“Remember,” the head footman said, “you are to present a dish from the left, bow, and then remove it. Youthen pour wine from the right side, in unison with all the other footmen. Your motions must all be coordinated.”
“Heavens,” Henni muttered. “I now understand why none of the others volunteered. We haven’t had the opportunity to practise this! It is like being shoved on stage to take part in a dance where we don’t know the choreography. What if we make a mistake? I dare not ask what happens if we stumble and drop a tray in front of the Emperor.”
The head footman continued with a booming voice. “When you take away the dishes, you must wait for the signal, and then remove the plates simultaneously. You then set clean plates and fresh cutlery for the next course. You must be precise. None of you are to be out of line, out of step; your movements must be coordinated, and everything must be done in silence. Not a sound of a footstep, no rattling of plates, no clinking of glasses. Is that understood?”
Pippa began to sweat, but she wasn’t certain whether that was because she felt ill, or because of the sudden attack of nervousness that churned in her stomach.
“With some luck, we will be allowed to work behind the scenes, carrying the trays up from the kitchens,” Pippa muttered. “We aren’t important enough, you know.”
“The layout will be as follows.” The head footman pointed with a wooden stick at the paper poster that was posted on the wall. “This is theZeremoniensaal. The Emperor’s table is on a pedestal in the front. To the right and left—” he gestured at each table with his stick “—arethe archdukes, princesses and other dignitaries. On the tables here and here,” he moved the stick, “sits the rest.”
His gaze wandered over the footmen. “Now. Since we have an unusual number of monarchs attending the banquet, we require an unusual number of footmen.”
“Tell me about it,” Henni muttered.
“They need to be of a certain stature and of equal height.” He nodded at a group of tall, strapping, handsome footmen.
“We’re safe,” Pippa muttered to Henni. “Since both of us are petite, he won’t consider us.”
“However, the empress has required there to be the attendance of page boys for the ladies, the princesses and the archduchesses. Your role will not only be to serve at the table, but to dance attendance on them, dealing with any other requirement they might have pertaining to their wardrobes. These page boys—” once more he let his gaze sweep over the footmen “—are required to be petite, pretty and dexterous.” His gaze stopped at Henni and Pippa. “In short, females.”
With a mutter, the surrounding footmen stepped away, leaving Henni and Pippa exposed.
“You two will serve the archduchesses.”
“Heaven help us,” Henni muttered.
Henni was assigned to serve the Archduchess Marie Leopoldina, and Pippa the Archduchess Marie Madeleine.
A glance at the table seating told her that her brother, the Archduke Leopold, sat right beside her.
Pippa groaned. “That is just my kind of luck.”
But she had no time to bemoan her fate. The footmen were already getting in line.
They would start by serving champagne, then hors d’oeuvre, comprising smoked trout canapés and petit fours with pâté, followed by a clear consommé.
But first, the champagne. With a bottle in her right hand, and a serving towel over it, she lined up behind the other footmen and entered theZeremoniensaal.
It was the first time she would set foot in this hall. The Emperor had it newly built ten years earlier, and it was so bright and glittery and utterly magnificent that Pippa’s mouth dropped.
It was an immense hall, with yellow-veined marble columns. Between each column were arched double doors of glass. Tables stretched in long rows, decked in crystal and gold. Flowers spilled from urns and garlands, their fragrance wafting towards them as they entered. Above, a thousand candles sparkled in chandeliers, until the very air seemed spun of light. The magnificence struck her breathless; for a moment she nearly faltered, dazzled by the spectacle.
A sharp hiss from the footman behind recalled her to herself, and she forced herself to march in step with the procession. There was the table of the Emperor, at the head of the hall, and she saw from the corner of her eye a white, regal figure sitting in the middle. The table she headed for was to the right. All she had to do was follow in exact precision the movement of the page boy in front of her, and he, thankfully, knew what he was doing. Since their lineup was organised with precision, Pippa automatically ended up standing behind her archduchess.
She saw her back: a delicately coiffed head full of blonde ringlets, with feathers in it, and a simple white gown adorned with silver.
The gentleman next to her, was that Klemens? His long, blond hair tumbled at his neck, and from the back he looked so sinfully handsome, Pippa nearly sighed. He was dressed in a white gala uniform with golden embroidery, orders and decorations pinned to the chest. He was a prince from the top of his hair down to the diamond-buckled shoes.
He did not know she was right behind him, next to him, so close that she could lean forward and reach out and touch his hair…
He bent forward to murmur something into his sister Marie Madeleine’s ear, and she giggled.
When the signal was given, she stepped forward, lifted her arm to pour the champagne into the Archduchess’ glass—but which one was it? There were four glasses of different shapes and sizes in front of her! She cast a quick, panicked look aside and saw the footman who was serving the Archduke pour it into a goblet. Pippa did the same. Her hesitation caused her to miss a beat, and she had to lift her arm again before the goblet was fully filled. Too bad; she hoped the Archduchess wouldn’t notice that she had less champagne in her glass than the other guests…
They retreated and were told to get ready to bring in the hors d’oeuvre. These initial plates were small, and the portions were tiny, and the golden serving trays, she was relieved, weren’t half as heavy as they looked. She served the plate, and once more Pippa was struck by howneither she, nor Klemens, nor anyone else, really, looked at her.
She stared at Klemens’ neck so hard, he surely must have felt her gaze.
