The Chocolatier's Wife (45 page)

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 ba
n
died 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,
pa
t
ting
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,
e
s
pecially 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.