by Rhys Bowen
“I thought it was about time that the palace was forward-looking,” the queen replied. “The new century is coming. Young women should have a chance to make something of themselves. Heaven knows that most of the cooks in the great houses around the country are women. It’s a natural art for us females.” She stirred herself in her chair and looked around the room. “Frankly, I’ve been thinking for some time that the kitchen is in need of new blood. My dear munshi complained to me that apparently my cooks cannot produce even the simplest of Indian dishes for him. He was entertaining a fellow countryman, and the chicken curry was quite unpalatable. He is a Muslim, poor Abdul, and has quite strict dietary requirements.”
“I don’t know why your kitchen staff has to go to any great lengths for a fellow servant,” the prince said shortly.
“A fellow servant?” The queen frowned. “He is my one companion and solace, as you very well know. I value his advice, even if he can be rather bossy on occasion. But I like that. It reminds me of when my dear Albert was alive. And he clearly worships me.” She gave a heavy sigh. “Life would be quite meaningless if Abdul was not here.”
“The chap is a bounder of the worst kind, but you are too blind to see that because he fawns and flatters.”
The queen now sat very upright and gave him the haughtiest of stares. “As monarch of this country, I think I have the right to choose my own courtiers and my own friends,” she said. “You will do well to remember that, Bertie. If and when you become king, you will be able to do the same. And I expect there will be many in the country who will criticize your choice of companions.”
She reached over to the serving tray, took the last piece of shortbread and popped it into her mouth. Then she seemed to remember that I was standing just inside the door. “We shall not discuss such matters any further,” she said. “I am the one who makes the rules in my own household. I have decreed that I want to introduce young women into my kitchen, to bring in new life and vigour. And you see I was right in my prediction. This young lady steps in and bakes us the most delicious scones. We finished the plate between us, and I dare say we could have attacked a second plate had one been offered.”
“I can go down to the kitchen and make you a second batch if you wish, ma’am,” I said, but she held up her hand and smiled.
“One does not want to spoil one’s appetite for dinner,” she said. “As my dear Baroness Lehzen used to say, ‘Enough is as good as a feast.’”
She waved a hand in my direction. “Run along now. I expect you are needed for the dinner preparations. But I shall look forward to scones made by you every afternoon from now on. You are to tell Mr Angelo that I have made this request of you.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” I curtsied again and attempted to back out of the room, praying that I wouldn’t bump into any precious object on the way. I reached the door successfully and stood for a moment in the hallway outside, trying to calm myself. It was indeed a heady moment, and I wished that I had someone to share it with. Instead I was dreading informing Mr Angelo and more especially Mr Roland of Her Majesty’s instructions. They might not take kindly to an upstart girl pushing herself forward like this.
I looked around for the footman who had escorted me, but not seeing him, I started to make my way back along the hall. I was halfway down the grand staircase when I heard footsteps behind me. I paused and glanced around to see the Prince of Wales following me. I flattened myself against the wall, allowing him to pass, but instead he drew level with me.
“What’s your hurry, bright eyes?” he asked. He was looking at me with a sort of half-smile.
“I have to get back to my duties, Your Royal Highness,” I replied, my voice scarcely more than a whisper. “I have to make the puddings for dinner.”
“Nonsense.” He chuckled, a deep, throaty chuckle. “Nobody can complain if the queen kept you, can they? Or even if the Prince of Wales kept you.” He took a step closer to me. Rather too close to be comfortable. “What a delightful little creature you are.” He raised a hand and stroked my cheek. “Do I detect a wisp of auburn hair under that severe white cap?” And before I could do anything, he had whipped the cap from my head. To my mortification my hair tumbled over my shoulders. The prince’s eyes lit up. “I was right.” He picked up a curl and toyed with it. “I have a distinct softness for red hair. Red heads are supposed to be fiery and passionate, aren’t they? Are you fiery and passionate?”
“No, sir,” I mumbled. “I’m sure I’m a most quiet and well-behaved young woman.”
He laughed, tugging on my hair. “That’s because you haven’t met the right man to wake you up yet. I bet you’ll be a little tiger one day.”
I could feel my cheeks burning, trying to think how I could possibly get away. But he had me pinned against the wall, and one can hardly give the heir to the throne a good shove.
“Please sir, let me go,” I whispered. “I really should get back to the kitchen.”
“I’ll wager you have more talents than making scones,” he said. His eyes were challenging me.
I could sense what he was hinting at, but I replied, “Perhaps I do, Your Highness. I am told I have a light hand with pastry.”
This made him throw back his head and laugh heartily. “What a sweet innocent you are. I can’t wait to—I can’t wait to taste your pastry, young woman. Or experience your light hands. Why don’t you come and cook for me? I’m sure we can find you a position in my household. More money, too. And other privileges. I’d enjoy getting to know you better.”
My cheeks were burning, and my mouth was so dry I could hardly force out the words. “I couldn’t do that, Your Highness. I am only newly hired by the queen. It would be rude and disloyal to leave now, when she has given me such a wonderful chance.”
“Enchanting and honourable, too,” he said, letting the strand of hair fall to my shoulder, tracing the line of my neck with his finger, down to where the top of my dress prevented further exploration. “But think it over, my sweet. You would not find your duties onerous in my employ, I promise you. And I travel abroad. The Riviera in the spring is most delightful . . .” He gave me a playful little smile.
“I’m sure it would be an honour to work in your household, sir,” I replied, “but I owe a great debt of gratitude to Her Majesty.”
“I suppose I will accept rejection, for now,” he said. “I will go home dejected and with a heavy heart.”
I had been so confused and embarrassed that all coherent thoughts had vanished from my head. But now something hit me with blinding clarity. “There is one favour I might ask, Your Highness,” I stammered out the words. “My brother. He is recently come to London with me and is a great admirer of you. If you could find him a place in your household—”
I hadn’t finished the sentence, but he grinned. “Then you would have to come and visit him frequently, wouldn’t you, bright eyes? Sisterly duty, don’t you know.” When I said nothing, he nodded. “What is the young man’s name?”
“It’s Ronnie, sir. Ronald Barton.”
“And is Mr Barton also a cook?”
“No, sir, but he has held several positions in a great house in Yorkshire and knows the protocol. He would welcome the chance to be a footman, I am sure.”
He stroked my cheek again. “Have him come to see my butler. I’m sure we can find a place for him, if his sister promises to visit him.”
“You are very kind, sir,” I muttered, not promising anything. “He will be so grateful, I assure you.”
“I suppose I’d better let you get back to your kitchen. And I also have an appointment for which I am running late.” He backed away from me. “However, I look forward to seeing you again before too long, when we both have a little more time.” The way he looked at me made me feel so uncomfortable that I blushed again, making him laugh. He patted my cheek and walked past me, down the stairs, across the foyer and out through the great front doors. I fled through the pass door, back to the safety of my part of the palace.
CHAPTER 9
The moment that great door swung shut behind me, I stood alone in the empty hallway, trying hard to compose myself. It had never occurred to me before that I might be in any way desirable to a man. No man had ever looked at me in that way before. Actually, I had had little contact with men before coming to the palace. It was almost all female staff at the Tilleys’ household, apart from a groom, a coachman and a couple of gardeners, who were all elderly. It was true that Nelson seemed interested in me, but he was a harmless sort of chap, and I took his interest more as friendship than anything of a sexual nature. I had heard of the Prince of Wales’s reputation, of course. He was mentioned in newspapers as having been spotted with this woman at a race meeting or dining with yet another woman. It was said he always had a mistress. And now it seemed he had set his sights on me.
Don’t be ridiculous, I told myself. The prince wasn’t really interested in me. He was enjoying making a young servant uncomfortable. But one had heard whispers of masters who had designs on their servant girls, who used their power to have their way. And it was the girl who suffered the consequences, while the man walked away whistling. But how did one say no to a prince? There was an obvious answer: make sure I avoided him. That was when I remembered something else: I had fulfilled my obligation to Ronnie Barton. I was free of him. He could take up a position with the prince, and it was up to him what he made of it. However, I certainly didn’t plan to visit him at the prince’s palace. I was sure that by then the prince would have forgotten about me anyway.
I tucked my hair hastily back into my cap and hurried back to the kitchen. Eyes turned to watch me as I entered.
“Well?” Mr Angelo demanded. “Spill the beans. Did you put too much bicarb in the scones? Are you getting the boot?”
“No, Cook. The queen complimented me. She thought the scones were delicious, and she has instructed me to make them for her every afternoon.”
“Well, that’s a turn up, isn’t it?” Mr Angelo raised an eyebrow. “Mr Roland isn’t going to be happy with that news when he returns.”
“I’m sorry, Cook,” I said. “I really am. I did nothing to push myself forward, I promise you.”
“You can’t help being a good cook. Make the most of it.”
As I started back to my station, he took my arm. “Are you all right? You look white as a sheet, girl. I imagine being summoned to Her Majesty for the first time was quite terrifying for you, but you came through with flying colours.”
“It wasn’t that, Cook,” I said. “She was kind to me. It was just that . . .” I broke off, now not willing to talk about it.
“Come on, spill the beans. What did you do? Break a precious ornament? Trip over the carpet?”
“No. The Prince of Wales was there, and he—” Again I couldn’t go on.
“He got a little too friendly, did he? Not the first time he couldn’t keep his hands off the servants. But don’t worry. He’s not that fond of his mama, so he won’t be turning up too often, and when he does, you make sure you stay in the kitchen.” He gave me a brisk nod. “Now get back to work, or there will be no pudding for the queen’s dinner and you’ll be out of favour again.”
I was still blushing bright red as I headed back to my table. Nelson looked up from the potatoes he was peeling and gave me a wink. “Going up in the world, aren’t we?” he said.
“It wasn’t funny. It was terrifying,” I replied.
“So what’s it like, out on their side of the palace? Very fancy?”
“The staircase and the hallways were very fancy indeed,” I replied. “Lots of paintings and statues and vases. But the sitting room was quite ordinary. Just like you’d see in any large house.”
“And the queen? What was she like? I’ve never actually seen her in person, apart from through the window.”
“Small and round. She didn’t look at all queenly. And she was very kind to me.”
“Well, you made her food that she liked. They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but the same applies to the queen. Eating is her one comfort, so we’ve heard.”
“Enough of that gossip, young Nelson, or those spuds will never be boiled in time,” Mrs Simms said, looking up from the steak she was trimming. As I went past her to my own table, she murmured, “You might want to watch yourself, dearie. There are those here who take offence easily.”
“Because I was summoned to the queen?”
“Because you’re below them in the pecking order and you’ve suddenly found favour.”
“I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to offend anyone.”
“Of course you didn’t. But a closed environment like this isn’t healthy. It breeds jealousy and suspicion. For my part, I say congratulations and good luck to you, but there are others who might not be above sprinkling a little salt into your puddings. So be on your guard.”
“Thank you. I will.” I went back to work, separating egg yolks into a basin. As I worked, I glanced around the kitchen. Which of them might want to get back at me? Mr Francis, the second in command, clearly disliked me and made it clear that no woman should be anywhere near him. The other woman, Mrs Gillespie, was not exactly friendly. There were the four yeoman cooks, who regarded me as a necessary nuisance, and the three apprentices, who were easy to get along with. In truth I hardly knew them. We chatted at meals, and they seemed friendly enough. The only other girl was Ruby, a scullery maid and therefore beneath me. I was sure that Mr Roland could easily carry a grudge, and I’d have to think carefully about how to break this news to him.
He returned that evening, just as we were assembling the trolleys to be wheeled up for the queen’s dinner.
“So sorry to have left you in the lurch,” he said to me, “but am I glad that I went to the hospital. They told me my cut could have become infected and festered and I could have died from blood poisoning.” And he held up a heavily bandaged hand. “So I’m afraid it’s all up to you tonight. I hope you haven’t attempted any puddings beyond your scope.”
“Oh no, Cook . . . Mr Angelo instructed me to just stick to a simple Bavarian cream, as the queen is only dining with Princess Louise.”
“C’est bien. Very good. I hope that the tea service went smoothly?”
“It did, Cook. In fact, the queen let it be known that she found the scones tasty.”
“Did I make the scones before I left? I can’t remember, but I do not think so.”
“No, Cook. I made them. They were one of the few things I learned to do well from my old cook. She had a particularly good recipe.”
“So you saved the day. I’m in your debt.”
“Since the queen seemed to enjoy my scones, I wondered if this might be a task I could undertake every day, if you were agreeable, Cook.”
He frowned for a moment, then nodded. “Why not? It would let me be free to make the more complicated cakes that she so loves.”
So that was that. I had done it! As soon as I completed the pudding, I rushed up to my room and wrote a letter to Ronnie Barton.
Today I met with the Prince of Wales. He is willing to find you a position in his service. You are to report to his butler and mention that you are my brother, and the prince is willing to give you a chance. I have thus fulfilled my obligation to you and do not wish to hear from you again.
Then I slipped out after our supper and deposited the letter in the nearest postbox. I did not receive an answer, but I had done what he had requested, and he could have no more reason to bother me.
That Sunday I went out walking with Nelson. It was a bitterly cold and miserable day. The wind threatened to tear my bonnet from my head. Nelson offered me his arm, and I was glad to take it as we were swept along the street. Nelson suggested that this was no day for a walk in the park. I agreed. We walked down to Victoria Station, then took the Underground to South Kensington and paid a visit to the Natural History Museum. What an imposing building that was, more like a palace than Buckingham! We spent a pleasant afternoon examining the
exhibits—the dioramas of wildlife from around the world, the dinosaur skeletons and the collection of rocks and minerals. These latter I found the most fascinating . . . I suppose every woman is naturally drawn to precious stones!
As we walked, we chatted amiably, although as always I was on my guard not to say the wrong thing. I almost did when I suggested that we visit a certain gallery, and Nelson was surprised. “You’ve been here before?” he asked.
I was about to say that my father took us to all the museums when we were children but stopped myself at the last minute. “No, I saw the arrow on the wall, directing us this way,” I said quickly. After that, the pleasant atmosphere of the afternoon seemed to have vanished, at least for me.
Nelson still acted as if nothing had changed. “How about that?” he said as we stood before the exhibit of the African plains and saw a giraffe. “I wonder how long it takes to swallow if your neck is that size?”
When I didn’t answer right away, he said, “Is everything all right, Helen? I hope you don’t find my presence too boring or offensive.”
“On the contrary,” I replied. “I’m sorry if I’m a poor specimen of a companion today. It has been a worrying week.” And I told him about my encounter with the Prince of Wales.
Then he was most solicitous. “I’ve heard about him. I thought you looked quite unsettled when you came back to the kitchen but assumed it was the shock of meeting the queen.”
“I’m just praying that he is the sort who likes to make servant girls uncomfortable and flirts with every female,” I said. “I don’t know what I’d do if he did request that I be sent over to his household, or if I found myself alone with him.”
“Give him a good kick where he’d remember it,” Nelson said, then realized this might be too offensive a remark to a young lady. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said . . .” He broke off in embarrassment.
I laughed. “On the contrary, it was the perfect suggestion.” And he joined me in laughter.
“You’re such a splendid girl, Helen,” he said. “I know I’ve no right to ask, and of course I’m only an under-cook like yourself and not in any position to think of the future, but is there a chance you’d consider me as someone who’d like to court you properly?”