Free The Chocolatier's Wife by Cindy Lynn Speer Page B

the men present knew she did not have a basket, a purse, or an y thing that might be remembered later when the authorities investigated. If either of them noticed that her hair, even in its tight updo, was waving in an unseen breeze, no one said.
    When she finally went in to see William, he was buried in his notes. Papers were spread across the cot he was sitting on, one leg on the cot, one leg on the floor. He looked casual, but his expression was intent, and he did not notice her as she laced her wrists through the cell bars, watching him. “William?”
    He looked up and smiled at her, standing carefully so as not to disturb things. “You’re here early! I was just looking over my old ship ledgers; my brother brought them from the warehouse and I was hoping I could find something of use.” He bowed when he reached the bars, and she returned a curtsey that made the sprite sitting on her shoulder squeak and flutter to rebalance itself. “Are you well?”
    “Quite, though I can’t stay long, and you shall not see me later. I don’t want the guards to think I had time to pass you something or witch the bars or whatever.”
    His eyes narrowed. “Miss Bey, what are you planning?”
    “Nothing, nothing,” she waved her hand dismissively. “Now, I am going to spend the day trying to find some information. Where should I look?”
    “I certainly do not wish you to poke around. I couldn’t stand it if you got hurt.”
    She nodded, as if he’d said something completely different. “You’re right. I shall go right to the port admiral and see what he has to say about all this.”
    “Don’t you dare.” His eyes turned dark. “Please, don’t. You are a very clever pe r son, but he is cunning and he will trap you before you know it.”
    “Then to whom? William, please, give me something to do.”
    “Andrew’s promised to begin speaking with people today. Meet with us for dinner, and perhaps we can think of something.”
    She shook her head. “He won’t be here, either.”
    “Bloody ... why not?”
    “Business doesn’t come to a stand still just because a son who is no longer impo r tant to it is in jail,” she said, as if mimicking someone.
    “You sound as if you’ve met my father.”
    “Not had that pleasure, no.”
    “What are you doing, Tasmin?” He looked into her eyes. “You have some scheme brewing, and I won’t take no, or nothing, or you’ll see don’t worry for an a n swer.”
    She took the vibrating, warm puff of breeze off her shoulder, and placed it next to his neck. “Take care of her, she’s fragile.”
    “What is she?” he asked, his eyes widening. If Tasmin knew Tatu, she was now patting her small, warm hands along his jaw.
    “A friend. Take care, William. I am sorry we shall not see each other for dinner.”
    He grabbed her hand. “If you leave, you may not see me again.” For murders of this nature, the prisoner was taken to the court. He would stay there until the trial was over, and if he was found guilty, it would be straight to the gallows. They would never have another chance to speak again.
    “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,