All you see is Icing

It was that time of year again. Two months of utter chaos was upon us and you could feel the tension and excitement in every movement of every staff member from every nook and cranny of the grand house. This was my third year in the kitchen and I was truly doing my dream job. By this stage even Ms. Christine knew my name. Well, she knew I shared my name with a flower, and it didn’t help that I responded with an immense smile to anything flora. I know I made an impression with my work, and at that point in life, it was all that mattered.  Whether or not I made an impression on the Duke or Duchess was an entirely different story. Although, I must admit, at the time it couldn’t have been further from my thoughts. I remember in the years prior I completely missed their grand entrance. I was too busy decorating or dusting up flour to notice the time. This year though, there was a buzz about the kitchen that I just couldn’t ignore, and a sense of tension clung to our skirts when the old grandfather clock in the hall struck eleven. Looking back now, I was so enthralled in my own aspirations I truly didn’t understand the grey cloud that was moving in. I remember glancing over to Tulia and being startled by the ghostly, nauseous look on her face. I was grinning like a Cheshire cat, but my smile quickly turned to a look of confusion. Was there something wrong with the cakes? I, being naïve and a tad bit self absorbed, continued with the boiled icing and paid no mind to Tulia’s unsteady hands working distractedly next to me.

The next few days passed with little consequence and I remember all but forgetting the foreboding atmosphere that had come with the Duke and Duchess’s arrival. Ms. Christine was as stern as ever, and just as I had done before, I kept my head down and my hands busy. Tulia had become my closest friend in the kitchen over the last few summers, but our relationship didn’t extend much past small talk and smiles. This year, however, we were roommates. Our sleeping quarters were just off the kitchen and we had become closer in the last few weeks than ever before. Our days were incredibly long and we were absolutely spent each evening, but sharing a small room makes for fast friends. I’m afraid though, I wasn’t as good of a friend as had I deemed myself to be. I never asked Tulia about the frightened look that crossed her face each time we heard the commanding voice of the Duke drift through the corridors. I had just assumed she was overcome with trepidation at the thought of someone so powerful being so near. I myself was terrified that he or the Duchess would complain about the tea cakes or puddings. A harsh word from them would certainly mean the end of my career.

It wasn’t until our noble guests of honor had been in the big house for another week that I noticed something might be amiss with Tulia. I awoke in the night and made my way to the shared lavatory down the hall. When I returned, sleepy eyed as I was, I noticed Tulia sitting on the floor beside her bed with her knees bent tight to her chest. Her head was down and she was quietly crying. I sat down next to her and startled her as I put my hand on her knee. Her face was puffy and the tip of her small nose was pink. “Are you worried about the banquet we have planned for tomorrow?” I asked, still utterly consumed with tarts and pies. She let out a small chortle as more tears streamed down her face. “The banquet and those that eat it be damned!” She croaked as she lay her head back down on her knees. I was dumbfounded. “I don’t understand, what else could you possibly be so distraught over?” I asked, as tactlessly as ever. She looked up at me with the most disturbing mix of bewilderment and distain. “How can you possibly be so wrapped up in your own sugar dusted world? How on earth can you be so self consumed?” Her words were sharp, but she said them with such pain, that I couldn’t be overly offended. I sat frozen next to her, my hand still resting on her knee, not knowing how to respond. My mind was flipping through the last few weeks, mixing, measuring, baking, dusting-she was right. My world was entirely filled up with the kitchen. I saw glimpses of her in my mind’s eye; sad, lost, frightened. Oh, what had I missed? “What can I do?” I asked, truly wanting to be helpful. “I’m so sorry if I haven’t been there for you.” She took a shaky breath and lifted her head, her tawny hair falling in wisps around her cheeks. “Oh dear Rosy,” she said, this time with pity laced through her words. “There is a whole tainted world playing out around you, and all you see is icing.”

As she began to share her story, I realized rather quickly how very blind I had been. Ms. Christine was the head cook, yes, but she also had a very special relationship with the Duke; and each summer she brought on a new girl to play the role of his lordships kitchen pet. Tulia, in summers past, had been as unaware as I, but this summer Ms. Christine had approached her on her second day and divulged her new duties for the upcoming two months. She had been chosen. How could I have possibly missed something so grotesque and sinister happening right in front of me? I remember now, only ever seeing the Duke in our part of the grand house. I had nonchalantly waved it off, assuming that her ladyship couldn’t be bothered with the goings on of those below her. As it turns out, she wasn’t permitted into our quarters. And so, our quarters were precisely where the Duke was free to gallivant with whichever little filly he laid eyes upon the previous summer. “But when?” I gasped, still not able to fully comprehend the saga being laid out in front of me. “All the bloody time!” Tulia spat. There was a look that Ms. Christine would give poor Tulia, and she was to go down the corridor to our room. He would be waiting. When it became clear to him that she wasn’t at all interested in his advances; he stopped being gentle, or conversational, or humane. Tulia, like me, was from a poor family. Our only hope of a future lay in the kitchen, or, in her case, winning over a wealthy man with her looks and disposition. Such a prospect wasn’t an option for me; my father always said I would have made a very handsome man. The Duke knew this. He knew Tulia had only two options, and in response to her objections would remind her that she was now ruined for other men and would forthright never find a husband that would have her. All that was left was to remain in the kitchen, and he held those keys in a clenched and wicked fist. My stomach was in knots. What would she do? I opened my mouth to speak, but couldn’t conjure any comforting words. So we sat. I moved my hand from her knee to clutch her cold hand and gently placed my head on her shoulder. A whole tainted world indeed. Suddenly the thought of returning to the kitchen felt impossible, and the idea of baking seemed childish and frivolous. We fell into a restless sleep that night, sitting on the floor, my body next to hers being the only comfort I could offer. When morning came, there were still no words to undo what had been done; to change what would be done, so we both carried on into the kitchen.

I can’t tell you what happened to Tulia. She stayed for another few days, a ghost of a girl moving about the kitchen. I too was changed, the knowledge of what was happening burdened me so, and I lost the fervor and passion I once had. One night there was a knock on our door and in one swift movement, Ms. Christine waddled hurriedly over and yanked Tulia from her bed, collected her belongings and pulled her out into the hall. I lay there for a long time straining my ears to paint a picture of what was happening outside. I could hear a carriage leaving, and then nothing at all. I asked after her, of course, but was given a harsh swat on the hand with a rolling pin and an order to get back to work. Sometimes I imagine that she was taken away to live in the countryside as the Dukes mistress; or given a position as the head cook in his formal residence. I can’t bring myself to think too long about the more logical scenarios. My years have been spent with tea cakes and pastries, my aspirations fulfilled. I suppose I should be overjoyed that my life has gone the way it has. Poor Tulia is always in my thoughts though, and her harsh words from that night have become my living epitaph, “There is a whole tainted world playing out around you, and all you see is icing.”