“Weren’t you paying attention to the morning announcement?” Louisa was saying. “About His Royal Highness searching for the love of his life?”
The guard narrowed his eyes. “You know we don’t listen to the servants’ morning announcement, and I don’t recall anything about His Grace hiring a new maid.”
“We’re about to have a new princess, aren’t we?” Louisa huffed. “Then obviously the palace needs a new maid. Come on, let her in. I’m already late as it is, and you know how Aunt Irmina is. . . .” She clasped her hands together in entreaty.
“Go on, hurry before we change our minds.”
Once they were out of the guards’ earshot, Louisa squeezed Cinderella’s hand and let out a little squeal. “See? That wasn’t so hard. Now for the tricky part . . . Aunt Irmina. Madame Irmina to you.”
“Is she in charge?”
“Yes, of the Blooms and Looms,” Louisa explained breezily.
“Blooms and Looms?”
“That’s what we call the quarters for all the maids and the seamstresses. We change into our uniforms, report to duty, and eat there. Some of the girls even live there, depending on their posts.” She gestured left at the fork in the hallway. “That way leads to the Cooks and Looks wing. Quarters for all the butlers, valets, chefs, and so on.”
Cinderella chuckled. “Who came up with these names?”
“I don’t know. They were around long before I even got here.” Louisa guided her down a long corridor wallpapered in cream-colored brocade. She was talking so fast now that Cinderella could barely understand her. “But they’re not official, mind you, not like all the names for the rooms upstairs. The Amber State Room, the Hall of Westerly Mirrors, the Emerald Lounging Room. The Royal Apartments. Only the servants use Blooms and Looms, and Cooks and Looks. When you’re stationed up there, and the nobles start talking about downstairs—this is where they mean.”
Upstairs. Downstairs. It all made sense to Cinderella. Upstairs was where the masters and mistresses lived—like her stepmother’s and stepsisters’ quarters. Downstairs was the kitchen, the pantry, the chicken coop, the stables—all the places where Cinderella had spent her days working.
She may have returned to the palace, but being downstairs here felt just as far away from the prince as her old attic.
The main chamber came into view. This part of the palace didn’t look anything like what Cinderella had seen at the ball. In fact, it reminded her of home: checkered floors, wooden walls coated with burgundy wallpaper, and silver tables with slim vases of tulips. There was even an impressive line of bronze call bells lining one side of the wall.
“Records,” Louisa said hurriedly, gesturing at a long piece of paper tacked against the wall, “for keeping track of our chores and hours. Write your name every morning when you come in for breakfast. That is, unless you end up as a personal attendant. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“All the royals have regular attendants—those positions aren’t open. But visitors are a different story. They usually bring their own retinue: ladies-in-waiting and butlers and maids—even though it is hospitality for the king to offer his own staff. Father says the tradition was meant to prevent conspiracies back in the old days.” She shrugged. “The point is, personal attendants are at their master’s beck and call.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” said Cinderella.
“You have no idea what you’re in for.” Louisa shuddered. “They say the last time the Duchess was here, she wouldn’t drink the palace water—only water brought to her from the streams of Mount Bonclare. Her attendant had to write letters to every lord in Valors to get her some. She likes her tea scalding hot and throws it back at you if the temperature is wrong, and once she made her attendant bring a caged lark to wake her in the morning, because she said that the girl’s voice was too shrill! Lucky for you, we had to draw straws yesterday to see who’d have to serve her . . . but—”
Before Louisa got a chance to finish, a low voice interrupted them.
“Late again, I see.”
From the way Louisa instantly straightened, Cinderella deduced the woman who’d spoken had to be Madame Irmina.
“Stay here,” Louisa whispered, waving Cinderella back into the hallway.
Dipping into the shadows, Cinderella pressed her back against the wall and peeked out. Madame Irmina was shorter than she’d imagined, given how tall her niece was, but she stood as though she towered over Louisa, her back stiff as an ironing board. Everything about her was precise: her hair was meticulously arranged into a neat, round bun with not a gray tendril out of place, and her apron was the whitest, most spotless swath of fabric Cinderella had ever seen.
Not a woman to be crossed.
“That’s the third time this month, Louisa.”
“Yes, I know. I was up late last night helping my mother, and—”
“No excuses. You know the rules.”
Louisa quieted. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“Don’t think because you’re my niece you have the privilege of flouting the rules. I warned you last time that—”
“Have a heart, Aunt Irmina,” Louisa interrupted. “Papa’s—”
“Save the speech. I’ve heard it all before. Your papa’s been here ever since you were born—and it’s always been your dream to work here with him.” Irmina huffed. “If it really is your dream, try being on time.”
“My ma’s shop needed extra help last night. I’ll do double my tasks—”
“How can you? You’re the slowest seamstress in the entire palace—”
“Yes, but that’s because my stitches are the neatest.”
“And your mouth is certainly the rudest.” Irmina glared at her. “Rules are rules. All I ask is that you be on time, and I will not make an exception for you because we’re family.”
“I’m the reason she’s late,” Cinderella spoke up. “Please don’t punish her on my behalf.”
No, Louisa mouthed, trying to wave her away. “Get back in the hall,” she whispered.
But it was too late.
Madame Irmina spun to face her. “And who are you?”
“Cinderella, ma’am.”
A deep frown set Irmina’s tight features. “There is no Cinderella among my girls.”
“I brought her,” Louisa said. “We’ll be in need of more staff if there’s to be a new princess, and she’s a decent seamstress—”
“And who are you to judge whether someone is a decent seamstress?” Madame Irmina said testily. “I make the decisions regarding the household, and we do not need another seamstress.”
“She has no other place to go. I found her on the street.”
“The street!” Irmina repeated with horror. “You cannot simply bring runaways into the palace. There is a long interview process. Not just anyone is fit to serve His Royal Majesty’s household. References must be made and inquired after.”
“Please,” begged Cinderella. “I have nowhere else to go. I can cook and clean and sew—”