Chapter 12: Before the Guards

"Give me that cup," I said.

The Duke held it higher, out of my reach.

"So you can pour it on a plant?"

"So I can taste it. In front of everyone."

"Guards," said the Duke. "Take Miss Pellow below stairs. I want her things searched where she keeps them."

A guard took each of my arms.

Father stepped aside to let them pass, and dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief.

Half the ladies in the yellow drawing room followed us down the servants' stairs to watch.

The still room went silent when we came in.

The cook was at the oven with a tray of rolls.

The scullery maids froze at the sink.

The tea boy dropped a spoon.

My blending girls were at the end of the long table, weighing out leaf, and the porter was asleep on a flour bin.

He woke up and stood so fast he knocked his cap off.

"What's this?" said the cook. "Put her down."

"Stand aside, woman," said the Duke.

"It's my still room," said the cook. "I'll stand where I like."

The guards let go of me.

I walked straight to my bench, where my morning pot still sat on its stand.

"Your Grace," I said. "Give me the cup."

He held it out at last, smiling.

I took a mouthful and pulled it hard across my tongue.

I spat it into the slop bowl.

"Verdigris," I said. "And sloe. And ash."

"How very honest of you," said the Duke.

"Now taste this."

I poured a cup from my own pot, the pot the King's cup came from, and held it out.

"It's the same pot," I said. "If there were copper in it, you'd taste it. Go on. One sip."

The Duke looked at the cup and didn't take it.

"I'll take it, miss," said the porter.

He drank it straight down, every drop, and wiped his whiskers.

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