Page 243 of Naughty Nelle

CHAPTER 23

Calla’s bedroom is nothing like the rat-infested closet where I slept as a child or the servants’ quarters where I kept Snow White. It’s fit for a princess with a whimsical hand-painted mural filled with fairies and flowers, a velvety pink rug, and a shelf full of children’s books and stuffed animals. Curled up on her lacy canopy bed, she cuddles her new doll.

“It’s a gift from Marcella,” I say.

Calla gazes at me sheepishly.

“What are you going to name her?”

“She’s so pretty and nice.” She pauses to hug the doll. “Lady Jane!”

I’m touched. She knows the truth. This little girl’s even smarter than I thought.

“Let’s get you ready for dinner,” I say. Grabbing a silver comb from her night table, I sit down next to her and run it through her long golden locks. As I admire her beauty, the memory of that other beautiful little girl unexpectedly flashes through my mind. Snow White. And then I flash forward to the poisoned comb I sold her. The image of Snow White collapsing makes me shudder. Calla’s comb slips out of my trembling hand and onto the bed.

“Can Lady Jane come to dinner? Please, pretty please with a cherry on top?” begs Calla, unaware of my inner state.

Marcella bursts into the room and snaps me back to reality.

“Jane,” she says in a panicked voice, “the cook and his staff have just quit so I need you to get downstairs and prepare dinner. Now!”

Okay, so now in addition to being Marcella’s personal slave, I’m also the family cook.

“And FYI, I’m on a major diet. I want to look fabulous in my new ball gown!”

“What’s a diet?” asks Calla, innocently as she retrieves the comb.

“Something you’ll never have to worry about.” I quickly finish combing her hair.

The castle kitchen is enormous. Way more elaborate than the one at Faraway. There’s a giant built-in hearth, a huge iron cauldron, hundreds of meticulously arranged pots hanging from the ceiling, and a gazillion utensils lining shelves—most of which I’ve never seen before. Large wooden tubs, clustered on the paved stone floor, overflow with flour, grains, assorted fruits and vegetables, and fresh eggs. Chopping blocks, workstations, and storage closets are scattered everywhere.

Meals at Faraway, along with Fanta’s cooking class, were based on the principles of rustic cooking. Simple, good, old-fashioned home cooking. While I mastered basic culinary skills there, I’m not prepared to cook a meal fit for royalty. I have no clue where to begin.

Okay, think. Think!I know. I need a cookbook. I’ll find an easy recipe, the kind that you can whip up in no time. You don’t have to be a culinary genius to follow directions.

I search the shelves for a cookbook. Nothing. There’s got to be one somewhere. I open a storage closet. Aagh! Two large gutted animals dangle before me. Maybe, they were going to be tonight’s main dinner attraction. Not anymore! I slam the door shut.

After several more dead ends, I finally find a cookbook in a workstation drawer: The Joy of Royal Cooking. I open to the first page and begin to read.

INTRODUCTION

Blood, choler, phlegm, and melancholy, the elements found in all living things, and their corresponding natures—hot, dry, wet, cold—must be considered by the cook whenever making any royal recipe. BEWARE! Food not prepared with its humors in mind is unhealthy and can cause death to the person who consumes it.

Blood! Choler! Phlegm!Who wrote this cookbook? They sound like ingredients for an evil potion. I randomly flip to one of the recipes—Page 172, Roasted Tail of Boar with Jellied Eels. Eww! That’s it. I’ve read enough of this royal crap and toss the book in the garbage. Where it belongs.

Outside the large kitchen window, the sun is setting. I feel the onset of panic. Help! What am I going to do?

Think, Jane, think!Suddenly, I know. I’ll do what I know how to do. I’ll make The Prince and his family (hmm…I’m not sure if Marcella counts) some “rustic” dishes I learned how to prepare at Faraway. A hearty soup, a fresh salad, and a crusty loaf of bread. And maybe a simple dessert.

My spirits perk up. Singing “lalalala,” I prance around the kitchen in search of anything I can throw into the giant bubbling cauldron. And what riches I find! Tons of fresh vegetables, grains, and herbs. With a long wooden spoon, I stir the ingredients. In no time, the broth starts to smell delicious. You simply can’t go wrong with soup.

While the soup simmers, I start on the bread. A quick rising one. I find all the ingredients I need and mix them together. The dough is perfect—soft but not too sticky. Now, on to my favorite part—kneading. For three delicious, stress-releasing minutes, I massage the dough, pressing and pulling it in different directions. How good it feels to plunge my fingers into the warm, stretchy mixture. I flashback to the first time I made bread with Winnie and remember I should be thinking about someone I hate. Marcella! Dough, it’s time for you to feel some pain. I tug wickedly at the dough, enjoying every minute.

After letting it rest for a few minutes, I shape the dough into a round loaf, slash the top with a sharp knife—did you feel that, Marcella?—and place it into the hearth.

While the bread bakes, I quickly pull together a salad in a large ceramic bowl. I throw in a bunch of assorted fresh greens and then top them off with a dash of oil and vinegar. I take a taste…not bad. Marcella will appreciate it. Salad, the sustenance of Sasperilla. The perfect diet food.

Okay. Now for dessert. Hmm. What can I make? The desserts we prepared at Faraway were limited and usually made from the fresh fruit we picked. Searching through the myriad of barrels, I stumble upon a mountain of apples. Beautiful, rosy red apples.

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