Alice-Miranda at the Palace 11

by Jacqueline Harvey

  Millie nodded. ‘Yes, it’s a lovely party. We were just going to look at the paintings.’

  ‘Boring,’ the twins said in unison.

  ‘There are loads more interesting things to see around here,’ Louis said.

  ‘Like what?’ Jacinta challenged, folding her arms.

  Edgar looked at his brother with a sly grin. ‘Well, there are the dungeons and the torture chambers.’

  ‘There’s a rack where our relatives used to take their enemies and stretch them until their arms and legs popped off,’ Louis added.

  ‘What do you mean our relatives used to take their enemies there?’ Edgar said. ‘Grandmama still does.’

  ‘No, she doesn’t,’ Alice-Miranda said, shaking her head. ‘Daddy said Evesbury was built as a beautiful home, not as a castle or a fort, so I’m sure there aren’t any torture chambers or dungeons here.’

  The twins looked at one another. ‘So cute, isn’t she?’ Louis said.

  ‘Yes, always thinking the best of everyone,’ Edgar replied. ‘She has no idea what Grandmama is really like. Just wait until bedtime when the palace is quiet and you can hear the wailing of all those lost souls on the shadows of the wind.’

  ‘You should be a poet, Edgar,’ Alice-Miranda said. ‘You’ve got a wonderful imagination and a rather good way with words.’

  ‘A poet! What stupid romantic nonsense,’ Edgar scoffed. ‘I’m going to be an inventor.’

  Louis stared fiercely at his brother.

  ‘What would you invent?’ Millie asked.

  ‘I can tell you,’ Caprice chimed in.

  The twins looked as if they wanted to throw her off the balcony. But just as the girl was about to spill the beans on the boys’ secret hideaway, a loud gong reverberated throughout the hall.

  The crowd hushed and a man dressed in red-and-white livery appeared in the middle of the upstairs gallery. Alice-Miranda recognised him as the young footman she’d spoken to when they’d arrived that morning. She smiled and waved at him.

  He caught her eye and gave her a wink, then took a deep breath as he unfurled a short scroll. ‘Your Majesty, My Lords, ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, dinner is served.’

  ‘I jolly well hope not or it will be cold by the time we get there,’ Freddy grumbled.

  Queen Georgiana rolled her eyes. ‘Must you always make such banal comments? You know exactly what he means,’ she whispered. ‘You’d better up your game, or you’ll be the laughing stock of the country – when and if I hand over the reins.’

  Freddy flushed. He’d been hoping his mother would announce her retirement at her jubilee celebrations, but that hardly seemed likely now. Elsa, meanwhile, stood beside her husband with her mouth gaping open.

  Her Majesty grinned sweetly at her daughter-in-law. ‘Close your mouth, dear. Gawping like a stunned carp is hardly becoming of the woman who would like to one day call herself Queen.’

  She quickly turned her attention to the handsome man beside her.

  ‘Robert, darling, would you mind escorting an old woman to dinner?’ She smiled at Lord Adams, whose wife, Lady Sarah, was chatting animatedly with Charlotte Highton-Smith.

  ‘It would be my pleasure, Your Majesty,’ the man replied with a bow.

  From the other side of the room, Thornton Thripp had been watching the exchange. Whatever had just happened, the look on Freddy and Elsa’s faces was priceless. Thornton shook his head. How on earth a woman with as much grace and dignity as Her Majesty possessed had managed to produce such a gormless worm of a son was anyone’s guess.

  Millie gasped as the children were swept along on a tide of fabulously dressed guests into the state dining room.

  ‘I wonder where we’re sitting,’ Jacinta said, surveying the long table dotted with beautifully written place cards.

  A footman intercepted the group and guided them to their seats.

  ‘You’re here, Alice-Miranda,’ Sep said, pointing to a spot at the table. He looked at the names to the right and left of her place setting. ‘Oh, that’s strange. I thought Millie would be next to you but it says Caprice is.’

  Caprice smirked at Millie. ‘You must be on the other side.’

  Alice-Miranda had Caprice and Lucas on either side of her, with Sep next to Lucas, while Jacinta, Sloane and Millie were sitting opposite. Edgar and Louis sat across from each other, with one of them next to Caprice and the other beside Millie.

  Sloane went to pull out her chair and sit down when a footman swooped in behind her and pushed it back in towards the table, almost jamming her arm in the process.

  ‘Excuse me!’ Sloane glared at the man.

  ‘Wouldn’t you prefer to wait for Her Majesty like everyone else?’ The man’s syrupy voice was sickly sweet.

  Sloane looked around and realised that everyone was standing behind their chair, waiting, as Queen Georgiana proceeded to the head of the table on Lord Adams’s arm. ‘Oops,’ she said sheepishly.

  ‘Peasant,’ Louis said under his breath.

  Millie turned and looked at the lad. ‘If you had any manners you’d teach us the right things to do instead of being so hoity-toity.’

  ‘Why would I want to teach you anything?’ Louis hissed. ‘You don’t belong here.’

  Millie glared at the boy and wrinkled her lip.

  ‘Oooh, you’re so scary,’ Louis scoffed.

  Millie huffed and turned her back to the insufferable lad.

  Alice-Miranda’s parents were further along the table, sitting opposite Charlotte and Lawrence, and Ambrosia Headlington-Bear was quite a way down, beside a gentleman with just about the most frightful comb-over the children had ever seen.

  Queen Georgiana took her place at the head of the table and waited until Lord Adams found his seat halfway down the room, next to his wife. Once everyone was in place, Her Majesty gave a nod and, suddenly, what seemed like an army of attendants stepped forward to help everyone into their seats.

  Millie noticed Bunyan staring at them from his spot behind Marjorie Plunkett. She nudged Jacinta. ‘Why is he looking at us?’ she asked.

  Jacinta looked over at the man, who quickly turned away.

  Alice-Miranda glanced up from the other side of the table, where she had been counting the cutlery and wondering just how many courses there were going to be at dinner. ‘What are you looking so worried about, Millie?’ she asked quietly.

  Millie nodded her head towards Bunyan, who was staring in their direction again. ‘He gives me the creeps.’

  ‘He works here – it’s his job to be attentive,’ Alice-Miranda reasoned. Though, the child had a strange feeling about Mr Bunyan too. She couldn’t say exactly what, but there was something odd about him and the way he kept popping up all over the place. His bald head and youthful face didn’t seem to tally either. Alice-Miranda wondered if perhaps he was a fan of extreme wrinkle treatments, given the smoothness of his complexion.

  A flourish of trumpets silenced the chatting guests. Thornton Thripp, who was sitting at the end of the table to Queen Georgiana’s right, stood up. ‘Good evening, Your Majesty and honoured guests. Before we begin our first course I would like to propose a toast.’ He raised his glass. ‘Long live the Queen.’

  The rest of the guests were on their feet in a flash, raising their glasses towards Aunty Gee. ‘Long live the Queen!’ they chorused.

  Alice-Miranda noticed that Freddy, who was sitting directly to the Queen’s left, had barely moved his lips.

  Millie had seen it too. ‘Doesn’t look like Freddy’s that keen for his mother to live quite so long,’ she whispered, a little louder than she’d anticipated as the diners sat back down.

  ‘That’s our father you’re talking about,’ Louis snapped.

  Millie turned and glared at the boy. ‘Well, he could be a bit more enthusiastic about celebrating his mother’s achievement.’

  ‘Why? Grandmama should stop hogging the throne and let Daddy have a turn. If she doesn’t do it soon, he won’t have that long until it will
be one of us,’ Louis said.

  Braxton Balfour noticed Frank Bunyan lingering behind the children. ‘For heaven’s sake, make yourself useful,’ Braxton hissed.

  Startled, Bunyan looked around and snatched up a silver pitcher from the sideboard behind him.

  ‘Don’t just stand there with it!’ Braxton wondered where on earth the man had done his training. He didn’t seem to have a clue. Braxton watched for a moment as the new butler leaned in to refill the children’s glasses.

  ‘What do you mean “one of you”?’ Millie asked. ‘Don’t you have five older sisters?’

  ‘The boys are first in line,’ Louis said. ‘Everyone knows that.’

  ‘Wow, I thought we’d come out of the Dark Ages,’ Millie said. ‘Aunty Gee should –’

  ‘What are you doing, you numbskull?’ Louis squawked. Bunyan had just overfilled the lad’s glass and poured water all over the table.

  ‘I am terribly sorry, Sir.’ Bunyan grabbed a napkin and began to mop up the mess.

  Braxton Balfour had heard the commotion from further down the table and charged back to see what the matter was. He glared at the man.

  ‘Here, Master Louis, let me clear that up,’ Braxton said. ‘Go,’ he barked at Bunyan. Braxton cleared the spill as quickly as he could, aware that he was long overdue to be back downstairs.

  Meanwhile, in the kitchens, Her Majesty’s head chef wiped his brow and cursed Venetia Baldini’s selection of cheese soufflés for entree. He knew they would have to be timed to perfection and he’d been counting on Venetia to oversee that particularly tricky part of the evening meal. It was just an added complication as they were serving wild mushroom soup first for the appetiser.

  Vincent Langley looked at his watch, his right eyelid twitching madly. ‘Are we ready?’ he yelled.

  ‘Almost, sir,’ the head chef shouted from the other side of the kitchen.

  ‘Hurry up, man. Thripp’s already made a toast.’ Langley pressed the earpiece further into his ear. A useful addition to the palace gadgetry, the earpiece and microphone were to enable him to keep track of what was happening upstairs and down during large dinners like the one they were hosting tonight. Trouble was, he still hadn’t decided who to trust as his man on the ground in the dining room.

  At the last function they had held, Braxton Balfour had done a near-perfect job and it had been noted by Her Majesty. Vincent couldn’t risk having him feted in that way again. Tonight Vincent had given the duty to the new chap, Bunyan, who he hoped would live up to the task.

  Braxton Balfour ran into the room and quickly slipped into line, hoping that Langley hadn’t noticed his absence. In an operation requiring military precision, a long line of waiters (which included footmen, butlers and just about anyone else who worked in the house) stood at attention as the chefs plated up wild mushroom soup. Her Majesty had long ago made the decision that, while her staff could have principal roles, they had to possess skills across a range of activities. The royal budget needed trimming and she wasn’t about to put her countrymen offside with unnecessary extravagances.

  The head chef gave the nod of approval. ‘That’s it, Langley!’

  ‘Right, off you go,’ Vincent Langley barked. The waiters dived in and each filled their tray with bowls. ‘And I shouldn’t have to tell you how important it is that you to stay in order. I don’t want Mrs Marmalade complaining about getting Lady Luttrell’s gluten-free, taste-free, low-fat alternative again, do I?’

  There was a mumbling of ‘no, sir’ along the line as the young men marched towards the dining room. After a fiasco at the last dinner, none of the staff wanted to be on the sharp end of Mrs Marmalade’s tongue.

  The production line of waiters made their way through the vast network of kitchens, towards a door positioned right below the end of the state dining room. Guests often marvelled at the swiftness with which meals were served. Most never realised it was due to the extraordinary planning of previous monarchs. Some said that the kitchens had been extended back in Queen Georgiana’s great-great-great grandfather’s time because he couldn’t abide cold peas.

  Just as the group was about to enter the dining room, the line came to an abrupt halt.

  ‘What’s going on up there?’ Vincent Langley hissed into his earpiece. He was poised to serve Her Majesty’s own soup and Thornton Thripp’s as well.

  ‘Fly, sir,’ a voice called back.

  ‘What fly? Where?’ Vincent Langley sputtered.

  ‘Kamikaze pilot, sir,’ the young man replied.

  ‘Oh, good heavens.’ Vincent Langley stepped out of the line and charged as quickly as he dared to the young waiter, trying not to slop any of the soup as he went.

  The fellow lowered the dish so that his boss could see. ‘I think he’s doing backstroke, sir.’

  ‘How on earth do we have a fly down here? In all the years I’ve been at Evesbury I don’t ever remember having flies in the palace kitchens,’ Langley fumed. ‘Well, you can’t serve that, can you?’

  The young waiter suppressed a cough. ‘It’s for Prince Freddy, sir.’

  Braxton Balfour, who was standing a little further down the line, had to stop himself from shaking with laughter and spilling soup all over the place.

  ‘I don’t care who it’s for! You will not be serving fly-infested soup on my watch!’ Langley roared so loudly Balfour felt his hair ruffle. ‘Now, get back there and replace those bowls!’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The young waiter scurried away like a mouse on the balls of his feet.

  Unfortunately, Frank Bunyan, who was in charge of the invisible door at the end of the dining room, hadn’t realised there was a problem down below. He opened the panel, having heard something of a commotion on the other side. He could see that Queen Georgiana had already devoured her first bread roll and was beginning to look quite impatient. ‘Hurry up, Her Majesty is getting a bit tetchy,’ he whispered to the first lad in the line.

  The young man hesitated, then charged through the door towards his assigned area.

  Vincent Langley realised all too late that the group was on the move. ‘No, no, no, you’ll be out of order!’ he squealed.

  He frantically did the calculations in his head, trying to work out how he could rescue the impending soup disaster. Little did he know that things were about to go from bad to much, much worse.

  ‘Oh, look, our first course is here,’ Millie announced, grateful for the distraction.

  Suddenly, all one hundred guests had steaming-hot bowls of soup in front of them. Jacinta marvelled at the efficiency of Her Majesty’s wait staff and wondered how on earth the chefs managed to serve up that many plates all at the same time.

  ‘Hello Mr Balfour.’ Alice-Miranda turned and smiled at the butler after he set a bowl of soup down in front of her and another in front of Caprice.

  ‘Hello Miss Highton-Smith-Kennington-Jones,’ the man whispered, keeping an eye on Langley. He knew the man would disapprove of his fraternising with the guests.

  ‘What’s this slop?’ Edgar demanded.

  ‘It looks like mushroom soup to me,’ Millie said, staring at the creamy brown liquid in front of her.

  Edgar dropped his napkin on the floor. Just as he leaned down, Braxton Balfour swooped in to pick it up. ‘Leave it!’ the boy barked. ‘I can do it.’

  Braxton Balfour looked as if he’d almost had his fingers taken off by a terrier. ‘Sorry, Sir,’ the man mumbled, stepping back.

  Edgar tugged on Caprice’s arm. She ducked her head down, pretending to search for Edgar’s napkin. ‘Did you do it?’ the lad asked.

  Caprice smirked. ‘Of course I did.’

  ‘How did you know which one was hers?’ the boy asked.

  ‘I checked the plan that was on the wall in the kitchen. That Langley is really obsessive-compulsive,’ Caprice whispered. She sat up and passed Edgar his napkin.

  ‘This soup smells delicious,’ Alice-Miranda said, smiling at Caprice.

  ‘It’s just mushrooms,’ Caprice repl
ied. She promptly turned to continue talking to Edgar.

  All around the table, diners were delicately dipping their spoons into their soup bowls in the proper fashion, pushing the spoon from the front to the back. Except, not everyone was finding it as easy as they should have.

  ‘Gosh, this soup is thick,’ Millie said as she tried to push her spoon through the bowl.

  Jacinta looked over at Millie. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Millie frowned. ‘My spoon’s stuck.’

  ‘Well, that’s ridiculous.’ Jacinta leaned over to take a closer look.

  It seemed that Millie wasn’t the only one having trouble.

  ‘Freddy, what on earth are you doing?’ Elsa whispered to her husband.

  ‘There’s something wrong with my soup,’ Freddy whispered back while trying to force his spoon through the bowl.

  ‘Yum, this is delicious.’ Alice-Miranda took a spoonful of soup and smiled at Caprice. ‘Your mother is a whiz.’

  Edgar’s jaw dropped and he elbowed Caprice sharply in the ribs.

  ‘Ow!’ the girl protested.

  ‘I thought you had this all worked out,’ the boy said through gritted teeth.

  ‘I did!’ Caprice snapped. ‘Those idiots must have got the bowls out of order.’

  Several guests were having similar troubles.

  ‘I say, this soup is awfully stodgy,’ Lord Luttrell commented as he attempted to dig his way through it.

  ‘What’s wrong with it?’ Sloane asked as Millie wrestled with her spoon.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Millie battled on, determined to get a taste. She gave it one last push until the spoon released without warning. A huge brown splodge flew across the table and smacked Caprice right on the nose.

  ‘Ahhh!’ the girl shrieked like a banshee. Caprice picked up her own spoon, poised to launch a counterattack.

  Alice-Miranda flung her arm out to stop her. ‘No!’

  A little further down the table Lord Luttrell had also finally managed to free his spoon, flinging a glob of soup at Lord Adams.

  ‘Steady on, Luttrell!’ Lord Adams exclaimed, wiping at his forehead with his napkin.