Angie's Mischief 🎭

Chapter 13

My own is to prevent cruel guys from messing with vulnerable hearts.

Angela Fox.

It was a bright day the next morning.

As usual, the immediate household staff were already up and about on their chores, including myself.

After cleaning every nook and cranny of the mansion, Greta and I trod back to the kitchen to help Veronica with the meal preparation.

The kitchen was so busy on Fridays as it was the day majority of the cooking and preservation was done.

We made soups, spiced sauces, fried varieties of kebab, grilled some tilapia, made rice dishes- vermicelli rice, fried rice, curry rice, brown rice-, roasted goat meat and pork, fried some octopus and squid, prepared lobster sauces which bubbled rapidly from the heated pan, adding on to the aroma in the kitchen.

There was an oven roasted turkey and a healthy-looking pig, also roasting on a spit at the open-air part of the kitchen.

The variety of cooking dishes simply overwhelmed me. And lemme add, newsflash y'all: I was improving in my cooking skills. Yay.

I managed not to screw anything up today. Er... save for the a little too much salt I scooped into the beef sauce.

When I tasted it, the insides of my mouth immediately twisted. Too much salt, I spat, quickly glancing around to check if Veronica or Greta had seen me. They hadn't. I dropped the ladle steadily and leapt away from that area, downing some cups of water to wash away the saltiness.

Christ, let's just hope nobody tastes that sauce.

By late noon, we were almost done with the cooking. Veronica was making some fruit salad for the mayoress, while Greta and I were doing justice to the remnants of pasta in the colander.

Because, what are maids for, if you don't get to eat off the utensils?

Greta had hid one chicken drumstick in her apron pocket which we shared discreetly, wiping evidence off of our fingers.

"Take this," Veronica said, turning to us with a tray containing three covered plates, "for the butler, the gatekeeper and the outfit planner, respectively."

I gripped the edges of the tray, balancing myself.

"Greta, take the bottled water and go with her."

We trod out to deliver the food, first to the butler, whose apple bobbled at the sight of his plate and thanked us, digging in instantly.

Next, we went to the gatekeeper; a pizza faced guy who looked to be in his early thirties. Fortunately, Peter was also with him so we were saved the walk.

"Yo, Elsie!" He grinned, shrugging his eyebrows at me.

"Yo Pierre,"I shrugged my brows back, handing them the tray.

The gatekeeper wiped his hands furiously at the back of his pants when Greta uncovered the plates. I looked at him, "eh sir are you going to use your hands to eat? There's a fork here, don't you like?"

He chuckled, looking at me. "I know there's a fork, I'll use it. Thanks. And call me Mingle."

I nodded, grabbing Greta's hand. "Okay, you people should enjoys your meal."

Peter hiccuped, peering at me with a playful glint in his eye, then flitted beside me, "And who do we have here? What's your name?"

Greta looked around, pointing at herself.