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“I wish to inquire about the food that will be served at my wedding.”
“Actually you will choose most of that, and your father, since he is the
man who is giving you away to old Castello,” Philip said.
“Good. Now bring me to your father so that I can tell him what I
want served,” Rotrind commanded.
“Yes, milady,” he said, leading Rotrind inside the kitchen. A stout man
wearing a stained apron was squatting by a fire, watching a stew cauldron
intently.
“Hello, Father. This is her ladyship Rotrind. She wishes to tell you
what she desires to be served on her wedding day,” Philip said.
“Ah, yes. Well, milady, just tell me and it shall be prepared exactly as
you like,” Mark said, bowing.
“I want a salmon dish, with the salmon done just right and sprinkled
with herbs, spices, rosewater, and cilantro. Also a chicken roasted to
perfection and surrounded by lettuce and cherry tomatoes arranged in an
artistic way. Also make sure that there are small cakes that can be put next
to the grand wedding cake. The flavors I want for these side cakes are
lemon, almond, and vanilla. That is all I wish,” Rotrind finished off.
“It shall be made, milady,” Mark said, standing up and bowing.
“I will go now,” Rotrind said. She walked out of the kitchens to the
spiral staircase and went back upstairs to her room.
When she was at her room looking at the grand clock that was across
from her window she realized it was already time for luncheon. She rang
the bell for Marie and said, “Marie, set up the chair and the table in the
luncheon position. I want a bowl of hot pumpkin soup and a salad. Also
bring me some bread with oil and vinegar.”
“Yes, milady,” Marie said, hastening away.
About thirty minutes later Rotrind was sitting down in her chair taking
dainty spoonfuls of pumpkin soup with cilantro when she heard a cry, a
bang, and yelling from all sides.
“IT WAS YOUR FAULT! YOU OLD—”
“NO, IT WAS YOUR FAULT! YOU PACK OF LIES, I—”
THE JOY OF WRITING
16
“IT WAS HIS FAULT!”
“DASTARD, AS LONG AS I’M ALIVE I’LL NEVER STOP IN
MY ATTEMPTS TO GIVE YOU A LESSON ONCE AND FOR
ALL!”
Rotrind raced downstairs to see what the trouble was. Ferdinand
Castello and some other noblemen who had been shouting with him
immediately became silent as Rotrind entered.
“What is the meaning of this unseemly shouting?” Rotrind asked,
dangerously advancing closer.
“I had nothing to do with it,” Castello said, immediately puffing out
his chest and looking at the rest of the noblemen with contempt.
“He is a liar and is a danger to all of us, my ladyship,” one nobleman
said.
“A danger to all of us! He’s a danger to all of us!” Castello mimicked in a
high, screechy voice. Rotrind had to bite her lip to keep from laughing and
put her hand on the hilt of her sharp knife, which was hidden beneath the
folds of her crimson kirtle.
“Just tell me what you have been shouting about,” Rotrind said,
struggling to keep her voice stern as she loosed the blade in its sheath.
“Oh, it’s like this, lady,” one nobleman said, “Castello stole something
from the castle storerooms—we don’t know what the thing he stole is—
but whatever he stole, he denied it. He accused us of stealing the object,
which of course we haven’t.”
“Turn your pockets out,” Rotrind commanded haughtily. Castello
grinned and turned his pockets out. A beautiful porcelain doll fell out and
shattered on the hard ground.
“Who was this doll supposed to be for?” Rotrind asked sternly,
placing her hands on her hips.
“My niece.”
Rotrind grabbed onto Castello’s leg so that he could not get away.
“I will tell my father about this,” Rotrind said, “and you are coming
with me.” Castello did not seem the least bit afraid. He took her hand and
allowed himself to be led to Sir Richard’s chambers.
“You are sure that Castello stole this?” Sir Richard asked severely.
Rotrind pointed to her father’s ornate antechamber.
“I have evidence to prove that lout stole from the castle stores,” she
said coldly, holding up broken pieces of porcelain. “Is this not the fair
make of Anuslin the craftsman? Are these golden locks not the curls of
the wigmaker’s client?”
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