The Chocolatier's Wife (41 page)

She
shivered
and
pulled
her
cloak
a
little
closer.
It
seemed
to
take
a
long while,
but
William was
patient,
and
after
a
time
she
could
hear
the
shuffle of
feet
come
along
the
path
to
the
gate.
The
woman
who
came
into
view
was not
hunched
over
or
bent,
but
she
gave
the
impression
of
a
person
who
had once been tall and
impressive.

“I
don’t
know
if
I
should
smile
or
curse
at
you,
lad,”
she
said,
tugging
on the
thick
white
braid
that
lay
across
her
shoulder,
“but
I
will
let
you
in.
Now that the authorities are
gone no
one bothers visiting
an
old lady.”

“Thank
you.
Mrs.
Hobbs,
this
is
Tasmin
Bey,
my
intended.”
William touched her shoulder.

Tasmin
smiled
as
William
introduced
her,
and
she
followed
them
both along
the
path,
listening
to
William
teasing
the
other
woman
gently,
and
her chucking,
clicking
responses.
She
could
see
the
house
must
be
lovely
in
the daylight,
and wondered
if
the
place
would
fall
into
disrepair
now
that
the Bishop
was
gone,
or
if
his
replacement
would
take
over
the
house.
Doubtless the
latter,
she
comforted
herself.
No
one
would
leave
the
housekeeper
there for kindness sake; if they meant to close the house up she would probably be living
somewhere else.

“So,
you did not get the gate?” William
began asking
about that night.

“No,
the
stable
lad
got
it,
but
I
was
the
one
who
answered
the
door.
It
was
just
a
messenger
boy;
he
had
one
of
Pencote’s
little
gold
and
burgundy jackets on. Cruelty in this weather; I thought they had heavy cloaks for the winter.”

“Pencote’s?”
Tasmin
murmured
as
they
reached
the
house
proper.
She was trying to think
why the description seemed familiar.

“The
only
messenger
service
in
town.
If
you
want
something
delivered, you usually hire one of his lads if you don’t
have
servants.”

She
nodded,
turning her
attention
back
to
the
housekeeper,
who
was standing
in
the
now
open
doorway.
A
little
lantern
light
streamed
out
from behind her.

“He
was
right
there,
and he
was
holding
a
blue
box
with
one
of
your cards on
it.”
She pointed at the gate.

“What
did he look
like?”
William
asked,
stepping up.

Mrs.
Hobbs
looked
at
Tasmin, who
was
huddling
next
to
William for warmth.
She
tilted
her
head,
and
said,
“You’ll
laugh,
but
he
looked
a
lot like
her.
Features
like
a
woman,
dark
hair,
large
eyes,
short,
but
that’s
all
I can
tell
you.
Why
would
I
pay
a
t
tention?
Just
a
lad
like
all
the
others.
Still, he
had
a
soft
voice. He
handed
me
the
box
and
scampered
off,
not
even staying
for his
tip.
I
assumed
he
was
not
willing
to
wait
in
the
cold
for an old
woman
to
drag
out
her
coins.
Now
I
wonder—do
you
su
p
pose
he
knew what was in
the box?”

“That
is
quite
a
fair
question.”
William
looked
at
Tasmin,
then
stepped aside
and
a
l
lowed
her
to
enter
the
house
and
leave
the
cold.
Mrs.
Hobbs
led them
to
the
back
of
the
house,
through
the
kitchen
to
her
own
private
room, a
tiny
but
very
warm space
with
a
heavily
curtained
bed
and
two
chairs. Tasmin
warmed
her
hands
over
the
fire
with
unabashed
joy.
It
was
an
odd set-up,
in
some
ways.
The
fireplace
was
double
sided;
she
could
see
through into the kitchen.

“Anyway,”
Mrs. Hobbs
moved
the
curtains
and
sat
on
the
bed,
leaving the
chairs
to
them.
William
took
Tasmin’s
cloak
and
placed
it
over
his
own. If
he
was
surprised
that
she
did
not
stand
on
the
ceremonies
a
housekeeper would
have
been
expected
to
pe
r
form, such
as
the
taking
of
the
outer garments
and
offering
tea,
he
did
not
show
it.
Perhaps
the
Bishop’s death had
made
her
tired.
Tasmin
considered
it,
as
she
sat
down. The
death
of
a beloved employer would have
done the same to her own self, she was sure. “I
took
it
in
to
Himself,
who
was
surprised
to
see
the
box.
Even
he
said he’d
have thought
you
would
have delivered
it
personally,
like
you
always brought
stuff.
But
then
you
were
expecting
a
bit
of
pay, which
of
course would make
it more
worth your while.”

“I
would
have
come,”
William
said.
“We
were
not
friends—I could
not puff myself up to that honor—but I
did genuinely like him.”

She
looked
at
William and
then
shrugged.
She
did
not
reassure
him, and
Tasmin
thought
that
she
was
still
angry
over
the
Bishop’s murder
or perhaps
not
entirely
sure
of
William’s
innocence.
“He
offered
me
some
but I
saw
they
all
had
nuts
in
them.
I
can’t
stand
‘em,
they
make me
horrible sick, so
I
said
it
were
too
late
for
an
old
lady
like
me
to
eat
anything.
So
he said,
‘Tomorrow,
then’ and
let me go.”