‘Is this . . .?’
I nod. ‘Pineapple, yes. It was your sister’s favourite.’
He takes the tiny glass, dips in the even tinier spoon, like something you would use to serve salt. Touches it to his lips.
And, a moment later, nods approvingly. ‘Remarkable,’ he breathes.
The next spoonful he holds out to me. I reach up to take it from his hand, but he does not let go, and I find my fingers closing around his.
His eyes on mine, dark and unreadable.
He guides our hands towards my mouth. I suck icy crystals from the spoon. The taste is sweet, lemony, elusive.
‘Wonderful,’ I agree.
He reaches into the tiny glass for another spoonful. This time I guide our hands towards his mouth. Obediently he opens, closes.
We alternate - one for him, and one for me, our hands working together. When it is all gone he says quietly, ‘I never saw the point, until now.’
He is looking at my mouth. I feel my throat go dry - I want to swallow, to draw a breath. I see his lips part, and then his head inclines a little to one side, and moves imperceptibly closer.
‘What were we talking of?’ I say quickly, getting to my feet. ‘I was going to find you that book of verse, wasn’t I?’
Above reproach.
One afternoon, he asks me to sit beside him at court, in the presence chamber. I am uneasy - it seems too public, too exposed, but this is the whole point of me being here, to coax him back into public life, so I can hardly refuse. And so I sit at his side, being shown off like a queen, while ministers and petitioners come and make requests. Those who are diseased with dropsy or ague even ask if he will touch them, to heal their sickness. As God’s representative on earth, he has some of God’s powers. He accepts these people with patient courtesy, but over their heads he catches my eye and wrinkles his nose.
One of the petitioners offers him a bribe - not a present, such as a snuff box or a jewelled brooch, but actual money. There is a murmur of disgust from the courtiers around us.
Charles makes a joke of it. ‘Give it to someone else,’ he says. ‘Give it to . . .’ He looks around. ‘Louise. She is always losing at basset.’
The petitioner follows his gaze, and brings me the purse.
‘I cannot accept this,’ I say firmly.
‘Please, madam.>’ the man says faintly, aware that he has made a terrible error.
‘I would rather cut my own throat than besmirch my own honour,’ I tell him.
‘Bravo,’ Lord Arlington murmurs. ‘Well spoken, Louise.’ He prompts a small patter of applause.
At the side of the court I notice a woman watching me. Small, redheaded, quite pretty, but dressed in a most extraordinary getup - her gown so gaudy it might be a doll’s. Indeed, she is so tiny that for a moment I think she is a child, come to court to look at the grown-ups. She watches me fixedly, almost as if she is studying me. Oddly, she pulls a face, then turns her head on one side and squints. She looks from me to Charles and back again, puzzled, as if she is trying to work out what is going on. Then I see her lips move, as if she is whispering something to herself.
I mean to ask Charles about her later, but it completely slips my mind.
Carlo
A
The English hedgerows provide much that is good for ices.
The Book of Ices
The king was eating ices at last. But only with Louise. Each day I sent a different one to her rooms. Damson, rosehip, pear, blackberry, and the large, sweet hazelnuts called Kentish cobs. Nuts posed their own challenges, of course - they must be chopped fine, then roasted: I longed to match their crunchiness with the creaminess I had created in my pear ice cream, but although I had tried many times to replicate that smooth texture, it still remained something that seemed to only come about by chance. At one time I thought it must be something to do with eggs, since both the creme an£flaise, the posset and Hannah’s custard had contained egg whites or yolks, but when I tried adding beaten egg to my syrup I simply made a fruit-filled omelette.
There was enough work now that I could employ Elias every day. Although he was young, he was no younger than I had been when I started working for Ahmad, and from the point of view of secrecy, the younger the better, since he was unlikely to understand enough to explain the process to anyone else. In fact he proved an eager pupil, happily grating ice for hours on end, and although he was liable to ask questions I was careful not to tell him too much.
I was less pleased, however, when I entered the pantry and caught him in the very act of dipping his fingers into the last remaining bowl of pineapple sorbet.
‘What is this.>’ I cried, appalled.
He jumped back, his face scarlet.
‘I told you never to taste the ices,’ I reminded him furiously.
He hung his head. ‘I am sorry, master. I was only curious.’
‘You have stuck your dirty fingers in a dish intended for the king,’ I said. ‘That is very possibly treason. What is more, you have disobeyed your master, which most certainly is. Now you shall be beaten - and be grateful that it is only by me, and not the watch.’
I picked up a wooden spoon and began to beat him. He cried out: I raised the spoon to strike again, and suddenly found it gripped by someone behind me. I turned. Hannah was standing there, giving me a furious stare.
‘What are you doing?’ I said, trying to pull the spoon from her grasp. But her grip was surprisingly firm, and I could not.
‘I should ask you that,’ she said calmly.
‘Isn’t it obvious? I am beating him for a thief’
‘Whatever he has done, you strike too hard.’
‘I am his master, and I will strike as hard as I like,’ I retorted.
‘And I am his mother, and will not let you.’
‘His mother! ’ I was so surprised that I relaxed my hold on the spoon; she, meanwhile, had not relaxed hers, and it slipped from my grasp. No one had ever mentioned to me that Hannah was Elias’s mother. i
‘Yes.’ She tossed the spoon to one side. ‘Why do you look surprised?’
‘But then - where is his father?’
She hesitated. ‘Elias has no father.’
‘None you can name, you mean,’ I muttered.
‘That is exactly what I mean,’ she replied defiantly. ‘None I can name. And what of it?’
I ran a hand over my brow. ‘What of it? Madam, I have the royal warrant. And yet now I find I am employing a whore’s bastard as my assistant. In France or Italy that would be enough to have me banished from court.’
For a moment her eyes flashed angrily. ‘Then the courts of France or Italy must be very different to our own,’ she said. She turned to Elias. ‘Is it true? Did you steal?’
‘Yes,’ he said in a small voice. ‘I tasted the ice. The pineapple one.’ ^
She sighed. ‘I am disappointed in you. First, for taking what was not yours, and second, for believing all this nonsense about ices and pineapples in the first place. I have not brought you up to be so foolish.’
‘I am sorry,’ EHas said, his lip trembling.
‘Your punishment will be to work for a whole week without any pay. But if he beats you again, tell me, and you will work for him no longer.’
I was so astonished at this unheard-of interference in the relationship between master and assistant that I barely knew how to respond; by the time I had collected my wits, she had gone.
‘I am sorry, master,’ Elias said hesitantly. My anger had abated by now: indeed, something about his hangdog expression was almost amusing.
‘And have you learnt your lesson?’ I said, with as much sternness as I could muster.
‘I have.’
‘Will you eat the king’s ices again?’
He shook his head.
‘And what did you think of it, now that you have tasted it?’ I said, curious. I was expecting him to screw up his face and say that it was not very pleasant after alclass="underline" but to my surprise his eyes lit up.