The Chocolate Maker’s Wife

by Karen Brooks

  Matthew’s face was like a lanthorn, so richly it glowed. His smile matched hers for warmth, for joy.

  ‘I will,’ he growled.

  Drawn by their words, their lips slowly joined, mouths melting as they sealed their vows. Years of pent-up desire, longing and fear were released in that one moment.

  With trembling hands, Matthew twined his fingers through her hair.

  As Rosamund fell back on the covers, her hair a shawl of pale gold upon which they both collapsed, laughter burst forth from her, unbridled, exuberant. It rose to the ceiling and cascaded about them until he had no choice but to join her merriment. Resting on his elbows above her, he melded the rest of his body against her, almost shutting his eyes as she rose to meet him.

  Allowing her euphoria to wash over him, he watched the way it transformed her face, lifted his soul. He’d never heard anything quite like it. He felt as if he’d touched the heavens and been blessed by all that was holy and pure, so jubilant was her gladness. It lodged in his heart, and he knew the memory of that laugh, of real happiness, would never leave him. Warmed from within, he laughed with her before one kind of ecstasy was replaced with the desire for another.

  Her eyes locked onto his, darkened, and her beautiful, perfect lips opened in a different sort of smile.

  ‘Love me now, Matthew,’ she whispered, and helped him unlace her gown as her fingers, some peeping from the top of bandages, busied themselves with his clothes.

  Matthew’s shirt slipped to the floor, his breeches following as his Lady Harridan, still laughing in a devilish, naughty way as her excitement grew, was liberated from the shackles that bound her to an old identity. Cut free, she became what he always knew in his heart she was — his.

  Having given her soul to him, her body was surrendered. A gesture of love that took his breath away. Releasing her breasts, those bountiful, beautiful breasts, he did what he’d always longed to do, touched them, touched her. Gently at first, until her groans of pleasure were the permission he’d also been waiting for, emboldened him. Soon, her gown was but a memory, her body, her sweet, luscious body, was his for the taking — and, he thought, as he stared at the beauty being revealed, he’d never known such willingness, such passion, both borne of love.

  Their lips joined and parted, reunited and followed the paths trailed first by eager fingers. Silken thighs opened and, as he stroked her, he once more felt that glorious humming, as if he’d immersed his hands in music and, in doing so, brought them, brought himself, back to life. He gave a burst of laughter, pulled her mouth to his as they explored each other with scorching, liquid tongues.

  Their simmering flesh grew even hotter, their legs entwined, matching the conjoining of their souls. The world shrank to a tiny attic room as they searched and found, searched and found, as the bud of excitement extended into long ribbons of utter pleasure, before exploding outwards in tiny stars of wicked shrieks, giggles and unbridled laughter. Effervescent bubbles of bliss and delight.

  The narrow bed with its mussed sheets and blankets became a meadow of sweet flowers, showering them with perfume. The small fire transformed into a burning sun shedding light and warmth just for them as the hours slipped by and their ardour, far from being extinguished, grew and grew, expanding into a universe where only they existed.

  Uncertain what he’d done to deserve such a woman, such a soul mate, Matthew sent silent prayers to God and the ancient ones that this coupling might endure.

  It wasn’t until the embers in the fireplace were a distant mountain whose caldera offered a blaze to the pagan gods and the moonlight streamed through the window offering a road along which they might escape, that they lay beneath the covers, Rosamund’s head pillowed on Matthew’s chest. Their legs were a plait of flesh, their hearts beat together, but all Matthew could hear was, ‘She’s mine, she’s mine and I am hers, hers.’

  A noise below brought them to their senses and another bout of laughter as they became aware of how exposed they were — Filip or Will could have walked in on them at any moment. Perhaps, whispered Rosamund in a faux shocked voice, they already had.

  Matthew wouldn’t have cared. Nothing and nobody could take away what they had, what they shared and would share again.

  Nothing and Nobody. He began to laugh.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Rosamund purred, her voice deep with satiation.

  Matthew found it very arousing. He could feel her nipples pressed against his flesh, the soft curls of hair between her thighs nuzzling him and he found it hard to concentrate.

  ‘I was just thinking, remember when you said you were nothing, nobody? You could have been talking about me.’

  Rosamund rested her palm against his heart. ‘Ah, but you’re Nobody with a capital N which is a synonym for Somebody. All who read your words fear them for the truth they tell and lest they become a target. I am nobody with a small n and therefore nothing.’

  Matthew smiled. Her faith in him was only surpassed by his in her. ‘Have you never heard the expression, madam, nobody’s perfect?’

  Much to his delight, Rosamund laughed, a clear, sonorous bell to which his very soul responded. ‘Truth is,’ he added, ‘for a gentleman, I’ve nothing of real worth to offer you. You at least have a title. I have meagre rents from some land, income from my penmanship; you deserve so much more, my lady. In that regard, I am Nobody with Nothing.’

  ‘Then we are a fine pair, are we not? Lady Nothing and Mr Nobody. Let us live on love and dine on passion, that can be what succours us.’

  ‘Us perhaps, but what of Bianca? Ashe? Filip, Solomon, Thomas, Mr Nick and Grace? The others who depend upon us for a living? What will they live upon? For I swear by all that is holy and unholy, I’ll not share you.’

  The happiness that had encircled them briefly dimmed.

  ‘Aye,’ said Rosamund. ‘And there’s the rub.’ She sighed. ‘What will we do, Matthew? We cannot impose upon Sam forever. I mean, I can find some work, I guess. Maybe I can find employ in one of the coffee houses still standing? I can sell the chocolate equipment, that will provide a small sum to tide us over for a while. You have your writing. There is much to record with the rebuilding of London. And didn’t you mention that the builders and all those looking to make a profit from the fire will have to be watched closely lest they exploit the needy? There will be a great deal for you to do.’ She thought. ‘As for Bianca, well, she is unable to secure any work —’ She didn’t need to tell him that. Because Bianca was deemed a slave, she had no rights; she could be purchased, but never paid.

  ‘There won’t be enough to keep us, let alone those who need us,’ said Matthew. He folded his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling, at the play of light across it. ‘If only we had enough to start again, to leave this place, this city, and make a fresh beginning.’

  Images of the wreckage London had become replaced the lunar glow above. Not even the King’s grand plans for a new city could offer them a solution.

  ‘It will be years before London returns to normal,’ said Matthew.

  ‘I hope it never does,’ said Rosamund.

  Matthew rolled over and looked at her in surprise.

  She smiled. ‘I hope it’s reborn. I mean, isn’t that what it should be doing? Looking to improve? I said as much to Sam and his friend. Maybe that’s what we should do as well. Go somewhere we can have a better life. Where there aren’t so many memories.’ So many shadows.

  Matthew’s mind began to work fast. Stroking Rosamund’s face, running his fingers over her cheeks, marvelling that the love he felt for her was not only returned and reflected in her eyes and her touch, but that it magnified his. He began to consider his options… their options.

  ‘I do have shares in a ship,’ he began. ‘Minor ones, but if I also work for passage, we could leave London…’

  Rosamund put her hand over this, staying his fingers. ‘Leave? Where would we go?’ she asked, her voice small but filled with possibility.

  ‘Wherever we wan
t,’ he said, knowing that wasn’t entirely true, but wanting the romance.

  ‘France is out of the question,’ she said. ‘Holland, too. I don’t think I’d like Spain, for while I love Filip, I doubt I could settle in a Papist country, one as strict about faith as we are.’ She ran her fingers up and down the line of hair from his navel to where the sheet rested just above his groin. If he didn’t stop her soon, the sheet would fall off. ‘What about a place where there is toleration?’

  ‘Toleration?’

  ‘Aye, for faith, for skin colour,’ she said. Her fingers became bolder. ‘Where women also have opportunities.’

  ‘I’m afraid Camelot is too far.’

  Rosamund laughed again before her face became thoughtful. ‘Did you like the New World, the colonies?’ she asked, kissing his fingers one by one. ‘I heard there’s much can be done there, if one only has the ambition, the desire.’

  Finding it hard to think, he chuckled. ‘Well, I’m not short on the latter and if you keep doing what you’re doing, this conversation will be over. But ambition is all well and good —’

  ‘We have that aplenty. Do you think we could start afresh there? Open a chocolate house?’

  ‘I don’t see why not. My uncle oft writes there is much of merit there, especially for those prepared to work hard. The only thing stopping us is exactly what’s stopping us here —’

  ‘Money,’ they said in unison.

  ‘We are officially the Nobodies with Nothing,’ said Matthew.

  ‘Oh to be somebodies,’ sighed Rosamund. ‘Imagine what we could do, Matthew. Sail into a new life along with Bianca, give anyone else who wanted to come with us a chance, and give those who wanted to remain behind enough to build their futures upon.’ She took his hand and placed it over her breast. ‘Till then, all we can do is hold our vision in our hearts.’

  Stroking her breast gently, loving how she pressed her body into his hand, arched her back, he bent over her. ‘I can think of something else we can do as well,’ he murmured and, once more, turned his long-held dream into a sensual reality.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  In which Nobody becomes Somebody

  When she wasn’t recalling her nights with Matthew, shivering with scorching anticipation and remembrance, marvelling that a man could be both so gentle and yet so… so… firm (she blushed), that being touched by a man, by love, could feel so right, so heavenly, and so wondrously, deliciously joyous, Rosamund was trying to solve the problem of what the future held.

  Sam had generously offered a loan to help them secure rooms so they might have their own place to live, but a chocolate house was beyond his means and her expectations. This was something she had to do for herself — something she and Matthew had to resolve. Matthew spent each day pacing the streets, talking to Mr Newcombe, the publisher of the London Gazette, seeking out stories and, in the evenings, writing them — that was, until he joined her. The money he earned was not much, but if they bided their time, the rents on his land would be due and if he sold his shares in the ship, in a few months they would have earned enough to secure passage for them all.

  Bianca was uncertain whether Filip, Solomon and Thomas would want to come. And if Thomas didn’t go, it was unlikely Grace would, so Rosamund asked Sam if he could try to find them work in Whitehall’s kitchens. The King and so many courtiers had frequented the Phoenix and praised its chocolate as the best in town. If they really meant it, then who better to make it exclusively for the court than the Phoenix’s very own chocolate makers? Especially one who had the cachet of having worked for the King of Spain?

  Sam promised he would see what he could do. If that didn’t work, Rosamund tried to think of other options but, as Bianca said, they were, like time, fast running out.

  Hoping to find some answers in the capital, Rosamund was shocked when she finally walked the streets and was reminded of the devastation. Despite the heavy rains that had fallen, many of the ruins still smouldered, the fires having burned long and hard, melting lead, precious metals and so many books and papers. Word was that deeds, wills and leases had gone up in smoke causing no end of friction between landholders, business owners and private households. Not that any of that was relevant to Rosamund. When one owned nothing, a missing deed was neither currency nor credit.

  Entire streets contained only the blackened bones of what had once stood — shops, houses, taverns, guildhalls and churches. Homeless people, their faces etched by despair and hardship, picked over the ruins. Fights were frequent, theft moreso as families returned and set up camp in what remained of their houses, bringing with them the few things they’d rescued from the flames. Food ran short; people were starving.

  Farmers from outside London were encouraged to bring in their goods. The more unscrupulous charged extra, attempting to profit from the city’s misery. Some were stoned and run out of town when tempers flared. Others sold their goods at reasonable prices and were welcomed. Workers came from everywhere to help with the rebuilding. Not for altruistic reasons, but because there was coin. It didn’t matter — London needed them and they needed the city. It was an uneasy symbiotic relationship.

  Rumours still abounded that the fire had been a Papist plot. Dutchmen, Frenchmen, Spaniards and even Italians were hunted down and hauled onto the street; some were killed in a brutal form of misplaced justice. Even though Parliament and the news sheets swore the fire was an accident, an act of God, no-one wanted to believe that God could be so cruel.

  Rosamund believed it. She’d witnessed the depths to which He could stoop. But she’d also seen the heights to which He could ascend. Problem was, His benevolence and judgement were so arbitrary and, she quietly thought, patently unfair. Still, she was grateful for Matthew. And for Bianca, Filip, Ashe, Sam and all the others around whom they clustered in these trying days.

  The King, so grand and noble while the fire raged, now focussed on rebuilding the physical structures of his city — not on the people who had lost so much. Rosamund’s heart broke every time she stepped out. If only there was something she could do… But how could she hope to help others when she couldn’t even offer succour to those who relied on her the most?

  One morning an unexpected visitor arrived at Seething Lane. Rosamund received him in Sam’s parlour, dressed in a black gown with one subtle piece of ruby embroidery that Elizabeth had kindly loaned her. She looked pale and there was a fragility about her that disguised a determination honed by the steel of experience — something those enchanted by her smile overlooked to their detriment.

  A flaw the lawyer Mr Bender did not possess.

  Bianca was also in a borrowed gown; plainer than Rosamund’s, it nonetheless showed the household was in mourning.

  ‘Lady Rosamund,’ said Mr Bender, giving her a bow. ‘Mistress Abbandonato,’ he said, offering the same to Bianca.

  Returning the compliment, Rosamund gestured for him to join her by the window. Bianca took another chair while the Pepyses’ maid, Jane, poured some coffee. Filip, Thomas and Solomon had gone with Sam to the palace, so enjoying their chocolate drinks was out of the question and Rosamund didn’t feel comfortable enough in the kitchen to search out ingredients and mix her own. Elizabeth, who was very aware of social rank, would not hear of it anyway. Rosamund respected her hostess’s wishes, even as a wayward part of her longed to challenge them. Fortunately, Elizabeth and Sam remained unaware of her and Matthew’s nocturnal activities — if they’d known, then chocolate making wouldn’t have even rated a mention. The thought made her smile.

  ‘What a lovely surprise, Mr Bender,’ she said. ‘To what do we owe the pleasure?’

  Putting down his bowl of coffee, believing the smile on her face was for him and enjoying the way it made him feel, Mr Bender returned a wide smile to both ladies.

  ‘May I say how glad I am to see you both looking so well. When I first heard what happened at Blithe Manor, how you, Lady Rosamund, were trapped upstairs…’

  Rosamund had no desire to taste the co
ffee, but in order to consider her response, bought some time by lifting the bowl and swirling the contents. Screwing up her nose at the bitter smell, she quickly put it back down. No matter what Elizabeth said, she would make a trip to the kitchen after this and make some chocolate.

  ‘If it hadn’t been for Mr Lovelace,’ she said, ‘it might be quite a different story. I would have met the same fate as Mr Blithman.’

  Bianca gave a discreet cough.

  ‘Ah, yes, Aubrey,’ said Mr Bender. ‘He’s the reason I’m here.’

  Anxiety plucked at her spine.

  ‘Well, not him exactly,’ continued Mr Bender. ‘But his holdings.’

  Rosamund glanced in Bianca’s direction, brows raised. As the lawyer drew some papers out of a satchel, she thought yet again about the inferno at Blithe Manor and the losses it entailed. Whereas the London fire had, to date, only four casualties, Blithe Manor had one. Fortunately, apart from Aubrey and, of course, Rosamund, not a single other person was injured. The same couldn’t be said for the contents. Not only was every piece of furniture and all her clothes, most of the household goods and the belongings of just about every maidservant and footman destroyed, but also Sir Everard’s library and her Aladdin’s Cave. All the books and news sheets, pamphlets, booklets and bills reduced to fodder for Aubrey’s demented ambitions. All those words of history and poetry and every one of Matthew’s letters and pamphlets that she’d savoured, transformed into cinders.

  That had been the hardest loss to bear. Aubrey’s death was beyond awful, no doubt, but she’d be telling falsehoods if she didn’t admit — at least to herself — she was relieved he was gone.

  The fact he saved her was a bitter pill to swallow. She didn’t want to feel a debt of gratitude to him, yet she did. She sent a silent prayer for his soul, wherever it resided.

  ‘You see, my lady,’ said Mr Bender, moving the coffee pot and sugar bowl to one side and laying out some papers. ‘While the fire consumed many legal documents, some lawyers being slow to remove their records to safer places, I was not so remiss. Which, it turns out, is very good news indeed.’