I knew something was wrong the instant I set foot in the Capulet mansion. I had come in through the back garden, hoping to avoid any explanations regarding my sudden abundance of books. None of the usual comforting noises of servants gossiping and going about their business met my ears. I could hear the muffled roaring of Lord Capulet coming from somewhere upstairs like a thunderstorm in the distance. Louder sounds of anguish came from the direction of the kitchen.
Juliet pounced without warning, descending the staircase at lightning speed. “Where have you been?” she demanded in a fierce whisper. “Why do you have all of those?”
“Long story,” I said.
“Come upstairs, quick! It’s better to be out of Father’s way,” Juliet commanded, dragging me up the stairs as she spoke.
“What’s happened?” I asked, keeping my voice as low as I could.
“One of the servants died. Quiet! Father’s terribly angry.”
Once we were up the stairs, I slipped into my room and deposited the books in the chest at the end of my bed, too confused to feel anything else.
“Hurry!” Juliet hissed. Before she had finished, I was by her side once more, and we hurried into her rooms.
“Tell me everything,” I demanded, as soon as the door was closed.
Juliet’s face was pale as she sat down on her bed. “It was Cook’s husband, Dario. There was a fight in the middle of the plaza. Everyone was in it-- Father, Tybalt, the servants, and that horrible Lord Montague. No one--no one saw how he died. None of the Montagues would admit to killing him.”
“That’s not usual,” I said, my voice trembling as I spoke.
“They’re cowards,” she scoffed. “Cook is heartbroken. Father is furious because the Montagues have deprived him of one of his best servants and his dinner. That’s not all, either! Father was injured in the fight. Lord Montague gave him a nasty gash in his sword arm, and towards the end of the fight, Father was knocked unconscious. When he came to, one of the Montagues had bandaged his arm with a handkerchief. I’ve never seen him this angry before. Oh Nurse, what are we going to do?”
I couldn’t decide whether to laugh or weep, or both, so I settled with anger and action. “We’ll fix the immediate problem, I guess” I said, rising. “Put on your plainest dress and meet me in the kitchen and we’ll manage dinner.”
“Dinner?” Juliet repeated, looking appalled. “You’re not suggesting that I actually cook!”
“No, I’m going to cook,” I said. “You’re going to help me. Obviously all the kitchen servants are too distraught to manage a meal tonight. If you’re going to live in this house of insanity, you’re going to have to learn how to handle a crisis, Juliet. Someone has to keep the household running. If you wish to eat tonight, come to the kitchen with me. Of course, you’re perfectly free to stay up here and be hysterical.”
“I don’t know why I put up with such insolence,” Juliet grumbled as she followed me out of her room.
I strode purposefully into the kitchen, hoping I looked more collected than I felt. Juliet, cowed, followed behind me. If the food didn’t turn out well and Lord Capulet discovered that I had asked Juliet to do menial labor, he would happily let Tybalt skewer me. Even so, I was more afraid of saying the wrong thing to Cook. For one thing, I didn’t even know her real name. Everyone always spoke of her as Cook. She had taken a dislike to me along with all of the other servants, so I had always avoided her with the rest.
Cook and the kitchen maids were huddled in a teary heap on the filthy kitchen floor. Her expression did not change upon seeing us.
I drew a deep breath. “I came to see if you needed someone.”
Her voice was dull with pain. “Do what you must. I don’t care whether these—” here she glared hard at Juliet “—these people eat or not.”
I nodded. “If there is anything I can do for you, let me know.”
She scowled. “There’s nothing you can do that matters. You may cook if you wish, but get that minx out of my kitchen.” She pointed to Juliet.
Juliet drew back, her eyes wide with hurt and shock. “I’ll go,” she said, her voice trembling. “But I order you to stay, Nurse.”
“As you wish,” I said.
Juliet left with her head held high and a proud, cold expression on her face that reminded me of her mother. I set to work in silence and alone.
A few of the kitchen maids had only been sniveling to get out of work, but they were so horrified by the way I manhandled the kitchen that they offered to assist me. As I worked, my mind set out on a different path, trying to process all that had just occurred. I hadn’t known Dario at all. Any sorrow I felt was secondhand sorrow--for Cook and others who had known him, and for the ugly world I found myself in. It was a cold and comfortless place.
I kept working, my thoughts wandering from Dario’s family to my own family. If only the Capulets would let me see them once in a while. I hadn’t received a letter from Mother in weeks. I’m certain she was simply busy caring for three little boys. I could take care of myself. Tomorrow I would write her and tell all that had happened. Then again, I couldn’t safely tell her everything, in case the letter should fall into the wrong hands. It would be my luck that the first young man interested in me was a Montague. Suddenly, a horrible suspicion came into my mind. Was he the one who had killed Dario? His clothes were bloody. But surely no murderer fleeing the scene would stop to be polite. Would he? Did it really matter? I wasn’t going to see him again. The best course of action would be to forget our meeting entirely, to forget that he said I was beautiful.
My thoughts traversed the same circle again and again throughout the preparation for dinner. At the time appointed for the Capulet’s meals, everything was in place. It was no masterpiece, but Juliet declared it delicious. Lord Capulet was still too angry to care. Lady Capulet kept up an endless stream of chatter, as if she was trying to forget that one of her servants had died today. The servants were fed and ate without complaining. After cleaning up the kitchen, I trudged up the stairs, too tired to think. I was grateful for the exhaustion.
