Maid to Match (5 page)
When Tillie had left home at twelve to be a step-girl for a well-to-do family in Asheville, another bunch had begun arriving. Five-year-old Martha was part of it.
“Nobody carries their money with them,” Gussie told Martha. “It’s vulgar. They have their bills sent to the steward.”
Tillie and Allan exchanged a glance. Gussie would be twelve in the spring and thus leaving home. In anticipation, Mama had her reading
The Handy Book for the Young General
Servant
.
“Did she buy diamonds and dresses and a new pair of shoes?” Martha breathed, her black ringlets hovering over her food as she leaned in toward Tillie.
“She can’t tell you.” Gussie handed a piece of bread to her youngest brother, Ennis. “Mrs. Vanderbilt relies on the total discretion of those who serve her.”
Mama carved a piece of meat off the hare, her enormous bosom rocking with the motion. For such large proportions up top and down below, she had a relatively small waist – accentuated by the cinching of her apron strings. “That may be so, Gussie, but it isn’t as if we’re in Newport. Here, all of Asheville would know of Mrs. Vanderbilt’s purchases before she ever even left the store. So if Tillie wants to tell us, I’m sure it would be all right. We are family, after all.”
Gussie snorted, but the room fell silent. Tillie could feel their ears growing as they waited for her reply. Even little Ennis looked at her, his mouth now full of bread.
She took a sip of milk, stalling. The townsfolk would discuss Mrs. Vanderbilt’s every move in great detail for weeks to come, but that was them. Not the staff. Not her personal maid. If she were to blur the lines, how would she know where they started and where they stopped? Before she could formulate a response, Allan came to her rescue.
“I don’t think the good people of Asheville were talking about Mrs. Vanderbilt so much as they were Tillie,” he said.
Mama’s smile was smug. “Really? What were they saying?”
He jabbed some peas with his fork. “Earl Danver made sure everybody knew it took him twice as long to get to town as usual, because after every bump Tillie had to cast her bread upon the waters.”
Mama popped Allan’s knuckles with her spoon.
Popped
them. Tillie hadn’t seen her do that since he was twelve.
“You hush up, Allan Reese. I don’t want to hear another word about that or that infernal Earl Danver.”
Allan’s brows shot up to his hairline as he massaged his offended hand. “I’m afraid the secret’s out, Ma. It’s quite the joke belowstairs, and Till’s endured no small amount of ribbing because of it.”
“What’ve they said, Allan?” Ricky’s toothy grin stretched from one large ear to the other. “Does she have a nickname?”
“Ricky!”
Mama waved her spoon, but the ten-year-old was well out of reach.
“Does she?”
Straightening his spine, Allan looked down his nose. “I’m afraid, young sir, that your sister relies on the total discretion of those who serve beside her.”
The little ones giggled. They loved it when he put on his footman airs.
Thank you
, she mouthed.
Mama signaled for the plates and flatware to be passed to her for washing. “Tillie’s still better than that Lucy Lewers. Why, Lucy has men sniffing after her all the time. You’ve seen the way she carries on at the barn gatherings during parlor games and twistifications. It’s downright scandalous. You won’t catch our Tillie doing that.”
“Nothing wrong with twistifications.”
All eyes swung toward Pa. He weighed about one hundred thirty pounds and, like Ricky, had a toothy grin. He didn’t talk much, but everybody in the county knew him on account of his being the best dancer these parts had ever seen.
Mama gave him a stern look. “Dancing gives the boys ideas, Herbert.”
“Aw, we’re just letting off a little steam.” Allan pulled his napkin from his collar. “Nobody thinks anything about it.”
“Just the same.” She turned to Tillie. “The last thing you need now is some loafer showing some interest. You probably shouldn’t go to the barn gatherings at all until your position as lady’s maid is secure.”
Tillie frowned. “Not go? But I haven’t missed a single one since I was hired on.”
“I’ll watch out for her.” Allan pushed back his chair. “You ready to sit on the porch, Pa?”
Pa finished off his milk, then stood. Looking down the row of children, he zeroed in on Tillie. “Some ginger cookies would help you on those carriage rides.”
“Ginger cookies?” she asked.
“Ayup. And you go on to those twistifications. If King David can dance like a fool, I’m figuring a few whirls around the floor’ll be all right for you.”
She smiled. “Thanks, Pa.”
“I still think you need to be careful,” Mama warned.
“I will.” Tillie rose to help with the cleanup. As soon as the table was cleared, Mama shooed the little ones out, leaving her alone with Tillie.
“I’m so excited for you, dear. And so proud.” Mama dipped the plate she’d scrubbed into the rinse bowl, then handed it to Tillie.
“I want this position so bad, Mama.”
“And I think you have every chance of getting it.”
“I don’t know.” Tillie ran a drying cloth across the plate. “Lucy has a leg up after what happened to me in the carriage.”
“Perhaps. But think of all the hours, days, years, even, that we’ve put into preparing you for this very thing.”
Tillie contemplated the number of books she’d read, the perfection her mother had demanded from her needle, the laborious hours she’d spent dressing and redressing Mama’s hair, along with the lessons she’d received on concocting herbal remedies and cosmetics.
“Lucy may have a leg up,” Mama continued, “but when Mrs. Vanderbilt asks for Corfe’s edition of Handel, I wouldn’t put it past her to go searching for a coarse dish with a handle.”
Tillie snorted.
Removing her hands from the water, Mama dried them on her apron, then clasped Tillie’s within both of hers. “It is a rare, rare opportunity you’ve been given and likely the only one you’ll ever have. Don’t you see? This is it, Tillie. This is your dream. Your chance. You mustn’t squander it.”
“I won’t.”
“You must be cheerful even when they expect long hours. Discreet when you overhear gossip. Tolerant when Mr. Vanderbilt invades his bride’s domain. And virtuous when upper menservants come sniffing about you.”
“I will.”
“You must not blush or lose your composure when you perform intimate services for Mrs. Vanderbilt that women of lesser stations would be too modest to have done for them.”
Even as she spoke, her mother blushed and they both thought of the lessons Tillie had been taught by doing for her mother what she would one day do for Mrs. Vanderbilt if she were to win the position of lady’s maid. Services which became so frequent as to no longer embarrass Tillie, though clearly they still discomfited her mother.
Mama’s eyes teared. “When I think of all our hard work and how badly I’ve wanted this. Now, here you are, on the precipice of living out the dream we’ve been clinging to. Think of the life you’ll have. So much better than mine or your father’s.”
Tillie squeezed her hands. “I know. And I can’t thank you enough, Mama. Now, don’t you worry. I won’t let you down.”
Swallowing, Mama withdrew her hands, swiped her eyes with the corner of her apron, then returned to the dishes.
Tillie stacked the plates inside the cabinet, her resolve solidifying. No matter what it took, she must secure the coveted position. Failure was not an option.
The sun swelled over the horizon, streaking the dawn skies with orange, pink, and purple. Mack hiked up Biltmore’s approach road with nothing but a pocketknife and a three-inch money belt strapped beneath his shirt.
It wasn’t full enough, though. Not nearly enough. He’d asked the steward of Battery Park Hotel for an increase in pay, but the man had scoffed.
“Then I quit,” Mack had said. “I’ll work at Biltmore.”
“Biltmore? They’ll throw you out the minute they see you.”
“We’ll see.”
The steward had curled his lip. “You leave now and you’ll never work at my hotel again or anywhere else in this town.”
Mack had no doubt the man would make good on his threat. Which meant he had to make this work. At least until he could earn enough to get Ora Lou out from under Sloop’s roof.
Pine, rhododendron, and hemlock opened up onto a pond dusted with fallen pink blossoms. He’d heard Vanderbilt had hired some fancy-pants fellow from New York to rearrange the landscape surrounding this three-mile carriage road. The thought was ludicrous. How could some Yankee improve upon what God had already put in place? But despite himself, Mack was impressed. Around every bend the countryside offered a view which was nothing short of stunning.
Crossing a rustic bridge, he scanned the orange skies and his native mountains in the distance, trying to pinpoint the spot which cradled a cabin on Hazel Creek. That one-room dwelling had housed the first generation of Danvers to ever live in the Unakas. It had offered solitude with unhampered growth of forest on every side. It was the one place he was lord of himself and his surroundings. And the only place which gave his eagle heart the wing room it craved.
A thrush landed on a persimmon branch, whistling a soft, fluty
ah-ee-oo-lay
. Mack stopped, watching it ascend high into the tree as it embellished its song with a variety of flourishes.
This would be his last taste of freedom, of the outdoors, of everything he loved. The thought of being cooped up in some dark, dank basement for several months made his hands clammy. For the hundredth time, he considered turning back. And for the hundredth time, he forced himself to go on. Ora Lou’s welfare depended upon it.
He may have told Mrs. Vanderbilt women were nothing more than domestic animals, but those were his grandfather’s words, not his father’s and definitely not his. He’d only said it to make the lady mad, because the Vanderbilts represented everything he hated about society. Where he came from there was no servility or headship by right of birth. Their leaders – when needed – arose from their clan by virtue of ability.
Still, his pa had been an outsider – a “furriner.” The Southern Unakas highlanders had not taken kindly to the teacher who’d devoted his life to bringing a decent education to them. He’d traveled from home to home in that corner of the mountain, and though he was treated with hospitality, he was never really accepted . . . until he met Ma.
What was supposed to have been a week’s stay turned into a wintering. As a guest, he’d had to stand by and watch as Grandpa used his fists on the children. But the minute he saw Grandpa raise a hand to Ma, he intervened, then whisked her away.
Eventually Pa had reconciled with his father-in-law, but in no way had he adopted the highlander’s attitude toward women. He doted on Ma. Catered to her. Respected her. Even chopped the wood for her. And if that weren’t enough, he then saw to his children’s education. He was the laughingstock of that region. But it never seemed to bother him.
A giant gatepost topped by a female centaur signaled the entrance to Biltmore House. Mack’s chest tightened. It might as well have been the entrance to Central Prison in Raleigh.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped past the post, rounded the corner, then came up short. A huge carpet of green lined with saplings spread before a fawn-colored castle of such enormity, such magnificence, such height he could do no more than gawk.
Soaring spires. Octagonal towers. Medieval turrets. Sharp gables. Steep roofs. Stone pillars. Dormer windows. Multiple chimneys. Snarling gargoyles.
The sprawling structure was unlike anything he’d ever seen. Yet somehow its grandeur fit in with the panorama of mountains flanking it. He stayed rooted to the spot trying to figure how a structure of such gigantic proportions could remain hidden until the last second. Had the Yankee planned that, too?
Finally, he placed one foot in front of the other. Counting windows would be like counting the hairs on his head. Yet he knew someone was responsible for cleaning them. Would that fall to him now? He hoped so. It would give him a chance to be out-of-doors.
He’d heard Biltmore had two hundred fifty rooms but had never given much credence to the statement. Now he wondered if that estimate had been too modest. Vanderbilt had been a bachelor until a few months ago. What did he need two hundred fifty rooms for? What did
anyone
need that many rooms for?
Dozens of chimneys graced the roofs. Chimneys which led to scores of fireplaces. It would take a lot of chopping to supply enough wood for that many fireplaces. He wondered how many hundreds of stairsteps it would take to climb from bottom to top. He pictured himself weighted down with firewood. Or a lady’s trunk. Or pieces of furniture.
Stable, outbuildings, and carriage house surrounded an open court to the right of the castle. His gaze lingered on the carriage house. Earl had only been working in there for a few weeks. Vanderbilt’s head coachman had broken an arm. While he recovered, Earl had been pulled from the house to act as the interim driver. To hear his brother tell it, several undercoach-men had expected to hold the coveted position.
Earl had smiled. “None are as handsome as me, though.”
And in the world of service, a man’s height, good looks, and shapely calves were premium. If he also happened to be competent, he was in even more demand . . . assuming fetching for a rich man was his life’s ambition.
A massive clock tower overlooked the open court. Six o’clock already. Had Mack known the house was a six-mile hike from Asheville, he’d have risen earlier. Still, before he made his way around back, he couldn’t resist taking a closer look at the looming entryway.
He climbed deep steps leading to an archway wide enough to accommodate a dozen men, behind which was the grand entrance to the house. Enormous iron gates barred his way. He lifted his gaze to the extensive scrollwork carved into the limestone. Two princely gargoyles flanked each side of the archway. Both wore musketeerlike jerkins with puffy sleeves while clutching shields with prominent
V
s carved onto the crests.