There was a river of carriages of every make and description, wagons, carts, and handbarrows moving in jerking stops and starts along the narrow streets of the city. Drivers cursed, whips cracked, horses neighed, and people shouted out the windows at other drivers and occupants of passing vehicles. Iron-rimmed wheels rang as they thudded over the uneven cobblestones. Inside the cabriolet, the ride was so rough that Mara had to cling to the inside strap and so slow that people on foot continually passed around the vehicle, threading with insouciance through the traffic.
Luca, rather than sit inside with Mara, had swung up beside the driver. Alone and unobserved, Mara frowned in thought. What possible reason could de Landes have for wanting the prince to appear at a ball given by a woman of the petty nobility such as the Vicomtesse Beausire? The only thing that sprang to mind was a vendetta of some kind. Nothing else made any sense. De Landes had mentioned politics, but as a cause it seemed doubtful. The Frenchman was entrenched in the government of Louis Philippe of the house of Orléans and must therefore be assumed to be an Orleanist with personal reasons for supporting the monarchy. The prince was the heir apparent to the throne of Ruthenia, and it was obvious he would favor the same form of government.
Mara had little real interest in political matters, particularly those in France. It was her grandmother who had for years kept abreast of the various revolutions and factions, and particularly the delicious scandals that often erupted. It was as fascinating as a play, the things men got up to, Helene had said; sometimes the poses and attitudes they struck and their reasons for espousing certain ideas were just as ridiculous as the most popular farce. Because her grandmother had often read bits and pieces from the newssheets and journals to her, interspersed with her own sharp comments, Mara had a fair grasp of the situation.
With the fall of the empire of Napoleon some thirty years before, the Bourbons had returned to power in the person of Louis XVIII, brother of Louis XVI, who had been beheaded in 1793, and uncle of the young Louis XVII, who had died in the Temple. In the words of Napoleon, the Bourbons had forgotten nothing and learned nothing. Though Louis XVIII was a prudent king who gave the people a constitution, he was also a cold and calculating one who in later years considered that his divine right to rule took precedent over the rights of the people. He was succeeded by his brother, Charles X, who was a kind man and an honest one, but even more inclined to rule absolutely. After a reign of just six years, King Charles's inability to compromise or to comprehend the nature of the changes in France had brought about a revolution that had resulted in his abdication in favor of his grandson, the comte de Chambord.
The country had, at the time, been in the hands of a provisional government that had had enough of the Bourbons, however. The throne was declared vacant, and the duc d'Orléans, a member of a minor branch of the Bourbon family, was handed the crown in a coup that was called the July Revolution. Rather than being styled the king of France, he had been given the title of “king of the French by the grace of god and the will of the people.” So he had remained until the present.
The seventeen years of Louis Philippe's reign had not been easy. The legitimist party, dedicated to returning a true Bourbon to the throne, considered Louis Philippe a usurper and despised him for being the son of the regicide Philippe Egalite. The socialists wanted a new republic, a government more representative of the people without the trappings of royalty. The reformists wanted changes wrought in the assembly that would deprive Louis Philippe of some of his powers, leaving him more like the figurehead monarchs of England. There were also the Bonapartists who felt that never had there been a more glorious and progressive era for France than during the time of the Napoleonic empire. The return of the hero Napoleon Bonaparte's body to France from St. Helena in 1840, and his internment at Les Invalides in a nest of six coffins, had given rise to a new impetus to bring the nephew of the great man to the throne. This man, Charles Louis Napoleon, was the third child of the emperor's brother Louis, king of the Netherlands, and Hortense de Beauharnais, daughter of Josephine.
Louis Philippe had come into office as a result of the approval of the middle class. He continued to court that support, becoming in fact a bourgeois king who was often seen on the streets, in restaurants, and in cafés in a dark coat and hat with a rolled umbrella under his arm. His habits were frugal, a trait he had acquired in exile when he had often gone hungry. He had also, while on a prolonged visit to Louisiana during that period, taken on the American characteristics of early rising and hard work. It was said that the king rose at dawn each morning, kindled his own fire, and worked at his desk until breakfast. These traits appealed to the bourgeoisie, but could not endear him to those who expected a king to act like a king.
The middle class was the largest and the most influential because of its wealth and the monopoly it held on representation in the assembly. Regardless, the furthering of its rights and prerogatives at the expense of the nobility or the common people was a mistake. Plotting was rife at both upper and lower levels, but particularly among the more radical elements propounding the rights of the working man.
In the past few years there had been numerous attempts on the life of the king, notably one by Giuseppe Fieschi who had constructed an “infernal machine” made of twenty-five guns arranged to fire simultaneously. The king and his sons had been unhurt in the attack, but eighteen people had been killed. Fieschi and the other conspirators had been sent to the guillotine. Bonaparte's nephew, Charles Louis Napoleon, had twice tried to bring about a popular insurrection. On the last attempt he had been tried and sentenced to imprisonment at Ham, but only the year before he had escaped, dressed as a laborer, and taken refuge in England.
Grandmère Helene, in common with most of the older women among the French Creoles of Louisiana, had, from long practice in tracing family relationships, an excellent head for the complicated genealogies of the current principals in the intrigues around the French throne. She had called it a squabble among thieves to steal a stolen throne. Louis Philippe, she had declared, had no right whatever to sit upon it. He was merely the great-great-great grandson of an Austrian princess and an Italian cardinal, no Bourbon at all. Those with an ear for old tales would remember that the second son of Anne of Austria, the queen consort of Louis XIII, was known to have been sired not by the king but by her lover, Cardinal Mazarin. As for Charles Louis Napoleon, his mother, the young Hortense de Beauharnais, had made a great scene over being wedded to a doltish man who was her uncle by marriage and had declared that she would never submit in the nuptial bed. Even if her first son had, perhaps, been born of the union, it was suspected that Charles Louis, her third, was the result of an affair with a famous Dutch admiral. Her lovers had been so numerous at the time, however, that it was possible Hortense herself could not have named the father. As for the older Bourbon line so acclaimed as royally pure by the legitimists, well! There were so many possibilities for dilution of that blue blood that naming them would be tedious beyond words.
What would Grandmère Helene say if she knew what her granddaughter was contemplating at this moment? Would the affair Mara was embroiled in seem as sordidly amusing as those of more prominent personages?
She must seduce the prince. The assignment was inescapable. She had wasted so much time with her reluctance and procrastination. The deed could have been done, she suspected, if she had been more forward.
Two weeks. She had two weeks in which to attach the prince, to gain his bed. It was not enough to merely become his mistress, she must also enthrall him so that he would accede to her requests. A light flirtation, a brief liaison would not do. This formidable man must be captivated by her to the point that he would enjoy pleasing her, bowing to her wishes.
How was it to be done? How?
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5
On the afternoon of the shopping excursion, Mara requested a meeting of the staff of Ruthenia House. Luca, having no set duties, chanced to be idling in the private s
alon just off the long exercise gallery of the cadre when she sent a maid with the message to the servants’ quarters on the lower floor. He made no comment, but when the servants filed into the room, he set aside the piece of wood he was carving and moved to stand behind her chair.
Mara, seated at a desk that she had taken as her own, was grateful for the silent gesture of support. She had managed her father's house for some years, ordering the buying of food and supplies, directing the slaves in the cleaning and repair. But that was different from handling French servants with their ancient notions of the perquisites of having a place in a household, their belief in their own worth that amounted very nearly to a sense of superiority, and their republican notions of equality. She would have to take a high hand if she was not to be overborne.
Twenty-one household employees had presented themselves. According to the account book listing their names and wages, there were a cook, two assistants, three scullery maids, four housemaids, two under-housemaids, four footmen, a gardener, an under-gardener, a coachman, and two men whose duty it was to dispose of garbage and slop. Mara sat for a long moment surveying the group. They were not impressive. The women wore no caps, and their aprons were grubby and stained. The men looked as if their coats and waistcoats had been hastily donned and in any case were of the kind they might wear in the street. There was a general air of slovenliness, and a sullenness with it, as if they enjoyed their easy positions and preferred to keep them the way they were.
She made a swift mental count of their number, then glanced down at her account book once more. Looking up, she asked, “Where is the woman who is acting as cook?"
They shifted, exchanging looks from the corners of their eyes. Finally a footman spoke up. “Madame Cook says that she is no ordinary servant, but an artist. She refuses to answer a summons from a—from one who is not the lady of the house. She says that anyone wishing to speak to her may come to the kitchens."
"I see,” Mara said, her voice quiet and even. “You will go to Madame and say to her that I require her presence here, for a private interview, within the half hour. If she does not come, she may consider herself discharged. Now, is there anyone else who is uncomfortable taking their orders from me?"
Quiet descended. No one spoke or moved. Mara waited a few seconds more, then nodded her dismissal to the footman who was to deliver her message to the kitchens. He bowed and went away.
"From this moment, there will be a number of changes made in the operation of Ruthenia House. The first of these will be in the matter of dress. New livery, aprons, and caps have been ordered for you and will be delivered within the week. These garments will be worn when you are on duty, without exception, as is fitting in a house that is the official residence of the Ruthenian government. It is important that you present a neat and correct appearance and that you can be recognized as a member of the household staff by guests. Is this understood?"
Seeing one or two nods of assent, Mara consulted the list she held in her hand, then went on. She indicated various other changes that must be made in the manner of service, level of cleanliness, and degree of responsibility, then began to outline the tasks that each man and woman would begin on the following morning. She was just finishing when the door was flung open, crashing against the wall.
A stout, square-faced woman with a saucepan in her hand marched into the room. She looked around and, sighting Mara, bore down on her as if she would strike her. Behind Mara, Luca took a step forward. The woman looked at his dark, impassive face and stopped, though when she spoke her voice was shrill with rage.
"By what right do you send me such a message? Never have I been so insulted! Men plead with me, yes, the most exalted of gentlemen, to come into their houses to prepare their food. I am without peer, a great artist! My salary is far in excess of what such a one as you could hope to earn on your back in years!"
Mara rose to her feet. “Indeed. Then you are vastly overpaid."
The cool comment brought the spate of words to a sudden halt. The cook's face turned purple. “I have a mind to walk out of this house! It would serve you right if I did. The prince would very likely throw you out when he discovered you were the cause of losing me!"
"You may do as you wish. I assure you, it is unlikely that your absence will be noted."
"Do you dare to insult my skill?"
"Do you dare to suggest that the meals sent up from the kitchens in this house are fair examples of it?"
The woman opened her mouth, then shut it again. The saucepan that she had been brandishing was lowered to her side. “I was engaged by the majordomo of the prince. No one else can or shall discharge me."
The words were valiant, but the tone was subdued. Mara knew she had won. “There will be no question of discharge so long as the food sent to the table of the prince represents your best effort. I am sure that for the sake of your own reputation, you would not have it otherwise."
"Of course not."
There was no other answer the woman could have given, but she sounded sincere. “Good. I will depend on you to use your talents to create menus that will make having a meal here at Ruthenia House something to remember. If you will write them out and bring them to me each morning, we will discuss them"
"This household is impossible! People come, people go. How can I do my best when each day I am told only at the last instant whether I will be required to have food ready for four or four dozen?"
"I will undertake to see that you are given notice in good time. You must learn to be generous with your portions, however, to allow room for expansion as the hospitality of the house demands."
The cook pursed her lips, then gave a slow nod. “About the ordering of food—"
"I will leave that in your hands, for the most part,” Mara said at once, then added, “though I will sometimes shop for the ingredients that must be bought fresh each day. And we will, naturally, go over the bills together before they are paid."
"Naturally,” the woman agreed, and though her tone was hard, it also held a grudging respect.
It was the prerogative of the cook in a great house to receive remuneration from suppliers for placing orders with them. The practice was ignored so long as it did not result in inferior food being served up to the master at elevated prices. The cook was aware that Mara meant to watch over this aspect of the housekeeping. The quality of the meat and produce, milk, butter, and eggs would undoubtedly improve.
"The contents of the wine cellar seem adequate. The prince's majordomo has been seeing to this, I believe. He will continue. It should not be necessary for anyone to count the bottles every day, but an inventory will be taken and checked periodically."
The cook threw a look toward the footmen. They avoided her gaze, studying their hands or else staring fixedly ahead. One of the housemaids stifled a nervous giggle, then turned it into a dry cough.
Mara waited a long moment, then went smoothly on to the next item on her list. It seemed they understood one another.
The two days that followed were filled with upheaval. The servants were divided into crews of three or four persons. They set to work early and did not stop until late. Everywhere one went, there were pails and cloths, brushes and ladders, cleansers and polishes. It was impossible to go up or down any staircase, or along any corridor, without passing a man or a woman carrying either clean hot water or dirty, soap-scummed water. The heavy draperies at the windows and around the beds were shaken and brushed and beaten until clouds of dust billowed in the rooms. The upholstery of chairs and settees was brushed and wiped, and a careful list drawn up of pieces that needed refurbishing.
They cleaned the stone stairs with carbonate of lime, sprinkled tea leaves on the carpets to help remove the dirt as they were swept, and used a bellows to blow the dust off the painted and frescoed ceilings before gently brushing them down. They washed woodwork with a combination of soft lye soap, sand, and table beer; polished the furniture with vinegar, linseed oil, and spirits of wine; and rubbed bras
s andirons and other metal pieces with neat's-foot oil and spirits of turpentine. They scrubbed the grime and stains of ages from the parquet and marble floors, and polished them to gleaming with bee's-wax.
The windows were washed and polished until they shone, as well as the looking glasses, clock faces, vases, marble busts; also the sixteen hundred crystal glasses and the thirty-six hundred pieces of the china service. The silver was polished, from the tiniest of demitasse spoons to the large, hollow-handled serving knives, from the knife rests to the great samovar for the serving of tea.
In the rear courtyard, huge kettles were set to boil for the washing of the linens that had grown yellowed and mildewed from long storage: sheets, napkins, tablecloths, toweling, and various other pieces whose use could not be determined. The boiling-hot soapy water was then used to scrub the cobblestones of the courtyards until they steamed, after which the dirty water was sluiced away along with the refuse of decades. The orderly lines and curves of shrubbery were pruned and clipped, and every blade of grass beneath them removed, after which they were carefully manured, then mulched with chopped hay straw.
The work had begun in the public rooms, but soon spread to the apartments of the prince and the nearby bedchambers of the cadre. Roderic and his men were routed, leaving at the first light of dawn and returning only when night, and quiet, descended. They took to carefully testing every chair for dampness before they sat down on it and wiping a quick, furtive finger over tabletops to test for polish residue before putting an arm or uniformed elbow on them. They were inclined to tiptoe gingerly over newly waxed floors, and were seen to polish fingerprints off shining brass and silver with a rub of a sleeve. But despite such initial discomfort, they were loud in their praise of the improvements in progress.
Royal 02 - Royal Passion Page 9