The Chocolatier's Wife (84 page)

“Very well,
since
I
am
not
going
to
be
allowed
to
ease
into
this,
I
must ask
my
dear
sister-in-law
most
directly,
if
you
knew
the
chocolates
you
were delivering
to
the
Bishop
were
poisoned,
or
if
you
were
just
duped
into
being the delivery boy because you fancy yourself in
love with Lavoussier?”

Tasmin
felt
her
spine
straighten
in
surprise.
She
looked
at
the
others in
the
room,
and
realized
that
everyone,
save
of
course
William,
looked equally struck.

“I
do not fancy myself in
love! How dare you?”

“That
hardly
answers
the
question, dear,”
Tasmin
said.
“After
all,
the evidence
points
to you.” She
looked
at
William,
hoping
for
support, for
she had no
idea at all if she was right or
not.

“Indeed.
You
were
the
one
who
came
into
the
shop
to
get
me
the
day
of the
murder. I
thought
it
unusual
at
the
time
that
you
would
come
and
tell me,
personally,
that
mother
and
father
wished
me
for
dinner,
but
took
it
for a
kindness.
So
you
would
have
easily
been
able
to
steal
the
chocolates,
since I
went upstairs to change, leaving you alone in
the kitchen.”

“I
didn’t do anything.
I
left immediately when you went upstairs.”

“William,
I
beg you,
silence yourself,” Andrew said.

“Why?
Do you wish to see Franny
Harker
hang so very
badly?” Andrew jumped from
the chair,
knocking
it over.

“You bastard,
you have
no
bloody idea what you’re talking
about!” Everyone
was
taken
aback,
seeing
Andrew
loom
over
his
older
brother,
his
hands
in
fists.
Tasmin
closed
her
mouth,
swallowing,
certain
that
he
would
strike out.

William stared
him
down.
“Sit
down,
little
brother,”
he
said
in
a
calm, hard
voice.

Andrew
righted
the
chair
with
shaking
hands
and
did
so,
looking as
if
he
were
co
n
sidering
throwing
up.
Justin
watched
with
cold,
interested
eyes;
Bonny
looked
terr
i
fied,
and
Henriette’s
cold
mask
was
belied
by
the
worry
in
her eyes.

“How
did
she
get
the
jacket
from
Pencote’s?”
Tasmin
asked.
She
thought perhaps
that
Andrew’s
reaction
was
a
little
too
much.
The
words
had
struck him
harder
than
they should, but why?

“Stolen
from
their
laundry. It
would
not
be
hard,
they
do
not
lock
the laundry
b
e
cause
the
jackets
are
so
distinctive
no
one
would
want
one, not unless
they
were
g
o
ing
to
disguise
themselves
as
a
delivery
boy, which
is what Bonny
did.”

“Then
she
hid
the
jacket
in
your
old
room, because
it
wasn’t being used!”

He
gave
her
a
pleased
smile.
“Or because
she
wanted
to
encourage
the idea that I
was behind things.”

“Nonsense! Sheer nonsense!” Bonny
said.

“‘Tis
not.
Yester-night
I
was
able
to
take
a
peek
at
your
lover’s papers. He
has
notes
on
every
person
in
this
room.
He
knows
all
of
your
secrets
and now,”
he
sighed,
sadly,
“so
do
I.”
His
eyes
lit
on
Andrew,
who
had
become very
still.

“Then
you
know why
I
did
it,”
she
spat
the
words
out.
“I’ve
only
ever done what Andrew Almsley asked me to do!”

“Good
Lord,
woman!”
Andrew
gasped.
“I’ve
never
asked
you
to
pretend to be a
deli
v
ery boy,
or
anything else to do with this.”

“Not
you, you
little
toad,”
she
said. “But
the
real
Andrew
Almsley,
my real
hu
s
band, with
whom
I
should
have
been
all
my
life.
The
one
you
call Eric
Lavoussier.”
There
was
a
bit
of
dramatic
relish
to
her
tone.
Bonny
had been
keeping
a secret
for
ages,
Tasmin realized;
perhaps
she
felt
she
was going to get a
little revenge, at last.

“You’re
joking!” Tasmin didn’t
realize
she’d
spoken
aloud
until
Bonny rounded on
her.

“Joking?
The
only
joke
in
this
room
lies
in
your
complacency!
You
and your
belief
in
William’s
devotion
to
you;
Henriette’s
belief
in
her
husband’s honesty; but I know better. The men in this room are all... ”

“That
will
be
enough,
Bonailia.” Henriette’s
voice
was
as
sharp
as
an executioner’s axe.

“‘Tis
not
enough.
I
want
to
know why
you
don’t believe
that
I
am
your husband!” Andrew reached for
her hands,
but she snatched them away.
“I
have
always been d
e
voted to you.”

“Liar,”
she whispered.

“Perhaps.
But I
am
Andrew of the House of Almsley.”

“Whatever
gave
rise
to
this
preposterous
notion?”
Justin
said.
“What
lie did this L
a
voussier
tell you?”

“Don’t
you
remember?”
Bonnie
begged
William,
ignoring
her
father-in-law,
“when
we
were
children?
How
robust
and
strong
and
different
Andrew was?”

“Until
he
became
ill, yes.
He
caught
Tanigier’s
fever
and
had
to
be
sent away
to
be
cured.”
William said
it
very
gently,
his
anger
carefully
banked, though
Tasmin
fancied
she
could
see
it
in
his
eyes.
“He
could
not
help
it;
‘tis no
reason
to turn
your back
on
him.”

“But,
you
see,
the
real
Andrew
didn’t
come
back.
They
sent
this
boy instead.
Doubtless
his
parents
paid
the
mages
who
ran
the
hospital
to send
their
son
to
a
better
life,
cheating
Andrew,
my
Andrew,
out
of
his birthright.”