Prisoners in the Palace Read Online Free PDF

if that were a good sign or not. For all she knew, the housekeeper might return with that stout footman to throw Liza out for impertinence. She felt suddenly overheated and edged her chair away from the fire.
    Mrs. Strode returned as brusquely as she had left. “I’ve spoken with the Baroness. Against my advice, she has authorized thirty pounds.”
    Liza opened her mouth, to be interrupted by Mrs. Strode.
    “Miss Hastings, I don’t know why the Baroness is offering you this outrageous wage.” She paused. “But I will not tolerate any more negotiation.”
    “Yes, Ma’am,” Liza said with a small smile. It was a start.
    “Miss Hastings, you will be entrusted with a national treasure. Princess Victoria will someday be our Queen. Take excellent care of her.”
    “Of course, Mrs. Strode,” Liza assured her. There was a gentle knock at the door. It was Nell calling Mrs. Strode to dinner. “Miss Hastings, you’ll join us. On Sundays, all the servants eat together. Since you will rarely see the other domestics, it will be useful to introduce you to everyone at the same time.”
    “It’s only three o’clock,” Liza said, glancing at the crystal clock on the side table. Nevertheless, her stomach rumbled in anticipation.
    “Naturally. Servants in a great house have to eat several hours before our employers. Otherwise, who will prepare the meal and wait at table?”
    Liza had never once considered it. During those thousands of intimate hours with maids over the years, as they had dressed her,bathed her, and ministered to her every need, Liza had never once asked about their lives below stairs. Flushed with shame, Liza followed Mrs. Strode to the dining room.
    The sounds of a dozen noisy people in an enclosed room struck Liza’s ears like a hammer. The men sat at one end, the women at the other. A tall man in black with a red, bulbous nose punctuating his long face, stood at the table’s head.
    This must be Mr. Jenkins, the drunken butler.
    All the chatter stopped as Mrs. Strode sailed into the room, her chatelaine jangling at her waist. The servants craned their necks to get a better look at the newcomer.
    Mrs. Strode went to the far end of the table. She gestured to Liza, who smiled brightly. “This is Miss Elizabeth Hastings. She will be serving the Baroness and Princess Victoria.”
    Liza’s smile faded before the curious stares. The men were looking at her face while the women were openly envious of her dress. She recognized the footman in green livery who admitted her into the Palace. He stared at her and boldly smiled at her discomfiture. Nell waved. One of the parlor maids giggled, only to be hushed by her neighbors.
    “Mademoiselle Blanche, please move down a seat for Miss Hastings,” said Mrs. Strode. She addressed a superior-looking woman arguing in a lisping whisper with her neighbor. Like Liza, she wore street clothing, not a uniform. Another lady’s maid then, Liza decided. Perhaps she served the Duchess.
    “She sits below me,” Mademoiselle Blanche answered in a French accent, with a shake of her jet black curls. “I outrank her.”
    Mr. Jenkins cleared his nose with a honk. “Mrs. Strode, I don’t want to presume, but Mademoiselle Blanche’s mistress is a Duchess while Miss Hastings will only serve a Baroness.”
    “Exactement,” said Mademoiselle Blanche with a nod. “I serve the Duchess not une baronne fausse.” Everyone looked blank. “A fake Baroness.”
    Liza frowned, trying to place Mademoiselle’s accent.
    “You forget, Mr. Jenkins, Miss Hastings will also serve the Princess, the future Queen.” Mrs. Strode’s nostrils flared and splotches of bright pink appeared on her round cheeks. “She sits higher than Mademoiselle Blanche.”
    “Non! Je refuse.” Mademoiselle Blanche did not budge. She stared defiantly at the housekeeper, her nostrils flaring.
    “I don’t care where I sit,” Liza said. She pulled out the chair below Mademoiselle Blanche’s and sat down decisively.