The Sugar Lady

“—Oh mother, I understand already!” Adelaïde grumbled while looking at her mother.“You’ll get wrinkles from being so angry. Calm yourself,” she added before sitting down on the white pearlescent oak chair adorned with French carvings.

“—You drive me mad, Adelaïde!” said Catherine Jeanette Howard-Montclair. “You are no longer a child to behave as one. You are already old enough to find a suitable husband.” She pressed her fingers to her temple as she sat across from her.

Catherine was an elegant and proper woman in every sense, even in the way she spoke while angry.

“—Darling, you know very well that a young lady must not involve herself in things that could damage her image,” she admitted wearily. “You spend every hour of the day in the kitchen, and a young lady such as yourself should not be doing such things. That is what the servants are for, Adelaïde.”

“—But mother, I know I am of age to marry, but I would like to wait a little longer. Please.” Adelaïde said this while gently taking her mother’s gloved hand.

“Mother, I know you and father both want what is best for me. I assure you I shall spend fewer hours in the kitchen and speak less with the servants,” she said with calm certainty, attempting to soothe her dear mother’s peculiar temperament.

“—Very well, Adelaïde. But if I discover that you continue with your obsession for desserts… I shall not hesitate to marry you off to some old and foul-smelling gentleman,” she declared with a warning undertone.

Adelaïde placed her right hand over her chest, where her heart rested.“—Yes… yes… yes, mother. I swear it.”

She rose quickly, approached her mother, and gently rubbed her back.

“—Mother, do not worry. Perhaps we might spend some time together having tea with your favorite dessert, just as my dear and beautiful mother likes it.”“And you may tell me in greater detail about the scandal of the Countess of Whitethorn.”

“—Very well,” she admitted as though she had just lost an argument. “But let it be the black tea your father brought from his travels, for too much sweetness makes me nauseous.”

“—And as I was telling you, after the death of her husband, she recently remarried to her much younger husband. While they were at the Spring Fair, she was seen strolling with her gallant companion when they were interrupted by Lord Ashbourne, who declared before everyone present that the Countess had first proposed marriage to him. And worst of all, to prove it, he waved one of her handkerchiefs, which she had undoubtedly given him months before marrying her current husband.

“And then the young husband challenged Lord Ashbourne to a duel. They are to fight tomorrow, though everyone knows such things are strictly forbidden. Well, it is evident the Countess is what people would politely call… ‘affectionate,’” she said, rolling her eyes with irony as she awaited an acceptable response from her daughter.

“—Perhaps God blessed her with such a great heart that she has enough to give a piece to everyone, mother.”

Adelaïde burst into laughter, lowering her head onto the tea room table.

Catherine laughed softly and delicately.“—Adelaïde, a lady such as yourself must not behave in that manner. Sit properly… upright, darling… poised… and delicate, like a beautiful flower…”

“—Yesssss, mother. You always tell me that.”

Without raising her voice, Catherine extended her gloved hand and gently pulled the golden cord.

In the kitchen, the bell marked Drawing Room rang.

A maid quickly appeared.“—What do you wish for, My Lady?”

Catherine looked steadily at the servant.“—Serve freshly infused black tea with accompaniments: a raspberry tartlet and a mille-feuille. Please do not take too long.”

“—Adelaïde, are you interested in any gentleman?”

“—Mother, do not begin again… You know perfectly well I only go out when accompanied by you and father. Do you truly believe I would notice any gentleman?”

Adelaïde could hardly remember the last time she had spent time with any gentleman other than her younger brother. She only knew with certainty that it had been years ago, when she was still a child and her mother used to bring her to tea invitations where she was expected to play with children her own age.

“—Besides, father said he brought me something interesting from his journey to the Gold Coast.”

“—Ah, your father… filling your head with even more absurd ideas instead of searching for a good husband for his daughter. Who can understand him? Always traveling…”

Moments later, the door opened with silent precision.

The maid advanced carrying an immaculate silver tray. Upon the fine porcelain rested the still-steaming black teapot. Beside it lay delicate tartelettes aux framboises and perfectly cut portions of mille-feuille.

The tray was placed down gently.

“—The black tea, My Lady.”

The mother gave the faintest nod.

“—Pour.”

The dark liquid flowed into the cup with a delicate sound. The rich aroma of Assam filled the air, deep and elegant.

The mother took the cup but did not drink.

She observed the desserts.

Then she looked at her daughter.

“—Were these made by you?”

The young woman held her gaze for several seconds, though her heart beat forcefully.

“—Yes, mother.”

Silence.

The spoon lightly clinked against the porcelain.

“—I have told you on more than one occasion that a young lady of our lineage does not waste her time among flour and sugar.”

The daughter lowered her eyes, though her hands did not tremble.

“—It is not a waste of time, mother. Besides, father agrees.”

The woman’s gaze turned colder.

“—It is improper. Your father’s opinion is irrelevant in this matter.”

She placed the cup back onto the saucer.

“—You will not do it again.”

The young woman tightened her fingers against the fabric of her dress.

The sweet scent of raspberry seemed to defy the command.

“—Yes, mother,” she finally said while taking a sip of black tea from the fine porcelain cup.

After finishing, she bowed subtly.

“—Mother, I shall take my leave.”

She exited the tea room, sighed, and adjusted the loose strands of her chestnut hair. As she walked through the corridors of the distinguished family estate, she spotted her father in the distance and ran as quickly as her voluminous dress allowed.

“—Father, you have returned!” she exclaimed, embracing him tightly.

“—This time I stayed away a little longer because I brought you a crate of fruit that will be useful for your delicious desserts. Why don’t you look at it and tell me later whether you like it?” Frederick said to his beloved eldest daughter.

“—The crate of fruit is in the main hall. Do you know where your mother is?”

“—She is in the tea room… still angry.”

“—She discovered you cooking again, did she not?”

“—Yes, father.” She wrinkled the skirt of her dress nervously.

“—You know your mother dislikes it, but your father still possesses his great charm and shall try to distract her,” he said humorously.

“—Thank you, father.”

She hurried down the stairs while eyeing the wooden crate anxiously. What could possibly be inside it?

Frederick watched his daughter descend the staircase with the same excitement she had shown as a little girl whenever he returned from his travels with marvelous things.

He walked down the corridor and stopped before the tea room door, smiling.

He entered the room and saw his wife drinking tea, though her nearly audible murmurs betrayed her irritation, despite her elegant and reserved appearance.

He approached slowly, making the least possible noise.

“—What a lovely headpiece. It makes your beautiful hair shine.”

“—Thank you. My personal maid said it suited me very well,” she replied calmly while sipping her tea.

Noticing the familiar tone of voice, she turned her head quickly.

There stood her husband, smiling firmly.

“—Chérie, ton mari te manque beaucoup ? Tu me manques beaucoup, chérie. Et toi ?”(Darling, does your husband miss you greatly? I miss you greatly too, darling. And you?)

“—You ought to trim that beard, Frederick.”

With her spoon, she took a piece of mille-feuille.

Frederick stood before Catherine and extended his right hand.

“—My Lady, would you honor me with this dance?”

Catherine watched him while sipping her tea, delicately placed the porcelain cup down, extended her hand, and clasped his with a faint smile.

As she rose, Frederick held her with subtle gentleness.

They began dancing through the tea room.

“—You are just as beautiful as the first time I saw you…”

“—And you are still the same, Frederick.”

He laughed softly.

“—Je t’aime aussi.”(I love you too.)

At the end of the brief dance, he placed a gentle kiss upon her lips.

Henry suddenly burst through the door.

“—MOTHEEER…!”

Upon witnessing the intimate moment between his parents, he quickly shut the door again.

“—Forgive me, I shall return later,” he said awkwardly from behind it.

Catherine swiftly stepped away because of what had just happened.

“—Will you continue traveling, Frederick?” she asked abruptly, trying to change the subject.

“—I shall travel less, darling,” he admitted. “And my stays shall be shorter.”

“—You need not worry about me.”

He embraced her tightly, resting his arms around his wife’s waist while gently stroking her jet-black hair streaked with silver strands.

“—Frederick, do not touch my hair,” she said, raising her voice slightly.

“—Yes… yes… yes, darling. I shall not do it again. Just allow me to hold you a little longer,” he pleaded.

Unexpectedly, he dipped her dramatically and kissed her more intensely, but failing to support her properly, he accidentally let her fall onto the cold polished wood floor.

“—FREDERICK!”

Her scream rang so loudly that the birds by the tea room windows fled in terror, and everyone in the house heard it.

Adelaïde froze upon hearing her mother’s voice. The reddish-brown spherical fruit slipped from her hands onto the others of its kind.

“—I have never seen such fruits anywhere in the country.”

Meanwhile, as the servants cleaned and tended the house in the corridor, one of them approached Adelaïde.

“—What kind of fruit is this, Miss Adelaïde? I have never seen anything like it.”

“—Bring me a knife. Its surface is rough. We must discover what lies inside,” she said while slowly turning the fruit in her hands.

A few minutes later, the servant returned carrying a knife on a tray. Adelaïde took it and sliced through the fruit’s hard shell. Inside were several seeds coated in a whitish, viscous pulp.

She placed the fruit back onto the tray and carried it into the kitchen, where the servants responsible for cooking were gathered.

She set the tray upon the wooden table and began extracting each seed, placing them into a copper bowl. She distributed them among the kitchen servants, who, upon tasting them, discovered a sweet and tangy freshness.

The cacao pod, split into two perfect halves, rested upon a silver tray that Adelaide herself had brought from the hall. The elegant gleam of the metal seemed excessive for something so unfamiliar and mysterious.

“—I have come to rescue you from boredom,” she announced with a half-laugh.

Tomás looked up.

“—Another one of your sweet adventures, Adelaide?”

Not “Miss.” Only Adelaide. And she never corrected them.

“—This time I may fail,” she admitted, removing her gloves. “So I shall require my finest accomplices.”

Mary stepped closer curiously.

“—What is that decorated thing doing here among smoke and ladles?”

Adelaide lifted one half of the pod so they could see it better.

“—It is called cacao. It comes from very far away. Father said it came from the Gold Coast.”

Inés leaned forward.

“—It looks full of tiny white creatures. Like little mushrooms.”

“—The pulp is merely one layer. The seed is what truly matters,” Adelaide confessed with a laugh.

Naturally, she began pulling away the seeds coated in white pulp and dropped them into a copper bowl. The wet sound echoed softly against the metal.

“—Come closer,” she said. “It does not bite. It is delicious, I assure you. Once polished, it is like a rough gemstone.”

Leonor laughed.

“—That does not sound very reassuring.”

Adelaide picked up a seed and held it before them.

“—Only taste the white part. The dark part requires a different process.”

María was the first to accept. She brought it cautiously to her lips and sucked the pulp.

Her expression softened.

“—It is pleasant… far more than I expected.”

“—See? I did not attempt to poison you,” Adelaide said with feigned indignation.

Tomás took his own.

“—It has something acidic about it,” he commented. “But it is refreshing.”

Inés nodded.

“—It is sweet without being overwhelming. Like the perfect balance.”

Adelaide watched them not as a superior, but as a companion in mischief.

“—It does not taste like dessert… not yet,” she murmured thoughtfully.

Leonor looked at her knowingly.

“—You are already planning to turn it into something.”

“—Always,” Adelaide replied. “What would life be if we did not try to transform it into something sweeter? It would not gladden the soul.”

María smiled.

“—If your family knew you preferred being here rather than in the drawing room…”

Adelaide shrugged, leaning against the table.

“—As long as we all remain silent, no one shall notice. Besides, I must make the most of this while I can. One day I shall marry and go far away, leaving behind the life I once had. But my memories with all of you shall always remain.”

“Besides, I am the young lady of this house. As long as there is something left unfinished, I shall try to do as much as possible.”

Tomás raised the cleaned seed.

“—Then we are your official court.”

“—Yes, my most honest council,” she replied sincerely.

She took another seed and tasted it alongside them, as though she were simply one more among the group.

“—And the dark part of the seed becomes the famous ‘chocolate.’ It is not produced in great quantities because the process is extensive. The seed is the most valuable part, believe it or not.”

“—We shall make chocolate and perfect it to its fullest… without my mother discovering it.”

“We could fill them with all sorts of things. Chocolate filled with different flavors… or many more things yet to be discovered,” she said while studying the seed stripped of its white pulp.

“Could you bring me the wooden crate? It is full of these fruits. Or ask the other servants for help.”

“—Yes, of course,” said Tomás as he hurried out of the kitchen.

A few minutes later, three servants returned carrying the heavy crate and set it near the small coal storage room. The box overflowed with cacao pods of varying shades.

Tomás and Mary began removing the pods, cutting them open with precision, and pouring the seeds into the copper bowl.

Once they had finished with all the cacao pods, everyone focused on separating the pulp from the seeds. The seeds were placed into another bowl while Adelaide washed them in water and left them outside to dry.

“—We shall leave them here for quite some time. Little by little, we shall allow something marvelous to emerge and be born,” Adelaïde declared with a smile beside her most loyal court.