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So that is how it will be, she thought, sponging up the mess from the floor. Pranks and tricks and snubs. There was no way to know who had plotted this humiliation. The common pitcher was just that, common, and she doubted Mistress Raendl cared to investigate something so petty. Did the girls in her father’s house act the same?
Mistress Raendl did scold her for the broken cup. She also ranted at Ilse for using her best sponge to clean the floor. “It’s for crystal, girl,” she said, with an exasperated noise. “I should think you’d know that by now.”
Ilse sighed. “I’m sorry. I’ll remember next time.”
“Do that. This one is ruined. And try not to be so clumsy.”
Nothing marred the rest of that day. Ilse tested all her dishes carefully before she ate, and touched her tongue to her tea before she drank. Nothing tainted. Nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe the girls had exhausted their bad humor with one prank.
The next afternoon, Kathe came to Ilse with a basket of new cucumbers. “I need these washed, peeled, and diced. Make each cube the size of your fingertip. It’s for Lord Kosenmark’s luncheon, and Lord Vieth is one of the guests.”
Lord Vieth was the regional governor, an elegant man with exacting tastes, according to rumor. He never visited the pleasure house, but he often visited Lord Kosenmark, and Ilse appreciated the difference. “Your mother must be anxious.”
Kathe grinned. “Of course. I would suggest we all strive for perfection today. Or close enough to please a finicky cook. Once you’ve diced these, give them to Rosel and start on the peppers. Thin curling slices. Imagine them as green ribbons.”
Ilse cleared off her workstation, then laid out the proper knives. She would need water to scrub the cutting board, and more water to wash the cucumbers. She took a pail to the pump outside to fetch water. When she returned, she saw at once that the knives had disappeared.
She glanced around. All the other girls were busy.
Mistress Raendl had gone off to interview a replacement for the last pastry cook, and Kathe was not in sight. Maybe someone borrowed them.
She would have to fetch another set of knives, and search for the old set later. Doubt niggled at her mind. She pushed those thoughts aside and concentrated on the task at hand. Today was the first time Kathe had entrusted her with such a task, unsupervised. Ilse wanted to prove herself useful.
She washed the cucumbers thoroughly and dumped the water in the drain outside. When she returned, she found the original knives just where she had left them.
Except now they’re ruined.
She picked up one—its blade was visibly notched. Another one looked dull. The third knife had a cracked hilt and broken point.
Ilse swallowed hard. No crying. No self-pity. Besides, that’s what the girls wanted. Trying to keep a calm face, she fetched another set of knives and had the cucumbers peeled and diced before Mistress Raendl came back. The interview with the pastry cook had not gone well, judging by her stiff expression, and when she found the broken knives, her eyes narrowed.
“I told you not to be so clumsy. Three knives ruined. You did well with the dicing, but those are three knives we cannot use again. It’s not just the cost, girl. Chip a knife and you could put out someone’s eye.”
Ilse shook her head.
“Are you arguing with me?” Mistress Raendl said softly.
“No, ma’am. I’m sorry. I will be careful.”
More pranks followed throughout the next five days. Vinegar added to her tea. Glasses cracked so that they broke when she washed them. Pins in her stockings. Brushes and rags and spoons that vanished from her workstation when she wasn’t looking. Soon her throat hurt constantly, and her nerves jumped at every sound.
It was late one evening, when there came a lull in orders from the common room, and Mistress Raendl gave all the girls an extra break. Ilse took the opportunity to go outside into the lane. The cold would keep the others away. If they set another trick, well, she was getting used to it. She wandered toward the gardens, to the path where she had first entered Lord Kosenmark’s grounds, nearly eight weeks before. The trees were bare now. Winter had arrived, bringing with it wetter weather and the hint of snow. If she walked away tonight, she would have to find shelter from the cold and damp.
One of the kitchen cats curled around her legs and mewed for attention. Ilse bent to scratch its head and took comfort in its rumbling purr. Never again, she thought. Never again will I run away.
“Ilse.” Kathe’s voice came from the doorway.
Ilse straightened up and the cat whisked away into the darkness. “Am I wanted inside?”
“No. We’ve a chance to breathe tonight, thankfully. It was just—” Kathe’s voice sounded tentative, unlike her usual cheerful self. “I wondered if you wanted to tell me anything.”
Of course Kathe knew, or guessed at, what happened with her crew. She was clever and observant, as well as a good cook. Ilse was tempted to tell her everything. Then Kathe would lecture the girls and …
… and I shall forever need her protection.
She shook her head. “No. I have to solve it by myself.”
“So you do admit there’s a problem.”
