by Nell Hampton
Kale to the Queen
A Kensington Palace Chef Mystery
Nell Hampton
NEW YORK
This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, organizations, places, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real or actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Crooked Lane Books, an imprint of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Crooked Lane Books and its logo are trademarks of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Library of Congress Catalog-in-Publication data available upon request.
ISBN (hardcover): 978-1-68331-104-1
ISBN (ePub): 978-1-68331-105-8
ISBN (Kindle): 978-1-68331-106-5
ISBN (ePDF): 978-1-68331-107-2
Cover design by Louis Malcangi.
Cover illustration by Teresa Fasolino.
www.crookedlanebooks.com
Crooked Lane Books
34 West 27th St., 10th Floor
New York, NY 10001
First Edition: April 2017
This story is for my dad, who loves all things British. Love you!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Queen of Puddings
Spring Frittata
Simple Scones with Vanilla and Lemon Zest
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Kensington Palace. It was older than any building I’d ever seen before. It was glamorous and magnificent, and I was going to work there.
It was crazy to think that I, Carrie Ann Cole, a simple Midwestern girl, was in London, standing in the rain, staring up at the gates of Kensington Palace. My belongings were packed in two suitcases in my hands. What little else I had was in storage or still with my boyfriend of six years, John.
The whole thing was a piece of luck, really. I had graduated culinary school three years ago and worked in a Michelin-star restaurant in Chicago. A friend of mine, who catered events in New York City, got sick the day she was supposed to cater a charity event for the duke and duchess of Cambridge. So she asked me to fly in and take her place. The duchess was so impressed she asked to see me. We chatted, and a week later I got the call. Would I come to London and be the family chef for the duke and duchess and their children?
How do you say no to that?
Now I stood in front of the palace, in a place chock-full of history, to begin a career I hoped would last for many years. The excitement of it had me practically skipping as I gave the guards my credentials and got directions to where I should be. The entire time I soaked in all the sites as if I were Alice first stepping into Wonderland. It didn’t matter that the small but constant rain ensured I was damp through and through.
“Leave your bags and come this way, please.” The woman who met me was thin and very proper in a black skirt and cream sweater set. Her hair was a perfect gray shoulder-length bob. She turned on her one-inch heels and walked away. “Don’t dawdle. You are not on a sightseeing tour.”
Jet-lagged, I dropped my overstuffed tote beside my battered suitcase and followed after her. I could barely believe I was actually inside Kensington Palace. Not in the tourist part, but in the royal apartments where, well, the royals lived. I tried not to gawk.
“I am Mrs. Worth, the household manager for the duke and duchess of Cambridge,” she said in a crisp British accent. “You are late.”
“I couldn’t get a cab, so I took the subway,” I said as I hurried behind her.
“It’s the tube, not the subway. Learn the language, Miss Cole.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Language wasn’t the only thing I had to learn. I knew I wasn’t properly dressed. I’d just lost an entire night flying across the Atlantic from Chicago to London. My head was a bit fuzzy. Thankfully, I’d taken some time to brush my teeth and comb my hair on the airplane. But that didn’t matter much, as the rain had it curling like a demon around my face.
“You will find, Miss Cole, that I do not have the time or patience for tardiness.” Mrs. Worth shot me a look of disapproval over her shoulder.
“It won’t happen again.” I took off my wet jacket and slung it over my arm as I followed behind her. Thankfully I’d decided to wear black slacks and a white polo for the plane ride. It was evening when I’d left Chicago but midmorning when I’d arrived in London. As a chef, I usually was more concerned with food than time. Luckily my best friend Lucy had calculated the time and figured out that my ticket left me less than an hour to arrive at my new place of employment.
She loved all things British and informed me that it wouldn’t do to show up in jeans and a T-shirt. My wet slip-on black shoes were probably not appropriate, but hey, I did just get off a plane.
“The duke and duchess’s apartment is two floors up,” Mrs. Worth said. “Your room is in the north wing. I’ve asked Reginald to take your bags there. Now, as the family’s personal chef, you will be working in the family kitchen and occasionally in the apartment kitchen itself. The larger event kitchen is run by the palace’s head chef, Jeffery Butterbottom. Chef Butterbottom is a world-renowned chef with years of degrees and certificates behind him. While he is not your supervisor, you will defer to him in matters of proper dietary guidelines. That said, you will have a prep and a sous chef and are entirely responsible for what happens in your own kitchen.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. We moved along at a brisk pace as she pointed out various offices. I had the presence of mind to take notes on my smart phone so that I wouldn’t be too lost once I was on my own. It boggled my mind that so many people worked here. Everyone had their own station and everything had to be spotless. I watched in awe as a simple nod or frown from Mrs. Worth had people scurrying.
“We are meeting with the duchess now,” Mrs. Worth said as she stopped outside the apartment’s servants’ entrance. She studied me and shook her head. “Your appearance is not as professional as I had hoped. But it will have to do. The duchess is on a schedule, as well.”
“It was raining,” I said and pressed down my bangs. They were damp and had a tendency to curl inappropriately. My hair was pulled back into a twist; otherwise, it would have been a mass of frizz.
Mrs. Worth’s mouth was a tight line of disapproval. Her brown gaze was far from welcoming, but then I supposed that when you had so many employees to deal with, you probably wouldn’t be the warm and welcoming type. “When you see the duchess, speak only when spoken to and shake her hand only if she offers hers.”
“Okay,” I said. “Do I curtsy?”
She heaved a long sigh and opened the doors. The apartments were light and airy. I had read that the duke and duchess had taken over Princess Elsa’s apartment in the palace. They had had it completely renovated into a modern style that still echoed the long history of the building.
From what I could see from the servants’ hal
lway, the apartment was as tasteful as the duchess’s wardrobe. We passed open doors, and I sneaked a look. One room was clearly a little girl’s nursery done in shades of pink and white. The next room was a huge playroom filled with toys and a child-size table with four chairs. The next room was a boy’s nursery decorated in playful blues and reds. It was clear to see from the décor that the little prince was a couple years older than his sister.
“Come along,” Mrs. Worth said, and I realized I had stopped walking. Mrs. Worth never looked as if she were rushing, but I had to practically run to keep up as she moved down the corridor. The hall itself was well lit, with old wood floors and pale blue walls. She stopped and knocked on a door a few yards from the nurseries.
The door was answered by a woman in her mid- to late twenties. She was pretty, with a round face, friendly smile, bright-blue eyes, and long blonde hair. She wore a simple shift dress and cardigan in matching blush. “Ah, Mrs. Worth, yes, the duchess is waiting for you. Please come in.”
“Miss Nethercott, this is Miss Carrie Ann Cole, the new personal chef,” Mrs. Worth formally introduced me. “Miss Penelope Nethercott is the duchess’s personal secretary.”
“Hello, Miss Cole. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Miss Nethercott said.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, as well,” I said with a smile and a firm handshake. “Please excuse my appearance. I got caught in the rain.” I reached up and pressed my curly bangs down.
“You’re fine,” Miss Nethercott said with a wink. “In time, you’ll learn to always carry an umbrella.” Then she leaned in close. “You may call me Penny when we aren’t in the duchess’s salon.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’m Carrie Ann.”
“Miss Nethercott! We do not want to keep the duchess waiting,” Mrs. Worth said with a scolding tone.
“No, certainly not,” Penny said and opened the door wide. “Please do come in.”
The room was large and bright with windows across one wall. There was a fireplace to the left, and above it was a family picture of the duke and duchess and their children. To one side was a large slender desk that appeared to be an antique. Behind the desk was the duchess, with her perfect brown hair pulled back out of the way. She wore a navy pencil skirt and silk chiffon blouse with a blue-and-white fleur-de-lis pattern. She looked exactly like her pictures. This was the second time I had spoken to her in person, and I still could not get over how lovely she was.
Beside her, the little prince played with a wooden helicopter. He wore red knee-length pants and a red-and-white pullover top, knee socks, and black walking shoes. A woman who appeared to be in her late forties stood watch over him. She wore a gray-and-white outfit and sensible shoes. Her hair was short and tightly curled. Her face was as round as her figure and her cheeks were apple-red, her eyes a sparkling blue. I pegged her as his nanny and sent her a smile and a nod. She nodded at me and then concentrated on her charge.
On the opposite side of the desk, a younger woman held the baby princess in her arms. The little girl was dressed in a blue-and-white dress with a Peter Pan collar and ruffled skirt. Her feet were encased in white ankle socks and soft white shoes. She sucked on her first two fingers, and the nurse wiped drool from the toddler’s hand with a white cloth.
“Your Highness, Mrs. Worth and Miss Cole,” Penny said and stepped to the side.
“Mrs. Worth, you are on time as usual,” the duchess said and looked up at me. “Miss Cole, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” I said and gave an awkward curtsy. I felt the heat of a blush rush up my cheeks as everyone patently ignored my faux pas.
“Please forgive the rush. I realize you must have just gotten off the plane.”
I smiled but didn’t answer.
“As you may know, we have a bit of a snafu,” the duchess continued. “We are in need of a chef for this evening’s get-together. It is just family, but my cousin is arriving with her best friend and family in tow. It seems that Miss Anderson, the friend, is bringing her son, and today is his first birthday. We must, of course, prepare a small birthday party for the children, and as you know, my previous chef had a family emergency and has left our employ. I would ask the main kitchen to cook up something for the party, but I’m afraid they have already been contracted to run a state dinner with the visiting son of the president of Limberta.” She smiled her perfect smile and circled her right hand over the planners and digital tablet on her desk. “Scheduling is everything in a household this size.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I muttered, “um, er, your Royal Highness . . .” Mrs. Worth gave me a withering side-glance. I bit my bottom lip to remind myself not to speak unless asked a question.
“The party is at seven PM because the children are at bed by nine,” the duchess said. “We will need the following menu made up.” She handed a sheet of linen paper to Mrs. Worth, who handed it to me. “Can you do it?”
I glanced at the seven courses listed. “Certainly,” I answered. This was my first day and my first assignment, and I wasn’t about to say no.
“Perfect,” the duchess said. “Thank you. Penelope, show Miss Cole to the kitchens and her quarters. I need to speak to Mrs. Worth.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Penny said and, with a polite nod, pointed toward the door.
I would have to work at not saying good-bye. It was clear I was dismissed and that while everyone was cordial, I was not expected to be a friend. Penny walked me back to the servants’ hallway and closed the door behind us.
“Come this way,” she said. Her two-inch heels clicked rhythmically on the wooden floor. “Welcome to the household,” Penny said with a smile. “There is always something going on. Now, have you been to the offices of staffing yet to get your badge and fill out your employment papers?”
“No,” I said. “I literally got off the plane, took the subway—”
“You mean the tube,” she corrected me.
“Yes, the tube,” I said.
“How did you find it?”
“I’m sorry? I thought everyone knew that there’s an entrance from the airport.”
“No,” Penny said and laughed at me. “What were your thoughts about the tube?”
“Oh, it was awfully crowded,” I said. “I barely squeezed myself and my luggage on.”
“Hmmm, rush hour,” Penny said. “Well, you will be avoiding that from now on, as you will have rooms here so that you will be available to the family six days a week. Your day off is Monday, as weekends are usually the biggest event times for the family.”
“Of course,” I said. “It was in my contract.”
The door at the far end of the hall opened, and a tall man in a black suit, blue tie, white dress shirt, and well-polished shoes strode into the hallway. He walked with the pure confidence of an athlete. I judged him to be in his early thirties, but without the soft face of a man who sat at a desk all day long.
Penny and I stopped as he came up to us.
“Who do we have here?” he asked with a slight Scottish brogue in his deep voice.
“Miss Carrie Ann Cole,” Penny said. I noticed how she flushed in his presence. “She’s the new family chef for the duke and duchess. Miss Cole, this is Ian Gordon, head of security at Kensington Palace.”
“Ah, the American,” he said and turned his gorgeous deep-blue eyes on me. He had long black eyelashes and thick black hair cut short in a neat military style. His nose was straight and fit his square jaw, dimpled chin, and slight smile.
“Hello,” I said, surprised by how low and hoarse the word came out. I cleared my throat.
“How are you finding England?” he asked, lifting one of his dark eyebrows with the question.
“Good, fine, and you?” I asked, feeling rather stupid for asking.
“Well, that’s a question to be discussed over a drink,” he said, and his smile turned up a bit. It hit me then who he looked like: he reminded me of a young Sean Connery in the old James Bond movies. “But we d
on’t have time for that now. I’ve an appointment with the duchess.” He glanced at my visitor badge. “You need to ensure you get a proper badge with access to the doors. We take security here very seriously.”
“She just got off the plane,” Penny said and put her hand on my arm. “The duchess asked her to step in on tonight’s birthday party for the children.”
“Right,” he said, and I was once again uncomfortable under his searching gaze. “I suppose that will have to do for now. Miss Cole, please ensure that Mrs. Worth has her secretary give you an orientation schedule so that they can get you a proper badge.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Good day, ladies,” he said and walked down the hall to the duchess’s office. He gave a short knock before entering.
“Wow,” I said and stared after him as if he might rematerialize at any moment.
“Ha!” Penny said with a knowing smile. She put her arm through mine and turned me back to our walk down the hallway. “Don’t get your hopes up there. Ian Gordon is a decorated soldier and one of the queen’s favorites. He takes the rules very seriously.”
“Okay . . .”
“One of those rules is no fraternizing between staff,” Penny said with a sad sigh. “If you work here, he won’t do anything more than tip his hat in your direction.”
“Oh,” I said, “that’s okay. I have a boyfriend. We’ve been dating for six years and have lived together for three.”
“That’s a long time.”
“I know. John wants to take a break, but I secretly hope we can work out a long-distance relationship. Or, even better, that he’ll follow me to London. There is so much more to see and do here, and the international exposure would be great for him.”
“Did he suggest the break?”
“Yes,” I said with a sigh. “I’m not going to lie. It hurt. But he didn’t really mean it. I mean, he was cooking at the time, and I mentioned how hard a long-distance relationship can be for some couples. Then I told him how great London was and how he should move here.”
“That’s when he mentioned the break?”