“Don’t worry. I will go and finish up.”
Pippa’s palm throbbed, and her mind was numb, but there was no end to her work. Frau Benedikt assigned her to sweep the lesser staircases, which was fine with her, because there she would not be in any danger of encountering any more archdukes.
Really, she was quite done with the entire lot.
After she was done with her work late at night, she sat down to write her nightly report to Agent August. She had been so busy the last few nights that he had sent her a sharp reprimand. He expected a detailed update by tonight,or else.
Chewing on the tip of her pen, Pippa stared darkly at the paper in front of her. Oh, what did it matter? She truly did not care any more. She would outline what she had seen and heard, and who had attended the Archduke’s party. She would also recount in the tiniest detail the encounter she had with Castlereagh and Aldingbourne. It wasn’t as though their conversation had revealed any state secrets, and no one would come to harm. What mattered the most now was that she save as much money as possible so that she could leave this city and return home.
A wave of homesickness overcame her. Yes, that is what she would do. She would move heaven and earth to return home.
“All will be well,” she whispered to herself repeatedly.
Then she set to writing.
“There isnothing more tedious than having all the crowned heads of Europe gathered under one roof.” Tom groaned as he polished a silver spoon with the imperial insignia. “Why did Emperor Francis offer the palace as if it were a guest house? They could have stayed elsewhere.” He breathed on the spoon and attacked another smudge. “But no, they must stay under our roof.”
“If only they would eat a little less,” another footman said. “Why must every meal have nine courses?”
The shortage of servants was felt everywhere, especially in the dining service. Pippa and Henni had both been assigned extra duties besides their usual ones.
“As if we did not have enough to do,” Henni muttered.
They swept and dusted and helped clean the larger ballrooms. Working in a group made the labour easier, Pippa found, and by the time she returned from one such cleaning spree she was tired but strangely relieved. Hard work left little room for useless thoughts. She had not thought of Klemens once that day.
Not truly. Not in any way that counted.
The cold stone in her stomach had only grown heavier,but as long as she neither dwelt on it nor spoke of it, she believed she could endure.
She had meant to take off the necklace with the ring. A simple ring given by a student who had promised eternal love and marriage, promises she had once believed in. Lies, all of them. So why was the ring still around her neck?
Tomorrow, she told herself daily. Tomorrow, for certain. Yet it still hung there.
Pippa swept theRedoutensaal, arranged rows of chairs, and even helped with the flower displays, setting crimson Italian roses among clouds of white baby’s breath, the Austrian colours. The florist’s work pleased her more than returning to the palace where she might be ordered to scrub the Archduke’s rooms. Even the thorns pricking her worn hands felt preferable.
When her work was finally done, late into the night, she slipped into the servants’ hall in search of a scrap of supper. The room was plain but welcoming, the dark green ceramic stove glowing faintly in the corner, a long wooden table at its centre, and sturdy chairs about it. At most hours it was lively with chatter and gossip, often useful to August.
When Pippa entered the servants’hall, she found it filled with the usual people. Except they were oddly silent, and standing about, instead of sitting.
She set her broom and pail aside and wiped her hands on her apron. “I finished the sweeping of theRedoutensaal,” she began, but Henniimmediately shushed her. Pippa then noticed the strange atmosphere in the room. Everyone was staring at the figure who stood in the corner in front of the oven.
There was Frau Benedikt, who looked unusually pale, wringing her hands.
And next to her, cool and imposing, clad in a navy blue evening suit, handsome as sin, stood His Imperial Highness, the Archduke Leopold. He held a heavy leather tome in one hand, and with the other, he ran a finger down a list of names.
Pippa’s stomach lurched, and she immediately ducked behind a tall footman, who stood by the door. Her heart pounded so loudly she was certain he would hear her.
“What is going on?” she whispered to the maid next to her.
“His Highness suddenly sees fit to check not only the accounts but also the lists of hired personnel,” she replied, also in a whisper.
Pippa’s pulse raced as she watched the Archduke flip through the pages.
“Why?”
The maid shrugged. “No one knows. He’s been here going through Frau Benedikt’s books for the last half an hour or so.”
“Reiter. Maier. Winkler. Auer,” he rapped out. “Really, couldn’t you at least have listed the names in alphabetical order? I’ve never seen a more unorganised register.”
