Weighed in the balance - Anne Perry [101]
“Yew leaves or bark to make a poisonous liquor,” he agreed.
“Lizzie!” she shouted.
A dark-haired girl appeared, wiping her hands on her apron.
“How many times have I told you not to do that?” the cook demanded crossly. “Dirty ’ands shows on white! Wipe ’em on yer dress. Gray don’t show! Now, I want yer to think back to when that foreign prince was ’ere, him what died when he fell off ’is ’orse.”
“Yes, Mrs. Bagshot.”
“Did anyone stoke up your stove at night, like they might ’ave cooked summink on it, boiled summink? You think real careful.”
“Yes, Mrs. Bagshot. Nobody done that. I’d ’a knowed ’cos I know ’zactly ’ow much coals I brung in.”
“You sure, now?”
“Yes, Mrs. Bagshot.”
“Right. Then get back to them potatoes.” She turned to Monk. “Them coals is ’eavy. Takes sticks and coals to light fires, an’ yer got to know just ’ow to do it. Isn’t a matter o’ just pushing it all in an’ ’oping. Don’t always draw first time, and the damper’s ’ard to reckon right if yer in’t used to it. There’s not a lady nor a gentleman yet what could light a decent fire. And there isn’t one born ’oo’ll shovel coals nor replace what ’e’s used.” She smiled grimly. “So your poison weren’t cooked in my kitchen.”
Monk thanked her and took his leave.
He questioned the other servants carefully, going over and over details. A sharper picture of life at Wellborough Hall emerged than he had seen before. He was amazed at the sheer volume of food cooked and wasted. The richness and the choice awoke in him a sharp disapproval. With bread and potatoes added, it would have fed a middle-sized village. What angered him more was that the men and women who cooked it, served it and cleaned away afterwards, accepted all the waste without apparently giving it thought, much less question or rebellion. It was taken by everyone as a matter of course, not worthy of observation. He had done so himself when he had stayed there before. He had certainly done it in Venice and again in Felzburg.
He also heard from each servant individually of the glamour, the laughter and the excitement of the weeks Prince Friedrich had been staying.
“Terrible tragedy, that was,” Nell, the parlormaid, said with a sniff. “Such a beautiful gentleman, he were. Never saw a man with such eyes. An’ always lookin’ at ’er ’e was. Melt your ’eart, it did. Ever so polite. Please an’ thank you for everything, for all ’e were a prince.” She blinked. “Not that the Prince o’ Wales in’t ever so gracious too, o’ course,” she added quickly. “But Prince Friedrich were … such … such a gentleman.” She stopped again, realizing she had made it worse rather than better.
“I’m not going to repeat what you say,” Monk assured her. “What about the Princess Gisela? Was she as gracious?”
“Oh, yes … well …” She looked cautiously at him.
“Well?” he prompted. “The truth, please, Nell.”
“No, she weren’t. Actual, she were a right cow. Oh!” She looked mortified. “I shouldn’t ’a said that … the poor lady being bereaved, an’ all. I’m terrible sorry, sir. I did’n’ mean it.”
“Yes you did. In what way was she a cow?”
“Please, sir, I shouldn’t never ’ave said that!” she begged. “I daresay where she come from folks are different. An’ she is a royal princess, an’ all, an’ them people in’t like us.”
“Yes they are,” he said angrily. “She’s born just the same way you are, naked and screaming for breath—”
“Oh, sir.” She gasped. “You shouldn’t ought to say things like that about them as is quality, let alone royal!”
“She’s only royal because a petty European prince married her,” he said. “And gave up his crown and his duty to do it. What has she ever done in her life that was of use to anyone? What has she made or built? Who has she helped?”
“I dunno what yer mean, sir.” She was genuinely confused. “She’s a lady.”
That, apparently, was sufficient explanation to her. Ladies did not work. They were not expected to do anything except enjoy themselves