Chapter 3

Chapter Three

V ictoria wasn't one for giving up on an eating establishment simply because it had experienced a bad night of service. Cooks took ill. Supplies ran low. There could be any number of perfectly acceptable reasons as to why the Graceful Swan had failed to live up to its positive newspaper review. In the interest of fairness, she pressganged her other brother Matthew into accompanying her to the restaurant the following Thursday. He would be her impartial food taster.

She pretended not to notice the empty tables as she and Matthew were shown to the same one that she'd shared with Richard the previous week. Her review methodology was as scientific as she could manage. Same night of the week. Same table. Same menu. Just a different sibling.

As soon as they were seated, she smiled up at the waiter. He gave her an odd look, to which Victoria nodded. "Yes, I am back. And hoping your establishment has recovered from its little misstep and can now live up to its reputation."

The waiter went to hand her the menu, but Victoria waved it away. "No need, thank you. We shall have the sole, a plate of fried oysters, and the roast beef."

"Don't I get to choose my own meal?" protested Matthew.

She shook her head, and tutted. This wasn't just a meal—it was a controlled test. Neither her brother nor the service staff at the Graceful Swan could possibly understand the intricacies of restaurant reviews, and how vital it was for diners to be able to rely upon them, so it was all down to her.

Without reliable culinary reviews, the alternative was anarchy.

"No, you don't get to choose. I must have consistency. These are the exact same items Richard, and I ordered when we dined here last week. I need to be sure that our disappointing and rather tasteless meals were simply an aberration."

I need to know I can rely on this place.

The waiter bit down on his bottom lip. "I wouldn't hold out much hope for the food, miss. We've been having supply problems." He bent and whispered, "The owner mentioned something about us getting caught in the middle of a spice war. But you didn't hear it from my lips."

He wandered off in the direction of the kitchen to place Victoria and Matthew's order, leaving his customers sitting and scratching their heads.

"What on earth is a spice war?" asked Matthew.

"I haven't the foggiest idea, but it sounds thoroughly intriguing."

The food might still be a problem, but if there was something happening in the world of fine dining, Victoria was all ears. She was well aware that the spice trade in England had been controlled by the East India Company for hundreds of years. The thought of someone else thinking to take them on piqued her interest.

But if restaurants like the Graceful Swan found themselves caught up in the middle of a turf war, the only people who would lose out were them and their valuable customers.

I wonder if the reviewer for the Morning Herald knows anything about this?

If he did, he owed it to his readers to bring it to their attention. But if he didn't, then who else would protect the diners of London?

Victoria pondered that important question as she rested her hands in her lap and waited for her food. Perhaps there was something she could do.

I owe it to everyone who has a cultured palate to take up the cause.