Her first assignment was simple enough, or so she thought.
“Sweep the main corridors and stairs,” Marie said, thrusting a broom with bristles stiff as wire into her hands, along with a hand shovel.
“All of them?”
Marie only lifted a brow.
“But how many staircases are there, exactly?”
“Maybe forty, not counting the ones in the servants’ corridors.”
“And each staircase has how many steps?”
Marie stopped to stare at her. “Countless steps. What does it matter? They have to be swept either way.”
“It is just that knowing the precise number of steps involved would help create an estimate of the time needed for the task.” Pippa paused to shove back her cap. “For example, if each staircase has thirty steps per flight, and there are four flights to each level, that would be one hundred and twenty steps. I gather there are four floors, so that makes a total of four hundred eighty stairs to be cleaned for a single staircase. Multiply that by forty. How long do you need to clean a single step, normally?”
Marie stared at her as if she had sprouted horns. “What kind of odd question is that? It’s not as though we stand there with a pocket watch timing ourselves as we clean. It does not matter because your calculation is useless. Every staircase in the palace is different. If you want an exact number, that is impossible. One thing and one thing alone matters: it needs to be clean before the guests, or anyone in the imperial family, show up. If the emperor finds mud on his stair, you will be turned into the street, with no reference, no work, and no one to pity you.”
“But sweeping one thousand nine hundred and twenty steps is impossible for one person to do on her own, several times a day!”
“Which is why Greta will help you.” Marie beckoned a girl with flaxen hair and a wide nose, whosmiled shyly at Pippa. “Start at the entrance hall and work your way up.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” Greta said as they walked across the courtyard, casting curious, sidelong glances at Pippa. “I’ve had to manage most of it alone since Susi resigned. It’s a mountain of work. Here it is.”
The ‘mountain’ turned out to be the grand staircase, lined with a deep red carpet. At the bottom, where the carriages stopped, the carpet was blackened with mud and, Pippa’s stomach turned, caked thickly in horse manure.
“You’ll need a stiff brush for this part,” Greta explained cheerfully, already kneeling. “The stairs are easy. The carpets are the devil’s own work.”
Pippa stared at the mess in horror. Never in her life had she done such work. She was a professor’s daughter. She had read Voltaire and Descartes in the original French. She had never scrubbed horse droppings.
And yet, hadn’t Father always insisted that all class distinctions were man made? Easy enough to say, of course, in a house where Sepp and Lotta had always done the dirty work. What would he say now, if he saw her on her knees, scouring imperial manure? Perhaps he would have cast aside his radical ideals.
“What are you waiting for?” Greta asked, scrubbing away with alarming efficiency. “We need to do this quickly before the carriages arrive.”
With a sigh, Pippa pushed the cap from her eyes and dropped beside her. If cleaning dung would bring her one step closer to Klemens, then dung it would be.
“Really, I don’t understand it,” she muttered. “They arrive in carriages, so where do they pick up all the dirt?”
“Not everyone arrives in carriages,” Greta said as she brushed vigorously. “Many walk. And they wipe their shoes on the bottom stairs before moving on. Which is why the bottom stairs are the worst.”
Pippa set to work and scrubbed vigorously.
“What are you doing?” Greta shrieked.
Pippa looked up, indignant. “What? I’m cleaning!”
“Not like that! You’re grinding it deeper into the carpet. Watch.” Greta whisked a smaller brush into her hand and, with a few deft strokes, flicked out the worst of the filth and brushed the rest away. In moments the patch was clear.
Pippa’s own section looked distinctly worse. She had managed to work the muck into a glossy brown smear.
“If Frau Benedikt sees this,” Greta whispered urgently, “she’ll turn you out on the spot. She once dismissed a girl for leaving a streak of ash on a grate. One mistake, that’s all it takes.”
“Highly unfair,” Pippa declared, though her cheeks burned. “I’m new here and have never cleaned before.” She bit her tongue at Greta’s startled look. “I mean, I have never cleaned this sort of carpet before. It is so very imperial, you know.”
Greta tilted her head, puzzled, then nodded. “Yes. Very imperial.”
“But what I meant to say,” Pippa added quickly, “is that it’s unfair to be treated so harshly. Besides, Frau Benedikt is not here.”
