Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Dear sweet heavens, how could cleaning be so infernally difficult!
Pippa had always thought herself a reasonably clever girl.
She might not be a genius like her father, but she had solved every riddle and puzzle he had set before her with ease.
He had taught her logic and rhetoric, drawing her into the debates he liked to hold with Klemens.
While other girls were drilled in embroidery, sketching, and music, she had been schooled in mathematics, logic, and the rudiments of philosophy.
But scrubbing and scouring? No one had ever instructed her in that particular art. After only a fortnight, the skin of her fingers was already cracked and blistered from lime, borax, and vinegar.
With a muttered curse, Pippa flung the rag onto the floor.
Her task that morning was to climb onto the wide stone balustrade and polish the two baroque candelabras that stood atop each pedestal at the turn of the staircase.
The wrought iron was a nightmare of upward-tilting arms, elaborate twists, and curling branches that caught every drop of wax and every speck of dust. Two hours of scrubbing, and it looked no better than when she had begun.
She had scraped off what wax she could with the blunt wooden tool, then smeared on the prescribed mixture of linseed oil and graphite, meant to make the black iron gleam.
Instead, the runny paste had dripped onto her cheeks and stung her eyes whenever she craned to reach the upper branches of the lamp.
The result of her labour was a greasy, streaked mess.
“With luck, Frau Benedikt won’t notice,” she muttered, rubbing at the stubborn metal with what little determination she had left.
Frau Benedikt noticed.
Frau Benedikt noticed everything.
An errant curl escaping its hairpin, a loose shoelace, a dirty fingernail, a speck of ash on a sleeve, a trace of dust on a mantelpiece, a single blob of wax clinging to a candlestick—nothing escaped her hawk-eyed scrutiny.
It was as though her gaze could pierce the thickest Hofburg walls and ferret out every tiny imperfection.
Naturally, she at once spotted the state of Pippa’s labours. With grim satisfaction, she summoned the maids to gather at the foot of the staircase, forming a semicircle around Pippa and her unfortunate candelabrum.
She extended one long, bony finger toward the lamp. “This,” she hissed, “is a disgrace.”
Pippa cleared her throat and eyed the dripping contraption, from which oily black drops spattered, staining the pale stone beneath. She was inclined to agree.
“Greta,” Frau Benedikt snapped, causing the poor girl to jump in fright, “show her how it is done.”
The girl stepped forward. She quickly mixed the paste of linseed oil and graphite together in a bowl and applied it to the iron. Under her deft hands, of course, the horrible mixture transformed the candelabra into a sparkling miracle.
“You really have a talent for this,” Pippa could not help but exclaim with admiration. “You have magic hands.”
“Quiet,” Frau Benedikt snapped.
“I beg your pardon,” Pippa mumbled. “I merely meant to say that I must have mistaken the proportions of linseed oil and graphite. Though the overall calculation was correct, I must have confused the two.”
“When will you finally learn not to speak out of turn to your superiors?” If Frau Benedikt were a dragon, her eyes would have shot deadly flames of ire at her, consuming her on the spot, reducing her to a pitiful pile of ashes, which Greta would have to sweep up.
Pippa snapped her mouth shut and blinked at her.
She had been taught to treat all servants with kindness, making no distinction among them, and never in her wildest imagination had it occurred to her that servants themselves could show such disdain, clinging to their hierarchies as though they were holy writ.
Granted, Frau Benedikt, as an upper servant, deserved a measure of respect, while she, Pippa, as a lowly maid, stood on the lowest rung.
No doubt the Lipizzaner stallions in the imperial Winter Riding School enjoyed more status than she did at present.
But must that woman make it so very apparent?
She made Pippa feel more insignificant than a beetle—though, really, there was nothing wrong with beetles, Pippa thought fiercely; on the contrary, she liked beetles.
Still, the way Frau Benedikt spoke, the way she carried herself, one might think she considered her importance greater than that of the empress herself. And yet Frau Benedikt, properly speaking, was still only a servant, like herself. How was that fair?
Before Pippa could open her mouth to protest, the infernal woman stepped up to her, wrinkled her nose and said, “Fie! You smell like the stables.”
Pippa lifted her sleeve and sniffed. In truth, she thought nothing wrong with it.
It was a familiar smell, one she grew up with, it was the smell of her childhood, of nature, of countryside.
So she shrugged. “There’s a whiff of horse manure, no doubt from having had to brush the stuff off the carpet the entire morning, but it’s really not that bad. ”
The maids gasped, but Pippa ignored them. “It’s really not as bad as the time I fell into the dung pile behind our barn and was covered from head to toe in horse sh…” Her voice petered out as Frau Benedikt’s eyes took on an expression that made even Pippa feel uneasy.
The maids’ snickering petered off to an awkward silence.
“Save us tales of your antics from your time when you were working on a farm. You are an imperial servant now. A maid who gives off a stench is a disgrace.”
Frau Benedikt pulled out a pristine handkerchief and lifted it to her nose. “Clean up at once. If I detect any other smell than lavender about your being, you will be given the sack immediately.”
Pippa’s face brightened. “You mean I need to bathe? With lavender soap? But where? And when?”
Frau Benedikt closed her eyes as if supplicating a prayer.
“You’ll be sweeping all corridors and clearing all grates. Alone.”
“But the bath—” How was additional labour supposed to improve her smell?
“Wash yourself in the courtyard fountain. And because you simply cannot seem to hold your tongue, your free day on Sunday will be revoked.”
Pippa stared at her, aghast. “But that is the day of the parades of the emperors!”
Like all the others, Pippa had looked forward to leaving the confines of the palace and going out into the streets and to watch the arrival of Tsar Alexander and the King of Prussia, who would be greeted by the emperor personally.
The three of them would ride through the city gates, in a glorious parade of victory over Napoleon Bonaparte, who was safely banished to Elba—may the monster who has caused so much suffering to the Austrian people perish there and be for evermore forgotten!
The entire city would be transformed to a fair with music, dancing, food, street performers and fireworks, not to mention that one could get a glimpse of the monarchs who were to ride through the city.
Pippa did not want to miss out on it for the world.
“Indeed,” Frau Benedikt replied coolly. “You will stay in the palace doing double duty.”
Pippa shook her head so fiercely, her hairpins nearly went flying. “No. All due respect, ma’am, but—“
Frau Benedikt stepped up to her and jabbed a finger toward her nose.
“If you say another word, if you so much as utter another sound from that infernal mouth of yours, I will cancel all your free days for the rest of the year, and the most exciting activity you will ever do is that of scrubbing the coal cellar.” Her voice was so soft, so threatening, that the little hairs on Pippa’s arms stood on end.
Truly, if they had sent that woman after Bonaparte, she would have single-handedly won all the wars for the allied forces years ago.
“Is that understood?”
Pippa stared at her, tears pricking in her eyes. She bit her tongue so hard she almost bled. Defeated, she nodded.
“Excellent. She understands. Go to the Amalienburg now and clean all the side corridors in the servants’ passages. Alone.”
All the corridors! In order to accomplish that, she had to do so during her supper time, which meant that she would go to bed hungry that night.
The maids filed past her, most of them smirking, but some gave her looks of pity. Pippa could not make up her mind which she detested the most.
“You’re lucky that Frau Benedikt did not dismiss you,” Greta said, pulling out a kerchief and wiping her cheek. “You have black streaks of graphite on your cheek, and your tears aren’t helping.”
Pippa looked at her gratefully. “Thank you. I’m so sorry she picked on you on my account. I’m a burden for you.”
Greta shook her head. “Nonsense. Now, go quickly and finish your job. I’ll try to smuggle out your supper somehow.”
Then she took her bucket, shovel and brush, and set out for the corridors in the Amalien wing.
The Amalien wing consisted of a row of apartments in the northwest of the palace, which the empress had newly renovated specifically for the monarchs who had come to the congress.
“See the positive side,” Pippa grumbled to herself as she climbed the stairs, “for now you have a good reason to be in this part of the palace, and maybe you can manage to sneak into Prince Lucifer’s chambers without anyone noticing…
” Even if she could not manage to get inside, maybe she could bribe the maid who worked there to give her the contents of the wastepaper basket.
If all else failed, she could note where she threw the contents, and rifle through them there.
Oh woe, woe, woe! How low she had fallen! Rifling through other people’s waste… What would Papa think if he were to see her now?
Pippa heaved a deep sigh. “But, fear not. You can do this.”
The walls of the palace were so thick, entire rooms could be hidden in there.
People flitted to and fro, footmen, servants, maids, deliverers and messengers.
Within the simple, whitewashed walls there were small, narrow doors that led to spiral staircases up and down, which led to the state apartments, and to the personal apartments of the imperial family.
As Pippa swept, she tried to figure out which door led to where.
A maid with an apron hurried through a narrow door, bearing a coffee tray.
Before the door closed, Pippa saw a glimpse of another world.
She saw a flash of gold and scarlet, plush carpets and gilded mirrors—then the door closed.
The maid rushed towards her, a weary look on her face.
“Nothing will satisfy her today,” she muttered, placing the tray on a narrow table by the wall.
From there, a page boy would pick it up and carry it to the kitchen.
“The empress?” Pippa guessed.
The girl wiped her hands on the apron, leaned against the wall and closed her eyes for a moment. “Who else?”
Pippa was awestruck. Beyond that simple door were the empress’s apartments.
“I suppose the emperor’s rooms are next to hers?” Pippa ventured a guess.
“Hm.”
Pippa licked her lips. “And the crown prince’s next to him.” That was as good a guess as any.
The maid did not even deign to reply.
“I wonder where Prince Lucifer’s rooms are…
” When the girl opened her eyes and shot her a mistrustful look, she interrupted herself.
“I’m new here. Pip—I mean, Anna. I still get lost a lot and I don’t know where any of the rooms are.
I was supposed to deliver fresh linen to his chambers and I couldn’t find them. ”
“Then you’d better learn quickly, new girl.
” The maid pulled her apron straight and pulled her shoulders back.
With a sigh, she turned back to re-enter the door she had just come through.
“Prince Lucifer’s chambers are on the third floor at the end of the corridor.
Everyone knows that.” She bent forward. “And my advice is to stay away from there.”
Pippa swallowed. “Why?”
She shrugged and disappeared.
Third floor. End of corridor.
Pippa slipped back through the door she had come from and took the staircase to the end.
It was not as busy there as on the lower floors. Only a single footman hurried along the corridor, giving her a fleeting glance, but then passed without comment.
Pippa started sweeping, sweeping, sweeping, working herself toward the end of the corridor. There, indeed, was a simple-looking walnut door.
The entrance to Prince Lucifer’s apartment.