Chapter Two part 2

Jonny was bored. Bored out of his skull. He'd read every book in the house (his brother had taken quite a few on his trip) and played every game there is to play with a single player. He'd played his lute for two hours straight, until his fingertips were so sore he couldn't press a single string without wincing. And there was just nothing else to do. Music class was on Fridays, history on Tusedays and writing and reading on Wednesdays. Since it was a Thursday, that left Jonny with nothing but staring outside into the garden, watching thin layers of ice melt and trickle down from the leaves under a pale autumn sun.

He missed Cozzie more than he would admit. Missed him for his relentless banter, his lively company around the house, even his dismissive attitude when he was doing something important. Like reading. The fact that he couldn't annoy his brother or be annoyed by him, was probably the worst.

Fuck it. He gave up. He needed to talk to someone. His mother wouldn't be home for another two hours, and so he made his way downstairs. To the kitchen. The kitchen, that was forbidden territory for them. The children were not supposed to mingle with the downstairs staff. To avoid bad influence, or something. Jonny didn't care, he'd do anything to be entertained right now. Even getting into trouble would still be *something*.

He opened the heavy wooden doors and descended the small stone stairs, following the twist they made and running his hand along the clay wall, more out of curiosity than for keeping his balance.
Another set of wooden doors appeared in front of him, and he slowly pulled them open.

Jonny had seen the kitchen before, but that was ages ago. Also, there was no one inside and everything was clean and polished. As it was, the small area seemed crammed, even though only four people were around. Five, including Jonny. Food and kitchen tools were strewn around; three raw chickens were spread out on the table, a bowl of stuffing next to them. There were all sorts of vegetables, being cut by two girls. Probably Agnes and Clara, Jonny remembered, from overheard conversations with his mother to other servants. An older, rather plump woman was standing in front of the huge fireplace, which, together with the large wooden table possibly occupied about 80% of the kitchen space. Machtelt, as her name was, was wearing a big white apron. Well, white. It was covered in fat stains and something brown that was probably blood. The fireplace was embedded in a brick and mortar construction, and a giant cauldron was steaming above it. Lower to the fire, on a trivet, entire potatoes were roasting.

Despite the chimney above the fire, the kitchen was smoky, which blurred Jonny's vision a bit. Thus, when one of the ladies let out a high-pitched yelp of surprise, followed by a rather loud thump, he couldn't really see who it was, at first. The three people in the room seemed to focus their attention to somewhere else than Jonny, though, and he took a step forward to see what was going on on the other side of the kitchen. He was surprised to see yet another girl standing there, staring at him with big eyes, her arms open as if she'd just dropped something. And yes, when Jonny looked down, he saw a large basket full of fruit on the floor, half of its content across the rough tiled floor. He looked back to the girl, who was eyeing Machtelt with a confused expression. Machtelt, who had just spotted him and was quickly taking off her dirty apron and talking rather fast:

"Oh! Sir, I hadn't seen you come in! I am so sorry - girls, stand up and take off your aprons, where are your manners?? - how are you, Sir? I hope everything's alright, Sir? Do you need anything, Sir? If there are any complaints, I can assure you -"

"No! No complaints, nothing like that. I'm fine, by the way, thank you. I just... I came down to..." Jonny tried to think of a good reason to stroll into the kitchen at random and tread the stern regulations of the etiquette without so much as a warning. Unsurprisingly, he failed at this and just sighed.

"I'm just so bored. Mother is out and I'm here alone. I didn't mean to disturb you, I apologise. Would it be okay if I... stay here for a while? I won't say anything, I promise. Just pretend I'm not here."

The four ladies stared at him, and Jonny felt his face go red. This was a bad idea. Maybe if he went up again they could go on pretending this had never happened. Then Machtelt spoke.

"But.. Sir, are you sure? This is, I mean, the Lady would not appreciate it at all, she would not tolerate it if I allowed this-"

"Well she's not here, is she? I promise I won't say a word. I just want to watch. Have something more interesting to watch than the garden. And please call me Jonny."

Machtelt sighed in defeat. She looked at her girls. Then at the cauldron behind her. Then at Jonny again.

"Alright, Sir, if you insist. But it is out of the question that I would refer to you with your first name, Sir, I'm sorry. You can sit down here, if you like, and Natasha will get you whatever you want. Natasha? Pick up that basket, girl, quick. Give this young man something to drink and eat. I have to get back to work, if you don't mind, Sir?"

"Oh, of course not, Madam, as I said, you can just pretend I'm not here. I don't mean to bother you with anything."

Machtelt blushed a little at Jonny's 'Madam', but bent her knees in a slight bow - "Sir." - and finally turned around, put on her apron again and started rummaging in one of the cupboards. A whiff of spices spread over the kitchen, which made Jonny close his eyes for a moment and sniff the air.

Natasha, apparently still not quite over the shock, had filled her basket again with the lost fruit and put it in the corner. She came up to Jonny, a bit hesitant.

"Would you like something to drink, Sir?"

Now that she'd come out of the smoke, Jonny go a proper look at her. She had long shiny and deep black hair, the front chopped off in a fringe. Her skin was of a slightly darker colour than his. Her nose indicated that she probably had foreign roots. Her language, however, didn't give a single hint. Her Dutch was as Dutch as Machtelt's. The typical accent of a serving class Flemish girl.

"Um. I don't know. What do you have?"

Natasha looked questioningly at Machtelt, but the cook was too busy with dinner. Clara and Agnes had gone back to chopping leek and garlic, too, so no help there, either.

"Um. There's tea, or water of course, or some orange juice if you like, I have fresh oranges from the market, straight from Spain -"

"Orange juice sounds nice, thank you," Jonny said softly, feeling like much more of a burden than he would've liked to be.

Natasha retreated to the other end of the table and started cutting the oranges, occasionally glancing at him from under her fringe. Jonny wished he had a fringe to hide behind, too. He promptly decided to grow one.
The kitchen turned out to be a rather cosy area, after the initial strained and uneasy silence. Clara and Agnes's chattering gradually became audible for Jonny and Machtelt was humming a tune whilst stirring a giant mass of what was probably soup and occasionally adding spices, a lump of butter or the remaining meat and bones of what was once the inside of the chickens. Soon Natasha put a mug of fresh orange juice in front of him, mumbling a quiet "here you go, Sir" and retreating to the corner of the room to rummage in her fruit basket. A moment later she took out a few apples, looking at them with a strange expression, a cross between anxiety and anger, and turned to the cook.

"Machtelt, it happened again! I swear I didn't pick these, I inspected each one a long time before I put it in my basket, I swear to you, please believe me!" Her voice wavered a bit as she showed the apples to Machtelt. The cook wiped her hands on her apron and took one from the girl's hands. Agnes and Clara looked up nervously.

"For Heaven's sake, Natasha, will you start taking care of the Lady's goods!" She quickly glanced at Jonny at the last words. "I couldn't possibly ask for money to buy new ones, you'll have to cut off the bad parts. You know the rules: no dinner for you tonight."

Natasha nodded.

"Of course. I'm so sorry, it won't happen again, I promise."

"That's what you said last time," Machtelt said irritatedly.

The girl sat herself at the table next to Agnes, in front of Jonny, at which Agnes moved her stuff over to the other chair, away from her. Natasha didn't look up, but started cutting the apples in a skilled way, dodging the brown and rotten pieces and throwing them on a pile that was growing faster than the pile with the good parts. She looked utterly miserable, and Jonny felt a wave of pity for her.

"What happened? With the apples, I mean?" he asked her.

She looked up, a bit taken aback, but started talking.

"I don't know, really. The last three times I went to the market I came home with apples like these. I didn't buy them like that. Especially today I made sure they were the finest apples around, I spent ages picking them."

She added in a low voice, so that Machtelt couldn't hear: "Clara and Agnes think they might be cursed. Machteld won't hear of it, though."

Jonny's eyes widened. He hadn't thought of that possibility.

"But... they look like regular apples, only gone bad," he offered.

"I know. I don't know what to do." She waited, then pleaded, "please don't tell this to the Lady."

"I won't, I won't," he assured her, not even having expected the request in the first place.

All four resumed their work and after a while started talking to Jonny. They'd answer his questions in further detail than he had asked for and end up talking among each other about something entirely unrelated.

Jonny completely forgot the time, until suddenly the entire kitchen started vibrating and shaking. He had no idea what's going on, but it quickly became clear.

"The Lady's carriage! Quick, Sir, please go back upstairs. We aren't looking for trouble."

Jonny hastily got up, and before he bolted upstairs, thanked all of them for the nice time and the orange juice. Natasha smiled a shy smile, and Machtelt added:

"If you'd like to come back sometime, you're most welcome, Sir, but for now it would be best if the Lady didn't know about it. I hope you understand, Sir."

"Of course, Madam."

"Oh please call me Machteld, Sir, madam doesn't suit me," she blushed.

"Only if you call me Jonny."

"I couldn't possibly, Sir!"

"Jonathan, then," he said hastily, then ran up the stairs two at a time, smiling.