The Chocolatier's Wife (20 page)

“
I
wonde
r
you’v
e
no
t
sen
t
fo
r
her
.
I
believ
e
sh
e
turne
d
eightee
n
years ago?
”

“I
t
seem
s
yo
u
ar
e
th
e
on
e
wit
h
al
l
th
e
information
,
sir.
”
Willia
m
shifte
d
i
n
th
e
chai
r
an
d
yawned
.
Rudel
y
an
d
hugely.

“D
o
yo
u
kno
w
Bisho
p
Kingsley?
”

Willia
m
wante
d
t
o
sa
y
tha
t
sinc
e
Lavoussie
r
kne
w
al
l
th
e
detail
s
o
f
hi
s
life
,
mayb
e
h
e
shoul
d
answe
r
th
e
questio
n
himself
,
bu
t
instead
,
“Aye
,
I’v
e
me
t
wit
h
hi
m
o
n
severa
l
occasions
.
H
e
love
s
drie
d
fruit
s
fro
m
exoti
c
lands
,
an
d I
ofte
n
provide
d
hi
m
wit
h
th
e
fruit
s
o
f
m
y
travels.
”

“Ou
t
o
f
friendship?
”

“Nay
,
twa
s
a
servic
e
h
e
pai
d
wel
l
for
.
I
d
o
no
t
believ
e
h
e
woul
d
conside
r
m
e
a
friend
;
I
a
m
no
t
fro
m
hi
s
circle.”

“Earlie
r
i
n
th
e
evening
,
a
bo
x
o
f
chocolate
s
wa
s
delivere
d
t
o
th
e
Bishop’s home
.
Woul
d
yo
u
car
e
t
o
see?
”
Th
e
admira
l
brough
t
ou
t
a
bo
x
tha
t
could hav
e
bee
n
on
e
o
f
William’s
,
thi
n
woo
d
tha
t
h
e
ha
d
manufacture
d
and stampe
d
o
n
th
e
li
d
wit
h
th
e
shop’
s
insigni
a
o
f
a
locke
t
o
n
a
chai
n
drape
d
aroun
d
a
se
a
anchor
.
A
gif
t
box
,
then
,
no
t
a
casua
l
buy
,
whic
h
wa
s
not surprising
.
H
e
doubte
d
anyon
e
woul
d
bu
y
a
line
n
clot
h
ba
g
o
f
chocolate
s
an
d
presen
t
the
m
t
o
th
e
Bishop
.
H
e
frowne
d
whe
n
h
e
sa
w
th
e
contents. “Th
e
chocolate
s
o
n
th
e
left
,
wit
h
th
e
dar
k
brow
n
powder
,
thos
e
ar
e
mine. Bu
t
th
e
others
,
well
,
I
didn’
t
mak
e
them.
”

“Really?
”

Willia
m
arche
d
a
n
eyebrow
.
“Woul
d
yo
u
bu
y
a
gif
t
bo
x
f
ille
d
wit
h
somethin
g
tha
t
misshape
n
an
d
ugly
?
I
a
m
tryin
g
t
o
star
t
a
thriving
concern. No one would eat that, it looks like something a particularly
dirt
y
chil
d
made.
”

H
e
wa
s
ove
r
emphasizin
g
hi
s
poin
t
somewhat
,
mor
e
becaus
e
h
e
wa
s
tryin
g
t
o
gai
n
thinkin
g
time.

“Odd
that
you
should
say
so,
for
the
Bishop
ate
several
of
them.
In
fact, that is what killed him.”

William
blinked,
and
shook
his
head.
“Killed?
Who
would
kill
the
Bishop?”
The words did not make
sense.

“Oh,
you
do
feign
shock
and
confusion
well,
Mister
Almsley,
but
we know that
you
manufactured
these
chocolates,
and
are
responsible
for
the death of the Bishop.”

“You
can’t
be
serious.
I
never
would
put
anything
harmful into
my candies.
B
e
sides,
how
do
you
know? You’ve
hardly
had
time
to
look
into the situation.”

“And
yet
he
is
dead,
and
you
and
I
are
here.”
The
admiral
took
up
a
note from
the desktop. “Your handwriting?”

“Perhaps.”
William
threw
the
note,
which
merely
said,
“Dear
Bishop, I
pray
you
enjoy
the
enclosed gift,
with
thanks
for
your
multitude
of kindnesses
...
William
of
Almsley”
back
onto
the
desk,
as
if
it
mattered little.
“My
handwriting
is
far
from unusual.
But
I
will
say
that
that
is
not from
my hand,
and
that if I
were to deliver an
y
thing to the Bishop’s
house, I
would
do
it
personally
in
an
attempt
to
make
it
seem
more
like
a
social
call than
as an
attempt to curry
patronage.”

“I
see. But you said you were not friends?”

“There is a
difference. You should know
that.”

“I
see.”
The
admiral sat
on
the
edge
of
his
desk.
William chose
not
to break
the
s
i
lence,
and
though,
he
had
begun
to
feel
a
little
twitchy,
reminded himself
to
relax
and
not
play
along
with
Lavoussier. “If
you
will
not
help with
the
investigation,
then
we
shall
remand
you
to
the
public
jail.
Guards, take him
to the capital cells.”