by Rhys Bowen
Actually, I suspected we were quite safe. Our kitchen was a private world. We rarely saw outsiders, and the only members of the royal party we encountered were the obnoxious munshi, who came in regularly to complain that he could not eat any of the food served at table, and the equally obnoxious Count Willie, who seemed to think he could wander in and help himself whenever he felt hungry between meals, which was often. Mr Angelo tried in vain to complain about him to Sir Arthur, but Count Willie was a law unto himself. And apparently his visits to the kitchen were not entirely about food.
“I’ve had enough of that bloke,” Jimmy muttered to me when we were slicing vegetables together.
“Which bloke?”
“That German idiot. He caught me in the hallway again last night,” he said. “Pinned me against the wall, if you can believe. He told me I was a pretty boy and he was sure we could have a little fun together. I told him I wasn’t that way inclined. He wouldn’t believe me. He said most people enjoy a bit of both ways, if you get my meaning.”
I didn’t actually. I had only the vaguest idea of what went on behind bedroom doors, but I had been too proud to admit my ignorance to Louisa.
“I suppose this is a hazard of working with the royal family,” I said, giving him a commiserating nod. “They think they are above the laws that govern normal people. I had the Prince of Wales proposition me.”
“Well, that’s a lot better than that blasted Villie bloke, isn’t it?” he replied, grinning. “At least he’s not perverted, and he’s British.”
“And he’s also a fat old man with a beard,” I replied. “I can’t imagine anything more revolting than being touched by him. Besides, I intend to choose my own mate, when the time comes.”
“I suppose I’m out of the running for that position?” He gave me that cheeky grin again. “Nelson’s made it quite clear that we’re to stay away from you.”
“Nelson’s a really nice boy,” I replied, “but I’m not ready to be anything more than a friend to him.”
“Blimey, Helen. From what he says, he’s already planning who’s going to play the wedding march on the big day.”
“Oh no! Not really?” My heart skipped a beat. “I really haven’t encouraged him, Jimmy, I promise you.”
“He said you let him kiss you.”
“That’s true,” I admitted. “But it was under the mistletoe on Christmas Eve. I could hardly say no, could I?”
“Then I think you better set him straight when you get home,” he replied. “And in the meantime, do you fancy going out with me? I hear that Carnival is coming up.”
“Carnival? Like a fair, you mean?”
“Oh, much more than that. They celebrate before Lent.”
“Like Pancake Day, you mean?”
“From what I’ve been told, it’s an absolute riot. Thousands of people in the streets all dancing and drinking, wearing costumes and masks, and there are big floats and bands, unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.”
“I’d like to see it, since we’re here,” I said. “And I’d appreciate being chaperoned by a sturdy lad like you, but I don’t want you to get any ideas. We’re going as friends.”
“Bob’s your uncle,” he said, reverting to a cockney expression.
And so we agreed we were going to Carnival together. Then the queen’s secretary let it be known that Her Majesty would also like to experience Carnival in Nice. This meant we were all to have the evening off. So I’d be going in a group with other members of the household, which made me feel much better. Jimmy was a nice enough boy but younger than I and frankly not what I had in mind for a potential suitor. I found myself wondering if Giles Waverly might be attending Carnival.
A few days before the big event, the weather turned especially mild, and the queen announced she wished to have a picnic in the park which adjoined the hotel. It was a fascinating place. I’d only had a chance to explore it briefly, but it contained a Roman amphitheatre, rows of old olive trees, a children’s carousel, and on the far side an ancient monastery from which we heard bells tolling at regular intervals. Since I was officially the pastry cook, the preparation for the picnic fell upon me. Tiny finger sandwiches, biscuits and cakes, grapes and tangerines and of course my scones with jam and cream. Mr Phelps and Jimmy came to help me as I made shortbreads, ginger biscuits from Germany that were a favourite of the queen, macaroons and lemon curd tarts. At the last minute, we prepared cucumber, egg and cress, and smoked salmon sandwiches, wrapping them immediately into damp linen napkins to keep them moist. Flasks of tea were prepared. Everything was packed into hampers and loaded on to carts. Mr Phelps and I went ahead to help set up a serving table in the shade of a big eucalyptus tree. For a casual event, it certainly took a lot of planning!
Footmen spread rugs and a chair for the queen to sit, since it would be deemed too undignified to see her lowered to the ground. The queen’s Highland pipers were assigned to keep curious onlookers at bay. However, naturally robust men in kilts had the opposite effect and drew even more bystanders. At three o’clock the first of the household members walked from the hotel and stood in groups chatting and awaiting the arrival of the royal party before they could sit. At three thirty the first of the carriages arrived, containing Princess Sophie, Count Willie, Princess Beatrice and her children. This was followed by a dashing open carriage pulled by two white horses, in which rode Her Majesty, Princess Helena, and, to our horror, the Indian munshi. The latter jumped down, offered his hand to Princess Helena, who rejected it, and then together they assisted the queen to the grass.
The queen was all smiles as she sat on her appointed chair, and a nod was given to us to begin serving tea. We poured the cups, and footmen handed them around. The various sandwiches were passed. The queen, I noticed, ate heartily and rather too quickly. I wondered she didn’t suffer from indigestion. Next came the scones. She took a bite or two, then looked over in my direction.
“Ah, my little cook who makes the delicious scones,” she said and beckoned me to come forward.
I approached nervously and dropped a curtsy.
“I didn’t realize you were part of our small gathering here,” she said, “but I should have guessed because I suspect your light touch is behind some of the cakes we have enjoyed.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” I replied.
“We must make sure we save some of the scones for my son,” she said. “He has promised to join us today, although as usual he is not punctual.”
I tried to keep my face composed. I gave another curtsy and backed away. I was wondering how quickly I could return to the hotel. But I hadn’t even reached my serving station when the queen exclaimed, “Ah, here he comes now, the laggard.”
And a smart carriage came into view—a small affair just big enough for two, rather like the carriage I had shared with Giles. I was relieved to see it was not the automobile and Ronnie Barton was not in evidence. Thankful for small mercies, I supposed. The prince had been driving himself. He hopped down with surprising agility for one of his bulk, handing the reins to a servant.
“Ah, here you are, Mama,” he called in his big voice, striding towards her.
“You’re late, as usual,” she said.
“It’s only a picnic. I didn’t think there was an appointed hour for such things,” he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Besides, I was going to bring the automobile, but it does not like steep hills. So I had to revert to the carriage.”
“You’re lucky that we’ve saved you some food,” she said, “including the scones that you liked so much.”
The prince looked across in my direction. “Ah, my little scone girl,” he said, and I saw his eyes light up for an instant.
I gave a demure curtsy.
“I am absolutely famished,” he said. “I require sustenance in the form of scones immediately.” And he beckoned me to come forward.
I had no alternative. I put scones, jam and cream on to a tray. “Bring him tea at the same time,” I said to Mr Phelps. Safety in numbers.<
br />
We came forward together, and I held the tray while the prince helped himself. He was the model of decorum, with his mother so close beside him. He merely nodded and I retreated, my hands shaking a little. I was safe. I had worried for nothing. I was the little scone girl, nothing more. At least I now knew one thing—the prince had been surprised to see me. Ronnie Barton had not spilled the beans that I was here in Nice with the queen. That was one thing to be thankful for. I realized that I now did have power over him. It felt good.
The queen had had enough to eat, which meant that nobody else in her party could have any more. The moment she finished any meal, that meal was deemed to be over, much to the annoyance of her guests, I suspected. We packed up, and the remnants were loaded on to a cart waiting at some distance. The royal party began to amuse themselves with various outdoor activities. Racquets and shuttlecocks were produced for a game of badminton. Count Wilhelm tried to get Princess Sophie to join him, but she refused. Words were exchanged, and she walked away in a huff. Two ladies-in-waiting and one of the gentlemen made up the foursome instead. The young grandsons played games of tag, shrieking like normal children everywhere. Little Princess Ena, trying to be more stately and ladylike, went picking flowers. It was really the first time I’d had a chance to see the royal family acting like any normal family.
“Look, Mama. I’ve made a bouquet for you.” Princess Ena came up to her mother, presenting her collection.
“Very nice, Liebchen,” Princess Beatrice said. “But you should ask which flowers can be picked. I understand those pink ones are oleander and very poisonous. Throw them away, and ask Nanny to wash your hands.”
“Yes, Mama.” The little girl looked crestfallen and worried.
I turned to Mr Phelps. “If we have nothing more to do, I’m going for a walk,” I said, wishing to distance myself from the Prince of Wales as soon as possible. “I’ve been wanting to take a look at that monastery.” And off I went into the park. I paused to watch the children’s carousel then headed towards the monastery that loomed over the far side of the lawns. I ascended a flight of steps and found a little churchyard to one side. It was so different from the Highgate Cemetery where my parents were buried. Tall marble mausoleums so close together it was like a small city. As I wandered between them, I heard the sound of crying. I came around a corner, and there was Princess Sophie, leaning against a tomb, sobbing softly.
Forgetting my place, I went up to her. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
She looked at me, not knowing who I was.
“You are part of the queen’s household?” she asked in her strong German accent.
“I am, ma’am. One of her cooks. I know it’s not my place to speak to you, but I hated to see you in such distress.”
She gave a little shrug. “There is nothing you can do,” she said. “I am to be married to a monster. A man I can never love.”
“Surely you do not have to marry against your wishes?”
She gave me a pitying look. “You do not understand how it is for us. Marriage is not for love. It is for power, for political motivation. My father and the queen feel that Wilhelm’s state is too closely linked with the Austrian emperor and that he is too friendly with the German kaiser.”
“But the German kaiser is her relative, surely?” I said.
She shrugged. “Wilhelm has ambitions of his own. A new German empire, you know. Quite dangerous. They would like to lure him into the queen’s fold. Therefore I must marry him, and he will become one of us. That is how it works.”
“I’m really sorry for you,” I said. “But if you refuse, can they force you?”
“Would you dare to refuse and go against your father and the queen’s wishes?” she asked. “You must know how terrifying she can be.”
“I would remind her how much she loved Prince Albert and tell her that you feel that you cannot love the count.”
“I did try something of the kind, and she said that love comes with time and I am so young and must be patient.” Then she shook her head, making her curls dance. “But Albert was a good, kind man from what I have heard. Wilhelm is a bully—selfish, rude, critical. He will dominate my life.” She leaned closer to me. “But it’s worse than that. Do you know what he said to me? He said that once I have given him an heir, he will not bother me again.”
“I am very sorry for you, ma’am.”
She gave a sad little laugh. “I suppose I should be thankful that he will not bother me. But I want a man to love me. I want to be held in his arms and feel safe. Is that too much to wish for?”
“No, not at all. Is your mother still alive? I’m sure she would understand your feelings.”
She shook her head. “She died when I was only five. My father has had a string of mistresses. I’ve hated them all. Common, vulgar women. I have been to stay with Cousin Victoria many times, and I have enjoyed being at the palace until now. But she will not budge on my marrying Wilhelm. I am doomed to a loveless life ahead of me.”
Then she seemed to realize that she was speaking with a servant and had said too much. “You will not repeat a word of what I have told you?”
I reverted to a subservient mode. “Of course not, ma’am. You can rely on me.”
“I should return to the queen. It was rude of me to wander off. They will come looking for me.”
“You can tell them you are fascinated with old tombstones,” I said, “or that cemeteries remind you of your dear mother.” And she actually laughed.
“You are a devious and wise person,” she said. “I wish you were closer to my station in life. I think we could have been friends. I am sorely in need of friendship right now.”
“I am available any time you wish to talk, Your Highness,” I replied.
“I don’t think the ladies would understand.”
I gave her a little curtsy and let her go ahead of me, back to the picnic.
I lingered up at the monastery, watching the princess walk back through the trees and across the park. Then I made my own way back and found the party was still sitting and talking. Mr Phelps had disappeared, so I headed back to the hotel, pausing to go into the Roman ruins. They were quite impressive—a large amphitheatre with arches still intact with spring flowers growing from cracks in the masonry. I was lost in contemplation until a gust of wind brought me back to the present and made me realize I should return to my duties. There was dinner to think about. As I approached the archway, a figure stepped out of the shadows.
“There you are, you little minx,” said the Prince of Wales.
I swallowed back a small gasp. He was a large man, and he was blocking my escape. He put a finger under my chin and stepped closer. Too close.
“You have been a bad girl,” he said. “You did not come to visit your brother. I was most put out. I only gave him the job because of you, you know.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” I said. “It is not easy to get time off when one works in a royal kitchen.”
“I shall make sure my mother is invited to dine with relatives frequently while she is here,” he said. “Then you will have no excuse when I send a carriage for you.”
“I’m sure you have very fine chefs of your own, sir,” I replied, deliberately misunderstanding.
He laughed at this. He had a big, hearty laugh. “You know very well it is not your cooking I am interested in. You fascinate me. I’ve always had a penchant for redheads, and you have this air of . . . purity that I find quite seductive.”
The finger was still beneath my chin. He pulled me closer to him and planted those big lips on mine. His beard was prickly, and his lips were moist. It was all I could do not to slap him or push him away. That one hand held my neck while the other started to explore my body. I was beyond shocked as his hand lingered over my breast. As soon as he broke away, I put my hands on his chest and tried to push. “Please, sir. I beg of you. I am an innocent girl and wish to stay that way until I marry.”
He was l
ooking at me with amusement in his eyes, rather relishing my panic, I thought. “Oh, the blushing virgin. How delightful. How irresistible. Now you really have whetted my appetite.”
“I can’t understand your interest in me,” I said. “You can have any woman in the world. Sarah Bernhardt is staying at our hotel.”
“She was amusing for a while, I’ll grant you. But it is such a chore having to speak French all the time. You know, I can ask Mama to lend me her cook.”
“In which case I shall go to her and ask her to refuse your request,” I said. After the initial shock, my fighting spirit was returning. “I know that your mother does not approve of your behaviour. She would not want me to be forced into a situation where I would be so compromised.”
He was looking at me with interest now, as if he was seeing me as a person for the first time. “You’re an eloquent young thing,” he said. “Educated. How did you become a cook?”
“I was orphaned and had no family to take me in,” I said. “I went into service to support my young sister.”
“Commendable. A martyr as well as a virgin.”
“Please do not mock, sir,” I said. “You can’t imagine how abhorrent it was for me to find myself as a servant. Through my cooking skills, at least I’ve been able to rise a little.”
He stroked my cheek. “You silly girl, don’t you see what I am offering you? I’m offering what you have been looking for. A way out of servitude. I’ll set you up with a nice little villa here if you like. I’ll come and visit when I’m on the Riviera. The rest of the year, you do what you like. Find any man who tickles your fancy. Even marry him. I don’t mind. I’m generous. I’m willing to share. And when we tire of each other—why, the villa is still yours to keep. What could be fairer than that?”
What could indeed? The thought did flash through my mind. Why was I being so noble and prudish when I had no honour? I was a servant girl, after all. King Leopold of the Belgians had bought his mistress a villa. I would indeed never have to work for my living again. Except that the thought of that man touching me, holding me, forcing himself on me was more than I could bear.
