The Chocolatier's Wife (27 page)

“I will,” she said, firmly.

He
waited
a
long
moment, then
let
go.
“As
you
wish.
Fare
well, Tasmin.”

She
gave
him
a
comforting
smile
and
left.
She
wished
she
could
tell him
of
his
future
escape,
but
she
didn’t
want
to
risk
being
overheard,
or the
plan
somehow
b
e
ing
discovered.
It was
overcautious,
perhaps,
but
she was
frightened.
The
man
they’d
hanged
yesterday
had
been
dangerously
mad, apparently he’d run through the ma
r
ket place howling and randomly
biting
people.
They
had
kept
him
long
enough
to
see
if
his
malady
could
be cured,
and
when
they
concluded
it
was
not
possible,
and
that
he
would
only continue
to
be
a
danger
to
all
(it
was,
William had
told
her,
the
third
time he’d
attacked
people,
this
final time
being
the
most
severe),
he
was
taken out and
executed.

Standing
near the
gibbet
where
that
poor
man ha
d
lost
his
life,
she thought
this
an
unjust,
terrifying
place.
Surely
they
could
have done something
else?
And
if
they
were
so
cruel
to
those
of
addled
minds, what more
would they do to someone in
co
n
trol of his thoughts?

She
passed
under
the
shadow
of
the
gallows
on her
way
to
the
main market
street,
and
shivered.
What
would
they
do
to
a
man
who
escaped,
or the woman
who aided him?

The
main
market street
began
at
the
entrance
of
town,
the
grand
arch of
stone
and
iron
that
had
once
been
part
of
a
huge
wall.
It
crossed
the main
square
where
merchants
and
farmers
and
peddlers
set
up
their
stalls on
market
days
and
ended
in
a
small
park
overlooking
the
harbor.
William had
bought
a
store
in the
better
district,
almost
halfway
between
the
gate and
the central square.

She
began
on
one
side
of
the
street
,
working her
way
to
the gate. By
the third shop she had a
formula down.

First
she
would
enter
the
shop,
poke
around
a
little,
as
if
amazed
by
how lovely
the
place
was.
Then,
first opportunity,
she
would
go
and
introduce herself.

“Good day. My name is Tasmin Bey, I’m William Almsley’s intended; we
own
the
chocolate
shop
on
this
block.”
And
she
would
stop
and
listen to
commentary
on the
foolishness
of
opening
a
chocolate
shop,
or how unlikely
it
would
be
a
success
now
that
William
was
considered
a
murderer, or
how it must be so hard
for
her,
poor dear.

The
next
step
would
be
for
Tasmin to
formulate
the
most
tactful responses,
which
usually
involved
managing
to
survive,
hopefully
with
the shopkeeper’s
good
advice, and
by
the
way,
did
they
know
anything
about the night the Bishop died that could help?

None
of
them
were
overly
helpful.
In
fact, by
the
time
she
got
halfway through
she
was
so
frustrated
that
she
stood,
fuming, for
several
minutes outside
the
door
of
a
shop
before
realizing
it
was
her
own.
Sighing,
she
went
to
the
next
shop,
which
had
a jolly
display
of
hats
with
every
imaginable decoration
on
them.
There
were
feathers
and
flowers
and
stuffed
birds and
preserved
butterflies,
but
there
were
also
broad
straw
hats
with
scenes depicted
in
miniature.
One
made
sense:
it
was
a
garden
with
lovely
figures meandering
along
cleverly
suggested
paths; there
was even
a lady
on a swing.
At
least
it
was
more sensible
than
the
hat
with
the
reenactment
of some
o
b
scure
sea
battle
being
fought,
round
and
round
on
a
straw
-
and-
cotton sea,
forever.

The
twin
ladies
who
owned
the
millinery
cooed
and
pitied
over her
in that
sort
of
smarmy,
back-handed-feeling
way
that
could
be
honest
but
most likely
was
not.
“Your
intended
is
a
fine,
fine man,”
one
said,
“I
wouldn’t have
minded the bowl picking him
for
me,
would you have,
sister?”

“Oh,
not
at
all.”
The
twin
picked
up
a
hat
and
placed
it
on
Tasmin’s head.
“E
x
cept
for
this
unfortunate
business,
that
is.
How
are
you
managing, dear?”

“I
am
trying
my
best
to
stay
strong,
but
my
faith
in
my
God,
my
intended, and justice
shall
help
me
persevere.”
It
was
exactly
the
right
thing
to
say, which
was
the
only
thing
that
kept
her
from rolling
her
eyes
at
herself. Instead, she
stared
more
intently
into
the
mirror,
as
if
trying
to
decide
if she really wanted a
hat with iced cherries on
it.

The
y
bot
h
nodde
d
appreciatively
,
twi
n
head
s
o
f
spira
l
curl
s
bobbin
g
sympathet
i
call
y
a
s
th
e
on
e
o
n
th
e
right
,
th
e
forwar
d
one
,
Tasmi
n
thought
,
plucke
d
th
e
ha
t
of
f
he
r
hea
d
an
d
brough
t
fort
h
on
e
mad
e
o
f
sil
v
e
r
sho
t
cotton.
“Did
you
happen
to
purchase
your
wedding
clothes
before
you
came?”
the one asked,
playing with the bonnet,
a
d
justing it just so.