Rainy Day Dreams: 2 (5 page)

He stepped through the doorway and set the crate containing his
painting down on the floor. “This will be fine for my needs. Would you arrange to have the spare bed removed?”

“It’ll be morning before my hired man comes, but I’ll have him see to it.” A gleam flickered in her eyes as she looked at the second bed. “I can move it across the hall and turn that room into a triple.”

Unless the other room was significantly larger than this one, Jason couldn’t imagine how three beds would fit. But that was not his concern.

He dipped his head in a courteous farewell. “Thank you, Mrs. Garritson.” Hopefully he’d gotten the name right. Her correspondence had been nearly illegible, and she had not introduced herself since his arrival.

“Madame Garritson’s what everybody in these parts calls me.” She smiled, a somewhat gruesome gesture considering two of her teeth were charcoal gray and the rest yellow. “Or Mother Garritson, if you prefer.”

An image of his mother, genteel and educated and exquisitely groomed at all times, rose in his mind. If he were given the task of selecting a complete opposite to Mother, the woman before him would be his top candidate.

Arranging his lips into a polite smile, he said, “Thank you, Madame Garritson.”

An unladylike cackle issued from deep inside her ample bosom. “Madame it is.” She started to leave, and then stopped and turned back with a sly grin. “Forgot to ask. Did you want to hire my girl to see to your needs?”

While inspecting his room he’d forgotten about Miss Bergert. Her shocked expression upon discovering that she was being hired as a maid had wrung an unexpected response from him. For a moment he’d felt sorry for her. What position had she expected to take when she arrived? He didn’t know, but clearly it was something different. Taking a servant’s role would no doubt be hard for one so
arrogant, though a lesson in humility might soften the sharp edges of her personality a bit.

But that was not a task he wished to undertake. The very reason he had agreed to come to Seattle was because there would be few females to distract him from the business of managing a successful steam mill operation. Why put himself directly in contact with one? His heart belonged to Beth, and he intended to remain true to her for as long as it continued to beat.

“Thank you, but I believe I can manage without any assistance.”

Madame Garritson shrugged. “If you change your mind, let me know.”

She waddled down the narrow hallway toward the stairs. Jason closed the door with a soft
whisk
and turned to rest his back against it. His gaze was drawn to the crate. The painting inside begged to be released and allowed to breathe, to spread oil-and-canvas sunshine into this gloomy room. Into his lonely heart.

When the proprietress descended the stairs once again, Kathryn crossed the floor to meet her head-on, heels echoing on the unfinished plank floor.

“Cousin Mary Ann, there has been a mistake.”

The woman stepped off the bottom step with an
umph
and continued without a pause toward the closed door next to the desk. “Call me Madame Garritson, like everybody else. Wouldn’t want to give the impression of favoritism, would we?”

“Certainly not.” Actually, she preferred not to advertise her kinship with this crass person, however distant it may be. She followed close on the woman’s heels. “My father arranged for me to help with the management of this hotel, not to become a maid.”

“Management?” She made an impolite sound halfway between a
grunt and a snort. “No mistake, missy. Except I thought you’d be”—she paused with her hand on the knob and sent an appraising glance the length of Kathryn’s body—“different.”

Kathryn drew herself upright. How offensive! “What do you mean?”

A hand reached out to finger a bedraggled lock of hair that had begun to dry in the warmth of the fire. “Fancier, you know? Being from San Francisco and all, I figured you’d dress nicer, fix your hair up, maybe use a bit of rouge to give your face some color. Philip described you as an attractive girl.” She pursed her lips. “
Accomplished
was how he put it.”

Papa had called her
accomplished
? Kathryn indulged in a moment of satisfaction. He’d never encouraged her pursuit of art. Why, she’d come to believe he thought her without talent. “I am an accomplished
artist
.” She lifted her nose in the air. “I paint landscapes.”

Madame gave a rude snort of laughter. “What use is a painter to me? Help emptying chamber pots and straightening bed linens, that’s what I need.” With a smirk, she pushed open the door, gesturing for Kathryn to follow.

The idea! “I most certainly will do no such thing.”

They entered a generously sized room fitted with a few mismatched pieces of plain, block-style furniture. A large window looked out onto a stand of trees so dense that shadows dark as night filled the spaces between them. The glass had been left open and rain had blown in, leaving puddles on the floor.

Madame Garritson appeared not to notice. She stopped in the center of the room and turned. “What do you think the manager of a hotel does?”

“Well…” Kathryn stopped, taken aback. In the weeks prior to the journey, her efforts had been focused on convincing Papa not to send her away. When he remained stubborn, she’d comforted herself with a single recurring thought—that she would come, spend a few weeks here, and then return home with the tale that things had
not worked out as he hoped. As to the actual duties she might be asked to perform, she had given them no thought at all.

She cleared her throat. “I suppose a manager collects rents, and sees to guests’ inquiries, and ensures they are comfortable.”

“Rents don’t touch a single hand but this one.” She extended her palm and slapped it with the fingers of her other hand. “And if someone has an inquiry, what help could you offer? You don’t even know where the privy is.”

“Of course there will be an initial adjustment period.”

Her answer went unnoticed as Madame’s lips formed a cynical twist. “And just what do you think guests need for their comfort?”

“Well, I…” She swallowed. The only time she had stayed in a hotel was last year, when she and Mama traveled to Sacramento with Papa on business. Her needs were seen to by Mrs. Lassiter, owner of the Lassiter House. While Papa worked, she and Mama toured the city and discovered a delightful little art gallery. When they returned for the evening, their rooms were neat and orderly. Now that Kathryn thought about it, she’d seen no maids or anyone else about the place. Had their clean rooms been due to the efforts of the proprietress?

“You see?” Excess flesh on Madame’s neck jiggled with the force of her nod. “I’m not as young as I used to be, and steps are proving a challenge to these old joints. I want someone younger to see to the work upstairs. Rents and inquiries I can handle down here.”

She turned her back and waddled toward a closed door, leaving Kathryn standing in the center of the room, searching for an argument. The problem was, she saw the woman’s point. Well, except for the fact that the weakened state of her joints was probably due to overload more than advancing age. Still, managing a hotel of this size no doubt included the unpleasant tasks of keeping the rooms clean and, therefore, the guests comfortable. And if one was incapable of handling those tasks, one would need to hire someone to help. Hence, the arrangement with Papa.

It made sense. If she were going to stay, that is. Which she most certainly was not. But she had overheard Captain Baker mention to a crewman that the
Fair Lady
would be in port for four days. Though Papa had not sent her away penniless, her travel allowance was by no means generous. And unbeknownst to Papa, she had spent quite a bit on the painting supplies that were packed carefully in her trunk, for who knew how hard they would be to find here? Between that and the donation she had managed to make the day they sailed, of which Papa would certainly
not
approve, her ready cash had been severely depleted. If she had to pay for room and board, she may not have enough left to purchase passage on the return trip to San Francisco.

It appeared she had no option but to accept Madame’s offer of employment, distasteful though it may be.

Well, and why not? If a woman were to make her way in this world, she couldn’t be afraid to work even menial jobs. She was a grown, capable woman, and certainly wasn’t unaccustomed to household duties. At home she tidied her own art room. Papa and Mama employed a cook and a housekeeper to take care of the other chores, but she did not trust anyone to enter the sanctity of her studio, especially when she was working on a painting.

She would not call herself a maid, though, even for four days. A girl had her pride, after all. “I accept the offer to become your assistant manager.”

“My assistant, eh?” Madame’s blast of laughter ended in a snort. From the surface of a small table in the corner she took up a match, struck it, and lit a candle. “Call yourself what you will, as long as those rooms get cleaned every day and the guests are happy.”

A minor victory, but one that would have to do. A thought occurred to her. “How much will I be paid?”

Scraggly eyebrows shot upward. “Paid? You’ll get a bed, a blanket, and a roof over your head. That was my arrangement with Philip.” A
smile that looked more like a taunt leaped onto her face. “And the honor of calling yourself my assistant, of course. Here’s your room.”

She threw open a door in the far wall and gestured for Kathryn to enter. When she did, she blinked to adjust her eyes to the darkness. Behind her Madame held the candle high and details emerged from shadows. No wonder the woman stopped in the doorway. Her rotund figure would have filled the tiny space without an inch to spare. The only furnishing was a narrow bunk, not even as wide as Kathryn’s berth on the
Fair Lady.
There was no chest of drawers, no writing desk, not even a chair to sit and read.

She whirled, her mouth gaping open. “Why, this is not a room! This is a closet.”

“I used it for storage until they got me a shed built out back.” She moved the candle in a circle as though to shed light into the corners, an unnecessary gesture since the room was so small there was not enough room for shadows to hide from the candle’s glow. “Once you start earning your keep, I figure you can move upstairs. Only now we’re full up with paying guests so this is the best I can do.”

Kathryn opened her mouth, but no words would come. The idea of spending even a single night in this, this
cell,
was unthinkable. Why, there was no room for her easel, her palette. Not that there was a breath of inspiration in this cramped alcove.

It’s only for four days. Then I’ll put this place and Madame behind me.

She forced a long, slow breath through pursed lips before she trusted her voice. “I suppose my trunk can serve as a nightstand temporarily.” Provided it would fit in the narrow space between the bunk and the wall.

“I’ll get one of the boarders to fetch it in as soon as it’s dried out.”

Taking the light, Madame turned away. Kathryn hurried out after her. The first order of business would be to take possession of that candle. She feared the odor from a lamp would choke her in the confines of her new room.

“Speaking of drying out,” Madame said as she blew the candle out with a puff, “looks like the rain has let up. Downpours like that are rare in these parts. There’s a stack of scrap linens in the shed out back. Fetch some and clean up that mess, would you?” She pointed toward the standing water beneath the open window, and then pressed a hand into the small of her back. “Lumbago’s acting up lately.”

Kathryn opened her mouth, but then closed it again. No doubt any protest she made would receive a tart rejoinder concerning the duties of an assistant hotel manager. Clamping her teeth together, she managed a nod.