Page 19 of Her Royal Houseguest

The abbot jerked his head in a grumpy nod. Then he headed towards the stairs, intoning something more.

It was a call and response chant. Anna had never heard the like before. Neither, apparently, had anyone else in the house.

Phoebe came rushing out of the parlour with her eyes wide as her gaze hopped from Anna to the prince, then the abbot, before returning to the prince again.

Clearly her friend was agog. As were the servants and her parents while the two monks began to climb the stairs towards the attic. Well, this was new.

Prince Deva appeared at the top of the stairs, his hair askew, his face dirty and his expression irritated. He waited there for a pause in the call and response chanting.

‘Not ready!’ he said in English. Then he frowned and spoke in rapid fire Siamese.

It didn’t matter. The abbot sang over him and Prince Vaji sang the response. Maybe once begun, they couldn’t stop. Then Prince Deva saw poor Clarke standing at the base of the stairs with rags in his arms.

Immediately he snapped his fingers at Clarke, three times, before Anna tapped Clarke’s shoulder and pointed at Prince Deva. ‘I think he needs the rags.’

‘Oh! Oh yes, but…’ She could see his confusion. Was he supposed to run ahead of the monks with the rags? Or wait until after they had made it to the attic.

‘Take the back stairs,’ she said, exasperation in her tone. ‘Quickly!’

Clarke nodded then took off. Hopefully, if the monks went slowly enough, he could beat them to the attic. Though what he intended to do up there while the chanting went on was beyond her. Apparently, it was beyond Prince Deva as well as he watched the monks tromp past him. There he stood, hands on his hips while his bare right foot tapped on the floor in annoyance.

For some reason, the sight made her smile. At least she wasn’t the only one completely at a loss. But then she remembered that Monk Prince Vaji had said his brother liked food. A lot of English food.

Damn it. She rushed down to the kitchen. They needed at least two more dishes tonight. Maybe more. She really hoped he enjoyed mutton.

Chapter Six

Ai-ya! Did these people eat like this every night? Prince Deva eyed the table and the elaborate dishware with shock. He’d already been served enough food to feed a village. Heavy soups. Heavy meats with heavy sauces. And still more coming?

His hosts were pleasant enough. The duke and duchess made polite inquiries about his home, clearly not understanding the heat or the abundance of life everywhere in Siam. And he, in turn, could not comprehend a cold so bitter that man or beast would freeze into a block of ice.

But even stranger was how Lady Anna took pains to explain the origins of every dish that was served. She detailed the food in the dishes and who enjoyed it during what time of year. Her knowledge was eclectic, as if she stored tales of food in her mind and pulled them out as needed. What did it mean that a person was so fiercely interested in food? Especially since she ate a modest amount.

All in all, it would have been a pleasant meal except for all the chanting. Sadly, the abbot believed that the volume of his chants would make his prayers more effective. Even if he had a good voice, which he didn’t, the sheer amount of singing wore on everyone. It would be bad enough if the man only wanted to do his evening prayers but no, the abbot wanted to pray for cleanliness, for purity, for making sure that everyone knew he was important.

The meal ended well before the chanting did. Deva did not blame anyone for escaping to evening activities. Indeed, the duke and duchess could not disappear fast enough. For his part, Deva wanted nothing more than to lie down and let this horrible meal digest.

Ai-ya, his feet were cold! No wonder the English wore things on their feet all the time. He would have to find some sort of indoor slipper that would serve to teach the English healthy habits regarding dirt inside the home and yet still have warmth on his feet. At least the house had thick carpets on top of their wood floors. Now he understood their use.

He stretched out on his bed, relaxing for the first time that day. There were so many things to reflect upon. Up until now, his primary focus had been on getting to England. But now that they were here, it was time to decide how best to manage their trade agreement.

Instead, he kept thinking about Lady Anna.

What a fierce woman!

Until this trip, he had thought the ghost people too insubstantial to have such powerful spirits. Their bodies wilted in the heat, they resorted to violence to win any argument and many seemed ruled by their lusts.

Travel had shown him that northern men could be weak or strong just as in Siam. Some good, some evil, some ruled by appetite and others by intellect. That had surprised him but he’d adjusted his thoughts.

Now he saw that northern women could be fierce as well. He had yet to know if Lady Anna’s intellect matched her spirit but he believed in the power of her chi. How sad that no one had taught her how to order her mind or her environment. He still marvelled at the variety of the chaos he’d seen reflected in her attic space.

He had no desire to speak to her again. Or so he told himself. And yet, he found himself picking up another one of her books. He’d found it behind a bookcase. Knowing how fiercely she valued her books, he had brought it downstairs, intending to return it.

Now was as good a time as any.

He took the book and went down the hallway. If she were in her bedchamber, he would leave but she was in a sitting room next to the nursery. The door was open, so he had ample time to observe her. She sat on the floor in the middle of a room stuffed with baskets of a variety of things. As he watched, she picked up knitting needles from inside one box. A half done stretch of knitting flowed down and she stared at it, twisting it one way or another as if trying to remember what she’d been making. Then she tossed it back into the basket before turning to another collection, this one of half-done dolls.

She groaned over that before turning to a stack of sketches. Those she tossed unceremoniously into the cold fire grate.