Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

The sunlight slanted in through the window, gradually passing over the third shelf of the bookcase. When the reflection of the sun touched Richard's fingertips next to his teacup, he realized that a whole morning had passed.

"Está bien, gracias..." Richard sat in his room, holding a beginner's book of Spanish, practicing word by word.

"No tener pelos en la lengua," Louise's voice came from the doorway.

"Huh? What do you mean?" Richard looked up.

"It means you have no hair on your tongue," Louise chuckled. "In other words, you speak your mind without caring what others might think."

"Wow," Richard looked at Louise, who had displayed a talent for languages ​​back in Paris, making him somewhat envious. "How did you learn foreign languages? Or is it a skill that nobles must master?"

"Pretty much. No matter how much we hate France, we have to learn French," Louise said, taking the introductory book from his hand. "Because it's the 'common language' of European courts. Other languages ​​are just for fun."

“Speaking of the court…” Richard sat up straight. “Do you know there’s a banquet next week? In Hyde Park.”

"I don't know, and I'm not interested," Louise said casually, flipping through the pages as if she were looking at a primary school textbook. "That's how it is there; everything is worth a party about."

"Can you join us? And could you take me with you?" Richard asked tentatively. "You're a princess, the steward shouldn't stop you, right?"

"It's possible," Louise pouted, "but it's almost impossible to bring outsiders into a dinner like this, and besides..."

Louise closed the book: "If I attend the banquet, news of my return to the country will reach my mother's ears, and I will never be able to find another opportunity to leave the palace."

Richard nodded. In the 19th century, the royal family strictly restricted the movements of princesses, especially unmarried Louise, who should theoretically still be studying in Paris.

"Why are you suddenly interested in this kind of occasion? I thought you were a practical person," Louise said, leaning closer.

"Uh," Richard hesitated for a moment, "I suspect this party was hosted by your brother."

"You mean the Prince of Wales?" Louise's eyes widened, then she thought for a moment, "Your guess... isn't unreasonable. He does enjoy private gardens and luxurious estates."

Richard pondered for a moment, then suddenly an idea struck him. He stood up abruptly, holding the tray of teacups in his hand: "Tell me, do I look like a waiter?"

Louise stared at him holding the tray for a second, then burst out laughing, a loud laugh.

"You?" She wiped away the tears from the corners of her eyes. "You can't even carry a plate properly. Last time Aunt Susan asked you to help, you dropped the butter dish on the floor."

"Come on, am I that bad?" Richard adjusted his posture, trying to look more professional. "Besides, waiters don't need to carry plates; waiters need to be unnoticed."

He stood in front of the mirror, took off his tie, combed his hair back, and then pulled an old black vest out of the closet and put it on.

He turned to look at Louise: "How are you now?"

Louise's smile faded, and she looked him up and down seriously: "Doesn't seem like it."

"What's different about it?"

"Your eyes," she pointed, "the waiter wouldn't look at people like that."

"Then what should I look at?" Richard was completely confused. He realized that he had never paid attention to even the waiters in the restaurant, so it would be difficult for him to imitate them.

"When you speak, you look the other person in the eye." Louise took a step back. "Waiters don't. They look at the cups, the plates, and the crumbs on the floor."

Richard understood her words, walked to the mirror, and tried to lower his gaze.

Ignoring my own eyes, focusing only on the collar and buttons, it's like an indelible stain on a vest. The person in the mirror doesn't seem quite like myself anymore.

"What's missing?" he asked.

Louise looked out the window at the streets of Kensington, lost in thought. She turned around, a sly smile playing on her lips.

"What mischievous idea are you up to now?" Richard frowned.

"All that's left is the clothes," she said, walking back to her desk. She took a note from the drawer, wrote something down, and handed it to him. "The black tuxedo you bought last time, with a white bow tie and white gloves, will be the standard waiter's attire. Just make sure the cuffs don't show, and no one will notice the difference."

"You mean my clothes make me look like a waiter?" Richard shook his head. Was his taste really that bad? He opened the note.

He unfolded the note; it contained an address in very thin handwriting: "Where is this?"

“My personal maid, Margaret,” Louise said, “has been serving at the palace since she was eight and knows half the servants in London. She’ll know if any house in Hyde Park is hiring temporary servants.”

Richard looked at the note, then asked, still uneasy, "How do you know they'll want me?"

"I don't know," Louise shrugged, "but this kind of banquet is nothing like recruiting people at the palace. They don't care about your background; they care about whether you can make things easy for them."

With her hands behind her back, she circled him twice, just like a steward: "You're fairly clean-looking, the right height, and your teeth are straight. That's enough."

"Thank you, that was a huge help." Richard excitedly stuffed the note into his pocket.

“Tell her I sent you,” Louise added. “Maybe she’ll teach you how to pour wine properly.”

The following afternoon, Richard, wearing the black tuxedo, followed Margaret's directions and found the back door of the white manor house on the south side of Hyde Park.

There were already seven or eight people standing in the narrow alley, all dressed in similar black clothes. Some were adjusting their cuffs, while others were talking in hushed tones.

Richard stood at the back of the line and noticed that the person in front of him had a crooked bow tie, longer on the left than the right. He looked down to check his own, and thankfully everything was normal.

The back door opened, and a tall, thin man with gray hair stood in the doorway. He must be the steward of the mansion, and Richard almost saw Harold in him.

"Come in, line up, and don't make a sound," he commanded.

Several people filed in and lined up in the corridor outside the kitchen. The manager walked from one end of the line to the other, scrutinizing each person.

"Open your mouth." He wanted to check the teeth, and anyone with yellow teeth or even a chipped tooth was pulled out.

When it was Richard's turn, he opened his mouth, and the steward glanced at him and nodded.

"Take off your coat and walk from one end to the other," he said to Richard.

Richard took a deep breath, his steps were neither fast nor slow, his heels touched the ground lightly, his back was straight, and his eyes were looking straight ahead.

"Hmm..." The steward let out a satisfied soft sound from his throat.

Then he took a silver tray from the shelf, with several crystal glasses upside down: "Fill them up, carry them around that table and come back."

Richard poured just the right amount of wine, holding it steadily against the silver surface with his palm. As he rounded the corner of the table, he tucked the tray half an inch into his arms. The corner of the table brushed against the edge of the tray without spilling any wine or making a sound.

The steward stopped in front of Richard, raising one eyebrow: "Not bad. Where did you work before?"

"I've served tea at home before."

He chuckled softly, "Well done."

The manager walked over to the other candidates, then turned to Richard and said, "Wednesday evening at seven o'clock, come in through the back door. If you're even a minute late, don't bother coming in."

"No problem." Richard imitated Harold, gave a slight bow, and turned to leave.

"When you walk, your right foot lands half a beat heavier than your left," the steward suddenly called out to him. "So when you're carrying the tray, although the wine won't spill, the glasses will wobble."

Richard looked down at his feet, which he had never noticed before.

"Take a light step with your right foot, let's go." The butler put his hands behind his back.

"Thanks."

Richard closed the back door and tried taking a few steps as the steward had instructed. He took a lighter step with his right foot and found it much more stable.

He strode out of the alley and saw Louise standing by the carriage on the roadside.

"What brings you here?" Richard asked, somewhat surprised.

"Let's see if you've given yourself away," Louise said, holding up a parasol—it was a rare sunny day in London. "Did you pass?"

"Approved, Wednesday at 4 PM."

"Congratulations on finally finding a decent job," Louise joked.

"Sigh, stop teasing me." Richard gave a wry smile. "Thanks to you this time, I'll take you to get the pie you missed yesterday."

"No, no, no," Louise shook her head, "I want to eat Chappell cake."

"No problem, lead the way."