The empress of ice cream

Carlo

Chocolate ice cream: this is not an easy ice to make, but it repays the effort. Mix together half a cup of chocolate powder and half a cup of sugar. Add enough cold milk to make a paste, then two cups of hot milk. Simmer very gently, stirring all the while, for eight minutes. Then remove from the heat and stir in six one-ounce tablets of chocolate, chopped very fine. In a separate bowl, beat together six egg yolks and half a cup of sugar and beat until pale. Pour in the chocolate mixture, beating vigorously. Heat, but do not boil; add half a cup of sugar syrup; cool in a cold-water bath, and finally beat in two cups of heavy cream before you freeze.

The Book of Ices

The king had asked for an ice, his first in many months. I made an ice of chocolate and raisins, and took it to his apartments.

‘He is in his laboratory,’ the footman told me. ‘You are to go straight in.’ !

I found the laboratory full of a stinking smoke, and the king coughing. ‘Ah, signor,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Never mix sulphur and magnesia.’

‘Indeed, sir.’

There was a large glass prism beside the window. It had been arranged in such a way that it caught the sunlight, scattering it into a rainbow of colours. I could not help wondering how it was done, for the glass itself appeared to be completely plain, with nothing inside it.

Seeing me looking, the king nodded. ‘You can pick it up.’

I picked it up and peered inside the prism, but the colours instantly vanished. It was only when it was placed in the sun again that the rainbow reappeared.

‘One of my virtuosi fashioned it,’ he said. ‘It shows what light is made of.’

‘Light, surely, comes from God?’

‘So we were taught. But this man has dared to look inside God’s light, and now finds that like any other substance it has its composition and its quantities. And so another of our childish illusions is pricked by the cold scepticism of science.’ He was silent a moment. ‘How fares the Duchess of Portsmouth’s ball? She has everything she needs?’

‘Yes, thank you, sir.’

‘I am very fond of the duchess, signor.’

‘Of course,’ I said, not entirely certain how else I should respond.

‘That is to say, I would not want her to be without anything that she requires for her entertainment.’ He turned back to his bench. ‘Or, indeed, her comfort.’

I nodded, unable to speak, for I saw now what this conversation was really about.

‘I have been unable to attend Her Grace recently as much as I would have wished. The pressure of business. . .’

He looked at the chocolate ice cream where it sat on the table. One of his lapdogs clambered onto the stool, put his head on one side, and eased his tongue into the bowl. A few licks later, and the ice cream was gone.

‘I am not, by nature, a jealous man,’ he said softly. ‘Take care that you are not either, signor, and we shall do very well.’ He touched the glass prism, spinning it so that the rainbow whirled around the room. ‘Sometimes it does not do to enquire too closely into the nature of things. Sometimes there can be altogether too much light.’

*

I walked through the streets of London, thinking. I walked for several hours, until it was dark.

Then I turned back towards Whitehall.

I went to Louise’s apartments. But although it was by now very late, my way was blocked by two unfamiliar footmen.

‘You can’t go in,’ one of them said.

‘Tell her it is—’

‘No one enters. Including us.’

I stepped back. ‘I am her confectioner.’ I realised how feeble it sounded. But just then the door opened and the French ambassador came out. He cast me a shifty look before scuttling off.

I waited. A few minutes later Thomas Osborne came out - or Lord Danby, as we were to call him since he had become Lord Treasurer. He, too, glanced at me quickly and then turned away.

Assuming that whatever the meeting was, it was over, I once again stepped towards the door - only to find my way still barred. ‘His Majesty does not wish to be disturbed.’

‘His Majesty!’ I stared at the door, trying to imagine what was happening behind it. ‘I will wait until he comes out.’

The footman shrugged, as if to say it was all the same to them.

I went to a nearby window seat and waited. Dawn was breaking when at last the door opened and a familiar figure Pepped out.

I did not move, but the light from the window must have caught my face, because he came to st^d at the window. Down below us, in St James’s Park, a small group of deer moved silendy through the early morning mist.

‘Another fine day, signor,’ he said, looking out. Then he was gone, the long stride echoing down the corridor, the footmen marching at his heels.

Her apartments were grown so large that just to reach her bedchamber took an age. Every surface was covered with paintings

and tapestries: every corner contained some ornate French cabinet or priceless vase. Candles burned low in great glass chandeliers above my head, chandeliers shivered and chimed softly as I passed below them.

She too was standing by a window, wrapped only in a long woollen chemise, her hair tumbled over one shoulder, looking down at the mist where it wreathed on the surface of the lake.

As I entered she turned. She did not seem particularly surprised that I was there.

‘I came to warn you,’ I said. ‘To tell you that the king knows about us. It seems I was too late.’

She nodded.

‘What’s going on?’ I asked.

‘Last night, in these rooms, he signed a new treaty with France.’

‘A secret one, I take it?’

‘Yes. It replaces the Treaty of Dover. In return for a new pension from Louis, Charles will prorogue Parliament and commit England to another war with the Dutch.’

‘Another! The blood is hardly dry from the last one.’

‘He gets four m il lion gold crowns. Enough to pay for aU the mistresses he could ever want. Enough to rebuild Windsor Castle. Enough to live like a king.’

‘'Like a king?’

She shrugged. ‘From now on, France will make all decisions affecting England’s foreign policy. What Charles does at home, of course, is of no concern.’

‘And his conversion? The conversion of his country? All Madame’s hopes for his soul?’

‘Madame was not pragmatic in these matters. In my treaty, Charles simply promises never to set aside the queen. His heir will thus be his brother James, who is already a Catholic. England will become Catholic after Charles is dead.’

‘But your own hopes of becoming queen—’

‘Were impractical as well,’ she interrupted. ‘I should have

accepted that sooner. I have my work cut out just being what I am.’

‘And what is that?’ I demanded - poindessly, for the tumbled bedsheets already told me.

‘He has returned to me,’ she said simply. ‘I am the king’s mistress again.’

‘And - that’s it?’ I said desperately. ‘He walks in and claims you, and I am just put aside?’

She gave me a look then of sudden pity - not pity that I felt this way, but pity that I had not understood.

And with a sudden realisation, I did understand.

‘It’s no coincidence, is it?’ I said slowly.

She did not reply.

‘The king had grown bored with you. You needed to find some way of rekindling his interest. Some Another thought

struck me. ‘Are there spy holes?’ I eyed the painted panelling above the bed, the mirrors artfully placed in the corners of the room. ‘Did you tell him when to come and watch? When I would be here? Where to stand, to reinvigorate Old Rowley’s withered yard?’

‘I did not tell him,’ she said wearily. ‘You are wrong about that, at least.’

‘But you allowed others to.’

‘I can’t help it if the palace is full of spies. Carlo, )tou should be pleased at this outcome. Far from being jealous, the king has made it clear that you have his blessing. Not all men would be so understanding. It is a sign of how important I am to him now.’

‘You will be the most loathed woman in the kingdom, if there is another war.’

‘I am not here to be popular. Besides, my children are to be given tides. Litde Charles will be raised as a Protestant. He is to become Baron Settrington, Earl of March and Duke of Richmond.’ She rolled the English ddes off her topgue, savouring each word. ‘Ample recompense for a litde jeering, don’t you think?’

‘Tell me one thing,’ I said. ‘When we lay together - in that bed . . I could hardly bear to look at it now. ‘Was any of that real, or was it all simply to excite the king?’

‘Oh, that was real. You must believe that. It was a greater pleasure than any I have ever felt.’

‘And?’ I dernanded. ‘Surely that means something to you?’

She shrugged.

‘Pleasure is pleasure,’ she said simply. ‘It means nothing. It changes nothing. Enjoyable, yes, but compared with the important things - planning, and achievement, and making ail Europe march to one drum - compared with shaping the world, it is nothing.’

‘Then you don’t love me.’

‘Not as you love me, no. And you know something? I am glad of it. How I would hate to have my judgement clouded by a passion such as that. It is like tennis - when you play for love, you play for nothing. And so love comes to mean nothing, in the end.’

She put one hand on my shoulder.

‘This will all be all right. You’ll see. Carlo. Come to bed. We should celebrate this.’

I left her then.

I turned and walked out of her apartments, the outer rooms already filHng with petitioners eager to get the best position at her ruelk. I walked out of that decrepit, sprawling palace, past rakes still drunk from the night before and grand ladies hurrying home in their ballgowns. I passed courtesans tiptoeing from ministers’ apartments, and yawning footmen removing the burnt-out stubs from silver candlesticks. As that great hive of cynicism and debauchery came to life for another day, I left it without a backward glance.

I walked through St James’s Park. One of the deer lifted his head to watch me: a single stag, his head crowned with antlers, guarding his does.

The kitchens at the Red Lion were quiet, now that Hannah had gone. There was no smell of baking pies wafting through the dining room, no aroma of fresh herbs steeping on the stove.

She had left the alcove where she worked very tidy. Her per

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ishables had been given away to neighbours or friends, the saucepans and tools sold in the market for ready cash.

On the table was a book. I picked it up, wondering why she had left this particular volume behind.

Culpeper. The Compleat Herbal. I opened the cover. On the flyleaf she had written.

Signor,

This book is freely available where I am going. So you had

better have this one, and I will buy another. But please keep it

safe, and do not let them burn it.

Tour friend, Hannah Crowe

I turned the pages.

Musk melons . . . Cucumbers . . . Burdock . . .

Hetties are so well known that they need no description^ they may be found, by feeling, in the darkest night.

Chamomile . . . Penny-mint. . . Cress ...

Did a book of herbs really deserve to be burned.^

Was Charles right, when he talked to me about the prism? Is it really knowledge that is dangerous, or secrecy? t

I took my cart and drove down to Barn Elms. Builders wearing gloves against the cold were hard at work, hoisting into place the great blocks of carved and moulded ice that would make up the facade of the pavilion. Next to it, the skating pond was already complete, covered with straw to keep it fresh.

I walked round, inspecting their handiwork. Even now, the sun’s rays were making the surface of the blocks damp. When it was finished the ice palace would last a few days, a fortnight at the most.

It would be a triumph - of course it would: everything she did was a triumph. People would talk about this extravagance for years. As for the tastes of my ice creams, what would be said about them? Nothing - for how could anyone talk about something so few had experienced and none could imagine?

They woulcT disappear, like snowflakes in summer. Like Michelangelo’s snowman, washed away by the rain.

Two apprentices were playing amongst a pile of discarded chippings. As they hurled flstfuls of ice at each other the chips scattered and caught the sun above their heads, a flashing, glittering rainbow of colours. The children shrieked and whooped, before the foreman stopped them with a growl.

I loaded up my cart with ice and tools. To the east lay the road back to London - the new King’s Road, still unfinished, but sure to be a recipient of some of those French livres soon. To the west lay the great road that led to the far coast of England: the ports of Plymouth, Bristol and Torquay.

I went west, towards the setting sun.

t