“Mine?”
“Venetian shipping. The archduke owns ships.”
“Oh, I think I am beginning to understand.”
“But Von Rumpf did not make it easy for me,” continued Arnostovi, pacing around the room. “The terms of our agreement were such that I had to find a tenant-someone other than myself, understand-and before the others came to take possession this morning-”
“Those men just now.”
“The same. Do this, Von Rumpf said, and I would become manager of the property.”
“Otherwise, it would fall to them,” concluded Mina. She nodded with appreciation. “You used me, Herr Arnostovi.”
“I did, yes-but you will not find yourself ill used, Fraulein. This is just the beginning,” he told her, spreading his arms to take in the whole city. “You have helped me, my friend, and you will not regret it. That I promise you. Our fortunes are on the rise.”
“Well and good,” replied Wilhelmina, casting a more critical eye around the premises. “We will need a fair- size fortune if we are to furnish this place in a suitable manner.”
“Do not worry,” chortled Arnostovi, delighted with himself and the world. “Leave everything to me.”
Back in the coffeehouse, Englebert was dubious. “It is a very great sum of money,” he pointed out.
“Worth every little silver Groschen. Wait ’til you see it, Etzel. We will be the talk of the town. It is truly wunderbar!”
He nodded, but remained unconvinced.
She paused, considering how best to reassure him. “Think of it, Etzel-the archduke’s property. It will be the perfect place to show off all the wonderful pastries you shall make. People will come from miles around to see and be seen in our beautiful new Kaffeehaus. And,” she concluded, “they will all leave with a loaf of your heavenly bread.”
“A good location makes all the difference,” Englebert conceded, warming to the idea.
“And this is the best location in the whole city-better even than the palace.”
“You have done well for us, Liebchen.”
The word made Mina’s heart swell; it seemed a lifetime since she’d heard it. She smiled all day.
At the end of the week, they closed the little shop on the narrow side street, telling their increasingly loyal clientele that they would reopen very soon in a splendid new shop on the square. The next morning, a messenger from the shipping company came to say that the delivery of coffee beans was secured and the ship was on its way home. Upon receiving this news, Englebert and Wilhelmina sat down and, over steaming cups of coffee, began planning their new coffeehouse and bakery.
There would be round tables of three sizes, and a generous Eckbank in one corner near the Kachelofen; the chairs would be well made and comfortable to allow patrons to linger and enjoy their daily cup-which would be served up in pewter pots with polished wooden handles and drunk from cups of the finest crockery they could find. In addition to coffee there would be a new line in pastries and cakes specially created by Wilhelmina for the new shop, and never before seen in Bohemia. “Don’t worry,” she told Etzel when he wondered where they would find the recipes for these new pastries. “I have enough for three or four new shops right here,” she said, tapping her temple with a finger. Then she added in a slightly wistful tone, “If we only had chocolate… but never mind. We’ll make do with almond paste and kirsch.”
“What about the kitchen help?” he asked.
“We will have four extra staff to begin,” she decided. “Two to work the tables-serving and clearing the dishes and making the coffee-and two to help you in the kitchen with the baking. And they shall all wear matching uniforms-green jackets and aprons, and little white caps.”
Englebert was thrilled with the idea. “Like servants in the fine houses.”
“Yes, just like servants in the great houses. We want our customers to feel like highborn lords and ladies-as if they have arrived at the emperor’s court.”
“Maybe Archduke Mattias will come, ja?”
“I would not be at all surprised if Emperor Rudolf himself comes to buy Englebert’s Special Stollen.”
Etzel beamed at the thought. “Do you think so?”
Wilhelmina nodded solemnly. “Why not? We are climbing up in the world, Etzel. Things are going to change.”
CHAPTER 22
In Which Confidences Are Frankly Exchanged
Why did you not tell me at once?” demanded Lady Fayth. “Did you not think that a most necessary and pertinent detail to have omitted?”
“I do assure you I am sorry, my lady-most heartily sorry,” answered Kit. “But you must concede that I was not afforded ample opportunity to explain until just this moment. Even so, the fault, I own, is entirely mine.”
The revelation that Kit was the grandson of Cosimo Livingstone had thawed the frosty opinion of Lady Fayth somewhat, but she was still wary, and far from mollified. “It would have saved me considerable distress, I do assure you.”
“Again, I can but throw myself on the mercy of the court,” he told her.
“The mercy of the court?” She smiled suddenly, brightening the room and Kit’s heart with a glow of happiness. “I do like that. Did you invent it?”
“Alas, no. It is a well-known saying where I come from.”
“Oh. I see.” She frowned, and the glad radiance vanished. “Now you are mocking me.”
“Not at all.” Eager to change the subject, Kit glanced down at his soup plate. “This broth looks good.” He pulled his apostle spoon from the pocket of his waistcoat. “Shall we dig in?”
“How oddly you speak,” she observed, picking up her spoon.
They ladled savoury beef broth into their mouths, and Kit was glad for a moment’s respite from the task of having to converse in the obtuse tongue of the seventeenth century-difficult enough at the best of times. And tilting with Lady Fayth was demanding and exhausting; he was happy for a chance to regroup. Silence, broken only by the occasional slurp, stretched between them. When the extended pause began to grow awkward, Kit entered the lists once more. “Do you live in London?” he asked.
“Good heavens, no!” she exclaimed. Setting down her bowl, she took a bit of dried bread, crumbled it into what remained in the bottom of the bowl, and began spooning up the sops. “What about yourself?”
“London born and bred,” he replied, then quickly amended his assertion. “Well, in truth, I was born in Weston-super-Mare. My family has moved around somewhat, but I’ve lived in London a long time.”
“Weston-super-Mare?” wondered Lady Fayth.
“It’s in Somerset, I believe.”
“Is it, indeed?” She sniffed. “My home is in Somerset-Clarivaux, our family’s estate. Do you know it?” Without waiting for a reply, she continued. “My father is Edward, Henry’s older brother. I had a brother, Richard, who sadly died when he was three. I never knew him.” She nibbled daintily from the edge of the spoon, raising her head slightly. The candlelight caressed the curve of her throat and made her fair skin glow. The sight of such transcendent beauty within stroking distance made Kit feel a little dizzy. “Do you have family?” she asked.
“Well, there’s Cosimo, I suppose.”
“What do you mean, you suppose? Either he is your grandfather, as you claim, or he is not. There can be no supposition about it.”
“We are related,” Kit assured her. “There is no doubt about that. But he is not, strictly speaking, my grandfather.”
“No?” The spoon halted, hovering in midair. “Then who, pray, is he?”
“He is my great-grandfather.” At her disbelieving glance he added, “I know, I know-it seems unlikely. In fact, I had trouble believing it myself. But it is the honest truth. Cosimo is my great-grandfather.”
