Alice-Miranda at the Palace 11 (7 page)

‘Caprice, if you're going to be here you have to be helpful.' Venetia Baldini washed her hands in the huge sink and reached over to grab a bag of onions for the sauce she was about to make.

‘I have been,' the child complained, hovering behind her mother. ‘I peeled loads of potatoes and look what it's done to my nails.' Caprice held  a hand aloft and picked at the dry skin around her cuticles.

‘I appreciate your efforts very much but there's
still a lot more to do.' Venetia sighed and wiped her brow with the back of her hand.

She'd brought in a whole team to assist her and had access to Her Majesty's own chefs too, but time would be tight nonetheless. Venetia knew that all the best dinners happened this way and, truly, she thrived on the stress of it all. She just hadn't been expecting to have to look after her daughter at the same time.

Plans had gone awry when her husband had received an invitation to take their children on a camping trip in Africa. Given Caprice's last camp experience, they'd decided it would be safer for the girl to stay at home for some mother-daughter time while her father and three older brothers went on a boys-only adventure. Venetia had made arrangements to leave Caprice with the nanny for the jubilee weekend but was thrown for a loop when the woman had telephoned to say that she had a family emergency and couldn't possibly look after the girl. Venetia had her suspicions about the real reason. She hated to think that Caprice could have put the woman off but, knowing what she did about her daughter, she couldn't help being concerned.

Venetia had had a hard time convincing Caprice
that, while she could come along to the palace and help out, she wasn't actually a guest and needed to keep a very low profile. That was perhaps going to be more difficult than she'd first thought.

‘Mummy, please may I go for a walk outside?' Caprice begged. ‘I promise I'll come back when you say I have to.'

Venetia shook her head. ‘I can't afford for you to get into any trouble. You know this is the biggest job of my life. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd be catering for the Queen and yet here I am.'

Caprice pulled a face. ‘It's not
that
big a deal. Everyone knows who you are, anyway.'

A chef in a white uniform and tall hat dumped another bag of potatoes on the edge of the sink beside the huge tub that were already peeled. He winked at Caprice. ‘Looks like you're doing a stellar job with those.'

The child groaned.

‘Caprice, please,' her mother said, turning her attention to the onions.

It was true that Venetia's television show,
Sweet Things
, was the highest-rating cooking program on earth. From her childhood in a tiny Tuscan village, Venetia Baldini had become one of the most highly
regarded chefs in the world and had a growing empire to prove it. But cooking for Her Majesty was in another league altogether.

All around them, the kitchen bustled with activity. There were chefs preparing vegetables and others dressing meat while an entire section whirred with the sound of mixers and blenders as a huge group of pastry chefs worked on the evening's desserts. The menu was the most complicated Venetia had planned in her life and she was determined to oversee the whole lot personally.

‘Something smells good in here,' a tall lad with a mop of black curls commented as he wandered into the kitchen.

Venetia looked up. ‘May I help you?'

Before she could blink, an identical boy appeared. ‘Are you Venetia Baldini?' he asked.

The woman nodded. ‘Yes.'

Although they would never admit it, the twins loved watching her show, probably because Venetia happened to be outrageously beautiful as well as a great cook. Men the world over had fallen under her spell, and even those with absolutely no interest in cooking were often to be found enjoying an episode of
Sweet Things
.

‘And who are you?' she asked the boys.

‘I'm Louis and he's Edgar.'

Venetia looked at them blankly. She couldn't remember seeing either of those names on her list of staff for the evening.

‘Well, you can start washing the brussels sprouts,' she instructed, then pointed at the other lad. ‘You can dice the potatoes that are already peeled.' With that, she began to peel the onions on the bench.

‘What did you say?' Louis asked.

Venetia exhaled. ‘Really, I don't have time for this. I was told that the palace staff would take direction without question.'

‘Palace staff?' Edgar was incredulous.

Louis nudged his brother. ‘It's all right, Edgar. I'll  take the sprouts and you can look after the potatoes.'

Caprice watched the pair from over by the sink.

‘I want the sprouts washed and the stems cut like this.' Venetia grabbed a vegetable and showed the lads. ‘And these potatoes need to be cubed for a salad. This size.' Venetia picked up a potato and, within seconds, had diced it into perfectly matching pieces.

Louis grabbed a sprout and picked up a large
knife. ‘I think I'd rather do this with the sprouts.' He brought the blade down on the vegetable and proceeded to chop it into a mangled mess.

‘What on earth do you think you're doing?' Venetia roared.

The boy grinned. ‘I hate brussels sprouts.'

His brother nodded in agreement. ‘Me too. They're like the Nigel No Friend of the vegetable world. They're ugly and horrid and were secretly created for the sole pleasure of punishing children.'

Caprice giggled.

Venetia looked at the pair again. It dawned on her that they weren't dressed for the kitchen at all. ‘I gather you're not here to help?' she demanded.

‘No, we're here to find something to eat,' Louis said, his eyes wandering around the benches to see if anything took his fancy. ‘There was nothing particularly interesting at Grandmama's stupid party.'

Venetia swallowed. ‘Grandmama? Oh, heavens, is Her Majesty your grandmother?'

The twins nodded.

‘I am so sorry. It's just that we're missing a couple of staff members and I assumed … Of course I shouldn't have,' Venetia apologised.

All of a sudden there was a loud bang in the adjoining room and a spluttering of expletives.

‘Oh dear, please excuse me.' Venetia raced away to see what disaster had befallen them.

Edgar looked at Caprice, who'd been enjoying the exchange between her mother and the twins. Louis stared at her too.

‘You're very pretty,' Edgar said. ‘Who are you, anyway?'

‘Caprice,' the girl replied sweetly. ‘Venetia's my mother and I'm sorry she's not very smart sometimes. I knew who you were straight away.'

‘How?' Louis asked.

‘I've seen your pictures in
Gloss and Goss
,' Caprice said. ‘Mummy's in it all the time. She never pays any attention but I do.'

‘What are you doing here?' Edgar asked.

‘Slave labour.'

The twins nodded. ‘Is there anything to eat?' one of them asked.

Caprice thought for a moment then remembered that her mother had made some chocolate mousse earlier in the morning. ‘Come with me,' she said, beckoning for the boys to follow.

They walked into a large room lined with
industrial-sized refrigerators. Caprice opened the door of the furthest one to reveal trays upon trays of dark-chocolate confections in crystal glasses lining the shelves.

‘What about this?' She pulled one out and handed it to Louis.

The boy spotted a canteen of cutlery on a bench in the far corner of the room. He walked over and picked up a shiny silver spoon and dug it into the soft dessert, then quickly jammed it into his mouth. ‘This is unbelievable,' the boy mumbled with his mouth full.

‘Give me one,' Edgar said eagerly. He took a bite and was even more enthusiastic than his brother.

Caprice folded her arms and batted her eyelids. ‘So it's okay?'

Edgar swallowed. ‘Better than okay. This is the best thing I've ever tasted.'

‘What's going on out there in the real world?' Caprice asked.

‘Real world?' Louis rolled his eyes. ‘That's a joke.'

‘Grandmama is hosting one of her boring garden parties where everyone's swanning around making polite conversation about nothing, and they're all too nice to tell her that they'd rather be
washing socks,' Edgar explained, waving his spoon in the air.

‘It would be better than peeling a zillion potatoes down here.' Caprice examined her ruined fingernails. ‘So why aren't you out there?'

Louis shrugged. ‘Some brat called Alice-Miranda spoiled our fun. We thought we'd come down here and get something to eat before the games – which will be much more interesting once
we
get started.'

The twins looked at each other and grinned.

‘Alice-Miranda!' Caprice's eyes widened.

‘Is she your pal too?' Edgar asked. ‘She seems to be besties with everyone else out there.'

Caprice shook her head. ‘She is definitely
not
my friend. She ruined everything for me at school this term. I can't stand her.'

‘Maybe you should come out for the games this afternoon,' Louis suggested.

‘I love games and I'm very good at them too, not to mention it would give Little Miss Perfect quite the surprise.' Caprice smirked at the thought.

‘Come on, then.' Edgar scraped the last of the mousse from his glass and plonked it down on the bench. Louis did too.

‘You'll have to tell my mother that you're inviting me properly or else she won't let me go,' Caprice said.

Edgar smiled. ‘Don't worry, we can be perfectly charming when we want to be.'

‘Your Majesty, may I have a quick word?' Thornton Thripp intercepted the woman as she was on her way to get changed.

‘Now?' she asked.

The man nodded. ‘I'm afraid so.'

Queen Georgiana quickened her pace and charged through to her private apartments, where she was surprised to find Marjorie Plunkett waiting for her. The woman rose and gave a curtsy.

‘This had better be important, Marjorie,' the Queen warned. ‘I told you that unless it was an issue of life and death, today was off-limits. As far as I can see, everyone out there is hale and hearty and doesn't appear to be in mortal danger.'

Thornton waited for Her Majesty to take a seat before he sat down opposite her.

‘Have you managed to persuade the parents to let the children stay on?' Marjorie asked.

Queen Georgiana exhaled. ‘Goodness, is that all? I haven't broached the subject yet. I was planning to sort it out this afternoon during the games.'

The Queen pushed back her chair and stood up, quickly followed by Thornton and Marjorie.

‘I'm afraid that's
not
all, Your Majesty,' Marjorie said with a shake of her head. ‘Please, Ma'am, I think you're going to want to sit down.'

‘Oh dear.' Queen Georgiana plonked back down onto the chair. ‘I don't like the sound of this at all.'

Marjorie's gloved hand pulled a piece of paper from her white purse and placed it on the table in front of Her Majesty.

Queen Georgiana looked around for a moment. ‘Thripp, don't just sit there. Find my glasses, man.'

Thornton scanned the room and soon located a pair of Her Majesty's reading glasses on a small table beside her favourite armchair.

Queen Georgiana popped the spectacles onto the tip of her nose and held the page at arm's length. She too was still wearing her gloves from the garden party. The woman's rosy cheeks turned pale and she sat back in her chair. ‘Where was this found?'

‘It was in among the palace mail. One of my agents brought it to me just now,' Marjorie explained.

Thornton Thripp poured a glass of water and set it down gently in front of the Queen.

‘They obviously think themselves rather clever with all that dreadful poetry.' Queen Georgiana's face was ashen as she took a sip from her glass and looked at Thornton Thripp.

‘Really?' Thripp said. ‘I thought it rather clever.'

Queen Georgiana scoffed. ‘Absolutely amateur – that's what it is. And what do they want? Why all the suspense? We know they're talking about Alice-Miranda but she hasn't been in any danger to date.'

‘I'd be inclined to agree, Ma'am, if it weren't for these.' Marjorie produced three photographs from her handbag.

Her Majesty squinted at them. ‘Good heavens! Are these what I think they are?'

Marjorie nodded. ‘Yes, Ma'am.'

‘Then we have to tell Hugh and Cecelia,' Her Majesty said decisively.

Thornton and Marjorie both shook their heads.

‘You can't. Whatever these people want, they've stated very clearly that, should you inform the parents, Alice-Miranda will be kidnapped,' Marjorie reasoned. ‘I have assigned a security detail to watch the children, which is why you mustn't let them leave.'

‘But won't that look obvious?' Queen Georgiana wrung her hands together.

‘Not if that person is a member of the palace staff,' Thornton pointed out.

‘Who have you got in mind?' the Queen asked.

‘A butler – someone who can blend in,' Marjorie said.

Her Majesty pinched the bridge of her nose and nodded wearily. ‘Well, if it means that you can guarantee Alice-Miranda's safety I can hardly object, now can I?'

‘Very well, Ma'am,' Marjorie said. ‘Mr Thripp,
can I leave it to you to inform Mr Langley of his new staff member?'

Thornton Thripp groaned inwardly. The old man was so particular about his staff, the news was guaranteed to go off like a pot of pâté in the midday sun. ‘You know the old boy won't be happy about it. What am I supposed to tell him?'

‘Tell him that I'm doing a favour for a friend and the young man is perfectly well-trained and will live up to all his expectations,' Queen Georgiana said.

Thornton looked at Marjorie. ‘How soon can you arrange the assignment?'

‘My man is here now, ready as soon as I give the order,' Marjorie replied.

‘I'd better hunt down Langley before he starts, or I'll be accused of withholding information yet again. What's the fellow's name?' Thornton asked.

‘Bunyan,' Marjorie replied.

‘Bunyan?' Thripp repeated. ‘Splendid.'

Queen Georgiana took a deep breath. ‘And in the meantime I will make sure there is no chance the children will be leaving tomorrow.'

Thornton Thripp hurried downstairs, wondering where on earth he'd find Vincent Langley on a day as busy as this. The dining room, he decided, would be his first port of call. The man was meticulous about place settings and, although he had an army of staff to help lay the table, he could often be found with a ruler and polishing cloth, making sure that things were just so.

Thornton poked his head into the state dining room. The enormous table was glittering with crystal and silver and groaning under the weight of candela-bras and flowers in anticipation of the evening gala. Several maids were busy doing a final polish and check of the silverware, floating around with feather dusters and cloths.

‘Excuse me, Adeline, have you seen Mr Langley?' Thornton asked one of the young women.

‘He was here just a few minutes ago, sir, but he was dressed for games and said he was on his way outside,' the woman replied.

Thornton quickly thanked the girl and retreated. He was beginning to think that Vincent Langley had rather a lot on his plate – and the man was no spring chicken. Perhaps the head butler would be grateful for the extra pair of hands.

Thornton Thripp was striding back through the rear foyer when he spotted the man. ‘Langley, may I have a word?' he called.

Vincent Langley halted and huffed loudly. ‘What now? Can't you see I'm in a hurry?' The man was balancing a huge silver candelabra on a tray and wasn't keen on having to put it down.

‘It won't take a minute. I just need to talk to you about a staff member.' Thornton scurried over and met the man by the back doors.

Vincent Langley peered through the middle of the silverware expectantly. ‘Well, what is it? I haven't got all day.'

‘Her Majesty has employed a new man,' Thornton said.

‘Yes.' Vincent lifted his chin. ‘I presume he's part of the grounds staff, for which I have no responsibility.'

At that moment Braxton Balfour sped through the back doors. He saw his boss speaking to Mr Thripp, and hesitated. Langley would go off like a firecracker if he realised that Braxton had only just got back.

‘Not exactly,' Thornton said. ‘He's a butler.'

‘A butler!' Vincent exploded, his left eye began to twitch. He almost dropped the candelabra,
steadying himself hastily as the silverware wobbled. ‘Since when has Her Majesty taken it upon herself to employ butlers?'

Thornton wasn't usually stuck for words. He'd spent more years than he could remember working for Her Majesty's inner circle, but for some reason he didn't quite know what to say. He spotted Braxton Balfour sneaking past, clearly attempting to avoid being seen.

‘Her Majesty is concerned by the substandard and unreliable nature of some of your staff and has decided that she wants to give this fellow a trial. His name's Frank Bunyan and he's starting this afternoon.'

Braxton Balfour couldn't help but overhear their conversation. Substandard staff? He hoped Her Majesty wasn't referring to him.

Small flecks of spit began to gather in the corners of Vincent's mouth. ‘Who's unreliable? Who is she talking about?' the man demanded, showering Thripp in the process.

Her Majesty's chief advisor wiped the moisture from his cheek and pointed at Balfour slinking away upstairs. ‘Well, that one there for starters,' he replied.

‘Balfour!' Vincent roared. ‘Where have you been?'

Braxton Balfour sighed and turned around.

‘And what happened to your face?'

‘I … I … fell in a thicket,' the younger man stuttered.

‘What thicket?' Vincent challenged. ‘Have you finished setting up for the games?'

Braxton winced. ‘Not quite.'

Alice-Miranda and Millie had changed out of their garden-party dresses and were on the way downstairs to meet the others when they heard the commotion below.

Vincent Langley sputtered and frothed. ‘Perhaps Her Majesty was right to employ a new butler. You clearly can't be trusted!'

The girls peered over the banister at Mr Balfour, who stood as stiff as a soldier. The man's nose twitched and he looked to be doing his best to stave off a sneeze. He shoved a hand into his trouser pocket and pulled out a handkerchief just in time to catch it. As he did, Alice-Miranda noticed something flutter from his pocket.

‘Good grief, Balfour, you'd better not be coming down with something,' Vincent griped. ‘Now, get
out there and finish what should have been done an hour ago.'

Braxton excused himself and dashed out the back doors.

‘Someone's in big trouble,' Millie said.

Alice-Miranda frowned. ‘Mr Langley does sound awfully cross,' she agreed.

‘Should we wait here until they're finished?' Millie asked.

‘No, it will look as if we've been eavesdropping.' Alice-Miranda continued ahead, stomping down the stairs. ‘Come on, Millie!' she yelled. ‘We don't want to be late.'

Millie looked at her friend, bewildered, then realised that Alice-Miranda wanted the men below to hear her.

Thornton Thripp cleared his throat. ‘Thank you, Mr Langley, that will be all for now. We'll see you outside for games in a little while.'

Vincent Langley threw the man one final death stare before he marched away, muttering under his breath.

As the girls waited by the back doors for the rest of their group, Alice-Miranda spotted something on the floor where Mr Balfour had been standing.
She walked over and picked it up, turning the piece of fabric in her hand. It had the loveliest pattern of peacock feathers. ‘I think this fell out of Mr Balfour's pocket,' the girl said, holding it up for Millie to see.

‘Ready to be whooped, little cousin?' Lucas called from the top of the stairs with Sep, Jacinta and Sloane in tow.

Alice-Miranda looked up and broke into a smile. ‘We might be on the same team, you know.'

Lucas frowned. ‘I hadn't thought of that.'

Suddenly, the boy mounted the banister and whizzed down the rail.

‘Lucas!' Alice-Miranda gasped.

He leapt off at the bottom and gave a bow. ‘At your service.'

Jacinta sighed.

‘I can't wait to tell Figgy that I slid down the banister at Evesbury Palace. He'll have a fit,' Lucas said, grinning.

‘Do it again,' Millie said, ‘and this time I'll take a photo.'

‘I'll go,' Sep said, throwing his leg over the rail.

Millie held up her camera and snapped away as Sep flew down. He leapt to the floor just as Mr Langley walked back into the room.

‘What on earth! Out! All of you! Now!' the old man roared.

‘Sorry, Mr Langley,' Sep said sheepishly.

‘You certainly will be.' Vincent Langley looked set to erupt like Mount Vesuvius.

The children exchanged grim glances and raced outside.