The Bastard Prince

by Patty Jansen

  Men in velvet coats with frilly collars and cuffs, women in narrow-waisted dresses of many different colours. Wigs and pearls and gold-buckled shoes, lots of pale skin and an occasional bare shoulder.

  In the midst of all this splendour, Nellie spotted a long dark brown robe, worn by Shepherd Wilfridus, talking to one of the local well-off merchants. Nellie understood why he was invited: as protector of the church, Regent Bernard could hardly not invite him, but she didn’t understand why the shepherd accepted the invitation.

  She could still hear the coldness in his voice. They are thieves.

  Jantien and her six children went hungry while these men came here to eat and drink themselves stupid.

  While Nellie wrestled through the throng in the foyer, a man yelled, “There is a thief in the palace!”

  People moved aside to let the speaker through, a nobleman wearing a red jacket. Nellie didn’t know him.

  Two guards pushed through the crowd. “What was stolen?” one of them asked.

  “They made a mess of my room. They tipped over my travel chest. All my clothes are on the floor. Do you know how much those jackets cost? All lying in the dust.”

  Dust? That was outrageous. The palace staff made sure there was not a speck of dust in any of those rooms.

  “Are you missing any items?” the guard insisted.

  “I haven’t noticed, but they made such a mess of my travel chests, how could I tell whether something was missing? They searched through my things—”

  “They stole nothing?”

  “It makes no difference whether they did. They upset everything in my room. The Regent is supposed to employ honest guards—”

  A voice came from behind. “Dear Phillip, are you in any way suggesting that my guards are dishonest?”

  Regent Bernard stood on the stairs dressed in a clean and elaborate military uniform that had never seen a day of battle. He wore a red cloak around his shoulders, very much like the royal Carmine cloak.

  Nellie’s heart skipped a beat.

  He wasn’t going to use this occasion to have himself crowned king, was he?

  Madame Sabine stood next to him, holding his arm. She held her head cocked and smiled vacantly at the crowd. Her red dress almost blended with the cloak—the colours were so much alike. The red velvet of Frederick’s red coat was darker. Casper looked out of place in his peacock blue suit. He held his back straight. His cheeks still glowed with bright red blotches, and while he stood on the stairs with his family, he glanced aside and smiled.

  The nobleman bowed. “Exulted Regent, I am not suggesting that your guards are dishonest, although the same may not be said about any of the guards brought by the other guests. Somebody has been searching my room.”

  “Watch what you’re saying!” another man yelled in the crowd. Nellie couldn’t see who it was.

  The Regent laughed. “I can see there will be plenty of entertainment tonight. Now forget about your petty grievances and let’s celebrate.”

  The crowd parted to let the family through. When they passed, Madame Sabine caught Nellie’s eye. The penetrating look in her eyes chilled her.

  The nobleman called after the party, “But my room! My clothes!” The interest of the crowd had shifted, though, and people pushed past him to follow the Regent into the hall.

  Back in the kitchen, she collected several large plates on a trolley which she wheeled out through the kitchen yard around the side of the palace into the forecourt where there was a ramp for this purpose. It was still very busy in the foyer, with most of the young nobles hanging around here. Nellie could see Casper and Frederick with their parents at the dais, looking very bored, but the other obnoxious youngsters, including Baroness Hestia, were all in the foyer.

  On the other side of the foyer, the nobleman Phillip was still complaining to two guards in a loud voice, “I told you they emptied all my possessions on the floor. I demand that my shirts be cleaned!”

  Nellie pushed the cart across the side of the foyer, avoiding both these groups, and was about to go through the door, when a hand reached out from behind a pillar and stopped the cart.

  Henrik.

  Nellie’s heart jumped.

  “I want to warn you to be careful,” he said, his voice low. “Keep an eye out, be vigilant. Something is brewing.”

  “Is this about people stealing from private rooms?”

  “That, and other things. Many people in this hall don’t like each other. Someone has been upsetting people’s rooms, and likely it’s one of the guests. Watch out, tell me if you see anything untoward, and make sure that none of you get involved.”

  Nellie nodded. “Thank you.” And then she hesitated. “Thank you for telling Wim that it was my birthday.”

  “You figured out it was me?”

  “No one else would have known.” She met his smiling eyes. “How did you know?”

  He laughed. “How did I know? How could I not know? You were the prettiest girl in the street.”

  “I was not.”

  “You were, but your father was standing over you like a mean guard dog. None of us boys dared come anywhere near you.”

  “You are just flattering me.”

  “No, I am not.”

  And she saw in his eyes that he was not joking.

  Well, that was a little . . . upsetting. “I sat on the porch on that day you came home from the palace wearing your new uniform. I thought you looked very good, and that you were now a serious man and would not talk to young girls anymore.”

  Henrik laughed, and Nellie laughed, albeit uneasily.

  Els came walking past and raised her eyebrows at Nellie, as if she wanted to say, What was that about not getting involved with men?

  Nellie remembered that she was supposed to be serving, so she left to go to the kitchen, still feeling uneasy.

  She remembered playing with Henrik—amongst a big group of other children—when she was little.

  On second thoughts, her father did keep her away from other kids, because you’re old enough to help your mother in the kitchen.

  What if it hadn’t been about helping her mother at all?

  She remembered vividly the day she heard Henrik was getting married. She had already been living with Mistress Johanna, but the news had made a little sad spot inside her. Not that she had hoped he might marry her, but because it didn’t look like she would marry, ever, because maids who lived with the family they served rarely married, and Nellie needed to live with the family because her own family had no money.

  When Nellie came into the kitchen, Els and Maartje laughed at her.

  Els could never keep quiet about things like this. “What did you say to us about not getting involved?”

  “I was talking about our safety.”

  “You’re so serious. He was flirting with you.”

  “He was warning us.”

  But as Els grumbled and continued into the hallway, Nellie felt ashamed that Els was right.

  Yes, he was flirting, and she should be ashamed. He was married, by the Triune. She should do her work and keep vigilant.

  She made the trip into the hall with the trolley a few more times. Each time she came downstairs, Dora was shouting at the kitchen hands. Roast ducks had to be carried to the hall. The table waiters were out of bread. Why was there no cut bread ready to be taken upstairs? Why were the carrots not done yet? Who had forgotten to check on the plum sauce? It had become too dry and burned in the bottom of the pan. And so on, and so forth.

  Nellie walked into the hall just as the Regent was ending a speech for the birthday of his son. Everyone in the hall erupted into raucous applause, except Madame Sabine.

  She sat next to her husband, wearing the red dress and looking like an overstuffed sausage, and stared over the heads of the guests.

  Nellie remembered her strange behaviour in her room that afternoon. What was up with that woman? She didn’t fit into the mould of what Nellie expected noblewomen to do. She said she was from a
low family. Why did Regent Bernard marry her? What was behind her recklessly unhappy behaviour? Why did she have those scars?

  After the Regent’s speech, Casper was finally released from his chair. Because there was no room to dance in the hall, the orchestra set up at the back entrance, and guests danced in the garden room, where it would be cold and empty.

  Nellie watched out for Els and Maartje while still embarrassed about having been caught off guard.

  Fortunately, Henrik had been given duty elsewhere. She didn’t see him anywhere anymore, and she assumed that he had gone to investigate the stolen items, because there was quite a lot of activity in the back of the guest quarters, but it was too dark, it was too far away and she was too busy to find what it was about.

  Afternoon turned into evening. The line of plates to be taken upstairs was continuous. When one end of the long table was done, it was time to clear plates at the beginning, and then the next course needed to be brought out.

  She and her young helpers looked after just one row of tables. There were six more rows, each with at least fifty noble self-absorbed, demanding guests in various states of increasing drunkenness.

  Because there was so little room, the servants had taken over the task of filling glasses. Gerard was still on duty with the ladle, having stacked one empty barrel of Guentherite wine on top of another.

  There were the usual mishaps. Glasses fell over, food was spilled, guests were too drunk to make it out of their seats and collapsed. Others became boisterous and rude. They fought, but were mostly too drunk to do each other damage.

  Over the years, Nellie had become good at deflecting angry questions, ignoring rude remarks and dodging questing hands. She rarely felt shocked about the behaviour of these people when they were all together in a room and drinking a lot.

  She was pleased to see that both sisters Maartje and Els behaved sensibly. Els took over from a servant girl bringing around wine, and she and the Guentherite monk Gerard formed an efficient team.

  But glances into other parts of the hall showed her that not all the servants were so lucky. A commotion broke out at the end of a table on the other side of the hall. A couple of the guests had risen from their seats and were yelling at each other and attempting to trade blows, with little harm done because they were too drunk. A few palace guards came in to take the involved parties to different parts of the hall and found themselves the target of other angry outbursts.

  Meanwhile, the group of young nobles with Casper had reformed near the entrance to the garden room. Some had split off into couples, but few were dancing.

  One could scarcely hear the music over the yelling.

  At the main table on the dais, the mayor of Saardam was in a heated discussion with the merchant next to him. Madame Sabine sat next to the mayor, leaning her chin on her hand and staring into the hall. On the other side of the merchant sat Shepherd Wilfridus. He had just taken a plate laden with a duck leg, plum sauce and roast vegetables. His gaze darted over the guests in the hall and met Nellie’s over the half-eaten duck leg in his hand. Grease glistened on his chin.

  Down in the kitchen, Dora yelled at her kitchen hands. Bring this, bring that, don’t let it burn, take it upstairs. The fire roared, pots boiled on the stove, and people ran around checking this or that pan.

  Nellie only ventured into the part of the kitchen where the finished dishes stood.

  It was mayhem down here, almost worse than upstairs.

  Nellie went back up with a plate of vegetables.

  The disturbance in the corridor that led to the guest quarters was still not resolved. It looked like someone had tossed a guest’s entire luggage into the hallway. Chests stood open and people stood bent over the contents. A couple of guards stood in the hallway, but didn’t appear to be getting involved with the goings on.

  Some banquet guests were coming out of the hall into the foyer. A nobleman with a sweaty face remarked to Nellie, “Phew, it’s so hot in there.”

  It was, and it stank of sweat and stale wine, and the noise grew ever louder. The floor felt sticky with spilled food and wine.

  Els was just replacing an empty glass with a full one when one of the guests waved his arms. He hit her elbow, and she dropped her tray which fell into a plate with roast duck legs. Duck legs and wine flew everywhere. It splashed all over the dishes and the table and the laps of the surrounding nobles. That wouldn’t have been so bad, if one of them hadn’t been an elaborately dressed woman, who copped a big splash of wine in her hair and down the front of her yellow dress.

  She stared at it, mouth open, and started screaming.

  A number of surrounding men laughed. The poor woman’s husband got up and yelled at them to shut up and have respect for his wife and then started yelling at Els.

  Els’ face had turned red, and it wouldn’t be long before that sharp tongue made its appearance.

  “Now wait a moment.” Nellie strode around the table and pushed herself in between the angry man and Els. “Calm down. It was not her fault.”

  “She threw the tray. I saw it!” Too much wine reddened his face.

  “It was an accident and we’re sorry.” Nellie touched the shoulder of the poor woman who was now crying, all wet with red wine down her front. “Come, I can help you clean up.” She glanced at Els. “Quick, go downstairs.”

  Els ran.

  Nellie took the poor woman out of the hall. At the start of the corridor a couple of rooms had been reserved for guests to recuperate or to enjoy quiet time.

  One of the rooms was occupied by several men in a business meeting and from another came a sound of vigorous vomiting, so Nellie chose the next room, where she settled the poor woman, now shivering in her cold wet dress, on the couch next to the fire.

  “I’ll just run to the linen room and get you some dry towels.”

  She sped through the hall to the rooms with the cleaning equipment and clean linen.

  It was dark in the room, and, because the door had been shut, extremely cold. A light outside the window cast a pale yellow glow over the table where the servants folded the laundry. The shelves with towels stood on the right.

  But hey, what was that?

  As she crossed the room, from the other corner came a small sound, like the sharp intake of a breath, and a shifting of fabric, the movement too loud to have been made by a mouse or even a cat—because they would often find cats or even nests of kittens in here.

  Nellie stopped walking. “Anyone here?”

  No one replied, but when she continued and reached for the towels, she could hear a soft sniggering. She turned around, and in the pale light, could just make out the folds of dress fabric spread out over the end of another table. On the dress, an elaborate bun of straw-blond hair. And the pale oval of a young man’s face.

  The fabric rustled and a woman’s accented voice whispered, “Never mind, it’s only a servant.”

  Baroness Hestia.

  The young man grunted and the rustling of fabric resumed.

  Heavens.

  Nellie’s heart thudded.

  She grabbed a handful of fabric off the shelf, not caring how many towels she got, clutched them to her chest and ran out of the room.

  Was that really Casper?

  Good heavens. What did he think he was doing?

  Nellie’s knees still felt weak by the time she returned to the noblewoman. She gave her the towels and helped her clean up as best as she could and then helped the woman back into the hall. She was a local lady and wanted to go home. A few people had started to leave, all of them locals. A woman complained loudly about the behaviour of the young guests.

  The commotion at the end of the guest quarters was still going, and Nellie picked up rumours from passing men that someone was looking for something supposed to have been stolen.

  A line of guards stood at the door to the main hall, all of them with serious, tense expressions on their faces. She couldn’t see Henrik. Nights like this weren’t much fun for her, but wo
uldn’t be a lot of fun for him either. Maybe she should ask him tomorrow what all this searching of rooms was about.

  The noise in the hall was just deafening.

  Shepherd Wilfridus stood at the table, yelling at a man next to him. His face was red, and he had to steady himself on the back of his chair with one hand.

  Madame Sabine still stared into the crowd.

  Should Nellie go up to the dais and tell her that her son was screwing around with one of the guests? As if she knew that Nellie was thinking about her, Madame Sabine stopped staring and met Nellie’s eyes. Then she pushed herself up from her chair. Her husband turned to her and said something. In a flash, Madame Sabine picked up the untouched full wine glass at her plate and tossed the contents into her husband’s face. Then she strode out of the hall, to loud laughter.

  Several people rushed to the Regent’s side with cloths to clean the wine, but he brushed them all aside.

  He rose and yelled after his wife, “You can run, but you can never escape the truth, my darling.”

  Because he had such a loud voice, a lot of the guests fell quiet.

  Madame Sabine paid him no attention, but kept walking.

  Nellie had been collecting empty plates, but she had to stop because everyone else fell quiet, and one could not continue to make noise with plates while nobles were quiet.

  “Thank you for your concern,” Regent Bernard said, into the sudden silence. “My dear wife can be a little feisty, but rest assured, I am used to it. Why do you think I’ve chosen to wear red clothing today?”

  A ripple of laughter spread through the hall.

  Nellie thought of the scars on Madame Sabine’s back.

  Chapter 13

  * * *

  WORD REACHED the kitchen that Madame Sabine wanted tea.

  Dora let fly a string of swear words that would make a sailor blush.

  “Tea, huh? She wants fucking tea? Why the fuck does she think I have time to make fucking tea? And she wants fucking cakes, too?”

  “I’ll bring it,” Maartje said.

  “No, I will,” Nellie said. She would not send either of the sisters to that woman’s room, no matter how much she hated going herself.