GIT – YORE – 'ANDS – HORF -'ER!

Eden didn't think she'd heard anything so beautiful as Hodge's voice before, or seen anything as lovely as Hodge's huge meaty hand come down on the man's arm, forcing him to let go of Eden's coat.

"You keep your hands to yourself," Hodge snarled. "You don't put your hands to a lady."

"Case o' mistaken identity," the man in black said, giving Eden a vicious look. "Thought she worked at the coffee house."

"You don't touch any lady, no matter where she works," Hodge lectured him, squeezing his shoulder harder.

"Alright, alright, I catch your drift," the man said. "Can I go now?"

Hodge let go of him while giving the man a shove at the same time; the man sloped off rapidly, making a great show of rubbing his shoulder. As soon as he was a safe distance away, he cursed Hodge floridly as he ran down Red Rose Lane.

"Thank you, Hodge," gasped Eden.

Hodge gave her a thunderous look.

"There are some as who blame Maeve for her actions," Hodge said. "I am one who doesn't. You're a magnet for trouble, miss."

"Where's Father?" Eden asked, looking around frantically.

"He saw something in a shop window and insisted on looking at it," Hodge huffed, "but I thought I'd better check on you. And a good job I did!"

"Please don't tell him," Eden begged. "He'll only worry."

Hodge raised his thick eyebrows alarmingly. "I would be remiss in my duty if I kept this to myself," he said. "And if I report it, that would help support Maeve's account of events."

"Oh alright then," said Eden. "But please don't tell Father straight away. Let him enjoy the markets at least before he finds out."

Hodge looked conflicted before he said, "If you say so, miss. But the pair of you need more looking out for than one person can provide. Look like butter wouldn't melt in your mouths, but he dragged me away from the markets and now he's off looking in a window or summat while you're getting yourself mixed up with a dodgy character."

"I didn't mean for that to happen," Eden started, before she saw her father wrestle his way through the crowds. She was glad to see he was smiling broadly.

"There you are my dear girl!" he exclaimed happily. "You see Hodge, I told you she would be safe and sound. My daughter has a store of common sense beyond her years."

"Really?" Hodge said with a grim face, but Meriadoc didn't pay any attention.

"I've done everything I could," he told Eden. "I back paid Mr Gosling's market license for the year just gone, and I've bought him a new license in advance of the new year. The market overseer was most apologetic for Mr Gosling's treatment, and said he would welcome him back with open arms. The Yuletide markets close in a few days, but they hold market days on Saturday all year round."

"What about the police?" asked Eden. "Did you give them a good scolding for how they behaved?"

"Oh they're a marvellous bunch of lads," Meriadoc said expansively. "The sergeant said it wasn't them who mistreated Mr Gosling, it was the bigwigs from Albion Yard. A pack of bullies, from what the sergeant said. No, the good old boys in blue would have treated him fair and square, you can mark the sergeant's words."

Eden smiled to herself at the slang her father had seemingly picked up in a single morning, saying, "You sound like you've been enjoying your adventure."

"Well, it was rather exciting," Meriadoc said. "You would have enjoyed it too. It was very respectable. Sergeant Dixon said they have a special parlour for lady visitors, and he has a daughter the same age as you, named Doris. Remarkably bright girl, apparently. All the criminals are locked up out the back, perfectly safe."

"With all due respect sir, it would have been most inappropriate for a young lady of Miss Victory's calibre," said Hodge disapprovingly. "We does have some standards to maintain."

"Anyway, I paid Mr Gosling's fine, and Sergeant Dixon, absolutely charming man, said that he would send a letter to let him know," said Meriadoc. "I'm sorry you had to wait, but we'll do our shopping now, and then I'll take you to lunch at a new restaurant on Great Market Street that somebody recommended. They do a delectable chocolate souffle, I'm told."

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When their carriage pulled into the courtyard at the palace, Meriadoc accompanied Hodge to the guard room to make sure his money had arrived safely from the bank. Eden ran up the front stairs of the palace – no decorous princess steps for her now, but the fastest her buttoned ankle boots would allow. She slowed her pace as she came in the front doors, held open for her by two footmen.

"Welcome back, Miss Eden," said the butler, coming forward to take her coat and hat. "I trust you had a pleasant outing?"

"Yes, thank you," Eden replied, before going on in a rush. "Please, I need to see the king. It's very important."

"King Bernard is in a meeting at present," the butler said, "but if you sit and wait outside his drawing room, I'm sure he will see you as soon as he can."

Oh, bother Bernard! Eden thought. She didn't really want to talk to him anyway; she was tired of him being calm and reasonable, but not actually listening or taking her seriously.

"Could I see Pip?" Eden asked, before correcting herself. "Sorry, I mean King Pip. Er – King Philip!"

The butler permitted himself a gentle smile, before saying, "As you say this is so important, I believe Mister Pip is still in conference with the Clerk of the Kitchen, Mister Dashwood. If you hurry, you might just catch him."

"How do I get there?" Eden asked.

"Enter the Great Hall behind us, and walk to the end of it until you see a green door, " instructed the butler, pointing it out. "I'm afraid it's a little awkward, because you need to go through the kitchens to reach Mister Dashwood's office. They're probably washing up from lunch, so you may wish be careful of your clothing."

The doors to the Great Hall were heavy to push open – no wonder they usually had footmen to do so. The hall was now very warm with the Yule log smouldering away, had a frowsty look, and the stale smell that comes after a meal. Downstairs housemaids were busy cleaning it all away.

Eden thought they might ask her where she was going, or at least stare at her, but they were far too well trained. Nobody glanced in her direction although she could sense them noticing her. They reminded her of flocks of sheep in a field, who graze without looking up yet their ears twitch at your approach.

The door at the back of the Great Hall was not painted green, but on closer inspection, covered in heavy wool that looked like dark green felt. Although it had a brass handle, this was mostly for show – the door swung open automatically when pushed against, so that staff could bring trolleys and trays through with their hands full.

Once through the green door, she was in a long whitewashed corridor without any windows, and the floor was some type of smooth waterproof cork. There were doors along it marked as pantries, butteries, wine cellars, ice cellars, and storage rooms.

Beyond the green door was completely different to the rest of the palace. It was spotlessly clean, but the lighting was harsh, the flooring was worn, and it was very cold – Eden supposed it had to be, to keep the food fresh. It had a smell all its own; not the sweet, mellow, slightly waxy scent of the palace, but a damp, musty odour that made Eden very aware that she was in an ancient stone castle by a river.

Eden felt like a member of the audience who pierces through a beautifully painted set while watching a play at the theatre. Once backstage, past the red velvet curtain and limelight, was the real world of ropes and pulleys, of hard work done in careful silence so as not to ruin the beautiful artifice that has been created. It gave her the unsettling feeling that only here was reality, and her life at Camden Palace nothing but illusion.

⋆⋅•⋅⊰∙∘⋆ ❆ ⋆∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋆

At the end of the corridor were two white doors with round glass windows set into them, so that Eden could already see that these were the kitchens ahead of her. She pushed through the swing doors, finding herself in a place where everyone seemed to be noisily busy, with the sound of clattering and splashing accompanying their loud conversations.

The kitchens were beautiful, gleaming white and very modern, with long benches to work at and huge square white porcelain sinks for washing up. The head cook, Monsieur Leroux, was instructing the scullion Marco in the proper cleaning of a long copper fish kettle.

"And so you see, boy, if you have the salt and lemon juice in the exact proportions – "

He suddenly jerked his head up, turned bright red, and stared open-mouthed at Eden, who had been trying to keep out of the way and remain unobtrusive. For a moment she was sure that he was about to start shouting at her, and demand that she remove herself from his kitchens at once.

"But what a surprise!" he said, coming over to her with arms spread in welcome. "It is the little princess who is Madame Melia's mistress. Please Mademoiselle Eden, for what reason have you come into my kitchens?"

"Good afternoon, Monsieur Leroux. Um, hello. Er, Marco," Eden said, nervously putting her hands behind her back like a child about to recite. "I was hoping to find Pip – I was told that he was with Mister Dashwood."

Monsieur Leroux's face fell. "Mademoiselle Eden, I am desolate to inform you that Monsieur Pip has just left. You have missed him by ten minutes or less."

"Oh no," Eden said in dismay. "Are you ... are you quite sure?"

"Completely sure, mademoiselle," Monsieur Leroux said sympathetically. "Monsieur Pip was here for perhaps half of an hour to discuss the Yule menu with Monsieur Dashwood and myself – Monsieur Pip is very, very particular with his diet. We finished a short while ago, as Monsieur Pip said he had a meeting to attend with Monsieur Bernard."

Eden visibly sagged in defeat. "I should have gone straight to Bernard and then I would have met Pip as he came up," she said. "I've wasted so much time."

"What would Madame Melia say if she knew her little mistress came to my kitchens in desperate need, and received no help? She would never forgive me," said Monsieur Leroux. "I must think of something, but what?" He crinkled his brow in thought.

"Monsieur Leroux?" said Marco timidly. "We could always send Miss Eden up in the service lift. She could get to Mister Bernard more quickly that way."

"Of course, the very thing Marco!" exclaimed Monsieur Leroux in delight, clapping Marco on the back.

"What's a service lift?" asked Eden, not sure whether to be worried until she knew what they were suggesting.

"Come mademoiselle, we will show you," said Monsieur Leroux enthusiastically. "This way."

Eden followed him through a wide archway, Marco trailing them at a respectful distance. She now discovered that she must have entered through some sort of scullery, and the actual cooking was done in a massive kitchen with huge black cast iron ranges lined against the walls. Staff were cleaning up from lunch, while also busy with preparations for tea.

There was a plain wood cabinet in one corner, reaching from the floor to the ceiling. On the sides of the cabinet were lengths of thick rope wrapped around large metal wheels. Monsieur Leroux flung the door open triumphantly to reveal an empty space inside.

"You see mademoiselle, here is where we place the trolleys of food to send them up to the private dining room above us," he said. "Did you ever wonder how your food arrived so nice and hot, when the kitchens are far away?"

"No, but now I feel foolish for not thinking about it," Eden said.

She had accepted that princesses deserve hot food on their plates, and complacently eaten it when it was placed in front of her. There was a nameless uncomfortable feeling inside her that she had not considered it any more deeply than that.

"Miss Eden, I thought that instead of a trolley of food, we could send you upstairs just as easily," Marco said. "There is plenty of room."

"Will ... will the lift bear my weight?" Eden asked nervously.

"Oh yes, mademoiselle. You see the old king, King Peter, was missing a foot, which was replaced with an iron one," Monsieur Leroux explained. "It was hard for him to walk up and down stairs, so the lift was made strong enough to carry him from floor to floor. He was a tall strong man, and if it could take his weight, it will bear yours."

"Please Miss Eden, if you would be so kind as to step into the service lift, Monsieur Leroux and I will haul you up using the ropes," Marco said, gesturing towards the open space.

Eden hesitantly got into the lift, stamping her foot on the wooden floor to test its sturdiness.

"Are you sure you can pull me up?" Her voice came out more plaintive than she meant it to.

"Mademoiselle Eden, you are like a little sparrow," the head cook said. "You weigh pfft, nothing. Even fat old Monsieur Leroux and this scrawny boy here will be able to manage it."

"Please don't worry, Miss Eden," Marco said reassuringly. "We've done this dozens of times before. Hundreds, even."

"You will be there before you know it," said Monsieur Leroux.

He closed the door of the lift on Eden, so that she was now in almost total darkness. The ropes began slowly dragging her upwards, with little jerks that made the lift rock slightly from side to side.

A tide of panic began rising inside her like a wave of sickness, and she curled up inside the black box, her hands over her face and her fingers in her mouth. Only by the greatest strength of will did she stop herself from screaming the entire time.