Meet Me at the Clock, page 9
Louisa cheeks puff out in exasperation. “Oh, I see. So you plan to interrogate every person in the city who’s of Asian descent to determine their place of birth before you offer to help them?”
Pinching my hand in the process, Louisa swings the door wide open and steps into formation as Ms. Thompson eyes us from the opposite end of the hall.
I follow suit, standing at the end of the line, frustration with my sister building within my chest. I stare straight ahead, intent on ignoring Louisa and her condemnation.
“Glad you could join us, both of you.” Ms. Thompson steps our way. “If we weren’t so short-staffed, I’d take a moment to remind you that being tardy seldom begins the day right.” She waves her free hand in the air, dismissing our lateness, while the other holds onto her trusty clipboard. “Consider yourselves fortunate that we do not have the time to tend to such matters this morning, as we are three maids down for the fifth floor alone.”
Ms. Thompson steps in front of me, meeting my gaze with a question lingering behind her eyes. “We all need to pitch in with the extra duties today.” Checking her clipboard, she continues. “I’ve decided we should work as a team for the quickest results. I’ll have you pair up. We will start with the rooms that have already been vacated this morning but will be the first to have new guests this afternoon. Then we’ll move on to rooms whose guests are staying through the weekend.”
Ms. Thompson rattles off the list of top-priority guest rooms before dispersing us with instructions to find a partner and get straight to work. “Ladies, one more thing. We must have all the rooms with expected guests completed before we break for lunch today.”
Murmurs of discontent rumble through the group.
“I know. I am sorry, but we have no other option but to ready the rooms before the check-in hour.” Ms. Thompson unbuttons the cuff of her sleeve and begins rolling it up. “You won’t be alone in this. I will be joining in and working with you, side by side, until the rooms are complete.”
I nod with an appreciative smile. I admire Ms. Thompson’s work ethic and her dedication to remaining fair to the girls under her charge. She is one to go down with the ship, and for that I am grateful.
Maids bustle about the hall, pairing up and grabbing carts. I turn toward Louisa. Despite our disagreement, I have no doubt she will prefer to work with me, given how efficiently we work as a team.
I cannot hide my disappointment as Louisa turns her back to me, striding directly to Jane Morgan’s side. The two exchange a few words, and then Jane smiles at Louisa. They retrieve a cleaning cart, Jane laughing at something Louisa has said. My heart sinks and moisture sprouts in my eyes.
“Well, it looks like it will be you and me, Miss Wilson.” Ms. Thompson follows my gaze down the hall, toward Louisa’s retreating back. She places a warm hand on my elbow, guiding me toward the last remaining cart. “Sometimes, I find putting all my attention on a task to be a good way to puzzle out a problem. What do you say? Shall we give it a try?”
I dab discreetly at my eyes, doing my best to regain my composure in front of Ms. Thompson. “Yes. Thank you, ma’am.” I follow the matron to the first room on our list. As she unlocks the door to the recently vacated guest room, the question that has been circling me presses forward, landing with a thud in my heart. How did I become the villain in Louisa’s story?
Chapter 11
Friday, September 30, 1927
Louisa
I hide my annoyance at Clara’s daft view of inequality behind the friendliest banter I can muster as Jane and I tackle the first guest room on our list.
“Let’s start with the bed.” I place the fresh linens on the bench seat positioned against the footboard. Then I motion to Jane to help me move the low-backed settee a few feet away from the bed frame.
Together, we strip the bed, tossing the rumpled sheets into a tidy pile near the door.
“You know,” Jane begins, her eyes flitting up to mine as the bedsheet billows in the air above our outstretched arms, “I am glad you sought me out as your partner today.”
“Of course.” The sheet settles delicately over the mattress, and we each begin tucking and folding our corners with the efficiency we have come to take for granted after months of daily practice. “Why wouldn’t I choose you as a partner?”
We move to the settee and manhandle fresh pillowcases onto the four pillows that will line the bed’s intricately carved headboard. “Well, Clara is your usual choice.” Jane places a newly encased pillow back on the bench while she moves on to the next one. “Don’t get me wrong, I would choose to work with someone as capable and familiar as well, if given the chance.”
“Do you have a sister, Jane?”
We each take two corners of the duvet, spreading it wide between us as we walk it toward the waiting mattress. “I do. I have two in fact.”
I nestle the bottom edge of the duvet into the space between the footboard and the mattress. “Lucky you.” The words slip out with more sarcasm than I intend. “I mean, how fortunate to have two sisters. Double the dresses to choose from, I imagine.”
Jane catches my eye with a questioning glance.
With the duvet smoothed, we place the pillows gently, careful not to muss the aesthetic of the fully made bed.
“Anyway.” I wave a hand dismissively. “Is there a particular reason you are pleased to be working together today?” We return the settee to its spot at the end of the bed, and I move toward the cleaning cart.
“Well yes, actually. I was hoping to ask your opinion on something.”
I cover my surprise by unlatching the vacuum from the cart and heaving it onto the floor. “My opinion?” I hand Jane the feather duster and incline my head toward the bedside tables.
Jane begins with the lamp atop the night table, dusting the shade and then the body. “Don’t be so surprised. We are more alike than anyone else might imagine, and you know it.”
I concede this point with a nod of my head. “I suppose there are similarities in how we view our place in the world.”
“Well, anyway, I seem to have found myself in a bit of a pickle.” Jane avoids my eyes by focusing on lifting the lamp to dust beneath it.
“What kind of a pickle?” I bend at the waist, unwrapping the long, thick cord from the back of the vacuum before walking its plug end to the electrical socket.
Jane moves around the bed to dust the second table. “Well, it seems I came across as overly friendly to a certain gentleman at The Club a couple of weeks ago. You know the place?”
I nod. Though I’ve never been there, I am aware of its location and its reputation as an anything-goes nightclub for the young and wealthy.
“I mean, I didn’t intend to give him the wrong impression.” Jane’s bottom lip begins to tremble. “I didn’t intend to give him any impression at all, really. I had seen him around my social circle on several occasions, and I was merely hoping for a bottle of champagne for the table. He seemed quite keen to go along with it. We were just having a bit of fun.”
Not wishing to drown out Jane with the loud vacuum, I wipe down every inch of the wardrobe with slow, methodical movements. “He must think otherwise.” I swivel my head in Jane’s direction, my eyebrow lifted. “Hence the pickle?”
“I’ve been told the man wishes to court me.” Jane sighs, her shoulders slumping. “His intention is to have a whirlwind courtship before seeking permission from my parents to marry.”
“Has he said as much? Is this not what you want?” I stand and face her. “In all honesty, Jane, I thought you were looking for a suitable husband.”
“Well, I am intent to marry, but . . .” Jane fidgets with the duster’s wooden handle. “Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps I am being silly.”
I stuff the cleaning rag into my apron pocket and step toward her. “There is something you aren’t saying. Is this man not the desirable sort?”
Jane releases a forced laugh. “Well, he is well to do and certainly travels in similar circles. My parents would love him.”
“But you don’t?” I cock my head to the right, encouraging her to continue.
Jane shakes her head no. “I could never love a man who claims me as his in public while quietly threatening to ruin me if I don’t take him up on the offer.”
“Jane.” I draw out her name, uncertainty wrapping around my words. “How could he ruin you?”
“Don’t look at me like that, Louisa. I’ve seen him at The Club a few times is all. We’ve shared a few laughs, but I swear, it has always been in the company of others.” Jane brushes past me, returning the feather duster to the cleaning cart before grabbing the handle of the vacuum with more force than necessary. “I haven’t done anything so unbecoming as to be labelled a trollop.” Jane’s hand drops from the vacuum as she covers her face. “Only, that is exactly what is happening.”
“What is happening? How has he threatened you?”
Jane’s bottom lip quivers. “He knows.”
“Knows what?” The hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention.
“He knows that I refused to marry that old codger my parents set their sights on. He knows that my situation within my family is precarious at best. He knows that I am in no position to go against him. He has probably even met my father in business settings.” Jane releases a weighted sigh. “He knows he has control over the situation and I do not.”
The warmth seems to leak from the room as the reality of Jane’s problem settles over me. “What does he want?”
Jane’s shoulders shake as she attempts to fend off a downward spiral in decorum. “He has decided that I should be his wife. Apparently, he is in need of a boost to his status, and the Morgan name would do just that. If I do not concede, he will represent me as a woman with loose morals to my friends and family. It wouldn’t take long for such a rumour to ripple through my social circle and destroy any chance I have of marrying well in the future.”
“Can he do that? I mean, surely not everyone would believe his lies.”
“He already has.”
“What do you mean? What has he done?”
“There is a whisper going around my group of friends. I could tell the moment I returned to the table that night.” Jane wipes a tear from her cheek. “The avoiding eyes. The immediate shift in conversation when I approached my seat. You know that feeling when you realize people are talking about you?”
I nod in understanding, my back tensing as Jane’s story unfolds.
“That sort of thing is hard to ignore.” Jane glances around the room before meeting my eyes again. “Lillian, I mean Miss Roberts, tried to assure me that the chatter never left the round table at The Club—but a murmur, especially a scandalous one, can quickly become a landslide.”
“So, this man has said that if you marry him, all this nonsense will go away and he will somehow save your reputation?”
Jane wrings her hands, her worry over the situation creasing her forehead. “Pretty much, yes.”
I cannot smother my opinion of the man. “What a swine.” Before the words have even left my lips, I know I will do whatever I can to help set things right for Jane. This is what Clara does not understand. Our responsibility as human beings is to help those in need, regardless of their class, race, or gender.
“Knock, knock.” As though summoned by my fiery thoughts of her, Clara stands in the guest room doorway, holding a stack of fresh towels.
“Yes?” My irritation with my sister has yet to subside, and my arching eyebrow makes sure she knows.
“Ms. Thompson asked me to bring these to you.” Clara takes a tentative step forward, offering me the towels. “Something about a delay with the laundry.”
Apparently, I pause a moment longer than is polite, as Jane moves past me to accept the towels from Clara. “Thank you,” Jane says. “We are just about to start on the washroom.”
Jane looks from Clara to me before adding, “Please, thank Ms. Thompson for the consideration. You’ve saved us a trip to the basement, that is for certain.”
Clara glances once more in my direction and then offers Jane a tight smile. “Okay then, I will see you later.”
When Clara has left, Jane turns to me. “What was that about?”
“Just a difference of opinion between sisters.” I may disagree with Clara’s ways, but I have no intention of sullying her name in front of Jane, at least if I can help it.
Jane shakes her head. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.” She adjusts her grip on the vacuum. “You have a look that could slice a person in two.”
My smile emerges, tugging an idea along with it. “Jane, I think I know how to help you.”
“You do?”
“Were you planning to go to The Club tonight?” My mind spins as a plan begins to form.
Jane pushes the vacuum to the far corner of the room, following our training. We always start at the furthest location from the door. “No. I figured he wouldn’t have much recourse if I didn’t show up. Though, I suppose he could just arrive at my door.” A panicked expression strikes her face. “You don’t think he would come to my house, do you?”
“Probably not so soon into this charade of his, but I do have an idea that might put this all to rest in no time.”
“What?” Jane leaves the vacuum and stands before me, her hands reaching for mine. “Please, Louisa, tell me your plan.”
“Just be dressed and ready. Meet me at the clock at seven, and I’ll fill you in on our way to The Club.”
“Oh Louisa, you are a lifesaver.” Jane squeezes my hands as she gushes.
“But first, we have four more rooms to clean before we can break for lunch. What do you say?” I grab the washroom cleaning supplies and raise them in the air.
“I say, you tend to the washroom and I’ll finish the vacuuming.” Jane’s relieved smile bolsters my enthusiasm. I am doing the right thing by helping her, a concept Clara wouldn’t understand.
Five hours later, as the rest of the fifth-floor maids gather in the lunchroom, gobbling their sandwiches, I take a moment to borrow the phone in Mr. Olson’s office.
“Hello Miss James, this is Louisa Wilson.” I pause while the theatre club’s kind receptionist responds. “I know, it’s been ages.” I nod as she inquires as to why she hasn’t seen me recently. “Yes, we moved into the city a while back, so unfortunately, it became impossible for me to partake in the theatre’s productions.” I laugh lightly at her compliment. “Thank you, that is very kind of you to say. Yes, I do miss it terribly.”
I wait for Miss James to stop talking so I can ask my question. “I was wondering if you could get a message to Thomas Cromwell? Yes, that is right. Do you know if he will be at the theatre this afternoon? The message is somewhat time sensitive. He will? Fantastic! Thank you. The message should read, Thomas, meet me at The Club at seven fifteen this evening. I require your assistance in setting someone straight. If you are up for an impromptu performance, please bring your Jimmy character with you. I’ll be waiting inside. Hope to see you tonight. Louisa Wilson.” I listen as she reads the message back to me. “Yes, that is it. Thank you, Miss James. Goodbye.” I hang up the phone, pleased to have set the wheels in motion.
Chapter 12
Friday, September 30, 1927
Clara
I return to the fifth floor and meet Ms. Thompson in the linen closet. I wait patiently as she scans the papers on her clipboard.
“Ah, Miss Wilson, there you are.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I have to say, the fifth-floor maids are top-notch. Give them a challenge, and they know no other way but to rise to the top.” Ms. Thompson beams a rare full smile, her eyes dancing with delight. “We have made excellent headway, so this afternoon should go quite well.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Is everything all right with you, Miss Wilson? You seem a little down in the mouth today.” Ms. Thompson lowers her clipboard, taking a step closer. “I noticed a bit of tension between you and your sister earlier.”
“I am sure everything will be just fine, ma’am.” I force a smile and try to shrug off thoughts of Louisa’s harsh words. “You know how it sometimes goes with sisters?”
“Yes, I certainly do. I am fortunate to have both a brother and a sister.” Ms. Thompson leans in conspiratorially. “My sister and I were absolutely inseparable growing up, until we—well, I suppose until we grew up into two separate individuals.”
Ms. Thompson’s words catch me off guard. I hadn’t considered there might come a time when my relationship with Louisa might change irrevocably.
“I didn’t mean to alarm you, Miss Wilson.” Worry knits her eyebrows together. “It is only natural to have your own thoughts and feelings about life as you age, and they may differ from those of a sibling.” Ms. Thompson places a gentle hand on my forearm. “But your childhood memories will always bind you together, dear.”
“Yes.” I hide my concern over this new realization behind a tight smile. “Thank heavens for that.”
“A word of advice, Miss Wilson.” She glances over her shoulder to ensure our conversation is private. “Change is the only true constant in our lives. Nothing remains the same forever. Try not to be afraid of it. I promise you, the wider you open your arms to change, the easier your life will be.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” The words are surely an unsuitable response, but they are all I can manage at the moment.
“Well then, shall we continue on?” Ms. Thompson examines her clipboard once more. “We have rooms 510 and 512 to tend to before the check-in hour is upon us.”
I direct the cleaning cart toward the door and follow Ms. Thompson down the hall. My mind spins like the cart’s wheels as I ruminate on Ms. Thompson’s insights.
By the end of the workday, I have thought long and hard about the disagreement between Louisa and myself. Though Ms. Thompson’s words ring true, I am determined to ensure that Louisa’s and my relationship will be the exception to the rule. Though I suspect that I, as I always have, will be the one who needs to adjust. To make that dream a reality, I will have to meet Louisa where she stands. Her soapbox seems always to be a tad taller than my own.
