Calista wanted to ask about a sponge or a brush, but Tilda was already walking away. Setting the tub on a nearby work bench, she wrinkled her nose and wondered how best to proceed.
“Well don’t just stand there, girl,” the cook snapped. “Get on with it or get out. We’ve not the time to rest on our laurels ’round ’ere.”
“What do you expect from a fancy foreigner, Mrs. Elkins?” a middle-aged man dressed in a dark suit inquired as he collected the plates that had just been prepared by a maid Calista took to be Mrs. Elkins’s assistant. “I wager she’ll be sacked before the end of the week.”
Considering it was already Thursday, the comment did not bode well. Determined to prove herself capable and earn these people’s respect, Calista dumped a measure of soap into the tub, then crossed to the stove and grabbed the kettle. Only to withdraw her hand with an agonized squeal as soon as she touched the hot metal.
Laughter erupted behind her.
“You don’t belong in a kitchen,” Mrs. Elkins said while Calista’s hand began to sting from the burn. “The sooner you realize that, the better.”
Calista cursed herself for her foolishness. In her haste to disprove these people’s assumption about her, she’d only lent credence to their opinions.
Furious with herself, she snatched a navy blue potholder from a hook on the wall and grabbed the kettle once more. As soon as the tub was filled with steaming hot water and frothy bubbles, she pondered her next move. A space would have to be prepared for the clean dishes to dry on. She’d figure that out while she waited for the water to reach a more comfortable temperature for her hands.
Eventually, with a dishrag laid out, she considered the fine white porcelain dishes stacked on the table, smeared in leftover gravy and bits of food. Right. Best get on with it then.
Pushing her sleeves up, she grabbed the sponge she’d located under the counter, and proceeded to wash each plate with care.
“I need more plates,” someone shouted from the other end of the room.
“Check with the new girl,” Mrs. Elkins replied.
Calista froze. She’d only just started washing up a short while ago. She began scrubbing faster just as another tub filled with dirty dishes landed beside her with a clatter.
“Cor,” a young man mumbled. “Is that all you’ve done this past hour? Sammy, come lend a hand here, will you? We need those plates now and this scullery maid is taking forever.”
“Let’s have a look then,” a young girl said as she shouldered Calista out of the way. She surveyed the scene and turned to Calista with sharp disbelief. “You’ve not even finished rinsing them yet.”
“Wha…” Calista stared at the tub filled with water and soap. “I’m washing them.”
The girl clucked her tongue. “You mean to tell me you were planning to dry those off and let all the upstairs gents and ladies dine off of them after only one dip? Are you cracked in the head?”
Calista stared back at her, horrified by the pricking sensation now burning behind her eyes. She’d always believed herself to be well educated and smart, and yet she could not do a simple task like washing dishes properly. “I’m sorry. I thought—”
“Well you thought wrong and now there’ll be a delay. Heaven above, if Mr. Greene won’t have all our hides for this. Move over.”
Calista stepped back and watched Sammy rinse off the rest of the dirty plates with swift efficiency. She piled them on the side of the work table, then filled an empty tub with fresh hot water and soap.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Calista asked while doing her best to ignore the angry stares the rest of the servants were sending her way.
“You can toss the dirty water outside,” Sammy said without looking at her. “If you’re capable, that is.”
Forcing back the tears, Calista picked up the tub and made her way to the door leading out to a courtyard beyond. She would not cry in front of these people. She refused to. And yet, the painful knot in her throat suggested she might do precisely that at any moment, so she rushed through the doorway, sloshing water all over the front of her gown in her haste to disappear from the kitchen and from the censure she had to face there.
Hopefully with time, her situation here would improve, she told herself as she rinsed out the tub at the pump. It was important to be positive and to remember all she accomplished by being here. At least she had a roof over her head and the means by which to earn the money she so desperately needed.
But as the weeks wore on, she realized the hostility she faced would not diminish with time. And while she now knew her way around the kitchen and had learned how to accomplish her chores in a satisfactory manner, she invariably felt as though she risked getting sacked at any moment. It was as though an axe hung over her head, ready to drop on account of the slightest mistake.
It hadn’t yet, though Mr. Greene had certainly threatened her with that eventuality more than once. The last time being when a plate she’d been meaning to wash had fallen to the floor and shattered. It hadn’t been her fault. She was certain of this. Rather, the blame belonged to a waiter named Richard, who’d been harassing her since her arrival. He’d walked past her spot and pushed the plate straight off the work table.
“Mr. Greene won’t be pleased with that,” Richard said with a sneer. The young waiter had been particularly cold toward her after she’d threatened him with a knife during her first night in the pantry. His advances had not been welcome. So he did what he could to take revenge.
“I ought to turn you out over this,” Mr. Greene said when he learned what had happened. “Instead, I’ll deny you the next month’s wages.”
Tucked away in the pantry later that night and with the door barricaded against unwanted visitors, Calista swore she would start seeking other employment. The only problem was her breaks were limited. But when she finally did manage to get to an agency, the response she received was no different from the one she’d been given before. References were required and since her only work experience was as a scullery maid, she had no hope of advancing to lady’s maid or governess. In fact, advancing to the next position as tweeny would take at least another year of experience, she learned.
Disheartened and unhappy, Calista returned to the Imperial. This was only temporary, she reminded herself and as such, she would simply have to make the most of her dismal situation. She sighed as she crept into bed that night. At this point she would gladly give up the cabin she’d hoped to purchase for her return to New York and settle for the cheapest passage available. It would in all likelihood mean she’d be traveling with the cargo and all the other poor souls who couldn’t afford any better. But Calista no longer cared. All she knew was that she had to get away from the Imperial as fast as she possibly could.
2
Steven Donahue stood discreetly at the edge of the Imperial’s circular dining hall and observed the guests who enjoyed their evening meals. He’d sunk most of his inheritance into this place, which had been nothing more than an abandoned orphanage by the time he’d taken over the deed. After years of neglect, it was in possession of a tattered roof, rotting wood beams in dire need of replacement, shredded wallpaper, mold, and a pack of rodents that lived within the framework.