Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Pippa’s entire body shook as she made her way back down the staircase. Halfway down, she stopped, braced her hand against the wall, then slid onto the cold stone step.
What had just happened? What had she just seen?
She recalled all the things they said about him. That he was a debauched, profligate rake, a womaniser and a Casanova. Prince Lucifer, who seduced ladies and chambermaids alike. She had believed only half of those stories before she ever set eyes on him.
Her Klemens, of course, had been none of this.
She knew him to be kind and charming, pleasant and cheerful, someone who liked a good joke, a quality glass of wine, and deep philosophical conversations; she knew him to be a loyal friend, a studious student, a fair master to his servant, and deeply, passionately in love with her.
Never once had she doubted his loyalty and faithfulness. Never once had he given in to excesses.
But now, after hearing all those stories and seeing with her own eyes the women leaving his chambers, and the way he was behaving —could they be true, after all? Doubt crashed about her.
An iron fist closed around her heart. Did he even remember their love? What they had shared together?
How could he be the same person? Cheerful, charming, ever smiling, as she had always known Klemens. A cold fear seeped through her veins. It was as if he had been taken over entirely by the Archduke.
Or, what was more likely, her version of Klemens had never existed.
Though what, ultimately, did it matter? What difference would it make?
She was a commoner. An educated one, yes, but now reduced to the meanest station, a servant, a maid. He was an emperor’s son. A gulf yawned between them wider than Dante’s infernal chasm.
In her mind, she replayed the moments of their past: Klemens coming to study with her father, his supposed commitment to learning, his laughter and his smiles. Of course, he had hidden his identity. An archduke would never announce himself to all and sundry.
She could forgive him that. But not the betrayal that now tore through her with such ferocity it made her gasp.
He had promised her marriage. She saw it now for what it had been: a lighthearted, thoughtless promise, cast to the wind. He had toyed with her. With her heart.
She had believed him to be faithful, loyal to her.
But just now she had seen the evidence to the contrary with her own eyes.
How could she ever trust him again?
She wrapped her arms around herself. What should she do now? What could she do?
There was only one answer. She had to leave this place. Go home.
She hurried back to her room and dug out the purse she had kept hidden beneath her mattress. She counted the coins—so few. It would not even cover the fare back on the mail coach. But Agent August had promised to pay if she brought him more information.
Her fingers clenched around the coins with grim determination. She would give him that. She would give him anything he wanted if it meant she could find the means to return home.
The only blessing in the entire situation was that Frau Benedikt never noticed that Henni and Pippa had swapped their duties that day. By the time Pippa returned to the servants’ hall, Henni had finished and they met in the middle of the hall, swapping pails and brushes.
“How was it?” Henni whispered. Then her eye fell on Pippa’s hand. “Oh, no! What happened to your poor hand?”
Pippa grimaced. “Just an accident.”
“And? Were you able to see him face to face? Was he your Klemens?”
Pippa averted her face. “No. Of course not.” She uttered a forced laugh. “It was as I said it would be. He merely looked like Klemens, but up close it was clear that he wasn’t the same person.” She sniffed and wiped her bound hand over her nose.
Henni heaved a big sigh of relief. “A double! I must say, that is truly a blessing. I heard that he was particularly wild last night. The archduke, I mean. The revel they had last night was tremendous.”
Pippa nodded. “So was the mess they left in the rooms. I couldn’t clean it all up because of my hand.”
“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 is nothing 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 the Redoutensaal, 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 the Redoutensaal,” she began, but Henni immediately 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.”
“I beg a million pardons, Your Imperial Highness.” Frau Benedikt’s voice was thick with unshed tears.
Pippa’s mouth nearly dropped.
“But I am not responsible for the recording of the servants’ names as they are hired. It is the Obersthofmeister who handles that. I have received the list from him as it was given to me. It is not within my jurisdiction to make amendments to the list.”
“Excuses, excuses. This is nothing but gross mismanagement. How is one ever to find someone if you have to sift through,” he flipped through the thick book, “hundreds of pages?”
“I beg a million pardons, Your Imperial Highness.” She really was about to burst into tears.