Page 6 of The Duke of Spice
“Alright. Give me their name, and I will see what I think. But in the meantime, I would suggest you keep digging into their background.”
As a duke, Robert went to enough social gatherings to be able to form a reasonable opinion of most people within a matter of minutes. The way nobles behaved in public usually told him all he needed to know. The loud boastful ones weren’t the sort he was keen to do business with, but then again, neither were the quiet ones who only asked calculated questions. His continued activities against the East India had to be hurting them, and it was only a matter of time before they decided that whoever was stealing from them had to be stopped.
“I will check my social diary and make enquiries as to when and where I might cross paths with this potential new customer,” said Robert.
George gave a brief nod, and Robert, fully expecting him to make his farewells, went to turn away. But his man of business lingered.
“How much longer do you think we will be able to keep this up, Your Grace? My wife is worried that this is all going to end badly, and I have to admit I’m beginning to feel the same way.”
Robert had his own crop of spices and herbs growing at his country estate in Essex. His plans were that in time the yield from Tolley Manor would be enough to supply a solid portion of the London market. But until then, any demand still had to be filled with the goods he’d stolen from his competitor.
That could take a few years.
“You have my word, we will be out of the thieving business within the next twelve months. Hopefully sooner,” he lied.
The expression on George’s face was enough to inform Robert that if he didn’t keep his word, he’d be looking for another man of business.
He didn’t have the heart to tell George that this whole thieving business was more than just a way for him to get a leg up on his enemy.
Nor did he want to make mention that he fully intended to keep stealing from the Honorable East India Company for as long as he could get away with it. That he wouldn’t consider the job done until he had effectively broken the monopoly the East India held over the supply of spices in the English capital.
If it came down to it, and George left him, the Duke of Spice would go it alone.
Chapter Two
The first sign that something might be amiss withthe Graceful Swanwas the distinct lack of customers. Victoria was a dedicated follower of the reviews fromthe Morning Heraldand had made it her business to dine at the featured restaurants as close to publication day of the review as possible. After she had attended the establishment, she would pen her own review in her journal. It would sit alongside the one she’d cut and pasted from the newspaper.
Arriving at the restaurant that evening, she and Richard were shown to a small table situated along one side of what should have been a busy restaurant.The Graceful Swanwas located just off Oxford Street, in a busy part of central London. By anyone’s estimation this place should have been packed with customers. A favorable review in such a major newspaper would normally have had people lining up in the street all begging to secure a table.
But apart from themselves, there were only four other tables occupied by diners. And from the way they casually engaged with the waiters, those other people were regulars oftheGraceful Swan. Victoria did a quick tally and came up with ten empty tables.
This does not bode well for a good dining experience.
“I thought the review for this place was quite favorable, so why is there no one here?” asked Richard, surveying the room.
Victoria glanced over at the nearest table of diners and took in the sight of half-eaten plates of food. Her heart instantly sank. Even from this distance, the food didn’t look particularly appetizing. None of the other guests were tucking gleefully into their meals; most just picked at their plates. It was apparent that people ate because they were hungry, not because they enjoyed the food.
She turned back to her brother and forced a smile to her lips. “Perhaps people are waiting until later in the week. Come Saturday evening this place could be packed to the gunnels,” she replied. The hope in her voice betrayed her worsening fears abouttheGraceful Swan.
They ordered their meals. By the third bite of her dish, all of Victoria’s hopes for an evening of delicious dining had withered away.
Richard had gone with the safe option of roast beef and vegetables. Her brother was always keen for a free meal, but he didn’t have much of an adventurous palate. Victoria’s baked fish served on creamed cauliflower, with a side plate of fried oysters, looked appealing, but as soon as she had put the first forkful into her mouth, she’d resigned herself to an evening of disappointment.
Where is the flavor? The fish should have an essence of lemon and a hint of asparagus. If this sole ever had a soul, it has long departed.
She met her brother’s eyes. “How is your beef?” Perhaps the cook had a better hand with simple fare. Her expectations of dining on delicately handled dishes in a small restaurant mightwell be too high. The reviewer forthe Morning Heraldhad gone with the roast lamb and sung its praises, he might have been the clever one.
Richard shook his head. “Two words. Bland. Tasteless. Which is odd considering that the scrapings from the roast should have at least provided the base for a rich gravy. Then again, the meat itself is sadly lacking. I’m beginning to wonder if the owner of this place wigged that the guest was a restaurant reviewer and gave him a special dish.”
Heresy.In the world of culinary reviews, getting special treatment amounted to nothing short of an act of sacrilege. The only thing that would be worse than receiving a special meal, would be accepting bribes. Victoria had stopped following the reviewer forThe Starfor that very reason. She had been gutted to discover he had been engaging in such unscrupulous, underhanded maneuvers. Shameless, self-serving food writers had no place in her world.
Victoria set down her fork and sighed. “Every kitchen has an off night. Perhaps the cook was too busy resting on his laurels to capitalize on the chance to shine tonight. Pity.” She picked up one of the fried oysters and stuffed it into her mouth. It was delicious.
But it’s hard to make a mess of fried oysters. Flour, salt and pepper, and some oil. The oyster stands on its own merits.
She was certain that even she could manage to fry oysters. But since her mother refused to let her anywhere near the kitchen at Mowbray House, Victoria was resigned to a fate of only ever being a singularly excellent cook in her private imagination.
Robert left theCock Innon Fleet Street a little before midnight. He was quietly pleased with himself. Another restaurant owner was prepared to buy their spices from him. Along withtheGraceful Swan, he could now count fifteen establishments in central London who had changed from buying their supplies from the East India Company to his enterprise. His review fortheGraceful Swanhad appeared in today’sMorning Herald, and with this latest success, he was starting to feel he was making real inroads against his enemy.
