Free A Royal Pain by Rhys Bowen

Princess Hanni, was décolleté and wearing the lightest silk, from which she appeared to be suffering no ill effects.
    Food arrived via the dumbwaiter. My grandfather served the plates.
    “What is this?” The baroness poked experimentally with her fork.
    “Steak and kidney pud,” said Granddad. “Good old solid British grub.”
    “Steakandkidkneepood? Grub?” the baroness demanded. “Grub is word for insect, ja ?”
    “Cockney word for food, Yer Highness,” my grandfather said.
    “I do not think I shall like this,” the baroness said, but she tried a small taste. “Not bad,” she said, and promptly wolfed down everything on her plate.
    When the pudding course arrived she looked puzzled. “There is no soup? No fish? No fowl? No salad? How am I supposed to keep my strength with so little to eat?”
    “I live alone and have become used to eating simply,” I said. “When we are invited to the palace to dine with the king and queen, I’m sure they will serve all of those courses.”
    “But until then I must suffer, I suppose,” she said with dramatic resignation.
    “I thought it tasted real swell,” Hanni said. “Better than food at the convent. Nuns always make penance.”
    The dessert was placed in front of us. “And what is this now?” the baroness asked.
    “Spotted dick and custard,” Granddad said. “One of Mrs. Huggins’s specialties.”
    “Spotted dick?” The baroness prodded it suspiciously. “You mean duck?”
    “No, dick.” Granddad caught my eye and winked.
    “Duck I know. Dick I do not know,” the baroness said.
    I had to stare down at my plate for fear of laughing. “It’s just a name,” I said. “An old traditional name for a suet pudding.”
    “Suet? So bad for my digestion.” But she ate it, clearing her plate before anyone else and not refusing seconds. “I suppose I have to eat something,” she said with resignation. “Do all English noble families eat so simply?”
    “There is a depression,” I said. “We try to live simply when the ordinary people are having such a hard time.”
    “I see no point in being of noble birth if one can’t eat well,” she said. “We have so few privileges left.”
    “I like spotted dick,” Hanni exclaimed. “And tomorrow you show me London and we go to parties and dance and have good time.”
    I thought that any good time might be severely restricted by Baroness Rottenmeister but wisely kept silent. Then, when the baroness excused herself for a few moments, Hanni hissed at me, “We have to get rid of pain in ass. She will not let me have good time. We should take her out.”
    “Take her out where?”
    Hanni grinned. “You know. Take her out. Waste her. Bang bang. Curtains.”
    “Hanni, I don’t think we’re going to be able to waste the baroness, but I agree she’s not going to make things pleasant for us.”
    “Then we must plan way to make her go home.”
    “How?”
    “Make it not nice for her here. She likes to eat. Serve her very little food. And she likes to be warm. Open all windows. Make it cold. And she likes hot baths. Turn off hot water.”
    I looked at her in amazement. “For someone straight from the convent, you are quite devious,” I said.
    “What means devious?”
    “Sneaky.”
    “Oh, like pulling a fast one,” she said, beaming. “Yeah. Sure thing, baby.”
    “ Ach, dass ist gut. You young ladies make friends. I like this,” said the baroness as she reentered the room.
    After coffee I escorted my guests up to bed. The baroness needed more blankets and complained that her room was damp and she was sure she saw a spider in the corner.
    “I’m sorry. This house is very damp, even in summer,” I said. “And I’m afraid there are often spiders. Although not many poisonous ones.”
    “Poisonous spiders? In London?”
    “Only sometimes,” I said.
    And where was my maid to help her? she demanded. I explained that the maid had the night off.
    “Night off? You allow servants out on Saturday