After Pippa returned to the servants’hall, she barely had enough time to eat lunch, consisting of goulash soup and a crust of bread, before Frau Benedikt swept into the room, demanding everyone’s attention.
“As you are all aware, there is a dire lack of service personnel at the moment,” she announced in a strident voice that carried through the room. “Particularly footmen. Therefore, it has been decided that several of you are required to take part to support the existing group of footmen who are serving the Emperor and his guests at the gala supper tonight.”
A murmur of voices rose.
“But we are all females,” a maid named Emma dared to speak up. “How are we to help the footmen?”
Frau Benedikt tapped on a pile of clothes that lay neatly folded in front of her on the table. “This will not be a hindrance. You will be given a livery with wigs. So you will, at best, appear as pageboys.”
The murmur of voices grew even louder.
A scrawny girl with red hair, who stood next to Pippa and whose name eluded her, muttered, “Have you seen them carry the trays? They are heavier than barrels of beer. And they have to be carried up from the kitchen, up all those staircases, along endless corridors, through heavy double doors and into the grand hall. All without spilling a drop of liquid. Stumble or drop a tray and not only are you dismissed on the spot but also barred from finding another situation in the entire city. I would sooner face the gallows.”
“We might not have any choice,” muttered the girl next to her. “She might sack us if we refuse to do it.”
“Not to mention that you are required to work even longer hours than we already do. The fine society has a tendency to party until early in the mornings,” whispered another, “and if things get out of hand, the footmen are the first targets and victims. Not to mention that you have to clean up after them. It is not a pleasant prospect.”
Well, Pippa thought, she’d already seen the worst of that. The gala supper couldn’t possibly be any worse, could it?
“You will be compensated with five additional gulden,” Frau Benedikt announced.
Five gulden! That was no paltry sum. For a gulden, one could buy a new pair of shoes or an entire outfit. It might also cover part of her trip back to Innsbruck. “Of course, not to mention that you may keep the tips that you receive from the guests that evening.”
“That is no small sum,” a woman said. “I heard that one footman made ten additional gulden in tips. That is nearly a month’s wages in a single night.”
“Are there any volunteers?” Frau Benedikt’s gaze went around the room, and several maids turned their heads away or doggedly stared at the ground.
“You will be given the day off after,” Frau Benedikt added.
“I will do it,” a familiar voice said nearby, with determination.
Henni.
“I daresay I’ll make a proper pageboy,” she added cheekily. She was small and lithe, and she would indeed look perfect in a footman’s livery.
After another moment’s hesitation, Pippa, too, raised her hand. “Very well. I will do it, too.”
Henni beamed at her. “That makes a pair. We will be the best-looking footmen of the lot.”
Three more joined.
Frau Benedikt was satisfied. “That will be quite enough, thank you. Upon successful completion of your duties, you will receive your additional wages plus the day off tomorrow. The five of you, if you will please follow me.”
“Good luck to you,” Marie called after them, “going among the lions.”
There was repressed giggling.
Pippa’s livery was truly splendid, in the Habsburg colours of black and yellow. The black frock coat, its tails reaching to her knees, was edged with lavish gold lace along the fronts and sleeves. The imperial double eagle was embroidered into the design, and golden buttons, broad as guilders, marched down the front and circled the cuffs. The ensemble was completed witha starched white shirt, black breeches, and white stockings, with black shoes fastened by gleaming silver buckles. A powdered wig crowned the formal appearance.
She tried the ensemble on and regarded herself in the mirror. The uniform covered her curves, and she looked like a pretty pageboy indeed, and no one would glance at her twice and suspect a woman. She felt hot and her head throbbed, and she wondered whether that came from the wig. She looked closer in the mirror and saw that her eyes were unusually bright.
Henni joined her, looking as trim and pretty a pageboy as she did.
She cast a look at Pippa’s face and frowned. “You look awfully pale, Pippa. Your lips are almost as white as the wall behind you. Are you well?”
She licked her dry lips. “I’m well enough. No worries. I’ll be fine,” she muttered more to herself than to Henni. More she could not say, because they were ushered by the main footman into the hall and given strict instructions as to what they had to do.
It was to be Service à la Française, which meant that all the dishes for an entire course, in a long, pompous parade of footmen, were carried into the dining hall, and placed on the banquet table. This could be as many as one hundred different plates. Carving the meats on the Emperor’s table was such an important activity that a separate office was created for it, and performed by a ‘carver’, not a mere footman.
