With a grunt of frustration Ondine said, “If you were Hamish again, you could help carry some of this.”
“Good idea, lass. Let’s go past Col’s room and I’ll get some clothes.”
Thank goodness, she’d see her lovely Hamish again. And her arms wouldn’t feel like they were about to drop off.
When he emerged from Col’s room as his handsome self, her heart flipped over. He took half the load but the linen formed a big white barrier preventing them from sharing a proper kiss. Instead he leaned over and kissed her cheek. It would do. For now.
They walked towards the palechia’s south wing.
“I’ve been so busy, lass,” Hamish said with a grin on his face. “I found out the farmers hae cheated on cleaning the vegetables. All sorts of manure and muck on them by the time they reach the kitchens. The Duke was right pleased with me help.”
“Nice one,” she said. At least cleaning vegetables was hardly a dangerous pursuit.
“Aye, and I checked tae make sure the only fertiliser they were using was the stuff from a cow’s belly.”
“Fertiliser? How can that be dangerous?”[130]
“Aw, lass, yer so innocent.” He gave her a smile and a wink.
Boggled for a moment, Ondine felt he was patronising her. “What about the mail?”
“Aw yeas, that’s settled right down, but still very important.”
The pride on his face told Ondine how much he loved his job. Which was good, but it also niggled at her in ways she didn’t want to examine too closely.
“And now you’re spying on the laundry?” Did it mean she’d get to see more of him? Perhaps yes. But perhaps it meant she’d only see him as a ferret.
“Goat it in one,” Hamish said.
When they arrived at the Duchess’s chambers, the opulence took Ondine’s breath away.
Incredible, magnificent, ornate, overblown and fabulously expensive were the first thoughts that came to mind.
Breakable was the next.
They took extra care negotiating the sitting room – specifically the narrow path between all the polished tables and desks with their curvy legs. Not being an expert on timber, Ondine didn’t know they were made from Brugeloak, but her nose tingled at the overpowering scent of furniture polish.[131]
The furniture itself wasn’t the problem, just everything on it. Every display table and bureau had tall vases filled with fresh flowers, while the desks were overflowing with photo frames and antique inkpots and silver boxes of all shapes and sizes. There were so many things Ondine didn’t even know what to call them. All she could do was hold on to her tower of linen and make sure she didn’t knock anything over.
A series of gilded photographs of Kerala and Pavla on their wedding day adorned the wall. The Duchess had the same dark, shiny helmet of hair she wore now, and a serene, confident expression on her face. The Duke’s hair was darker and his face younger and more hopeful. In most of the photographs, their posture looked regal and stiff, but in one the photographer had captured them in an unguarded moment. Their bodies were angled together and they gazed adoringly at each other.
“It’s well posh, eh, lass?” Hamish said.
“Mercury’s wings, I’ve never seen anything like it.” Every wall had niches for yet more antiques. Along the length of one wall were more books than a person could read in a lifetime. Along another wall stood wine racks filled with more bottles than a person could drink in a lifetime. Scattered around the room were a dozen fancy chairs that looked far too old and expensive to ever sit on.[132]
Every window overlooking the south lawn had the thickest curtains, held back with rich twists of gold-coloured cord.
“But no tassels?” Hamish winked at Ondine. “I do love tassels, they really complete the look and add that wee touch of grandeur.”
“What?” Ondine stared at Hamish for three pico-seconds before he cracked up and she started laughing too. It was so nice simply to be with him, she almost didn’t mind the drudgery of work.
“Come awn lass. Let’s stop gawking and get the beds made.”
The bedroom raised the opulence bar another notch. Of course the Duchess would sleep in a four-poster bed with heavy curtains. Of course she would have more tables stacked with framed photographs and antiques and more of those elegant vases that would break the moment you touched them. Fresh flowers stood tall in each vase, filling the air with a heady aroma that reminded Ondine of cloves and apples.
Arms aching from carrying the stack of sheets, Ondine dumped them on a footstool and rolled her shoulders. “Right, which one of these enormous wardrobes is a linen press?”
A door Ondine opened revealed fabulous clothes hanging on padded wooden hangers. All were the same colour.
“She must like wearing yellow,” Hamish said, scratching his head.
Ondine opened the next door. “Or blue. Saturn’s rings, look at this.” Each door she opened revealed a new colour. Taking a closer look, she saw each hanger had a tag with a date and event written on it. One had several dates on it, all but the last crossed out.
“Jupiter’s moons, she keeps track of when she last wore something and what she wore it to. That’s very organised.”
“Organised or anally retentive?” Hamish said.
Ondine opened the door of the next wardrobe, still hoping to find where to put all the clean linen. This door revealed shelves and a pull-out desk, complete with an old-style ledger. Did she dare look at it?
Of course she dared. They were here to spy, weren’t they? With shaking fingers she opened the ledger. Each page contained lines and lines of information about staff. The day they started and how much they earned each month.
“Saturn’s rings, look how little I earn.” At least she wouldn’t be lying to her parents about not being able to afford a train ticket home. Amazed, she sat down on the floor to continue reading the ledger.
A strained squeak escaped her mouth.
“What, no planets this time?” Hamish knelt beside her.
“She’s got everyone here. The chefs take home a pittance but look how much Ms Kyryl earns. That’s a lot for a teacher.” Ondine scratched her head. “Great Pluto’s ghost, here’s a column dated a few months ago that shows how much everyone weighs. Why would she do this?”
“She likes tae keep track of everything?”
“Yeah, everything.” She flicked through the pages and found some recent diary entries.
Ondine de Groot. Arrived with Colette Romano and a ferret.
Ondine’s jaw fell open. “That’s it?”
“Ye havenae been here long,” Hamish reminded her.
They both read the lines about Colette Romano.
Her arrival date, her job description as “advisor” and her staggeringly huge wage. Beside those notes, the Duchess had written, Overpaid and overfed.
Ondine laughed, then stopped to listen for footsteps. No, just her imagination and racing heartbeat making her feel guilty. “We really shouldn’t be reading this.”
“Yes, we should. The Duke wants us tae get information, this is information.”
“But surely he knows what’s in here? I mean, she’s his wife, she’s probably written all this down for his benefit?”
“Mebbe she’s keeping secrets from him.” Hamish flicked a few pages back and found an entry for Draguta Matice. Because she’d worked at the palechia for so many years, there were several notes. One of them said:
Approaching second long-service leave. If we don’t get rid of her soon she’ll cost us a fortune.
“Oh, Hamish, how could she say that? It’s so unfair. You can’t just sack someone because they’ve got holidays coming up.”
Hamish turned on the sarcasm. “But the Duchess is always right, Ondi.”
“I have to warn Draguta.” Ondine stood up to leave. In the process, she tipped over the ledger and a piece of paper fell out from the back of it. The handwriting was so small Ondine had to squint. It had columns of dates and details of cash deposi
ted, adding up to a steadily growing balance.
“Ye’ve hit the jackpot, lass, the Duchess has a secret bank account!”
“But . . .” It didn’t make any sense. “If this is a bank account, why is it all hand-written?”
Hamish scratched his forehead. “Mebbe it’s not a real bank? Mebbe she’s stashing it under the mattress for a rainy day?”
“We have to tell the Duke,” Ondine said.
“But we’ll havetae be careful how we do it. Ye’ve seen how loved-up they are. It would break his heart tae find out she’s keeping secrets from him.”
Something went a bit woozy in Ondine’s head. The bank balance was enough to buy half the country. How nice of Hamish to start rubbing her back. She felt instantly soothed as he gently massaged her shoulders.
They heard footsteps in the hall and froze until they faded off into the distance.
“We’d better pack this up before someone walks in,” she said.
In a blur of papers, Ondine tucked the piece of paper into the ledger and shoved it back in its rightful home. Then Hamish resumed rubbing her shoulders.
“Left a bit, lower . . . oh, nice! But Hamish, how do we know if we’ve put it all back the right way?”
“Eh . . . too easy. We’ll put a half glass of wine in there with it.”
“What’s that going to achieve?”
Hamish’s eyes narrowed with a glint of mischief. “When she next looks at it, she’ll think she put it away in a hurry. She won’t remember because the wine glass will remind her she was drinking at the time.”
“Or she’ll know someone else has been here, going through her things.”
“Time will tell.”
While Ondine chewed her bottom lip in apprehension, Hamish left the bedroom, then came straight back with a clean glass and a bottle of sauvignon blanc. He unscrewed the cap. They only needed a little wine for the bottom of the glass. Hamish replaced the cap and put the bottle beside the ledger as well.
Ondine wasn’t so sure it would work. “Would she do that?”
“Mebbe. Mebbe not. Mebbe she’ll open the cupboard door and be so distracted by the bottle she won’t care.”
“There were far too many ‘maybes’ in that.”
They closed the wardrobe and Ondine made for the door. She didn’t want to spend another minute up here.
“Aren’t ye forgetting something? We have tae change the sheets.”
Ondine slapped her forehead. Not changing the sheets was a sure-fire way to make the Duchess angry. Plus, she’d probably blame Draguta for the mistake and sack her.
Working together, they stripped the old sheets, making sure not to knock the antiques over in their haste, then grabbed new sheets and remade the bed, taking extra care to straighten out creases. Hamish lifted up the top mattress and shook his head. “No money under here. Just thought I’d check.”
In the bathroom – more marble everywhere and gold taps, for goodness’ sake – Ondine bundled up the used linen and shoved it down the laundry chute, then did the same with the old towels. In a few minutes, there were clean towels hanging over the rails where they should be.
“Here it is,” Hamish said from the bedroom.
Ondine stuck her head out of the bathroom door and saw Hamish standing next to a bureau. Marble-topped, of course. He’d found the linen press.
“Good one.” She grinned. He’d already stacked the rest of the clean linen in there.
“I think our work here is done,” Hamish said, giving Ondine a smile that made her feel a bit wonderful all over. “Now, hen, whatever we saw in that book has tae stay between us. I mean, we’ll tell Col and she’ll be fair astounded, but nobody else.”
“But I have to warn Draguta, she needs to know Kerala has it in for her.”
“But if we tell her, she might change her behaviour and then the Duchess will think she knows more than she does. She might even think it was Draguta looking at the secret bank account.”
“Which will give her a reason to sack her.”
“Exactly.”
“Even though Draguta would be completely innocent,” Ondine explained.
“Aye.”
“But if we don’t warn her, the Duchess will sack her anyway. And she doesn’t deserve that.”
This whole spying caper gave Ondine a headache. On top of that, keeping secrets from people she regarded as friends had set up a nasty ache in her heart.
Chapter Twelve
Another day. Another pile of laundry. Hamish was off somewhere else, spying on staff. Ondine’s job stayed the same. Going through people’s clothes for lost objects felt wrong to Ondine, but the Duke wanted her to work in here and report anything suspicious. Surely it was an invasion of privacy? On the other hand, it had to be done. Ondine pressed her fingers into a pocket and felt something small and chunky. Urgh! In her hand lay a crusted tissue that had something wrapped inside it. A voice in her head said, Look away, look away! but she couldn’t.
Teeth. Several of them. All small, off-white, some triangular, some a little more like molars. The exact sort of teeth Biscuit the dog no longer had in his mouth.
“I’m going to be sick!” Ondine said, dropping the dirty parcel on the floor with a soft fwob.[133]
Draguta came back at that point. “You have Infanta’s basket. She is worst. Never know what you pull out of pockets. Last week, I found dirty spoon and sticky lid from medicine bottle.”
Ondine nearly placed her hand over her mouth to stop herself queefing. In the nick of time, she remembered her hand had touched the gritty tissue. The laundry trough, soap and hot water beckoned.
“She’s really winning me over, that Infanta,” Ondine said to Draguta. “I met her one night, in the kitchen. She was spoon-feeding her dog soup, and I swear to Pluto and back she kept putting the dog spoon in the pot.”
“Excuse, please.” Draguta pushed Ondine out of the way and promptly vomited in the trough. “You should told me before ate soup. So much leftovers. I have double helpings.”
Mentally, Ondine filled in Draguta’s speech with all the definite and indefinite articles the laundress had left out.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t think.” Guilt ebbed through Ondine as she took in Draguta’s pale grey face. “You must be on a hair trigger. I only just said it and you puked, yet you’ve been eating the soup every day.”
“Urgh.” Draguta wiped her face with a cold wet towel, then draped the cloth over the back of her neck for good measure. “Feeling rancid last couple days. Thought coming down with something. Now I know. Dogs have more bacteria in mouths what are people in Brugel. I surprised more are not sick.”[134]
Draguta’s words proved truly prophetic. For the next few hours, a great many people in the palechia were sick, most of them staff, who regularly ate soup because there wasn’t much variety on offer. Of those who were sick, most were caught completely by surprise and nowhere near a laundry trough or basin at the required moment. This in turn translated into an increased number of dirty towels, sheets, pillow cases, blankets and rugs arriving in the laundry. Another problem with so many people being sick? Fewer able-bodied staff to do the cleaning up.
Old Col appeared at the doorway, her face drawn and pale. “Ondine, I need clean towels and bedsheets.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Col said, noting all eyes in the laundry were on her.
“Are you sick?” Ondine asked.
“Of course not. Whatever gave you that idea?” Col said as beads of sweat appeared on her top lip.
Panic sliced through Ondine and she ushered her great aunt out of the laundry and into the hall so they could grab a word in private. “You look terrible.”
“I’m only pretending it’s for me. I was trying to tell you that, using ESP, but you’re mentally deaf.”
Smackdown! “Gee, thanks.” Ondine rolled her eyes. “So why do you need linen? Is Hamish sick?”
“Ixnay on the icksay, it’s the ukeday.”
Confusion creased Ondine’s face. “What on earth are you talking about?”
Old Col kept her voice to a low murmur: “We’re pretending the Duke has only lost his voice so that nobody panics. He’s here, confined to bed. Tell nobody.”
Oh dear!
Oh dear, oh dear, oh double dear! Checking the hall to make sure nobody was within earshot, Ondine asked, “Is the Duchess here too?”
“No. She left for the city yesterday evening, and will be back tomorrow. She took Vincent with her, he’s going to stand in for the Duke at the Opera.”
“But that’s terrible!”
“I know. It’s a three-hour-show.”[135]
“Not that! I mean Vincent’s acting as if he’s the Duke already!”
“Keep your voice down. I’m sure this is one of those twenty-four-hour things and Pavla will be all right again. Now get me the clean linen.”
Ondine did Col’s bidding, then quickly told her what they’d seen in the Duchess’s ledger. As she got back to the laundry she couldn’t help wondering if they’d completely failed in their mission already. Vincent wanted to take over; standing in for his ill father was the first step.
Back at work in the laundry, Draguta scolded her. “If told more people about dog soup, we not have such mess.”
Ondine felt chastened, even though it wasn’t exactly her fault. “But it was the first night I was here. And people are suddenly sick now? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Infanta making dog soup each night I bet.”
That could be it. One night of bad food might not make too many people sick, but night after night, week after week? Then again, Hamish had said the farmers hadn’t been cleaning the vegetables properly, so perhaps that was part of it? When she swallowed, she felt something niggling in her throat, like the start of a cold. Definitely the time of year for it at any rate.[136]
Draguta hauled wet washing into a basket. “No chatty-chat with me, not in mood.”
As Ondine hosed the sick off yet another rug, she hoped the mess and illness would all be over soon. Lost in thought, she very nearly hosed the blur of fur as it ran towards her. “Shambles, what are you doing here?” she cried.
The Ondine Collection Page 23
