The Chocolate Tin

by Fiona McIntosh

‘Nice enough, but not my poison. So what brings you to York?’

  James gave a small shrug, catching himself just in time, Charles noticed. ‘The work, Sir Charles. I’m no sailor, but I’m very good at what I do and I think I have prospects here.’

  ‘Well, the build of you suggests you would make a fine sailor, if you don’t mind me mentioning your strapping appearance.’

  James grinned and pearl teeth shone in the lowering light. ‘Years working at the docks and then I earned myself a role working in a top hotel and I was . . . well, seduced, you could say.’ He cut a quick smile at Matthew. ‘Anyway, I sense I shall enjoy my new life in York, sir, and I look forward to serving you . . . unless conscription chooses me to serve you in a different way.’

  ‘Very good, lad. Er, no ice,’ Charles cautioned and the new waiter gave him an obsequious smile that suggested even though he came from the other side of the sheets, even he wouldn’t dream of adding ice to a fine malt . . . or so Charles interpreted the look. Or maybe they had none stored in hay underground at present. He stopped wondering and returned to regard Matthew, who he noted was also watching the retreat of the waiter. ‘Young buck like that should be wrestling or boxing. He could earn his wage ten times over, I’ll bet.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it, Sir Charles,’ Matthew agreed, ‘although maybe he would be better trying to win roles on the stage as a leading man? Would protect that handsome jaw of his that boxing couldn’t.’

  Charles gave the appropriate harrumph. ‘Heavens, but I want my pipe.’ At Matthew’s querying expression he added, ‘I’ve promised Minerva to cut back. She says my hacking cough keeps her awake even though I’m in the room across the hall.’

  Matthew winked. ‘Life must have its pleasures, sir.’

  ‘Indeed. So, what is it? Spit it out. I know you didn’t call me to chat about my health.’

  ‘No, sir. It’s about Alex.’

  ‘Straight to the point. Good fellow. I hate feeling as though I’m being handled.’ James was back, light on his feet for one so tall and impressively broad. He set down the squat crystal glass before his client. ‘This is the Aberfeldy single malt, sir.’

  ‘A favourite of mine,’ Charles acknowledged, looking over at Matthew. ‘Dewar’s own it, on the banks of the Tay. Closing apparently for the war.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ Matthew asked, as James refreshed his glass of gin.

  Charles could smell the spritz of lemon zest spangling from the gin concoction in his immediate space and sat back to escape it. It wasn’t unpleasant but he wanted none of the dewy, honeyed flavour of his precious malt to be spoiled. As much as refused to physically visit the place, Charles liked to taste Scotland from afar and in this moment he wanted to savour the rugged highlands of Scotland, not the orchards of the Mediterranean. He smiled to himself at the thought as James withdrew.

  ‘Oh, they need the barley to feed everyone so the distillery will likely close soon for the duration of the war. Makes this stuff even more precious. Cheers, m’boy.’

  Matthew lifted his glass and nodded at him. ‘Cheers, sir.’

  ‘Alex,’ Charles returned, preferring not to hedge either. ‘I’m sure I can guess. She has this effect on most men. Problem is, she doesn’t know it.’

  Matthew’s eyes narrowed with amusement over the rim of his glass. ‘I find that part of the attraction, sir. Her no-nonsense, unaffected way is deeply reassuring. I steer clear of needy or especially flirtatious women.’

  Charles chuckled. ‘Flirtatious women have their place.’

  ‘Not in my life, sir. I like a strong, independent woman.’

  ‘Good grief, Britten-Jones, whatever for?’

  Matthew sighed. ‘So we can live rich lives. I couldn’t bear to have someone wondering about my every move or counting down the minutes to my return, checking through my pockets, languishing in my absence. I like a woman who has her own interests, feels utterly in charge of her own life.’

  ‘And you think you’ve found her?’

  ‘I have. I knew from the moment I first spoke to her and heard her slight disdain that I was going to enjoy her. Today, I believe your daughter and I found some common ground. I have to at least ask, sir, what my chances are.’

  It was Frobisher’s turn to sigh. His thoughts turned to Peter and how he wished it was his son sitting nearby, perhaps sharing his views on this prospective new member of the family. Peter . . . no, he wouldn’t be here even if he were alive; he’d have been one of the first to volunteer, he was sure, and would be in a trench somewhere. He reluctantly pulled himself from the memory of his son and returned to the future of his daughter. Privately he knew it wasn’t his decision; ultimately it would be Minerva’s but with his stamp of approval. She’d already chosen her daughter’s top-three suitors but it was true that their conversation late last night led him to believe that Minerva was enthusiastically encouraging a fourth name. She had said to him as he finally pecked her goodnight that if Matthew Britten-Jones asked the question, then the answer from them would be yes. ‘Have you asked my daughter?’

  ‘In so many ways. Perhaps I’ve frightened her but time is short for me, sir. As you know, I have to return to Bristol.’

  Charles nodded. ‘There’s the added complication that one of the more likely matches, Duncan Cameron, is returning on leave very shortly. I know he’ll be expecting an answer from Alex as his proposal goes back two years. He’s so keen I reckon he’ll marry her on the spot.’

  ‘She doesn’t want to marry him, sir, nor any of the others chosen,’ Matthew stated flatly.

  ‘And has she indicated she will marry you?’ Charles asked, his peppered and bushy eyebrows lifting dramatically.

  ‘She hasn’t refused me and earlier today Alex seemed to be warming to the idea. I have high hopes, Sir Charles.’

  ‘Get a move on, then, lad. I can assure you Cameron will be back in Britain on a mission.’

  5

  They were seated in the colonnaded section of York’s fashionable Assembly Rooms beneath the double row of chandeliers that were the glittering hallmark of the building. The crystal droplets winked constantly at her, as though they were not catching the light so much as her attention and flinging the sparkle and spotlight her way. Matthew couldn’t have chosen a more public place for upper-class chins to wag about seeing Alex Frobisher dining with an eligible, wealthy newcomer to town. Waiters moved noiselessly around the dozen Doric columns of red-veined marble with their caps picked out in darkest green and subtle gilding. By day the equally impressive rows of tall, dozen-paned windows of Georgian perfection that lined the upper space of this chamber flooded it with sunlight. Now they were dark mirrors reflecting the sparkle of the glass lighting.

  ‘Did you know it’s now against the law to eat more than three courses in a restaurant?’

  Matthew shook his head, amused. ‘I’m sure your mother’s friend Mrs Trubshaw will barely finish one. She cannot keep her gaze from us,’ he complained without heat.

  Alex looked downstairs again to where two of her mother’s friends dined and made no disguise of being her overseers for a night out with a gentleman. ‘Did you really think I’d be allowed out without being chaperoned . . . even from a distance? Really, you men are so lucky to have freedoms.’

  ‘I would give you all the freedom you wanted,’ Matthew replied, forcing her attention back to him. He paused, allowing his silence to impress the point before he continued conversationally. ‘I thought the mutton to be delicious,’ he commented, sipping his port. ‘Mmm, that piquant anchovy and caper sauce was superb.’

  ‘A very good choice, thank you,’ she said, ‘although as a general comment, I do prefer to make my own.’ She said this lightly, arching an eyebrow in a habit acquired from her father. ‘I feel guilty eating out, and so well . . . you know, rations and all that.’

  He nodded. ‘We won’t do this again if it makes you uncomfortable.’

  Alex sighed. ‘I don’t mean to be a wet blanket about it all but oyster c
routons followed by stuffed mutton while our soldiers are eating bully beef feels desperately unfair.’ She sipped the coffee, wondering how long their stocks of this particular treat might last. She tried to banish thoughts of war, instead looking up at the twenty-strong swoops of illuminated electric candles on each chandelier. ‘They’ve been cleaned, going by their fresh glimmer,’ she said and Matthew followed her gaze.

  He nodded. ‘This is straight out of a Jane Austen novel,’ he admitted.

  ‘Oh, have you read her? I’ve devoured them all.’

  ‘Yes, indeed. I do like Pride and Prejudice . . . all those misunderstandings and subterfuge.’

  She smiled. ‘This chamber was originally built for those very country dances that Mr Darcy might have disapproved of.’

  ‘No, much too swanky to earn his disapproval,’ Matthew countered, making a tutting sound. ‘Actually, I feel a lot like Darcy,’ he remarked, fixing her with a firm gaze.

  ‘How so?’ she wondered, reaching for the tiny cocoa-dusted biscuit that had been served in place of dessert that they’d both opted against. She could imagine its drying sensation on her tongue before she’d taken a bite of the rich, chocolate-scented treat.

  ‘I fear my marriage proposal has fallen on deaf ears.’

  The biscuit never made it to her mouth. ‘Now, that’s just not true,’ Alex said, setting it back down on the saucer. The cocoa left a smudge like a soft bruise on her fingers.

  ‘How long do you need to consider it?’ he asked.

  ‘A bit longer, perhaps. Why the hurry?’

  ‘Because your father told me last night that someone by the name of Duncan is soon returning on leave and will no doubt be pressing you for a similar decision. I’d prefer my proposition to be the frontrunner.’

  She bit the inside of her cheek. Was it really time to make what felt like a momentous decision?

  Matthew dipped his gaze. ‘I’m sorry, I wanted this dinner to be about you and to wish you well on your new adventure.’

  ‘It has been. I feel thoroughly spoiled, dear Matthew.’

  Music struck up and Alex peered across the room to the other colonnaded area, a mirror image, and smiled. ‘Oh, how lovely. It’s a small chamber ensemble; I didn’t know they played music in the evening here.’

  ‘You’re right, I think. They don’t normally,’ he remarked. ‘The thing is, Alex, I heard today that I might be returning to Bristol sooner than planned.’

  She snapped her attention back. ‘How soon?’

  He shrugged. ‘A fortnight maybe.’

  ‘What a pity.’

  ‘Is it?’

  She gave a sighing look of soft exasperation. ‘Don’t act like that.’

  ‘Like what?’ he asked, innocence his expression.

  ‘No, you won’t play that game with me. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to agree right here and now that there is to be no guile.’

  ‘If we’re going to do what?’ he echoed.

  ‘You’re doing it again. You know very well what I’m talking about.’

  ‘I want to hear you say it.’

  ‘We’re discussing marriage, are we not?’

  ‘We are,’ he agreed, ‘but I’d rather you didn’t make it sound quite as clinical as that.’

  ‘Actually, I think we’re special that we can be clear-headed about this.’

  ‘Is it to be entirely a business arrangement to get you out of the difficult corner of being courted by men you plainly don’t wish to be courted by? Do you feel nothing for me?’

  Alex shook her head. ‘The contrary, if I’m honest.’ She saw his eyes narrow. ‘The truth is, Matthew, it hasn’t taken you much time at all to get beneath my guard. I find myself growing fonder of you by the minute.’

  His eyes widened with surprise now. The music seemed to be coming closer but she couldn’t drop his gaze in this heartbeat; it was an intensely private moment of reveal and she’d surprised herself by how naked her thoughts were. She shook her head. ‘Nothing witty to say?’

  ‘No.’

  She grinned. ‘Good. I like that I can surprise you.’

  ‘You’re fond of me?’ he repeated as if he couldn’t believe what she’d said and needed it reinforced.

  ‘I know we don’t know each other terribly well but I know Duncan very well and I don’t wish to be his wife. If I’m honest, I don’t wish to be anyone’s wife right now but my parents are pressing and Duncan will certainly corner me if he’s home on leave. I met you only a few days ago but I have found myself liking you more in that short time than all of the men who consider themselves ideal husband material for me.’

  He blushed and she enjoyed his discomfort. ‘Not many people can do that to me,’ he admitted and there was the real Matthew in that moment. Then he covered his bared soul in a blink and was grinning again. ‘Are you saying yes tonight?’

  ‘I’m certainly considering saying it,’ she said and had to raise her voice because the violin quartet had turned into wandering minstrels, it seemed. She could hear them stealing up on the diners.

  ‘In that case, my money hasn’t been wasted,’ Matthew said, gesturing to the men who strolled up, all smiling contentedly, as they played the opening to the Peer Gynt suite. ‘For you, darling Alex – please be my wife.’

  Her jaw dropped slightly in wonder as the oboeist took over from the flautist and moved into the glorious opening to one of her favourite pieces of music. How did Matthew know this? It sent ripples of pleasure through her that he had taken the trouble to find out and then gone to more trouble to organise this private concert. Not so private, perhaps, as other diners were now looking up from their soups and fish courses to stare at the couple in the midst of beautiful music.

  ‘Peer Gynt was a bit of a rogue too,’ she quipped, helplessly charmed.

  ‘A man of many faces, you could say.’

  She felt vaguely confounded by that remark but the music was enchanting and the moment was undeniably romantic as Matthew stood, took her hand and kissed it to the sound of much applause. It was obvious to all the other diners what was taking place and she dared not make eye contact with anyone in particular because they surely knew her mother.

  She watched, helplessly, as he bent to touch his lips to her hand. She could feel the warmth of his mouth on her and the firm stare from Mrs Trubshaw from below. His gaze flicked to hers and held it. ‘Say yes, Alex.’ It was a command but said so softly it was more like coercion.

  ‘Yes,’ she uttered, entirely charmed.

  His expression of anticipation broke into the widest of smiles and he pulled her gently to her feet and leaned forward to place a fleeting kiss, like the touch of a butterfly wing, on her lips. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered and the restaurant erupted into further applause. The music changed from Peer Gynt to a jig of celebration which was interspersed with Wagner’s ‘Bridal Chorus’ to make everyone around them clap louder.

  ‘Did I just agree to marry you?’ she whispered, feeling shocked and excited at the same time.

  ‘That’s what I heard and I’m sure they did too,’ he said, nodding towards the musicians. ‘So you cannot break faith with me now,’ he warned, amused.

  ‘Let’s go home and telephone my parents at the Thorntons’.’ She wanted him to sweep her up into his arms and kiss her, not caring about who might be watching or what they might say over morning tea tomorrow.

  Matthew showed no such careless attitude, however. He looked flushed with disbelief, though. ‘The bill please and a carriage immediately,’ he shot to the maître d’.

  ‘At once, Mr Britten-Jones,’ the man said and melted back.

  The musicians followed them, playing them out of the restaurant until Alex was once again seated on cool leather, feeling the bounce and sway of a hackney making its way to The Mount.

  She took Matthew’s hand, placing it in her lap. ‘I feel very happy.’

  He looked at her sideways. ‘Not just because a burden’s been lifted?’

  She covere
d his hand now. ‘There’s relief but excitement. I think if I’m to be a wife, I can be a good wife to you. You understand me and I like your patience and manners, your generosity and wit, but especially your desire not to trap or bully me.’

  His eyes looked dark and depthless in the shadows of the carriage. ‘You are more precious to me than you can imagine, Alex. You will change my life forever and I can’t thank you enough.’

  It was such an odd response and it wasn’t so much that it rang insincere but more that she heard an undertow of ambiguity, as if the words were precise but what they meant to him were different to what he needed her to hear. However, while this curious notion snagged in her thoughts, there was enough momentum of excitement in the carriage, holding his hand, hearing the pleasure in his voice and feeling the warmth of his kiss against her neck that she could leave that tiny tangle of anxiety behind.

  Alex’s thoughts rushed forward to sharing this news with her parents, knowing it would bring immeasurable happiness to their household. Most importantly, she could start shaping her life ahead now, a life that would definitely include making chocolates.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever felt more relieved or happy at the same time,’ she murmured back.

  He nodded with a wide smile.‘I’d better send my folks a telegram. They’ll be more thrilled than you can imagine. Are you up to making a trip to Bristol to meet them?’

  ‘Of course, Matthew. I’d love to meet your family.’

  ‘They’re going to fall instantly in love with you.’

  ‘Just like you did, eh?’

  She saw the gleam of his teeth as lamplight caught him smiling and once again a tiny voice of doubt called to her because in that moment his gaze looked uncertain.

  __________

  At Tilsden Hall there was an air of expectancy. Alex could feel it as soon as she arrived and the housekeeper met them to take their coats.

  ‘I won’t be staying long, Mrs Lambton.’

  ‘No, sir? Will you be staying at your club?’

  Alex gave him a look of query. ‘Why, Matthew?’