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“Two of our footmen are unable to serve. Jim fell ill and Tim’s broken leg still hasn’t recovered. So, we are required to help bring up the trays, but only to the antechamber, where the remaining footmen will take over.” Within the strict hierarchy of servants, normally only the footmen were responsible for serving the guests and carrying the trays. “Mrs Marchmont insists on talking to all of us about it in an hour. She is extremely nervous about tonight. It must be a success.”

“I wonder why?” Anna tugged at her swan and set it aside, satisfied. “How is tonight any different from the other nights?”

“Because of Miss Marchmont, of course.” Hetty bent forward, with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “Why do you think she has invited a duke, two marquesses, an earl, a viscount and a count?”

Anna’s eyes grew round. “Oh! Miss Marchmont is to marry?”

Hetty smirked. “Exactly. And since the Marchmont family has money but no connection to the aristocracy, all the eligible titled gentlemen have been invited, so their one and only daughter is given the opportunity to pick her future husband. It suits everyone. The titled lords in need of money on one hand, and the Marchmonts in need of a title, on the other.” Hetty wrinkled her nose. “Provided, of course, these gentlemen ever come up to scratch.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “The problem being, of course, Miss Marchmont herself.”

“Poor girl,” Anna whispered. For Miss Celine Marchmont had very little to personally offer, other than being thin and plain. Her complexion was sallow and sickly, and her mouth was perpetually downturned in a dissatisfied curve. Even if appearances did not matter, and they really ought not, personality certainly did. For there was nothing in her demeanour that was pleasant, amiable or kind. She behaved like a pettish, spoiled child who was difficult to please. Still, Anna pitied her. For she recognised that underlying all that was but one thing: loneliness.

All domestics were called to gather in the servants’ hall, where Mrs Marchmont stood, proud and erect, surveying her servants through her lorgnette. She was a beautiful woman, in her prime, dressed to perfection in a dark blue afternoon dress, her hair styled elegantly. She looked prouder than a duchess. No one who knew or saw her would have known that she descended from textile manufacturers in the North. The normally bustling, noisy servants’ hall fell silent while all the maids quickly lined up by one side of the wall, and the footmen by the other. The housekeeper, Mrs Billings, stood next to her, casting nervous glances at her. The butler, Mr Smith, stood next to the housekeeper, frowning at them.

It was the first time Anna had seen her employer. She gave her one more curious glance, then she lowered her head. She’d learned long ago that it was always best to avoid meeting an employer’s eyes.

“Tonight is an important night,” Mrs Marchmont’s cool voice spoke. “This will be one of the most brilliant soirees of the Season. I expect, as always, perfection. You have been assigned to your duties. You all know what to do.” She addressed Hetty directly, who, as head housemaid, stood next to Mrs Billings.

“Yes, ma’am,” she said.

“I will require some amendments. Two of our footmen are indisposed. I have just received notice that a third one has resigned. It is a disaster. We have not been able to get any replacement in such a short period.”

“It is indeed most unfortunate, especially with John leaving us on short notice. However, we have found a solution,” Mrs Billings spoke up, “in that we will have the maids carry the trays from the kitchen to the antechamber. This will reduce some of the workload for the remaining footmen.”

Mrs Marchmont tapped her lorgnette thoughtfully against her lip. “No. It is not enough. Our guests will notice that we are understaffed. I need more help directly in the salon.”

“But how? We only have so many men available for the position. Unless we ask the hall boy and the coachman to don a uniform⁠—”

“I have already done so,” Mr Smith, the butler, said. “Still, it is not enough.”

Mrs Marchmont stepped forward and walked along the line of the maids, looking at each girl, before she resumed her walk. She paused before Mary. “I need some of the maids to help the footmen.”

“The maids? But ma’am⁠—”

Anna’s head shot up, and she found herself staring directly into the pale grey eyes of Mrs Marchmont.

“You will do. Step forward.”

Anna froze.

“Well? I haven’t got all day.”

Anna took a step forward.

“Turn.”

Anna flushed a deep red as she turned, slowly, all the eyes in the room on her.

“What is your name?”

“Anna, ma’am.”

“Anna. She is somewhat on the short side, but she is slim and lithe enough to pass as a page boy. Do you comprehend?” She turned to Mrs Billings. “With a wig and a satin suit, she will be most charming, looking younger than her actual age. No one will know she’s really a woman. I want her in attendance tonight in the salon. Hetty, you too.”

Hetty stared at her with wide-open eyes. “Ma’am?”

“You will be a pair of page boys personally attending the most important guests.”

“Y-yes, ma’am,” Hetty stuttered, after she’d found her voice again.