The castle which crowned the hill in the midst of the small town where Dame Lavender lived had lately been set in order for the use of a very great lady—a lady not young, but accustomed to luxury and good living—and all the resources of Dame Lavender’s garden had been taxed to provide perfumes, ointments and fresh rose-leaves, for the linen-presses and to be strewn about the floors. Mary and her mother had all that they could do in serving Queen Eleanor.
The Queen was not always easy to please. In her youth she had traveled with Crusaders and known the strange cities of the East; she had escaped once from a castle by night, in a boat, to free herself from a too-persistent suitor. She was not one of the meek ladies who spent their days in needlework, and as for spinning and weaving, she had asked scornfully if they would have her weave herself a hair shirt like a hermit. Mary Lavender was not, of course, a maid of honor, but she found that the Queen seemed rather to like having her about.
“I wish I had your secret, Marie of the Flowers,” said graceful Philippa, one weary day. “Tell me what you do, that our Lady the Queen likes so well.”
Mary smiled in her frank, fearless way. “It may be,” she answered, “that it is the fragrance of the flowers. She desires now to embroider red roses for a cushion, and I have to ask Master Tomaso how to dye the thread.”
The embroidering of red roses became popular at once, but soon there was a new trouble. The Queen began to find fault with her food.
“This cook flavors all his dishes alike,” she said pettishly. “He thinks that colored toys of pastry and isinglass feed a man’s stomach. When the King comes here—although he never knows what is set before him, that is true,—I would like well to have a fit meal for his gentlemen. Tell this Beppo that if he cannot cook plain toothsome dishes I will send for a farmer’s wench from Longley Farm.”
This was the first that had been heard of the King’s intended visit, and great was the excitement in the kitchen. Ranulph dismounted at the door of Dame Lavender’s cottage and asked for Giovanni. Beppo the cook had been calling for more help, and the local labor market furnished nothing that suited him. Would Giovanni come? He would do anything for Ranulph and for Mary.
“That is settled, then,” laughed Ranulph. “I shall not have to scour the country for a scullion with hands about him instead of hoofs or horns.”
In his fourteen years of poverty the little Italian had learned to hold his tongue and keep his eyes open. Beppo was glad enough to have a helper who did not have to be told anything twice, and in the hurry-scurry of the preparations Giovanni made himself useful beyond belief. The cakes, however, did not suit the Queen. Mary came looking for Giovanni in the kitchen-garden.
“Vanni,” she said, “will you make some of your lozenges for the banquet? Beppo says you may. I think that perhaps his cakes are not simple enough, and I know that the King likes plain fare.”