by Luna Snow
Murder and Cake
By Royal Appointment
Copyright
Published in the United States by Luna Snow
Published 2016
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of this material in any way. You must not circulate this book in any format. Luna Snow does not control or direct users’ actions and is not responsible for the information or content shared, harm and/or actions of the book readers.
Table of Contents
Introduction
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Epilogue
Introduction
Jane Dough loves to bake. She is also a little overweight but she doesn't care. After winning 'The Great British Cake-Off' she is invited by Royal Appointment to bake a cake 'fit for a Queen' - for Queen Elizabeth's 90th Birthday celebrations no less. Not is all as it seems at Buckingham Palace. Who is the creepy Alf Jeffries who seems to be stalking her and what abou the other chefs gathered at the Palace to prepare a great banquet for the birthday celebrations? When the Queen's famous diamond tiara is stolen - things start to hot up in the kitchen. When a body is discovered Jane fears for her life, but who can she trust amongst the motley group? Find out in this cozy mystery filled with mayhem, murder and of course lots of cake.
Chapter One
Jane Dough had to sit down with a cup of tea and a piece of cake before she dare read through the letter again. Her ginger tabby cat ‘Poppy’ sat in her lap and purred loudly as she stroked her ears. She had awoken that morning to the sound of birds singing and the sun streaming through a chink in the curtains that normally kept out the daylight until it was time to rise. Not that she usually stayed in bed for long. As a baker she very rarely slept in, her daily schedule started at six every morning and she never finished before four in the afternoon. Sunday was a rare day when she allowed herself an extra hour in bed and lounged around, swapping her baking apron for a pair of pink and fluffy pyjamas.
Jane wasn’t what you would call a petite girl, and perhaps not even what you would call a girl. Jane Dough had just celebrated her 45th birthday; she had never married and loved to bake.
And also to eat
Her waistband had increased over the years and occasionally she would let out a sigh when she stepped onto the scales or looked into a mirror, but on the whole she was content with her life. Mr Right had failed to appear and if she were honest would admit that she was very shy when faced with the opposite sex, which at times could almost came across as rude, but she did not dwell on the fact and made the best of her independent lifestyle.
With the surname ‘Dough’ she had been born to be a baker and from an early age she had enjoyed baking with her grandmother. By the time Jane had reached the age of 10, she was already winning first prize in the local county show for her sultana scones. Many awards and trophy’s had followed since then, but this was something else; the news she had received today was the crème de la crème!
Several months ago Jane had entered a cake making competition. And it wasn’t just any cake baking competition. It was the regional heats of a national competition that was broadcast live on television. She had successfully managed to bake her way through the ‘Cake-Off’ in the regional heats, the regional finals and national semi-finals before winning the National Final. The cake that had won the day had been a magnificent three tier extravaganza of chocolate, vanilla and lemon sponge covered in foams and waves of light icing. Fresh flowers and edible diamantes had adorned the top and the whole was festooned with delicate ribbons and flowers that had been made with her fair hands- from icing sugar paste and turrets of brittle toffee crisp. The whole thing had been a magnificent triumph of culinary genius.
Never had there been such a beautiful cake in the years of TV baking
She had cried on live television as she was honoured with the first prize. It had been a ‘dream come true’.
And now this
The letter had arrived in the morning post, but of course when it had been popped through her letter box she had been busy at work in her bakery.
Tired after a long day making confectionery, she had picked up the few letters from her door mat, and kicked off her shoes and headed for the kitchen to make a nice cup of tea. There were two cupcakes in her bag to go with the beverage, covered with lots of chocolate and filled with fresh cream- her favourite.
It was only when she sat down at the table to flick through the envelopes that one in particular caught her eye. The envelope was of a light cream colour and made of thick and expensive paper, embossed with a header that contained the Royal Crest.
“Well Poppy my love, what have we here?”
Her cat was her best friend and sole comfort and there were no secrets between the two, apart from the fact that Poppy never really explained where she disappeared to every night and Jane never asked. Some things were better left unsaid.
Jane had stared at the envelope for several minutes and only put it down on the table when her thoughts were interrupted by the shrill whistling of the kettle. After making the tea she washed her hands. It wouldn’t be right to open a letter from ‘Her Majesty’ with sticky fingers.
After settling once more at the table, a cup of tea poured and the cupcakes balanced delicately on a china tea plate, only then did Jane Dough contemplate opening the envelope.
The paper was headed with the Royal Crest and a fine watermark of two lions could be seen shining through as she held the paper slightly towards the light.
Scanning the letter quickly, she paused and then read it again.
Jane Dough, the daughter of a shop assistant and garage mechanic was cordially invited to bake the birthday cake for her Majesties 90th birthday celebrations.
Her stomach turned to jelly as she bit into the first cupcake. Baking for the Queen of England, what an honour!
The cat nuzzled its face into her hand, licking the cream that was covering her fingers.
“The Queen of England Poppy, what an honour. Grandma would have been so proud of me!”
A light mist blurred the typed black letters on the paper in front of her for a moment and she allowed a small tear to form in the corner of her eye before blinking it quickly away.
“No call for getting sentimental is there old girl; now let me read the small print.”
The letter had been signed by the Queens Lady in Waiting. Queen Elizabeth had been watching the ‘Great British Cake Off’ on TV and seen Jane Dough in action. Her Royal Highness had been so impressed that she had requested that a letter be sent to Jane with the request straight away.
How could she say no?
Jane Dough’s excitement and pride was mixed with trepidation and fear. What type of cake did the Queen like? What if the sponge failed to rise or what if the Queen didn’t like it? Would she be locked in the Tower of London and beheaded like poor Anne Boleyn?
She laughed at the thought.
“What a foolish woman I am poppy!”
Pushing the negative thoughts from her head she re-read the letter.
If she were to accept th
e appointment she would be expected to spend nearly a whole week living at Buckingham Palace, and to bake and decorate the cake in the kitchens in time for the Queens 90th Birthday celebrations. After successfully baking the cake she would be invited to a Garden Party to be held in the Palace grounds and also be introduced to her Majesty.
What an honour for a humble baker.
Yet that brought another dilemma. What to wear?
“Well Poppy. I will have to buy some new clothes make no mistake. The waistband on all of my trousers and skirts seems to be even tighter these days and I’m not sure why? I can’t be looking like a ‘dog’s dinner’ for her majesty can I. There’s nothing for it but I shall have to go on a strict diet too?”
Poppy purred at the very idea!
For the next few weeks Jane spent all of her free time looking through her recipes books and baking magazines, searching for the perfect cake to serve a Queen. In the end she plumped for a very British Victoria Sandwich cake- three of them in fact, all decorated in edible flowers and berries from across the United Kingdom – some coated in sugar, others left in all of their natural glory. The double cream would be whipped with vanilla and the jam she had made herself from the finest British Raspberries.
Each sponge would be delicately coated with a pale soft icing that would be left to dribble rustically down the sides of each of the cakes.
Needless to say she practised baking it several times before the event and ended up eating cake for breakfast, lunch and dinner and whilst trying to lose weight for the occasion, managed to pile on a couple more pounds.
The appointed day of her visit to the Palace arrived and Jane Dough was as nervous as a kitten. Of course she knew that she wouldn’t be meeting her Majesty straight away but still…
Poppy was left in the care of a friendly neighbour and wrapped herself around Jane’s legs as she tried to wheel her suitcase through the kitchen and into the hallway, in readiness for the taxi cab that was due to take her to the station.
“Now then Poppy old girl, I’m afraid I will have to leave you here. Mrs Simms next door will come in and feed you. Now don’t you be catching any birds or mice and bringing them into my clean kitchen. You know how Mrs Simms worries so. I will only be gone a week. Now don’t fret, you know I can’t take you with me and anyway, you wouldn’t like it there. The Queen has lots of Welsh corgi dogs and I don’t think that you would get on at all well with them. Can’t have you hissing at the Royal pooches now can we?”
Jane remembered a rhyme from her childhood, an old verse she used to recite for her Grandmother.
Pussycat, pussycat where have you been?
I’ve been to London to see the Queen.
“Well never mind Poppy. I will make sure I say hello to her Majesty on your behalf. Now make sure to be on your best behaviour for Mrs Simms.”
As if in response, Poppy let out a small and pathetic meow before jumping through the cat flap and out into her secret world.
London was several hundred miles away from the sleepy village of Wetherall in Yorkshire, where Jane lived. She seldom travelled far and hardly ever to the big smoke. Boarding the train for Kings Cross Station she felt like a VIP as she stepped into the First Class coach. Of course her Majesty was paying for the travel. As soon as they were away a young man in a smart red and white uniform came to offer her tea and cake, and relaxing into the extra wide seat she started to unwind; this was definitely the way to travel and she could easily get used to it.
The journey would take three hours and Jane settled down with one of her favourite detective novels. The protagonist was also a female baker like herself called Sandy Jones who in her spare time solved crimes. Jane wondered how on earth the poor woman had the time or energy after spending a day baking, but she loved the escapism that the novels brought to her. Besides, Sandy was young, slim, tall and attractive and always seemed to have a new romance on the go. Jane liked to think that Sandy Jones was her alter-ego. She turned the pages to chapter one of the latest novel in the Sandy Jones Investigates Series.
Sandy Jones adjusted her make up in the mirror of her two-seater sports car. Only an hour earlier she had been baking in her kitchen, preparing five dozen cup-cakes for a business lunch. She had only met the director of the company – the debonair Max Stephens once, but their eyes had locked in the lift of the smart glass and chrome head office and she had been smitten. Normally she wouldn’t have changed her clothes just to make a delivery, but today she had slipped into a pair of designer jeans and a new floaty top that matched the colour of her eyes –just in case she bumped into him.
Stepping out of the car she noticed a car pulling in at her side. Sandy could hardly believe her luck. It was Max Stephens himself.
His smile was slow and seductive as he crossed between the cars to greet her.
“Hello again, can I give you a hand?”
His voice was as smooth as silk with a slight huskiness, the kind that made her feel weak at the knees. Pushing her long, blonde hair back behind her ears, Sandy flashed him her famous white smile. It never failed to work and soon he was under her spell…
Jane Dough was asleep before she had finished the first chapter.
Chapter Two
The jerk of the train coming to a halt in its final destination woke Jane up from her slumbers. The station was alive with the buzz and hum of commuters. Stepping from the train and crossing over the busy platform she wondered where everyone was going to and from. The Underground had seemed too difficult to navigate when looking at the spaghetti like maps and she had decided to get a taxi to the Palace instead, she didn’t want to arrive all sweaty and flustered. For once she wanted to arrive like Sandy Jones, well, almost!
The instructions had said she must report in the first instance to the Palace Gate and would be instructed on where to go by one of the Palace Guards.
Groups of tourists crowded the Mall as the taxi approached and as she was driven along she had to stop herself from daydreaming that she was the Queen herself and start waving to the onlookers with a regal flourish of her hand.
Jane smiled to herself as a thought crossed her mind.
I bet Sandy Jones has never baked for the Queen!
The taxi had to stop some distance from the Palace due to the high security of the area and Jane was left with her bags to walk the length of the Mall. It was much warmer in London than in her Northern village and after pulling her heavy case and bag for a few minutes she started to perspire, wishing she had worn something cooler than the heavy formal jacket and trousers. She wheezed slightly as she pushed forwards through the crowds of tourists. The Mall must be at least a mile long!
When I get home I’ll go on a strict diet! It was becoming her mantra.
She had told herself the same thing for years but had yet to start.
Slowly pushing her way forward, she shifted rather self-consciously through the hoards of people who were stood in front of the Palace taking ‘selfies’ with their mobile phones. She had been recognised a few times from her TV appearance on ‘Cake –Off ‘and didn’t like the brief celebrity status it had afforded her and had donned a large pair of sunglasses in the hope that people wouldn’t recognise her. They did the trick and eventually she managed to reach the Palace gates. Jane was quite out of breath and too hot to feel comfortable. All around her young women wore cool dresses or shorts and t-shirts and suddenly she felt overdressed.
A man barged passed her, knocking the case from her hands and a Japanese tourist stood on her foot whilst he was walking backwards trying to take a shot of his family against the regal background. People were so rude, not like home. She had quite forgotten how unfriendly the city could be. There was no indication of which way to go and there seemed no-one to ask. Hot and flustered, Jane walked slowly up and down for a few moments. Suddenly weary from the excitement of the visit and the heat of the afternoon sun, she began to feel irritable.
Of course she had seen pictures of Buckingham Palace before in books or on t
he television, but never in real life. It was hard to believe that she would actually be staying here all week, even if it was only in the staff quarters. One of the red coated guards wearing a ceremonial bearskin hat was stood solemnly on duty outside the gates- seemingly oblivious to the commotion around him.
“Excuse me…”
Her voice was timid with a slight tremor.
The guards face remained stony and unchanged, his eyes fixed straight ahead.
“Excuse me; I have an appointment at the Palace.”
There was still no response. It was almost as if he were one of the exhibits in the famous Madame Tussaud’s Waxworks museum.
A hearty chuckling sound came from over her shoulder and made her turn around. A man in his early 50’s was shaking his head and laughing at her.
“He’ll not reply to any questions. He’s not allowed to speak on duty. I thought everyone knew that. Now perhaps I can be of assistance?”