Maid to Match (30 page)
Irene sat slumped on the edge of her cot, her eyes red and swollen. She cradled her arm – splinted and wrapped with newspapers – against her stomach. A large hole in the ceiling exposed wooden beams and joists. Below it, chunks of debris lay in a puddle of water.
Mack knelt at Irene’s feet, his face grave. He rose when he saw Tillie. “I guess you’re here to collect the wooden pieces?”
Something was terribly wrong.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Irene broke her arm. Mrs. Sloop sent me up here to wrap it.”
Her gaze flew to the girl. “How?”
His lips tightened. “She says the ceiling caved in during the storm and struck her arm.”
“But I thought you’d repaired the roof.”
“I must have missed a spot.”
She looked again at the girl’s splint. “Has the doctor seen her?”
“Sloop says no doctor is needed.”
“Is she going to be all right?”
“The arm will heal, if that’s what you mean.” The tension emanating from him was palpable.
“What else, then?” she asked. “What else is wrong?”
He jammed his hands into his pockets. “Seems Irene has a birthday coming up in January. After that, Sloop says she’ll be too old to stay. That she’ll have to leave.”
And go where?
Tillie thought. From what Mack had told her, the girl had no skills, was in a constant state of fear, and had hardly any meat on her bones.
He took a deep breath. “Seems that when this occurs, Sloop puts a bug in Daphne Devine’s ear.”
“Who?”
“Daphne Devine. The owner of a brothel out on Saloon Row.”
Tillie sucked in her breath. “No.”
“Daphne has already been by to offer Irene a place in her establishment.”
Shivers scuttled up Tillie’s spine. Smoothing her skirts beneath her, she sat on the filthy cot next to Irene. “I’m Tillie Reese. A friend of Mr. Danver’s and head parlormaid at Biltmore.”
Irene’s eyes widened. “You are?”
As Tillie had hoped, working for the Vanderbilts gave her special status in the girl’s eyes.
“I certainly am. And you must not do this . . . thing.”
Irene sniffled, then whispered. “She says I can have chocolate cake any time I want.”
Tillie squeezed her hands together. “I can teach you how to make chocolate cake. There is no need to go to that . . . that
place
for cake.”
Irene said nothing.
Completely out of her element, Tillie prayed for guidance, then raised her gaze to Mack. “Would you excuse us, please?”
Swallowing, he knelt back down. “Irene, you can speak freely with Miss Reese. She’s my special friend and she’ll keep what you tell her to herself. Now I’m going to fix that roof.” He looked at Tillie. “I’ll have those wooden pieces for you whenever you’re done here.”
He slipped out the door, clicking it shut behind him.
Tillie sat in silence, continuing to pray and gather her thoughts. Finally, she turned toward Irene until their knees bumped. “Do you know what you would have to do if you went to Mrs. Devine’s establishment?”
Tears welled up in the girl’s eyes. She nodded.
“Then you see why you cannot go there.”
Irene’s chin quivered.
“You mustn’t go,” Tillie implored. “Promise me you won’t go.”
They sat in silence for so long, she was afraid the girl wouldn’t answer.
Finally she whispered, “Then where would I go?”
“Anywhere. Anywhere but there.”
“There is nowhere else.”
Tillie smoothed a piece of hair behind the girl’s ear. “You could do scullery work like Ora Lou.”
“Miz Devine says anywheres I go, the man what gives me the job’ll use me. At least at her place I’ll get paid fer it and not have to do no scullery.”
It was a veritable speech, indicating the girl’s level of distress. Tillie’s heart squeezed. She still couldn’t believe Sloop had given that Devine woman access to Irene.
Pushing aside her fury, she concentrated on the task at hand. “That’s just not true. There are many, many respectable men you could work for.”
“Doin’ what? I ain’t no good at nothing. And Mrs. Devine says she won’t let the fellers hit me none.”
Tillie took Irene’s good hand and folded it into hers. “Listen to me. You are much too special to work for that woman. I can teach you the skills you need to get good, honest work. I will come every day off I have and show you how to stitch and iron and clean and style hair.”
Irene’s shoulders slumped. “It ain’t no good. How can I do all that with a gimp arm?”
Glancing at the girl’s arm, she noted it was the left that was broken. “Which hand do you hold your pencil with?”
“My right.”
“Then there’s plenty you can learn to do.” She squeezed Irene’s hand. “What do you say? I can come this very Sunday.”
“Won’t do no good. There ain’t enough time.”
“You just wait and see.” She rose. If she received a Christmas bonus this year, perhaps she could save some back for the girl rather than giving it all to her father. “This Sunday, then?”
Irene shrugged.
The door burst open. Tillie jumped. Irene scrambled back to the corner of the bed, protecting her arm behind updrawn knees.
Mrs. Sloop’s gaze darted between them, her eyes narrowing. “What’s going on? What are you doing here?”
Tillie lifted her chin. “I came to arrange a time when I could give Irene a sewing lesson.”
“Sewing lesson?” She humphed. “Well, these aren’t visiting hours, and all guests are to wait in the parlor. Besides, Irene can’t do any sewing, not with that arm of hers.”
“So I see. Has she been looked at by a doctor?”
“The useful man wrapped it up good and tight. That’s all it needs.”
“I’m afraid I don’t agree.”
The woman took a step forward. “What has Irene been telling you?”
The girl pressed herself even farther into the corner.
“You better not be making up lies, girl,” Mrs. Sloop said, then turned to Tillie. “Did she say something about my husband?”
“We were simply discussing when would be the best time to schedule a sewing lesson.”
“Well, Irene won’t be receiving lessons anytime soon.”
“On the contrary, I plan to be back Sunday.” Tillie gave her a penetrating look. “And make no mistake, I will expect to see her.”
Pulling her skirts to the side, Tillie swept from the room.
Tillie sat cross-legged on the floor of the pantry, sorting and counting soiled table linens from supper. Eleven napkins. Picking up her notebook, she carefully recorded the number, knowing the head laundress would do the same in her book. The job required quiet concentration, because when these items were cleaned and sent from the laundry to Mrs. Winter, the two books would be compared with each other to ensure all articles were accounted for.
Dropping the napkins into the hamper, she started on the doilies.
“Here you are,” Allan said, stepping over a pile of large tablecloths.
“Shhh.” Five, six, seven
. She recorded the number, dropped the doilies into the hamper, then looked up at her brother. “What are you doing down here?”
“Looking for you. I thought this was your day off.”
She scrunched up her nose. “I made the mistake of coming back too early. So don’t ask me to do anything else. As soon as I’m done here, I’m disappearing up to my room with a copy of
Ivanhoe
.”
“You’ve read that thing a hundred times. Don’t you get tired of it? It’s not like it’s going to end differently this time around.”
She smiled. “I know. I still enjoy it, though.”
Settling across from her, he leaned against the wall. “So how are things going?”
She cocked her head. “You mean with my new morning duties for Mrs. Vanderbilt?”
“No, I meant how are things going without Mack?” He was still wearing his formal serving livery, the maroon jacket handsome across his broad shoulders.
“Not so good,” she whispered, her shoulders wilting.
“Having second thoughts?”
“I can’t afford second thoughts.”
“Why not?”
“Too many people would be impacted.”
He stretched his legs out in front of him. “Like who?”
“Well, you for one.”
“Me?”
“Yes. Think about the impact it would have on you if I left Biltmore. It would mean you’d feel more of the financial burden for Mama and Pa.”
Crossing his ankles, he tapped the toes of his boots together. “I’ve already talked to Pa about the finances.”
“What? You have?”
He nodded. “Pa says they’re doing fine. Gussie will be getting a job next year, and the boys won’t be far behind her. That’ll mean less mouths to feed and more money coming in.”
She sighed. “I hate to think of Gussie having to do all that.”
“Why? You did. I did.” He shrugged. “That’s just the way it is. And it’ll only be until she marries.”
“I suppose.”
“You know what Pa told me?”
She shook her head.
“He never really believed you’d actually find a lady’s maid position, no matter what Ma’s ambitions for you were. Those spots are just too few and far between. And Pa sure never expected you to forgo a husband and family of your own to help them.”
“Did he really say that?” Standing, she gathered up the tablecloths one at a time, dropped them in the hamper, then recorded a
three
in her book.
“Yes. So you see, you
can
quit.”
“No, I can’t. Regardless of what Pa says, Mama would never recover.” She tried to smile, but her lip trembled. “Besides, if I left, I’d hardly ever see you.”
Pushing himself up, he tweaked her chin. “If you marry Danver, I have a feeling he’d keep you so busy with babies you wouldn’t have time to miss your ol’ big brother.”
Blushing, she shooed him away with her hands. “Go on. I’ve got work to do, unlike footmen who get paid ridiculous sums of money for looking pretty while we females work to the bone for a fraction of the wages.”
Preening, he ran his hands down his lapels. “You’ve got to admit, though. I do make a handsome sight.”
Rolling her eyes, she threw a serving towel at him. He dodged, then scurried out the door.
Mack arrived at the orphanage after breakfast had been cleared and the children were already in the schoolroom. He’d managed to repair the roof yesterday, but he wanted to fix Irene’s ceiling first thing. Her room must have been freezing last night with only a layer of shingles to keep the cold air from pouring through that gaping hole.
Unlocking the shed, he grabbed a ladder and pry bar. He couldn’t do anything until he figured out how many laths needed replacing.
A touch of snow swirled in the air but immediately melted upon making contact. Stomping the mud off his boots as best he could, he entered the kitchen. “Mornin’, Mrs. Gleaves. Looks like we might have us a white Christmas if this keeps up.”
Flour covered her arms up to her elbows as she kneaded a huge glob of dough. “We might, at that.”
Leaving his jacket on a peg, he made his way to the stairwell. He’d lain awake a good part of the night trying to figure what he could do to keep Irene out of Daphne’s place. And every scenario involved money he didn’t have. Right now, his all went to Ora Lou. He couldn’t even afford a room for himself. He’d been bunking down in the loft of McGhee’s livery in exchange for adding on new stalls. He sure didn’t have the wherewithal to put up Irene.
Tillie’s offer to tutor the girl had come as a pleasant surprise, but it was too little too late. She’d only have two Sundays off before Irene was kicked out. Not nearly enough time to teach the girl what she needed to know.
Stepping into the hallway, he noted all the bedroom doors were propped open except for Irene’s. Frowning, he knocked.
No answer. He knocked again. Nothing.
Finally, he pushed it open, then stumbled back in shock. Ladder and crowbar crashed to the ground as he rushed forward.
A rope had been slung over the exposed beam and secured to the bedrail. At its other end hung Irene.
Irene’s tiny room couldn’t hold all the people gathered, forcing Vaughan and the police captain out into the hall. Mack, however, refused to budge. He stood in the corner, arms crossed, legs spread, watching and listening. His anger and remorse and suspicions were way too close to the surface. He needed to calm down before he said or did anything.