The Autumn Palace (11 page)

‘I've been so busy, lass,' Hamish said with a grin on his face. ‘I found out the farmers hae cheated on cleaning the vegetables. All sorts of manure and muck on them by the time they reach the kitchens. The Duke was right pleased with me help.'

‘Nice one,' she said. At least cleaning vegetables was hardly a dangerous pursuit.

‘Aye, and I checked tae make sure the only fertiliser they were using was the stuff from a cow's belly.'

‘Fertiliser? How can that be dangerous?'

‘Aw, lass, yer so innocent.' He gave her a smile and a wink.
⁵²

Boggled for a moment, Ondine felt he was patronising her. She felt sure he didn't mean to. ‘What about the mail?'

‘Aw yeas, that's settled right down, but still very important.'

The pride on his face told Ondine how much he loved his job. Which was good, but it also niggled at her in ways she didn't want to examine too closely.

‘And now you're spying on the laundry?' Did it mean she'd get to see more of him? Perhaps yes. But perhaps it meant she'd only see him as a ferret.

‘Goat it in one,' Hamish said.

When they arrived at the Duchess's chambers, the opulence took Ondine's breath away.

Incredible, magnificent, ornate, overblown and fabulously expensive were the first thoughts that came to mind.

Breakable was the next.

They took extra care negotiating the sitting room – specifically the narrow path between all the polished tables and desks with their curvy legs. Not being an expert on timber, Ondine didn't know they were made from Brugeloak,
⁵³
but her nose tingled at the overpowering scent of furniture polish. The furniture itself wasn't the problem, just everything on it. Every display table and bureau had tall vases filled with fresh flowers, while the desks were overflowing with photo frames and antique inkpots and silver boxes of all shapes and sizes. There were so many
things
Ondine didn't even know what to call them. All she could do was hold on to her tower of linen and make sure she didn't knock anything over.

A series of gilded photographs of Kerala and Pavla on their wedding day adorned the wall. The Duchess had the same dark, shiny helmet of hair she wore now, and a serene, confident expression on her face. The Duke's hair was darker and his face younger and more hopeful. In most of the photographs, their posture looked regal and stiff, but in one the photographer had captured them in an unguarded moment. Their bodies were angled together and they gazed adoringly at each other.

‘It's well posh, eh, lass?' Hamish said.

‘Mercury's wings, I've never seen anything like it.' Every wall had niches for yet more antiques. Along the length of one wall were more books than a person could read in a lifetime. Along another wall stood wine racks filled with more bottles than a person could drink in a lifetime. Scattered around the room were a dozen fancy chairs that looked far too old and expensive to ever sit on.
⁵⁴

Every window overlooking the south lawn had the
thickest curtains, held back with rich twists of gold-coloured cord.

‘But no tassels?' Hamish winked at Ondine. ‘I do love tassels, they really complete the look and add that wee touch of grandeur.'

‘What?' Ondine stared at Hamish for three pico-seconds before he cracked up and she started laughing too. It was so nice simply to be with him, she almost didn't mind the drudgery of work.

‘Come awn. Let's stop gawking and get the beds made.'

The bedroom raised the opulence bar another notch. Of course the Duchess would sleep in a four-poster bed with heavy curtains. Of course she would have more tables stacked with framed photographs and antiques and more of those elegant vases that would break the moment you touched them. Fresh flowers stood tall in each vase, filling the air with a heady aroma that reminded Ondine of cloves and apples.

Arms aching from carrying the stack of sheets, Ondine dumped them on a footstool and rolled her
shoulders. ‘Right, which one of these enormous wardrobes is a linen press?'

A door Ondine opened revealed fabulous clothes hanging on padded wooden hangers. All were the same colour.

‘She must like wearing yellow,' Hamish said, scratching his head.

Ondine opened the next door. ‘Or blue. Saturn's rings, look at this.' Each door she opened revealed a new colour. Taking a closer look, she saw each hanger had a tag with a date and event written on it. One had several dates on it, all but the last crossed out.

‘Jupiter's moons, she keeps track of when she last wore something and what she wore it to. That's very organised.'

‘Organised or anally retentive?' Hamish said.

Ondine opened the door of the next wardrobe, still hoping to find where to put all the clean linen. This door revealed shelves and a pull-out desk, complete with an old-style ledger. Did she dare look at it?

Of course she dared. They were here to spy, weren't they? With shaking fingers she opened the ledger. Each
page contained lines and lines of information about staff. The day they started and how much they earned each month.

‘Saturn's rings, look how little I earn.' At least she wouldn't be lying to her parents about not being able to afford a train ticket home. Amazed, she sat down on the floor to continue reading the ledger.

A strained squeak escaped her mouth.

‘What, no planets this time?' Hamish knelt beside her.

‘She's got everyone here. The chefs take home a pittance but look how much Ms Kyryl earns. That's a lot for a teacher.' Ondine scratched her head. ‘Great Pluto's ghost, here's a column dated a few months ago that shows how much everyone weighs.'

‘Why would she do this?'

‘She likes tae keep track of everything?'

She flicked through the pages and found some recent diary entries.

Ondine de Groot. Arrived with Colette Romano and a ferret
.

Ondine's jaw fell open. ‘That's it?'

‘Ye havenae been here long,' Hamish reminded her.

They both read the lines about Colette Romano. Her arrival date, her job description as ‘advisor' and her staggeringly huge wage. Beside those notes, the Duchess had written,
Overpaid and overfed
.

Ondine laughed, then stopped to listen for footsteps. No, just her imagination and racing heartbeat making her feel guilty. ‘We really shouldn't be reading this.'

‘Yes, we should. The Duke wants us tae get information, this is information.'

‘But surely he knows what's in here? I mean, she's his wife, she's probably written all this down for his benefit?'

‘Mebbe she's keeping secrets from him.' Hamish flicked a few pages back and found an entry for Draguta Matice. Because she'd worked at the palechia for so many years, there were several notes. One of them said:

Approaching second long-service leave. If we don't get rid of her soon she'll cost us a fortune
.

‘Oh, Hamish, how could she say that? It's so unfair. You can't just sack someone because they've got holidays coming up.'

Hamish turned on the sarcasm. ‘But the Duchess is
always
right, Ondi.'

‘I have to warn Draguta.' Ondine stood up to leave. In the process, she tipped over the ledger and a piece of paper fell out from the back of it. The handwriting was so small Ondine had to squint. It had columns of dates and details of cash deposited, adding up to a steadily growing balance.

‘Ye've hit the jackpot, lass, the Duchess has a secret bank account!'

‘But . . .' It didn't make any sense. ‘If this is a bank account, why is it all hand-written?'

Hamish scratched his forehead. ‘Mebbe it's not a real bank? Mebbe she's stashing it under the mattress for a rainy day?'

‘We have to tell the Duke,' Ondine said.

‘But we'll havetae be careful how we do it. Ye've seen how loved up they are. It would break his heart tae find out she's keeping secrets from him.'

Something went a bit woozy in Ondine's head. The bank balance was enough to buy half the country. How nice of Hamish to start rubbing her back. She felt instantly soothed as he gently massaged her shoulders.

They heard footsteps in the hall. ‘We'd better pack this up before someone walks in,' she said.

In a blur of papers, Ondine tucked the piece of paper into the ledger and shoved it back in its rightful home. Then Hamish resumed rubbing her shoulders.

‘Left a bit, lower . . . oh, nice! But Hamish, how do we know if we've put it all back the right way?'

‘Eh . . . too easy. We'll put a half glass of wine in there with it.'

‘What's that going to achieve?'

Hamish's eyes narrowed with a glint of mischief. ‘When she next looks at it, she'll think she put it away in a hurry. She won't remember because the wine glass will remind her she was drinking at the time.'

‘Or she'll know someone else has been here, going through her things.'

‘Time will tell.'

While Ondine chewed her bottom lip in apprehension, Hamish left the bedroom, then came straight back with a clean glass and a bottle of sauvignon blanc. He unscrewed the cap. They only needed a little wine for the bottom of the glass. Hamish replaced the cap and put the bottle beside the ledger as well.

‘Would she do that?'

‘Mebbe. Mebbe not. Mebbe she'll open the cupboard door and be so distracted by the bottle she won't care.'

‘There were far too many “maybes” in that.'

They closed the wardrobe and Ondine made for the door. She didn't want to spend another minute up here.

‘Aren't ye forgetting something? We have tae change the sheets.'

Ondine slapped her forehead. Not changing the sheets was a sure-fire way to make the Duchess angry. Plus, she'd probably blame Draguta for the mistake and sack her.

Working together, they stripped the old sheets,
making sure not to knock the antiques over in their haste, then grabbed new sheets and remade the bed, taking extra care to straighten out creases. Hamish lifted up the top mattress and shook his head. ‘No money under here. Just thought I'd check.'

In the bathroom – more marble everywhere and gold taps, for goodness' sake – Ondine bundled up the used linen and shoved it down the laundry chute, then did the same with the old towels. In a few minutes, there were clean towels hanging over the rails where they should be.

‘Here it is,' Hamish said from the bedroom.

Ondine stuck her head out of the bathroom door and saw Hamish standing next to a bureau. Marble-topped, of course. He'd found the linen press.

‘Good one.' She grinned. He'd already stacked the rest of the clean linen in there.

‘I think our work here is done,' Hamish said, giving Ondine a smile that made her feel a bit wonderful all over. ‘Now, hen, whatever we saw in that book has tae stay between us. I mean, we'll tell Col and she'll be fair astounded, but nobody else.'

‘But I have to warn Draguta, she needs to know Kerala has it in for her.'

‘But if we tell her, she might change her behaviour and then the Duchess will think she knows more than she does. She might even think it was Draguta looking at the secret bank account.'

‘Which will give her a reason to sack her.'

‘Exactly.'

‘Even though Draguta would be completely innocent,' Ondine exclaimed.

‘Aye.'

‘But if we don't warn her, the Duchess will sack her anyway. And she doesn't deserve that.' This whole spying caper gave Ondine a headache. On top of that, keeping secrets from people she regarded as friends had set up a nasty ache in her heart.

 

51
   Swimming is not a major sport in Brugel, so most women maintain the narrow shoulders they were born with. In ‘big swimming' countries like Australia you can spot the serious swimmers, they're the ones who have to turn sideways to fit through doorways. Olympic champion Libby Trickett's shoulders were so wide she became stuck inside a marquee tent on her wedding day
.

52
   Don't even think of googling this or there'll be a SWAT team at your door faster than you can say, ‘I need a lawyer.'

53
   A Brugeloak tree is quite remarkable. It matures in six years, producing large edible white berries that taste like a cross between apples and peaches. The large seeds inside taste like hazelnuts and can be ground to make paste. However, close to ninety per cent of people develop an allergic reaction to the paste and therefore sales of Brugeloak butter are low
.

For more information about Brugel's unique flora, grab a copy of the bestselling
What Caused This Rash?
by noted botanist Kerk von Dennegelden
.

54
   This is very true. Just as every generation gets taller, every generation gets heavier. Take out a mortgage, then sit in a chair from Brugel's renaissance and see how easily it breaks under your weight
.