they’d awoken to had long been pushed aside by a cold wind and a curtain of cerulean was drawn across the heavens as the sun beamed down its warmth, touching their heads and blessing their voyage. The bends in the river obscured most of the city, but the pall of smoke hanging over London from newly erected chimneys and furnaces pinpointed its position as clearly as if God Himself had extended a long, dirty finger. Rosamund wondered if she would miss it very much and decided she wouldn’t. It was the people who cried out their farewells on the dock who would carry a little piece of her heart with them for the rest of their lives. For the rest of hers. She wished she didn’t have to leave them but, just as she saw her future across the seas, theirs was very much here.

  Standing taller than Sam now, Solomon and Thomas stood side by side — Solomon, a grave young man with glorious grey eyes and such dedication and talent, had been given a position in the King’s kitchen. Thomas, too, had earned his place. Both of them were to work with chocolate and Sam, who’d helped secure their new roles and promised to watch over them, believed that in time they would rise to become the King’s special chocolate makers. If not for this current regime, he’d whispered, then maybe for the monarchs who followed. Rosamund prayed it was true. It was what Filip hoped for them. It’s what she wished as well.

  Dear Filip. Standing beside her, shedding tears without shame or care, he cried out to his son. Unable to secure a position at court due to his Papist ways and a souring of relations with the Spanish court, he’d no choice but to leave lest he be arrested as a spy. Desiring his son avail himself of such a grand opportunity at the court, he insisted Solomon and Thomas remain. There were objections in some quarters at first, but after Matthew had a word with Sir Henry Bennet and raised Rosamund’s name, they magically disappeared. The son would not be punished for the perceived sins of the father.

  Rosamund placed an arm around Filip and brought her lips to his ear. ‘He’ll be fine, you know. They both will be.’

  ‘I know,’ Filip wept through his smile. ‘I know.’ She kissed him on the cheek and waved back to those on the shore.

  She knew he wasn’t only thinking of his son and the young apprentice who was now a master, but Jacopo as well. Her thoughts turned in the same direction, and her heart swelled. Jacopo, Mr Henderson, Robin, Harry, Owen, Cara and all the others who’d meant so much to her and were now with God. It must be hard for Bianca, leaving the place where Jacopo rested eternally. She found her friend’s hand and gave it a squeeze; her own was held tightly in return. Whether it was the wind or her thoughts, Bianca’s eyes were suspiciously dewy.

  Before she could whisper something to reassure her, Grace raced to the very edge of the dock, cupped her mouth and shouted across the water. ‘Thank you for the chocolate and stuff!’

  Filip shook h
is head. ‘The señorita will be a molinillo’s worth of trouble.’

  He was not wrong.

  A month earlier, Grace had moved in with Mrs Tosier, Thomas’s aunt, who determined to teach the girl both manners and her letters, much to the young one’s objection. All Grace wanted was to be with Thomas and, if she had to satisfy herself with seeing him on his half-days off for the time being, it would suffice. But that girl would carve her own path in life — and Thomas’s, thought Rosamund with a smile. Obsessed with chocolate, Grace was also fixated on Thomas. Rosamund had given her a silver chocolate pot, a molinillo and a lovely porcelain bowl along with some chocolate cakes. Wide-eyed and uncertain how to thank her, having never been given such a glorious gift, Grace threw her arms around Rosamund and wept a storm. As her cries subsided Rosamund had peeled her away and kissed her tearstained face.

  ‘I… I’m… I’m going to be just like you… I am… Lady Rosamund. A chocolate maker. Just you wait and see…’

  Rosamund did not doubt it.

  She’d also tried to gift Solomon and Thomas the chocolate-making equipment, but they’d declined.

  ‘The King’s kitchen is well appointed,’ said Thomas. ‘We’ve no need.’

  ‘You and Papa will need it more than us, señora,’ said Solomon shyly. ‘You must take it with you, and thus a part of us, over the seas — take our chocolate to the settlers there.’

  This time, it was Rosamund’s turn to cry. She did, however, insist they take a silver chocolate pot and molinillo each.

  Unbeknownst to them yet, Rosamund had arranged with Mr Bender to settle a tidy sum upon all three, enough to secure them a comfortable future — as royal chocolatiers, business owners, or whatever else they might choose to be. A generous dowry ensured Grace could select her own husband and not be subject to what she’d endured, treated as a chattel for men to own, control or dispose of at will. Whatever their hearts desired, they would one day be able to realise, though she suspected, when it came to Thomas, it would be whatever Grace desired. Bless her.