by Rhys Bowen
“I’m most sorry, sir. I thought I had removed all of them.”
“There were pieces of bay leaf, quite indigestible. Don’t let it happen again,” he said. “And today’s luncheon? Finally I am brave enough to come down and eat with the family, and vat do I find? I find an omelette and a chicken dish. Again no fleisch. No good meat. I have lost much blood. I am dizzy and weak from blood loss. I should be eating meat.”
“I am cooking a steak pie for dinner tonight, Your Highness,” I replied. “That should satisfy you.” Then I had a brilliant idea. “And I do have some beef tea, if that would fortify you for the present?”
“Now we are talking sense.” He looked quite pleased.
I had the pan on the warming stove, so I ladled a cup for him, and he drank it down, making little lip-smackings of satisfaction. He put the cup down on the table.
“Ist gut,” he said. “I shall be requiring more of this beef tea at intervals. Make sure some is available.”
“I certainly will, Your Highness. And I trust you are making a good recovery from your wounds?” I asked.
“It will heal with time,” he said. “And I will bear the suffering patiently.”
As he turned to leave, he staggered a little, banging into one of the tables—a bit too dramatically, I thought. “You see, the blood loss has affected my balance,” he said. “I must rest again.”
It crossed my mind to wonder whether he was drunk. I went back to my own meal, which was now cold. I was just helping myself to a little trifle when one of the hotel porters came into the kitchen. “Are you Mademoiselle Barton?” he asked.
“Yes, I am,” I replied.
“A man is outside asking for you.”
“A man?”
“An Englishman. He comes in a smart equipage.”
Oh goodness. It had to be Giles Waverly. And I was hot, sweaty and in my cook’s apron. I was going to say that I was not free to see him at this moment when the bellboy went on, “He says he is very worried about you, since he heard of the queen’s misfortune, and could wait no longer for your note. He begs you to spare him two minutes of your time, just to reassure him you are safe and well.”
I took a deep breath. “Please tell him I will be with him as soon as I can. And please do not mention that you found me in the kitchen. He does not know that I am a cook.”
“That was clear.” He grinned. “He said you were a young lady of the queen’s household.”
“Which is true. I am. Just not what he thinks,” I replied. “I will hurry and change.”
I ran all the way up the flights of stairs, put on a clean blouse, splashed water on my face and stuck pins in my hair, then ran all the way down again. Giles was standing beside his horse and trap under one of the large palm trees, away from the hotel entrance. His face lit up as I went to join him.
“Thank heavens. You are safe. We read the terrible news in the English newspaper, and it only said that the bullet struck a member of the queen’s party, so of course I feared the worst.”
“It was Count Wilhelm from Germany who was struck, but luckily the bullet only grazed his shoulder. As you can see, I am quite unharmed.”
“Do you have a few minutes to talk? We could walk in the gardens, or go across to the park?”
I glanced back at the hotel. “A few minutes, maybe, but not the gardens. We could be seen from hotel windows.”
“Is the queen so strict with all her ladies?” he asked as he tied his horse to a railing and then started to walk away from the hotel to the park with me. “She does not want any of you to meet young men, or only the young men of her choosing?”
I hesitated. I really hated this. Tell him now, I thought. Put an end to this. But I glanced at his hopeful face, and I couldn’t say the words. “Meeting young men while in her service is frowned upon,” I said.
“Would it help if I went to see someone in person? Her private secretary maybe? And assured him that my intentions were honourable?”
“I don’t think that would matter,” I said. I turned to face him. “Please give me a little time, Giles. I need to work out how best to handle this.”
“So you do want to see me again? I really can hope?”
“I really enjoy being with you,” I said, weighing every word, “but I can’t jeopardize my current position in the household.”
“You know, I told my father about you, and he’s frightfully keen to meet you,” Giles said. “Perhaps we can invite you to dinner, with one of the other ladies as a chaperone?”
Now this was getting too awkward.
“I’m usually required to be present at the dinner hour,” I said with great tact.
“I’m going to find a way around your stuffy regulations.” He gave a determined nod. “Now look here. Here’s a healthy young chap of good family wanting to spend time with a young girl of similar good breeding. Who could possibly be against that?” Then he paused, and that worried look returned. “Unless . . . oh, I see. Unless the royal household has someone else in mind for you. I know they go in for arranged marriages. You are probably promised to some frightful German count. Maybe even the one who got shot.”
I had to laugh at this. “Giles, I can assure you that I would refuse to marry any German count, especially that one. Look, all I ask for right now is a little time. Let me think how best to handle this, then I’ll write to you again.”
He sighed. “Well, I suppose that’s better than nothing. Gives a chap a modicum of hope.”
“And I have to get back,” I said. “They will have noticed that I slipped away.”
“It’s like being in a glorified boarding school,” he said.
“Exactly.”
“I don’t envy you,” he said. He took my hands. “Bella, take care, please. Someone has taken a pot shot at the queen. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be very careful,” I replied. “Now, I must go.”
And I almost broke into a run in my haste to return to the hotel.
My mind was in a state of turmoil. I must tell Giles the truth right away, I thought. He is bringing disgrace on his family by paying attention to a cook. I wondered what would happen if I told him the real truth. Wouldn’t his family want to rescue me from the lowly state in which I now found myself? I would marry Giles and become Lady Faversham. But what if they decided this episode of my life was too shameful? And the most important question of all: Did I want to walk away from being a cook? Would I be happy sitting in a drawing room, sipping tea and making idle gossip while someone else cooked my meals and reared my children? It was a question I couldn’t answer.
I went back to work and produced a glorious steak and mushroom pie for the royal dinner. I decorated the pastry crust with leaves and vines. It was a work of art, and I was immensely proud of it. I fried the whitebait that Jean-Paul had selected for me as a first course, made a salad with the remaining duck, added a bean soup and ordered ices for dessert. I felt rather proud of myself when I collapsed on to the bed at eleven o’clock. I decided I would not attempt the market in the morning but allow myself a good night’s sleep. In the middle of the night, a storm blew up, rattling my windows and howling around the hotel.
The morning dawned equally unpromising, and I was glad I had decided not to go to the market. I should have been drenched.
As I came down to breakfast, I noticed an air of tension. The French chefs looked up from their rolls and coffee. “The English doctor is looking for you,” one of them said.
“Oh dear. Is it bad news?”
“I think it must be. He had a grave look on his face.”
This was awful. One of the patients must have taken a turn for the worse. Or perhaps Dr Reid’s tests had revealed typhoid after all. I found it hard to eat anything. I could hardly go looking for him, and I had been forbidden to go up to the rooms of the stricken men. What if one of them had died? I had not felt a particular attachment to any of them: Mr Angelo had always treated me fairly; Jimmy was
a funny, cheeky boy; but the two men had ignored me until this journey. But now I felt almost as if they were my family. I couldn’t lose one of them.
I managed to nibble a little bread and drink a cup of milky coffee, then I went to work on breakfast. The hotel had procured lambs’ kidneys, and I made a kidney and bacon dish I knew the queen was fond of. No sooner had the footmen taken the trays when Dr Reid came in. He had the gravest frown on his face.
I stood up. “Bad news, Doctor?”
“Very bad. I’m afraid Count Wilhelm is in an extremely grave condition.”
“Oh no? Is it blood poisoning from his wound?”
“No, I think it is something intestinal. I fear it’s something he ate.”
“Something he ate?”
“Yes, can you tell me what he ate yesterday?”
“I can. I sent a tray up for his breakfast and lunch, exactly the same food as went to the royal dining room. The luncheon was a mushroom omelette and a chicken fricassee. He came into the kitchen and complained that there was no good red meat. So I gave him a cup of the beef broth I’d made for the others. And for dinner he joined the queen in the dining room. The menu was bean soup, steak and mushroom pie, whitebait, duck salad and ices from the hotel confectioner.”
“So he was served no special meals?”
“No. The only thing he had that the rest of the party did not eat was that cup of beef broth.” I paused. “Do you think it is a case of food poisoning? Or has he perhaps caught whatever has stricken my colleagues?” The thought did cross my mind that he might have been to visit Jimmy. He wasn’t one to give up easily on something he wanted.
The doctor shook his head. “No, I don’t think it’s a simple food poisoning.”
“Then maybe it was the whitebait. He did say when he came into the kitchen that fish does not agree with his stomach, having grown up so far from any ocean.”
“But the fish were fresh?”
“Could not have been fresher,” I said. “They were bought from the market that morning. So were the mushrooms.”
He frowned again. “Ah, yes. The mushrooms. That is my fear, that he ate a bad mushroom. You did not obtain these through the hotel’s supplier?”
“No, they came from the town market,” I said. “But Chef Lepin picked them out for me.”
“That was probably not wise,” he said. “These peasants, they do not always know what they are picking in the woods, and a poisonous mushroom can look a lot like an edible one.”
“Oh, surely not,” I said. “And anyway, Chef Lepin would know the difference. He serves them to his own diners.”
“All the same, accidents can happen, and this does seem to present itself as a case of severe poisoning of some sort.”
“I’m really sorry,” I said. “Is there something I can do?”
“Nothing. I’d say we try and flush out his stomach, but too much time has already passed. The toxicity is in his system, and his organs are starting to shut down.”
“Then it’s possible he will die?” The words came out as a whisper.
“I fear it’s quite likely. There is no antidote that I know to mushroom poisoning. And as I said, too much time has elapsed. If we’d washed out his stomach or made him vomit immediately, we may have had a chance to reverse the damage. But now, we can just watch and wait—give him fluids and hope that his constitution is strong enough to come through this.”
He left, taking a bowl of the beef tea with him. I felt terrible. What had I done? I had not liked the man, but I did not wish him to suffer at my hands. And I realized that I did not know one mushroom from another. I had trusted Jean-Paul, but had he let me down? And then another worrying thought crept into my head: What might happen to me if it was found I had poisoned a member of the royal family?
CHAPTER 30
Before the end of the day came the news that Count Wilhelm had died. His heart had given out. The household was instructed to go into mourning. Most of us had no black clothing with us, so black armbands were supplied. I cooked a simple roast capon and a rice pudding for dinner, thinking this was in keeping with the mood. But I felt so worried and so guilty that I was hardly able to concentrate on preparing even the simplest of dishes. The count had died. I had killed him. The French chefs were naturally curious, and I told Jean-Paul what had happened.
He frowned at my suggestion. “A poisoned mushroom? This is not possible. I have dealt with that man for years now. He is quite reliable. He would not make a mistake. Besides, I myself selected those mushrooms. I know a good mushroom from a bad one.”
“The doctor is quite sure the count was poisoned, and there was nothing else in the meal that could have had that effect.”
“I’m really sorry.” Jean-Paul was looking down at me with concern. “I don’t know what to say. It has put you in an unenviable position.”
“I know. I feel terrible. What will happen to me now? Will I be blamed?”
“I do not see how anyone can hold you responsible for an accident,” he said. “If anyone is to blame, it is I. I selected the mushrooms, but I would swear on my reputation as a chef that there was no poisonous variety amongst them.”
I nodded, trying to reassure myself. “All I can think is, what would have happened if the queen had eaten that mushroom?”
I could see that this thought had not occurred to him before. “We can thank the good God that she did not. She is a lucky woman. She seems to live a charmed life. Twice in one week, she has escaped death.”
“Would it be an imposition to ask if your chefs could serve the royal party until this unfortunate matter is resolved?” I asked. “I am clearly under suspicion, and I would hate to make them uncomfortable with their food. Since we are all in mourning, it only needs to be a simple meal.”
“But of course,” he said. “And do not worry. I am sure tests will be carried out and all blame will be removed from you. It is possible this person took his own life with some kind of medicine.”
I did not think that Count Wilhelm was the kind of person who would take his own life. He had thought too much of himself for that.
I spent a miserable day. The four invalids were not making much progress. They were past the critical stage but were all very weak. I could hardly eat a thing myself and went to bed as soon as I could. In the morning, I had scarcely finished my cup of coffee when I was summoned to a sitting room on the first floor of the hotel. Dr Reid was there, also Sir Arthur Bigge and a man I had not seen before.
“Come in, Miss Barton,” Dr Reid said. “This is Chief Inspector Raleigh. He is in charge of the queen’s security. He was called from London immediately after the attempt was made on Her Majesty’s life. He would like to ask you some questions.”
I nodded, not taking my eyes off the newcomer. He was sitting in an apparently relaxed position in an armchair, but he was observing me with shrewd little dark eyes. With his head tilted to one side and a beak-like nose, he reminded me of some kind of bird—a bird of prey. “So you are the young woman who cooked the mushroom that killed the German count?” he asked.
“I cooked two meals containing mushrooms,” I said, meeting his gaze with what I hoped was confident defiance. “I don’t know if it has been verified yet what exactly killed Count Wilhelm.”
“It very much appears to be poisoning, and the way the count’s organs shut down does seem to indicate that it was not a simple distress to the digestive system but that a mushroom was to blame,” Dr Reid said.
They were all three staring at me. It felt like a trial in a court of law. I tried to remain calm.
The newly arrived inspector cleared his throat. “I am told that you obtained these mushrooms not from the hotel supplies that were at your disposal, but from a different source?”
“Yes, sir. A stall in the town market.”
“And why did you do that?”
“This stall specializes in mushrooms and truffles. It has many interesting varieties, and the hotel chef here at the Regina always buys
his mushrooms at this stall. He selected a variety for me on this occasion since I had prepared mushrooms for the queen on a previous occasion and she requested them again.”
“I see.” There was a long pause.
“So you had no way of knowing whether these mushrooms were good or bad?”
“No, sir. I trusted the expert opinion of a local chef—a well-respected local chef.”
“I would put this down to a tragic accident, a misjudgement,” Chief Inspector Raleigh said, “except that an attempt was made on the queen’s life so recently. I ask myself whether maybe this chef was also an anarchist, or an anti-royalist. Perhaps he was the one who pulled the trigger in the failed assassination attempt and then resorted to more subtle means.”
“Oh, surely not,” I blurted out.
“How well do you know this man?”
I thought I detected sarcasm in his voice. I wondered if someone had seen us kissing in the town and he was hinting at a relationship that didn’t exist.
“Only in a professional manner, working side by side in the kitchens. Chef Lepin has been most helpful to me, instructing me in the preparation of new dishes. And I can’t believe he would wish any harm to the queen. In fact, he told me how glad he was that she had chosen to come to Nice because it meant that the new hotel had opened and given him a chance to cook for foreign visitors.”
“All the same, we cannot rule out that someone with evil intentions might have used an innocent young woman to perpetrate his scheme,” Sir Arthur said. He was looking at me with kindly understanding.
“Or not so innocent,” Inspector Raleigh said, and again there was a smirk in his voice. “How long have you been in Her Majesty’s service?”
“Since September, sir.”
“Ah, so you are a newcomer to the household. And you came from where?”
I suddenly realized that I was in an awful trap. If I lied, they could well find out the truth, and I’d be under further suspicion. If I came clean and told the truth now, then they’d see me as an imposter with hostile intentions. They were staring at me.
