by Rhys Bowen
The pretty young girl held out her hand. “Hiya, doll,” she said in a sweet, soft voice.
I was confused. Wasn’t Huyerdahl a Norwegian name? What had it to do with German?
“Huyerdahl?” I repeated.
A big smile crossed her face. “Howya doin’, doll?”
“Doll?”
The smile faded. “Is that not right? I speak real good modern English. I’m the bee’s knees, no?”
“Highness, where did you learn this English?” I asked, still perplexed. “They taught it in the convent?”
She giggled wickedly. “The convent? No. In our village” (she said “willage”) “is good cinema and they show many American films. We climb out of convent window at night and go see movies. I see all gangster films. George Raft, Paul Muni—you seen Scarface?”
“No, I’m afraid I haven’t seen Scarface.”
“Real good movie—lots of shooting. Bang bang, you’re dead. I love gangsters. Is there much shooting in London?”
“I’m glad to say there is very little shooting in London,” I said, trying not to smile because she looked so earnest.
“Gee. That’s too bad,” she said. “Only shooting in Chicago then?”
“I fear so. London is quite safe.”
She sighed in disappointment.
“So where do you want me to shift this lot then?” the porter asked impatiently.
“Your chauffeur waits for us outside?” Baroness Rottenmeister asked.
“I have no chauffeur in London,” I said. “We’ll take a taxicab.”
“A taxicab? Gott im Himmel.”
“Taxicab. I like this.” Hannelore looked excited. “My jewelcase, Irmgardt.”
“I have not been presented to your friend,” I said, nodding to the third woman of the party.
“Not friend. Zis is Her Highness’s personal maid,” Baroness Rottenmeister said coldly.
I beamed at her. She’d brought her own maid. Of course she’d brought her own maid. What normal person wouldn’t? I was saved.
“Come. Vee go find taxicab,” the baroness said imperiously and swept ahead of us.
Princess Hannelore sidled up to me. “Vee gonna ditch de old broad. Vee gonna have great time, you and me, babe, yeah?”
“Oh yes. Definitely.” I smiled back.
When the taxi pulled up outside Rannoch House even Baroness Rottenmeister looked impressed. “Ja,” she said, nodding her thick neck. “Fine house. Is gut.”
Hannelore looked around excitedly. “Look,” she whispered. A man was crossing Belgrave Square carrying a violin case. “He’s a gangster.”
“No, he’s a violin player. He stands on the corner and earns pennies by playing the violin. I told you, there are no gangsters in London.”
Hannelore took in the leafy square, a crisply starched nanny pushing a pram while a small girl beside her pushed an identical doll’s pram. “I like London,” she said, “even if no gangsters.”
“Even if there were gangsters, I don’t think you’d find them in Belgrave Square,” I pointed out. “This is one of the most respectable addresses in London. Only a stone’s throw from Buckingham Palace.”
“Vee go meet king and queen soon?” Hannelore asked. “I’m real tickled to meet those old guys.”
I could see some rapid English lessons would be needed before we met those “old guys.”
I rang the doorbell, to alert my extensive staff that we had arrived. It was opened by my grandfather, wearing tails. I nearly fell over backward.
“Good afternoon, your ladyship.” He bowed earnestly.
“Good afternoon, Spinks,” I replied, trying not to grin. “This is Princess Hannelore with her companion, Baroness Rottenmeister, who will be staying here with us too, and her maid.”
“Yer Highness. Baroness.” Granddad bowed to them.
“Our trusty butler, Spinks,” I said and as we entered I beheld a rotund figure in a smart blue uniform with starched white apron.
“And our housekeeper, Mrs. Huggins, my lady,” Granddad said.
Mrs. Huggins dropped a curtsy. “Pleased to meet yer, I’m sure,” she said.
“There are bags to be brought in from the taxi,” I said, almost squirming with embarrassment. “Would you please take them straight up to the princess’s bedroom. Oh, and we’ll have to make up a bedroom for the baroness.”
“Bob’s yer uncle, me lady,” Granddad said.
“Irmgardt, Mrs. Huggins will help make up a bedroom for you after you have helped with the bags,” I said.
The maid stared at me blankly.
“She speaks no English,” the baroness said. “She is a particularly stupid girl.”
“Then please explain to her in German.”
German instructions were rattled off. Irmgardt nodded dourly and went to retrieve the bags from the taxi.
“I go and see which bedroom I like,” the baroness said. “I have many requirements. Must be quiet. Must not be too cold or too hot. Must be near bathroom.” And before I could stop her, she stalked up the stairs.
Princess Hannelore looked at me. “She’s a pain in the ass, right?”
Then she must have noticed that I looked shocked. “Highness, that’s probably not an expression you should use,” I said gently.
“Is bad word?” she asked innocently. “What is wrong about calling her a donkey?”
“It’s not that sort of ass,” I explained.
“Okey dokey,” she said. “And we must be good pals. I am not Your Highness. My friends call me Hanni.”
“Honey?” I asked because this was how she pronounced it.
“That’s right.”
“And I’m Georgie,” I said. “Welcome to London.”
“I know I’m gonna have a swell time,” she said.
At that moment Baroness Rottenmeister came sweeping down the stairs again. “I choose room I vant,” she said. “Quiet. Away from street. Your maid will make my bed for me.”
“My maid?” I glanced out into the street where Mrs. Huggins and Granddad were wrestling with a mountain of cases. “I’m afraid she is not...”
“But she has already said she will do this for me right away. A sweet girl.”
I looked up the stairs and almost fell over backward. Belinda was standing there, in a jaunty maid’s uniform that looked as if it came straight out of a French farce. “All taken care of, your ladyship,” she said in her best Cockney voice.
Chapter 8
By dinnertime my guests were installed in their rooms. They had taken hot baths (my grandfather having stoked the boiler up to full strength). The table was laid in the dining room with white linens and polished silver. Belinda had slipped away to go to her party, promising she’d try to come back the next day, if her hangover wasn’t too terrible. Good smells were coming from the kitchen. It seemed as if this might work out after all.
“I hope your cook understands that I have a delicate stomach,” Baroness Rottenmeister said as she came down to dinner. “I eat like a sparrow for the sake of my health.”
Since she was of impressive girth, I privately questioned this remark. Hanni looked delightful in a pink evening gown trimmed with roses. I even began to feel hopeful that she would indeed catch the Prince of Wales’s eye and all would be well with the future of the British monarchy. Maybe I’d be given a new title as a thank-you gift. Marchioness of Belgravia? And maybe it would come with property—my own estate, Lady of the Isle of somewhere or other. I’m sure there are still islands around Scotland waiting to be given away to the right person. With these happy thoughts I led my guests through to dinner.
“It’s very cold in here,” the baroness said. “Why is there no fire?”
“It’s summertime. We never light fires after the first of May,” I replied.
“I shall catch a chill,” the baroness said. “I have a most delicate chest.”
Her chest could in no way be described as delicate and she was wearing a fur wrap over her black evening gown. She also
didn’t appear to be concerned that her charge, Princess Hanni, was décolleté and wearing the lightest silk, from which she appeared to be suffering no ill effects.
Food arrived via the dumbwaiter. My grandfather served the plates.
“What is this?” The baroness poked experimentally with her fork.
“Steak and kidney pud,” said Granddad. “Good old solid British grub.”
“Steakandkidkneepood? Grub?” the baroness demanded. “Grub is word for insect, ja?”
“Cockney word for food, Yer Highness,” my grandfather said.
“I do not think I shall like this,” the baroness said, but she tried a small taste. “Not bad,” she said, and promptly wolfed down everything on her plate.
When the pudding course arrived she looked puzzled. “There is no soup? No fish? No fowl? No salad? How am I supposed to keep my strength with so little to eat?”
“I live alone and have become used to eating simply,” I said. “When we are invited to the palace to dine with the king and queen, I’m sure they will serve all of those courses.”
“But until then I must suffer, I suppose,” she said with dramatic resignation.
“I thought it tasted real swell,” Hanni said. “Better than food at the convent. Nuns always make penance.”
The dessert was placed in front of us. “And what is this now?” the baroness asked.
“Spotted dick and custard,” Granddad said. “One of Mrs. Huggins’s specialties.”
“Spotted dick?” The baroness prodded it suspiciously. “You mean duck?”
“No, dick.” Granddad caught my eye and winked.
“Duck I know. Dick I do not know,” the baroness said.
I had to stare down at my plate for fear of laughing. “It’s just a name,” I said. “An old traditional name for a suet pudding.”
“Suet? So bad for my digestion.” But she ate it, clearing her plate before anyone else and not refusing seconds. “I suppose I have to eat something,” she said with resignation. “Do all English noble families eat so simply?”
“There is a depression,” I said. “We try to live simply when the ordinary people are having such a hard time.”
“I see no point in being of noble birth if one can’t eat well,” she said. “We have so few privileges left.”
“I like spotted dick,” Hanni exclaimed. “And tomorrow you show me London and we go to parties and dance and have good time.”
I thought that any good time might be severely restricted by Baroness Rottenmeister but wisely kept silent. Then, when the baroness excused herself for a few moments, Hanni hissed at me, “We have to get rid of pain in ass. She will not let me have good time. We should take her out.”
“Take her out where?”
Hanni grinned. “You know. Take her out. Waste her. Bang bang. Curtains.”
“Hanni, I don’t think we’re going to be able to waste the baroness, but I agree she’s not going to make things pleasant for us.”
“Then we must plan way to make her go home.”
“How?”
“Make it not nice for her here. She likes to eat. Serve her very little food. And she likes to be warm. Open all windows. Make it cold. And she likes hot baths. Turn off hot water.”
I looked at her in amazement. “For someone straight from the convent, you are quite devious,” I said.
“What means devious?”
“Sneaky.”
“Oh, like pulling a fast one,” she said, beaming. “Yeah. Sure thing, baby.”
“Ach, dass ist gut. You young ladies make friends. I like this,” said the baroness as she reentered the room.
After coffee I escorted my guests up to bed. The baroness needed more blankets and complained that her room was damp and she was sure she saw a spider in the corner.
“I’m sorry. This house is very damp, even in summer,” I said. “And I’m afraid there are often spiders. Although not many poisonous ones.”
“Poisonous spiders? In London?”
“Only sometimes,” I said.
And where was my maid to help her? she demanded. I explained that the maid had the night off.
“Night off? You allow servants out on Saturday night? Unheard of. In Germany our servants are there when we need them.”
I finally got her settled in and popped in to see how Hanni was faring. She was sitting at her dressing table while her maid, Irmgardt, brushed out her long golden hair. Truly she looked like a princess from a fairy tale.
“Hanni, I’m going to have to watch you carefully,” I said. “You may break a lot of hearts in London.”
“What am I to break?” she asked with that lovely innocent smile.
“Hearts. Lots of Englishmen will fall in love with you.”
“I hope so,” she said. “I’m gonna be hot sexy dame. You can give me tips.”
“I don’t know about that.” I laughed nervously. “I’m supposed to be keeping my eye on you. And I certainly don’t know much about being hot and sexy.”
“But you are not still wirgin?” she asked.
“Werging?”
“You are voman of vorld. Not wirgin.”
“Oh,” I said. “I see. Well, yes, I am still a virgin, I’m afraid.”
“This is not good,” she said, wagging a finger at me. “Young girl like me. Eighteen years old. Men like that I am virgin. But old like you, is not good. Men think there is something wrong with you.”
“I’m not that old,” I said. “I won’t be twenty-two until August.”
But she didn’t look convinced. “We must do something for you. Pretty damned quick.”
“You sound like my friend Belinda.”
“Belinda? I like this Belinda. I will meet her soon?”
I couldn’t say “You already have, hanging up the baroness’s clothes.” “I’m sure you will,” I said instead. “She and I are great friends. But she really is a woman of the world. If you want to know anything, ask her.”
“Maybe she will find me hot sexy guy?”
“Your Highness, I rather think that you’ll be expected to save yourself for marriage,” I said. “You’ll be expected to make a good match with a prince.”
“But princes are so dull, don’t you think?” she asked.
This was not a good sign. She was supposed to fall hopelessly in love with the Prince of Wales.
“We have some awfully entertaining princes in England,” I said. “You’ll meet them soon.”
In the middle of the night I woke up and lay there, wondering what had awoken me. Then I heard it again, the creak of a floorboard. One of my guests using the bathroom, I surmised, but I got up in case they couldn’t find the light switch. I had just opened my door a few inches when I gasped: a dark figure was coming up the stairs from the ground floor. Before my heart started beating again, I recognized it was Irmgardt, Hanni’s maid. She didn’t notice me, but tiptoed right past and kept on going, up the next flight of stairs to the servants’ quarters.
What had she been doing downstairs? I wondered. Obviously not fetching something for her mistress, or she would have brought it to her bedroom. I didn’t notice anything in her hands but Fig’s words about locking up the family silver did spring to mind. Surely a royal maid would have been well vetted before she was allowed to accompany a princess. Maybe she had just been looking for something as simple as a glass of water. I closed my door and went back to sleep.
Next morning I passed along Hanni’s instructions to my grandfather and Mrs. Huggins. Cut back on the food and turn down the hot water. They were reluctant to do this. “What, and have them think I don’t know how to cook proper?” Mrs. Huggins demanded. “I’m proud of my cooking, I am.”
“And I don’t want that old dragon coming after me because there’s no hot water,” Granddad said. “She’s already waved her stick at me a couple of times.”
“Tell her it’s an old and eccentric boiler system in the house and it’s unpredictable whether we have hot water or not. Tell her i
n England we are used to cold baths. My brother, the duke, takes them all the time.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing, ducks.” Granddad shook his head. “You wouldn’t want her complaining to the queen that you’re not treating them proper.”
“Oh, I don’t think she’d do that,” I said, but I wasn’t sure. I rather had a feeling that this was a lost cause. Baroness Rottenmeister struck me as one of those noble creatures who will not flinch from her duty, however horrible it is. Rather like my ancestors, of course. Oh, God. I hope she doesn’t have Rannoch blood!
Sunday, June 12
Diary,
Pouring with rain today. Have no idea how to entertain visiting princess plus escort. Hanni seems nice enough and should be easy. Baroness will be another matter.
On Sunday morning the baroness, Irmgardt and Hanni had to go to mass. I sent them off in a taxicab. The baroness was horrified that I wouldn’t be joining them. “In England we’re all C of E,” I said. “Church of England,” I added when she clearly didn’t understand. “The head of the church is the king, my cousin. We don’t have to go every Sunday if we don’t want to.”
“You are relation of head of church? A nation of heathens,” she said and crossed herself.
When they returned, Mrs. Huggins was about to cook bacon, eggs and kidneys for breakfast but I insisted on porridge.
“This is breakfast?” the baroness asked.
“Scottish breakfast. It’s what we eat at home at Castle Rannoch.”
She prodded it with her spoon. “And what goes with it?”
“Nothing. Just porridge. In Scotland we eat it with a little salt.”
She sighed and pulled her shawl more closely around her. Luckily the weather was cooperating for once. The brief summery spell had been replaced by usual English summer weather. It was raining cats and dogs and was distinctly chilly. Even I looked longingly at the fireplace and almost relented about lighting fires. But I knew what was at stake and bravely sought out a woolly cardigan. There was no sign of Belinda all morning. I suspected that the party had not ended until the wee hours and rising early for her meant around eleven.
