Above the Bay of Angels: A Novel

by Rhys Bowen

  “What is that?” I asked him.

  “It’s like a doughnut but soaked in rum. Awfully good. Are you sure you don’t want to try one?”

  “Not rum in the middle of the afternoon, thank you,” I said.

  “Oh no, of course not. You couldn’t return with your breath smelling of alcohol, could you?”

  “Probably not the best idea.”

  We were laughing as we carried our pastries to a little table, and the shop owner brought over cups of milky coffee. The pastry was beyond delicious. I’d like to have asked for the recipe, but that would have seemed rude. As I glanced at that glass counter with its myriad pastries, I realized how much I had to learn. I could make a passable dessert, but I still lacked skills in decoration and presentation. I resolved, while I was in France, to learn some of the finer points of pastries. And I paused to consider how passionately I felt about this. Did I really want to become a real chef? Even if the prospect of marriage was offered to me? I glanced across at Giles, who was tucking into his baba au rhum. Viscountess Faversham—I tried out the idea in my head.

  “You must come down to the casino sometime,” Giles said as we left the café and headed back to the Excelsior Regina.

  “Which is the casino?”

  “You must have noticed it. That building on the pier, with the big glass dome. It’s awfully jolly and ridiculously formal, too. They won’t let you in unless you are properly dressed. I understand they turned away Lord Salisbury because he wasn’t dressed well enough.” He chuckled. “Can you imagine, telling the prime minister to leave?”

  “I don’t suppose they knew he was the prime minister,” I said. “He doesn’t look very stately, does he?”

  “He doesn’t. Have you seen him walking around Beaulieu with that shapeless old hat on his head? One could mistake him for a tramp! I wonder the queen doesn’t tell him to shape up. She’s usually a stickler for people looking the part. I say, is it true about that Indian chap she has with her?”

  “Is what true?”

  “That he’s . . . more than a servant, would you say?”

  “You’re implying their relationship isn’t quite proper?” I asked. “She is seventy-seven, you know. I’m told she likes to have handsome young men around her.”

  “But there has been talk. I overheard at Lady Mary’s party. They were saying he thinks of himself as one of the gentlemen of the court, when in fact he was sent over as a table servant.”

  “You’re quite right in that,” I said. “There is a lot of discontent. The gentlemen of the household all threatened to resign if he came here with the queen. But they backed down, I’m afraid, and he’s here, trying to lord it over everybody.”

  “And the queen allows this?”

  “She won’t hear anything against him. He has become far too familiar, with her all the time. And he’s most disagreeable to everyone else—dictating that special food should be cooked for him and riding in his own carriage when the real gentlemen are all crammed in together.”

  “I wonder where it will lead?” Giles said. “Somebody will have to do something about him, surely?”

  “I think they are trying to,” I said. One way or another, I thought, but didn’t say.

  “I say, I’ve had a most spiffing afternoon with you,” Giles said as we came around the Corniche and descended into Nice. “I hope we can do it again very soon, or perhaps you can escape for an evening and we could go to dinner somewhere? There’s a perfect little restaurant out on a rock, surrounded by sea. I’ve been dying to try it.”

  Alarm bells were going off in my head. This was madness. If it was discovered that Giles had been courting a servant, I’d probably be dismissed, and Giles would be in trouble with his father. I knew little of the ways of men. I was just the means of spending a pleasant afternoon. He might enjoy outings with any number of young ladies and have a potential wife lined up at home in England. I could not risk my future for something that would probably lead nowhere. I paused in mid-thought. Did I want it to lead somewhere? I glanced across at him. He had a nice enough face, and he was sweet and amusing. And I had to admit that the prospect of being Lady Faversham, of righting the wrongs to my father, was rather tempting. But I really was leaping ahead here.

  Giles deposited me outside the Regina. I thanked him for the lovely afternoon; he said he should be thanking me and looked forward to seeing me again when the queen could spare me.

  “Just drop me a note,” he said. “I’ll be waiting anxiously.”

  “I’m not sure that I’ll be able to meet you again,” I said, hesitantly. “We are not supposed to have assignations with young men.”

  He laughed. “I wouldn’t call coffee in Beaulieu an assignation, would you? We have been so frightfully proper. And I am a perfectly respectable chap, you know. You can look me up in Burke’s Peerage. Good old family. Solid stock.” Then the smile faded, and a worried look came to his face. “Unless you don’t want to see me again and you found this afternoon horribly dull. I’m not the most scintillating of conversationalists, so I’ve been told.”

  “Oh no. I really did have a lovely time,” I said. “It’s just rather complicated in my current situation.”

  “Then we shall correspond in secret.” He gave me an impish grin. “You shall drop me a note when you might be free, and if I respond, I shall send it to the hotel rather than to the queen’s party. And they never need to know.”

  He jumped down from the trap and came around to take my hand, assisting me down. His hand lingered too long in mine, and I think he was considering whether to say more or even kiss me. I avoided this by giving him a bright smile. “Thank you again. I must go before I’m seen and given a lecture.”

  I went inside feeling horribly awkward. I had encouraged him, misled him. When the queen could spare me indeed. The queen didn’t even know I was part of her retinue here in Nice. And nothing could come of this, even if I wanted it to. But I had to admit it was nice to be treated like a lady, to sit beside a young man in a carriage. This is what my father and mother would have taken for granted in their youth, I thought, and felt a tinge of that anger and resentment that had haunted me since I was sent into service.

  CHAPTER 24

  There was great excitement at the Excelsior Regina. The famous French actress Sarah Bernhardt had come to stay—not with the queen, I hasten to add, but in the hotel proper. In fact, it was rumoured that the queen disapproved of her because of her loose ways. Therefore, we were all surprised when it was announced that the queen had requested Sarah to give a special performance just for her and her household at the hotel. What is more, we were all to be invited. The vast pillared dining room was turned into a theatre for the evening, the dais at one end surrounded by potted palms. We servants had to wait until the entire royal party was seated, then we were ushered in and allowed to stand at the back.

  The grande dame came on to the stage and performed several monologues, all in French. But she was so good that one didn’t even have to understand the language. The whole audience watched, transfixed. She finished to tumultuous applause. Someone rose from the crowd to escort her down from the stage. It was the Prince of Wales! Of course, I remembered that I had heard a rumour that she was once his mistress. He led her over to the queen to be presented. I decided this was a good time to leave the room, before the prince could notice me.

  You really do flatter yourself, Bella, I said to myself once I slipped through the door at the back of the dining room into the narrow hallway leading to the kitchens. “The prince flirted with you once. Do you really think he’d notice you when the great Sarah Bernhardt was present?” And I had to laugh at my own vanity. I had almost reached the kitchen when I heard a male voice behind me calling my name—or at least the name by which I went these days. I stopped and turned around, thinking it was Jimmy with some witty comment about the actress. But it wasn’t. It was Ronnie Barton.

  “Well, well,” he said, smirking as he came towards me. “We meet again, Miss
Helen Barton.” He said the words with great emphasis.

  “What are you doing here?” I demanded.

  “The same as you, I’d imagine. Taking my chances when I get them.”

  “You’re here with the Prince of Wales?” I could hardly make myself say the words.

  “I am. I’m doing rather well for myself, actually, thanks to you,” he said. “Shall we go and talk somewhere? Catch up on old times up in Yorkshire when we were lads and lassies?”

  “I don’t think we have anything to say to each other,” I said haughtily.

  “Oh, but we do. I’d love a good chat with someone from home,” he said. “Bringing back old times up on the moor.”

  My one thought was that I didn’t want to risk bumping into anyone from the queen’s household or the French chefs. It would be all too easy for Ronnie to say the wrong thing and give me away. He’d enjoy that.

  “Come outside,” I said. “The servants’ entrance leads to the back of the hotel, where nobody can disturb us.”

  “Are you ashamed to be seen with your poor old brother?” he teased.

  “Mr Barton,” I said as soon as we stepped into the crisp night air. “Ronnie—I did what you asked of me. Apparently, you are well situated with the prince, so you should want nothing more of me.”

  “Maybe I should, maybe I shouldn’t,” he said. “My old long-suffering mother always did say I was greedy. She said I had ideas above my station and would come a cropper in the end. But it was Helen, the good child, who came a cropper, wasn’t it? And I’ve landed on my feet.”

  “Are you one of the prince’s footmen now?” I asked.

  He grinned. “Better than that. Much better. I’m his chauffeur.”

  I couldn’t have been more surprised. “Chauffeur?”

  “I told you I always take my chances when I can. Well, I heard that the prince was going to buy one of these new automobiles, see. So I went to him and told him I wanted to be his driver and I knew all about those combustion engines.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “I didn’t. But I figured by the time he got the automobile delivered from Germany that I could learn. So I found a bloke in London, and he taught me a thing or two about automobile motors. I’ve always been mechanically minded—I took to it like a duck to water. And the chauffeuring part, too. Once you get the confounded thing started, it’s quite easy, knowing how to shift gears and all that. You can’t ever go too fast because it spooks the horses when you encounter carriages. I haven’t run anybody over yet.” He started to smile, then seemed to remember what had happened to his sister and winced instead.

  “I’m glad for you that you have found your profession and a good situation in life,” I said politely. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should get back to the rest of my party.”

  “Hark at her. ‘The rest of my party.’ You give yourself airs now you work for the queen, don’t you?”

  I felt my hackles rising. “I don’t give myself airs, as you put it. I was brought up in a refined family. I’ve always spoken this way. Remember that I told you before that I was put into service as a child and have worked my way up by being good at what I do.”

  “Either that or someone in the household has taken a fancy to you.” His eyes were challenging me now. “You’re a fine-looking lass. Too bad you’re my sister, or I might make a pass at you myself. And speaking of making a pass . . . the prince is very upset with you.”

  “With me?” The words came out as a squeak.

  “When he told you he’d give me a job, you promised you’d come to see your dear old brother. And you haven’t been once.”

  I tried to keep the tone light. “Mr Barton, I hardly think that the prince is interested in a lowly cook when he can have his pick of women.”

  “Oh, but you’re wrong. You turned him down. He loves a challenge. He’s said to me several times, ‘Where’s your sister, then? Why doesn’t she come to visit you?’ and I had to lie and say that you couldn’t get time off. But that’s all right. I can tell him now that you’re right here and available.”

  Before I could stop myself, I reached out and grabbed his arm. “Please don’t do that.”

  He really was smirking now. “You don’t know a good thing when you see it. You become the prince’s mistress for a while, you move in high society, then he tires of you and you’re left with enough money for life and prospects for a good husband, too. You’d be out of working in kitchens for good.”

  I gave him my haughtiest look. “Mr Barton, my body is not for sale. When I love a man, I’ll let him touch me, and not before.”

  “Oh, hark at her. Prissy little miss, isn’t she?”

  “You won’t tell him, will you? Please don’t.” I regretted it instantly. He was the sort who fed on fear. “Anyway, the great Sarah Bernhardt is here now. He’ll only have eyes for her.”

  “She’s yesterday’s news,” he said. “He likes them young and fresh. Poor old prince. He don’t have much to make him happy, does he? No job, nothing to do except amuse himself. His mother won’t share any responsibilities with him, won’t let him in on foreign affairs or government briefings. She thinks he’s weak and he’ll make a bad king, so she intends to go on living as long as she can.”

  “Well, wouldn’t you?” I asked.

  “To my notion, he’ll make quite a good king,” Ronnie said. “He’s not stupid, you know. And he gets on well with people. And when he does, all the better for me, eh?” He stepped closer to me, even though we were alone in the darkness. “Between you and me, he thinks his old mum is losing her mind. Going a bit senile.”

  “Oh, I don’t think . . . ,” I began, but he went on.

  “That Indian bloke, the munshi. She’s besotted with him, isn’t she? And you know what we heard? She shows him her important papers—confidential papers, things she won’t even share with her own son. The prince has been talking to doctors about having her certified as insane now. Not fit to make decisions regarding the safety of our country.”

  “You seem to know a lot about what the prince says or thinks,” I said. “I don’t expect he discusses his doings with a lowly chauffeur.”

  He touched the side of his nose. “You’d be surprised how much you overhear when you are driving a motor car. You’re invisible, see. They talk as if you are not there. And it’s a good place for a really confidential chat where he can’t be overheard. Oh, I’ve heard things that would make your hair curl, believe me. And I know he’s just about had enough of the way his mum is behaving. He’s ready to take some kind of action.”

  I knew the Prince of Wales wasn’t the only one who was upset with the munshi, but I wasn’t about to share anything I had overheard with a person like Ronnie Barton.

  “I should go in,” I said. I turned away.

  This time he was the one who reached out and grabbed my sleeve. “You know, I’ve been thinking,” he said. “You could be quite helpful in your way.”

  “I’ve already helped you, Mr Barton. I owe you nothing more.”

  “Not to me. To the prince. For the good of the country.”

  “In what way?”

  He leaned closer. “You’re a cook. You could maybe add a little something to Her Majesty’s food.”

  “Are you saying I should poison the queen? Are you out of your mind?” I said the words louder than I intended, I was so shocked.

  “Not poison her, as such,” he said. “I’m thinking more along the lines of something that might upset her stomach, give her the trots, make her weak so that she might catch any disease that’s going around. Even a simple grippe could finish her off. You’d be well rewarded, I promise you.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing,” I said. “And for your information, the queen seems to have a cast iron stomach. She eats and drinks enough to make you or me sick.”

  “There are certain patent medicines . . .” He paused.

  “Did your employer say these things? He’d really do something to kill his
mother?”

  “No, the idea just came to me, while we were talking. But I know how fed up he is with his current situation. I know what he thinks about her carrying on with the Indian, and if she happened to pop off, he wouldn’t grieve too much. So I thought I might do him a little favour.”

  It was my turn to smile. “You’ve just made a wrong move, Mr Barton. I now have something to hold over you. If you ever say one word about me to the prince, or to anyone, I’ll be only too happy to spill the beans that you asked me to poison the queen. I believe that might be a hanging offence, don’t you?”

  “I never said . . .” He was now rattled. “I only suggested . . .”

  “Let’s just stay well away from each other in the future,” I said. “If I see you anywhere near our kitchen, I will let the head cook know what you were planning.”

  “You wouldn’t.” He glared at me. “Because if you did, I’d tell them the truth about you and what you did to my poor sister.”

  “Then we’d both hang. Is that what you are saying? I think we both have every reason to stay silent, Mr Barton. I’m going in now, and I don’t expect to see you ever again.” I turned and walked back into the hotel, leaving him standing there.

  CHAPTER 25

  I tried to put the encounter with Ronnie Barton out of my mind. I was off the hook now, I thought. If I told anybody what he had suggested to me, he’d be in serious trouble. I felt the load of worry I had been carrying was finally lifting from my shoulders. But I did worry for the queen. If someone as lowly as Ronnie Barton had thoughts like that, maybe others might have the same ideas. Maybe even the prince himself might not be averse to helping his mother to join her beloved Albert in the great beyond. I resolved to keep a strict eye on everything that went to her table.