one.
Lost in thought, I stared at one of the Wet Paint signs plastered in our bedroom hallway. Was it really my gasp that had distracted Arch? Or could it have been something else? Was it possible Arch had seen something under the minstrels’ gallery? He’d been standing in virtually the same place where I’d been the previous night, when the boy-duke apparition had materialized. But if he had seen the ghost, why hadn’t he mentioned it? Too afraid of looking like a wimp?
In the castle kitchen, two team moms had somehow found Eliot’s key ring, unlocked the cupboards, and were poking around. Both expressed concern for Arch; I said he’d be fine. The women told me they were trying to help with the buffet. They’d lit the burners under the chafers and lugged in the hot platters. They’d had to be as quiet as possible, since Eliot was doing his castle-as-conference-center monologue. At least I wouldn’t have to hear that again.
One of the moms said, “He was looking for clients. And tossing in a little history.”
“Like croutons,” the other one added, giggling.
I smiled, thanked them for helping, and checked my watch: quarter to seven. The women gushed over the scent of the roasted veal and the garlic-laden, cheesy potatoes. They were only too glad to carry trays with the molded salads upstairs. I gently stirred the pans of shrimp curry and rice. When my helpers returned, we turned the rest of the food into the serving dishes, then trooped back upstairs.
“Ah, our feast!” Eliot cried when we made our entrance. He turned to his audience. “You are probably not aware that in Henry the Eighth’s time, one of the favorite meats was peacock, more for its glory than for its taste. So! In the kitchens of Hampton Court, a peacock would be skinned and roasted. The head, skin, and feathers would be set aside until the meat was cooked, and afterwards be replaced on the roast. The peacock’s beak would then be gilded, and the roast bird in all its feathered glory would be carried forth to the Great Hall!”
Under the low sparkle of the chandeliers, it looked as if all the guests’ stomachs had knotted and their faces turned chartreuse. By the time Eliot finished the peacock story, the students were mock-gagging. That would teach Eliot to discuss uncooked bird head, skin, and feathers. The exception was the Lauderdales, who were deep in a whispered conference. Howie Lauderdale, his head hung with guilt, would not meet my gaze. And then there was John Richard, who had refused to leave with his son, because his girlfriend had demanded they stay and eat the Hyde-subsidized dinner for which they’d paid. Now the Jerk sported his own plucked-peacock look, an expression of embarrassed surprise I had come to associate with Viv massaging one of his nether parts. Sure enough, her hands had disappeared under the table.
Eliot asked if there were any questions. The guests murmured. I didn’t quite have the food set up, so I was desperate for someone to ask something. Is it true chambermaids were sexpots? Anything. Does that woman with Dr. Korman count? On second thought, maybe we could skip the questions.
A parent called out, “Was this castle ever under siege?”
“Ah,” said Eliot, warming instantly to his topic. “Yes. But the siege ultimately failed. Now, when a siege succeeded, it was usually because there was a confederate within, or because the besieging army was able to bore underneath the castle foundations, or because the attackers had found another way to undermine the self- sufficiency of the castle, say, by poisoning their well.”
“What about that high-priced letter from that king?” another parent called. “Found any more of those?”
Eliot’s chuckle was indulgent. “Alas, no. The toilets, or garderobes, have all been thoroughly cleaned and restored, with no further finds. We got a royal flush the first time, what?”
Only a few people laughed. I grabbed a silver spoon, tapped a crystal glass, and announced that dinner was served. I asked the guests first to thank Eliot for his enlightening presentation. The parents and students clapped with much relief, then made a beeline toward the buffet table. I had the two team moms go first, demonstrating the way lines should go down each side of the buffet. Once that was under way, I hustled back to the kitchen for the plum tarts-with-zirconia, two cartons of vanilla ice cream, and the first quart of lime sorbet. As I sped back up to the Great Hall with my rich cargo, I wondered if any of those self-sufficient castles had ever had to deal with melting ice cream.
What? What did I just say to myself?
I pushed into the Great Hall and was thinking so hard I almost upended the Jerk, plate and all. He cursed under his breath. I sincerely hoped he’d served himself lots of molded salad. He was allergic to strawberries.
I sandwiched the ice cream cartons between the ice cubes in the cooler, then began to cut the plum tarts. The castles were self-sufficient. All of the needs of the courtiers and servants were met within the walls: food, water, entertainment, and, oh Lord, forgive me for not thinking of it before now: worship.
Every castle had a chapel, of course it did. But where was the chapel in this castle? I’d been so focused on the Gothic structure down the road, Hyde Chapel, I’d forgotten to ask the question. Andy had written to Tom, The stamps are in the Hydes’ chapel. Could there be more than one? And which one had he been talking about?
Folks were already clustered back at the buffet line for seconds. One of the team moms zipped to my side and gushed that she had to have my recipes for potato casserole and shrimp curry. I told her no problem. The buffet line did not need my attention. So, acting as if I had business there I strode over to the rack of pamphlets Eliot had set up by the east door.
The only two pamphlets on display both looked newly printed: Hide Away at Hyde Castle! and A History of Hyde Castle. I glanced quickly through both of them. The second had a current floor plan, but no indication of how the spaces of the castle had been used in the Middle Ages, when the building had been constructed. The living room, for example, was designated by Eliot as “The Grand Parlor,” when Sukie herself had told me it once stabled the horses. The playroom I’d discovered was labeled “Moat Pump Room.” Why would Eliot, with all his concern for casting out historical tidbits, not tell how the spaces were originally used?
And then I remembered the pamphlets in Eliot’s study. I’d grabbed one entitled Medieval Castles and Their Secrets, as well as Have Your Wedding at Hyde Chapel! But hadn’t I taken another old one, one on taking a tour of the historic castle? Where was that thing?
Out of habit, I patted my pockets. Nothing in my apron. I prayed and felt inside my sweater pockets. Ah: paper. I pulled out all three pamphlets that I’d picked up in Eliot’s office. As the guests had no immediate food needs, I quickly opened A Tour of Hyde Castle and pored over it.
It contained a historic floor plan. I ran my finger across the space allotted to the stables, the old kitchen next to the Great Hall - now the bedroom suite where Julian and Arch were quartered - the duke’s bedroom, now the new kitchen, and, in the area marked Moat Pump Room in the new floor plan, next to what was now Eliot’s study on the west range: Chapel. But I hadn’t seen a pump, broken or no. I’d seen games and toys and kiddie-style furniture. I’d also seen a new lock, a lot of spilled paint, and a Wet Paint sign.
Plus, I’d asked both Michaela and Eliot about the current uses of that room. They’d both either lied or been evasive.
So what did all this tell me? I wasn’t sure. And I didn’t have time to think about it, because at that moment the second mom who’d helped me came trundling up.
“Goldy? What are you doing? Several of the guests have asked what you were reading so intently. Mr. Hyde said it was an old map of the castle.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Well, the Lauderdales want the nondairy dessert for Howie now. They said they asked you to buy lime sorbet.”
I stuffed the pamphlet back into my pocket. “I haven’t started to serve dessert yet.” My voice was stiff with anger. After what the Lauderdales had put Arch through, they had some nerve demanding early dessert service.
“I told Buddy that,” the mom explained, “but he said he wants to get Howie home, in case he was hurt in the collision. I‘11 serve him his special dessert, if you want. Just tell me where it is. The Lauderdales are very anxious. Charde says she wants to get her money’s worth from the banquet, and neither she nor Buddy are having any of the plum tart.”
Oh, man, would these people never stop? “All right. Howie’s sorbet is resting on ice in the cooler. If they must have it now, you can serve it to them. Eliot wants to say a few words about the jewels in the plum tart, so I’m not going to start with the whole dessert service yet.”
“Okay. Except here’s the thing. I thought the sorbet was in the cooler, too,” she explained. “At least, I thought I saw it there. But now it’s gone.”
