The Chocolatier's Wife (31 page)

“No,
because
ledgers
are
easier
to
fake
than
papers.
Yet
I
would
still
like to see them. Where are
they?”

“In the bedroom. Nay, don’t get up; it is far more improper for you to go
into
an
unwed
lady’s
boudoir
than it
is
for
me
to
go
into
my
intended’s bedroom.”
She
went
to
get
them,
leaving
Andrew
to
clatter
about
helplessly in
the
kitchen. There
were
three
large
volumes
and
a
partial,
and
she regretted
not
letting
Andrew
carry
at
least
one.
More
than
that,
she
thought uncharitably,
they
would
have
doubtless
caused
his
willowy
form
to
bend
in twain.
She
felt
the
weight
lift
a
little,
her
hands
feeling
warm
as
the
sprites lifted
from underneath.
The
steps
were
a
threat
until
she
felt
someone
lift her
skirts
from
in
front
of
her
feet,
but
finally
she
made
it to
the
table,
where
the books
made a
dense bang as they landed.

“Only three and
a
half?
Are
you quite sure this is all?”

She
glared
at
him.
“Perhaps
your
brother
writes
small. All
we
need
is the
sale
of
the
shop,
anyway,
for
now.”
She
dragged
the
newest
one
off
the top
of
the
pile
and
opened
it,
feeling
as
if
she
were
invading
something
very private.

“Then why did you bring
them all?”

She
hoped
William was
never
so
pedantic.
“In
case
we
needed
them. There
might
be
a
key
or
something
we
need
to
reference,
or
we
might think of
something
else
we
might
need
to
look
at.
You
are
serious
about investigating?”

He
glared
at
her,
and
she
ignored
him,
turning
her
attention
to
the neatly
wri
t
ten
page
in
front
of
her.
“Ah,
thank
heavens, he
kept
them
in order.
See? Here are
the business expenses.”

William
had
marked
the
first
page
of
the
ledger
with
his
key
and
some notations
carried over
from
the
previous
book.
Shipping,
shop,
family, Tasmin,
children
—
all had their own little accounts in
his book.

“I
think
this one covers
the last part of his time in
shipping.”

The
code
was
not
easy
to
make
out,
so
she
just
looked
for
large
numbers, since
Wi
l
liam seemed
to
use
an
odd
form
of
short
hand,
and
he
did
write tiny. Finally
she
found
a
number
in
the
expenditure
column
(at
least
she thought
it
was, it
said, at
the
top
of
the
page,
exp,
and
the
other
was
pft.) that was so large it had to be the shop.

“Maybe this is it?”

“Ah,
yes.”
Andrew
took
the
ledger.
“He
did
pay
much
more than
the contract
said.
Of
course,
a
really
good
forger
could
take
William’s and
the Bishop’s signatures
and
transfer
them
anywhere.
Once
the
document
was registered at the court of deeds, who would look
at it again?”

She
sipped
her
tea
and
took
another
ledger.
She
could
make nothing further
out
of
them;
William
had
used
some
obscure
accountant’s
code
that doubtless
he
and
A
n
drew
had
been
taught
from
the
cradle. She
looked
at Andrew
when
he
grunted,
shu
f
fled through
a
couple
of
pages,
pointed
to something, and
went and
did it again.

“What
is it?”

“Everything
looks
quite
clean, everything
adds
up,
but
so
far
there doesn’t
seem
to
be
any
room for
incidentals.
Where
is
he
keeping
his walking
around
money
listed?
These
books
are
like
private
journals.
He can be
completely
honest,
he
must
be
or
he
might
forget
some
important transaction
and
ruin
himself.”

“Mayb
e
he’
s
jus
t
puttin
g
i
t
aside
.
Perhap
s
i
f
I
searche
d
th
e
mattres
s
I’
d f
in
d
ban
k
draft
s
o
r
a
pouc
h
o
f
coins?
”
Sh
e
though
t
h
e
wa
s
bein
g
ridiculous; whateve
r
fe
w
pe
n
nie
s
Willia
m
kep
t
i
n
hi
s
pocke
t
woul
d
no
t
mak
e
o
r
brea
k
them.

He
gave
her
a
scandalized
look, and
said, “My
brother
is
a
clever business
man.
He
would
never put
such
funds
aside
when
they
could
be earning
their keep in
a
bank.”

She
was
trying
to
come
up
with
a
clever
response
when
someone
rapped on
the door.

Andrew
leaned
back
in
his
chair,
looking through
the
glass
of
the window.
“Ah,
it’s
one
of
my
servant’s
sons.
I
keep
him
as
a
messenger.” He
gestured
and
yelled,
“Come
around the
back!”
The
boy
nodded,
and
a moment later he was coming in
through the back
door.

He bowed. “Sir!
Your brother! He’s being released!”

Tasmin
let out a
breath of relief and
grinned at Andrew.
He didn’t look surprised.
“What happened,
child?”
she
asked, wondering
why
Andrew wasn’t
grinning
like she was.

“Another
was
arrested
for
the
murder. It
seems
that
the
Bishop
had
a mistress,
and
she
killed
him
when
he
tried
to
replace
her!”
he
said
cheerfully. “She signed a
co
n
fession and
everything!”