1
London, 1849
* * *
Calista Faulkner clasped her hands together to keep from fidgeting. Her heart was in her throat. Goodness. She needed this position. Desperately.
Her stomach clenched at that thought. An employer might think her agitation signaled a lack of inexperience. And they’d be right.
She took a deep breath. Forced herself to sit still. After all, she’d not worked a single day in her life. But she was willing to learn, even though she feared she wouldn’t be given the chance. Not after being turned away from eight businesses already, as well as an upper class home in need of a governess.
Seated across from her now in this neatly furnished office was yet another man with the power to determine her fate. He’d introduced himself as Mr. Greene, the Hotel Imperial’s manager. She’d told him she was Jane Smith for the sake of preserving her anonymity.
It wouldn’t do for her real name to get out.
Slim of build with thinning brown hair slicked back, a slender nose, flat mouth, and beady eyes framed by wire-rimmed spectacles, Mr. Greene looked to be in his mid to late fifties.
“Frankly,” he said, glancing at the pocket watch he’d placed on his desk, “I don’t know what you mean to accomplish here without a letter of reference.”
“I was hoping I might be permitted to prove myself capable,” Calista said. She added a smile even though he proceeded to scowl. “My accounting skills are impeccable and—”
He stopped her with a snort. “Perhaps if you were to lower your expectations, you’d have more success in gaining employment.”
“Right.” Calista stared across at him with determination. “I also know what’s required of a good maid and”—she swallowed when his eyebrows rose toward his hairline—“I can assure you I shall work hard to live up to the standards this hotel is known for.”
“Hmm… You strike me as rather well-spoken. Educated even.” Mr. Greene tilted his head while he studied her. She tried to sit perfectly still. “And your accent… American, is it?”
She nodded. “I’m from New York.”
“Ah. Well thank you for coming in, Miss Smith. I wish you the best of luck in your…ahem…future endeavors.”
Calista blinked. “So you’re not hiring me?”
“No.”
“Because I don’t have references or because I’m American?”
Mr. Greene glanced at the door as if he hoped she’d decide to use it. “To be honest, it’s both, but if it makes you feel any better I’d made up my mind before I learned where you’re from.”
Calista frowned. “Before I even spoke?”
A red hue colored Mr. Greene’s cheeks. “While your proposal to work as maid is not entirely ridiculous, I fear you’re too pretty. Wives won’t trust you to clean their rooms. In case the husband sees you, that is. Again, I’m sorry.”
Appalled by his implication that she might tempt a married man to stray, Calista stood, hands fisted at her sides. “Mr. Greene. All I want is honest work and while I may not have experience, I know how to make a bed and how to sweep a floor. Indeed, I’m even able to light a fire if that’s what’s required of me. These tasks are simple to do. They don’t require much skill. As for my looks, they cannot be helped though I must say I disagree with your assessment. I’m not the sort of woman any wife need fear, and the fact that you would suggest as much is offensive to me. That aside, I swear to you that if you give me a chance, you won’t be sorry.” She took a deep breath and sank back onto her seat. Determined to make one final attempt, she leaned forward and said in earnest, “Please. I need this position.”
“While I appreciate your fortitude, you simply aren’t suited to work here, Miss Smith. Now please, if you don’t mind, this interview is—”
The door opened behind Calista and someone else entered the room.
“A word please, Mr. Greene,” a man’s voice spoke from behind her.
Mr. Greene scrambled from his chair and crossed the floor. Calista twisted in her seat in an effort to catch a glimpse of the man who’d commanded, rather than asked, Mr. Greene to join him. He was gone from view before she had the chance.
Mr. Greene vanished as well. The door closed and a muted conversation ensued from the opposite side. What on earth was going on? It sounded like there might be some sort of emergency.
She was still trying to work her way through the various reasons for the stranger’s interruption when Mr. Greene returned.
He stood for a moment in the doorway, watching her as though she were a riddle he didn’t know how to solve.
“Well, Miss Smith,” he finally said, “it seems you have a job.”
Her jaw dropped. Had he not just dismissed her? She stared at Mr. Greene. Who was this man who’d spoken to him and what had he said to change his mind?
“If you still desire to work here you’ll start as a scullery maid in the kitchen.”
A scullery maid?
“But—”
“Take it or leave it, Miss Smith.” When she didn’t respond right away he said, “The pay isn’t bad. You’ll get ten pounds per annum, which is more than the position is worth, if you ask me.”
Calista sank against her chair. At this rate, it would take forever before she’d have enough money to purchase a ticket back to New York.
“What about room and board?” she asked, hoping to avoid the cost of lodging so she could save more of her salary.
“There’s nothing left in the servants’ quarters, but I’m sure we can set up a cot for you in the pantry. As long as you’re willing to clear it away each morning before you start.”
Calista swallowed. This wasn’t what she wanted for herself, but she couldn’t afford to turn down the offer either. Not when she was running dangerously low on funds. Already, she’d been forced to sell most of the fine dresses she’d brought with her to England. If she refused the position, she’d likely end up on the street. Acquiring a job had proven hard enough without letting pride get in her way.
“Thank you, Mr. Greene.” She would be polite and respectful, just as her mother had taught her. Calista stood, reticule in hand. “I’ll just collect my things from the boarding house. It’s not far, so I shan’t be long.”
Mr. Greene looked down his nose at her. “When you return, make sure you use the back entrance. The one on the side is reserved for the upstairs staff.”
Calista forced a smile. “Duly noted.”
When Mr. Greene stared back at her with both eyebrows raised, she bobbed a quick curtsey and took her leave.
One hour later, Calista Faulkner was handed a tub filled with dirty dishes and told to scrub them clean.
Refusing to be disheartened, she forced herself to think of her plan to go home. Surely she could wash dishes. How hard could it be? “Where should I fetch the water from?”
The servant who’d been tasked with getting Calista started, a plump woman Mr. Greene had referred to as Tilda, gave her an incredulous look and pointed toward the stoves. “There are the kettles. Soap’s in the pail behind you.”