Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
MONDAY, DECEMBER 5, 1927
C lara
The Hamilton stands proud against the overcast skies. Though the building is not as tall or elaborate as its next-door neighbour, The Hotel Vancouver, it is stately in its own way. Approaching the building from opposite the usual direction provides a fresh perspective on the hotel and the immense promise within its walls.
A shiver of excitement mixed with a hefty dose of overwrought nerves rattles through me as I leave Louisa and Thomas to say their goodbyes and step into the alley that leads to the back entrance of the hotel. Thankful for a few moments alone to collect myself, I climb the steps, take a deep breath, and tug open the heavy door.
Warm air greets me like a hug, delightfully scented with cinnamon and sugar. Cookie’s head pops out from the pastry kitchen. Spotting me, my friend’s smile lights up like the Christmas tree, decorated with electric lights, in the Spencer’s department store window.
“Clara, I’ve been watching for you.” Cookie steps into the hall, a mixing bowl resting against her plump torso as she stirs its contents with a wooden spoon. “Wanted to wish you luck for your big day.”
I remove my toque and mittens while peeking into Cookie’s bowl. “Thank you.” Glancing about the hall, I lower my voice to a whisper. “I don’t mind admitting to you that I am a tad nervous. I’m not sure I’ve ever had this much responsibility. My only hope is to do Ms. Thompson and Mr. Olson proud.”
“Nervous? It’s all grand. You’ve got nothing to worry about.” Cookie’s hand pauses its circular motion as her eyes meet mine. “You’ve not only been trained by the most accomplished of maids, but you also have a heart that strives to succeed. I’ve no concern at all about your abilities.” Cookie leans in closer. “And neither does Ms. Thompson or Mr. Olson. You can trust me on that.”
Letting Cookie’s words settle within me, I acquiesce. “You are right. I’ve worked hard for this opportunity. All I can do is my best.”
“Now you are thinking straight, Clara.”
The back door opens and closes hard, slammed by a gust of wind. Louisa steps into the hall, stamping her feet on the entry mat. “Good morning, Cookie.”
“And a good morning to you, Louisa, or should I say ‘Miss Louisa’ now that your name is splashed all over the newspapers.”
“Hardly all over.” Louisa beams at the recognition, despite her attempt to play it down.
Cookie holds up a finger, indicating for us not to go anywhere, before retreating to the pastry kitchen. She returns with an envelope and hands it to Louisa. “I had the staff who buy the papers clip the articles about your performance. I thought you might like extra copies for your scrapbook.”
Louisa gushes her appreciation as moisture gathers in her eyes. “Thank you. This is so kind.” Tugging the newspaper clippings free, Louisa flips through them before returning them to the envelope for safekeeping.
“You two better be off, and I’ve got a gingerbread recipe to perfect before the holiday season is upon us.”
In the locker room, I dress in my crisp, new eighth-floor uniform. After checking my appearance in the small mirror mounted on the wall, I make my way to Ms. Thompson’s basement office. The rustle of my freshly starched dark blue skirt makes me smile, knowing I am now one of the few maids who get to wear the much more flattering uniform.
Rounding the corner of the basement’s staircase, cool air greets me. I pat the back of my head, ensuring my hair remains secure within its tight bun. Without the fifth-floor uniform’s cap to hide my rogue tendrils, I have spent hours practicing my hotel-approved hairstyle in anticipation of this day.
The dank-smelling basement is far from my favourite floor of the hotel, but Ms. Thompson requested my presence in her office prior to my shift this morning. Her words ring through my head. A well-run hotel is the result of everyone following the same rules . I agree with the sentiment whole-heartedly.
Navigating the corridors, I remember a previous encounter within the cavernous brick walls of the basement. I smile at the memory of learning about William’s identity as Ms. Thompson’s younger brother. Oh, how terribly I behaved in his presence. I still feel embarrassment at the thought of it.
Thankfully, William is not only the forgiving sort, but also a kind-hearted individual. Since his return to Toronto barely six weeks ago, we have exchanged a few letters. Pleasant, cordial, and friendly is what I’ve convinced myself they are, choosing to draw no further assumptions when it comes to William Thompson.
Yesterday’s telephone call, however, caught me by surprise. I was making biscuits when the phone rang. Hands covered in dough, I reached for the phone’s handle, squeezing it between my forearms only to have it clatter to the floor. After releasing a slew of flustered words and using a dishtowel to clean my hands, I retrieved the earpiece to hear William chuckling through the telephone lines.
I hadn’t expected to hear his laugh or his voice, and though I was embarrassed that he’d witnessed my clumsiness, my heart softened at the words he had called to say.
“I am sorry if I’ve caught you at an inconvenient time. My sister mentioned your promotion and indicated you will be starting your new position tomorrow. I wanted to wish you well.”
The phone line went silent as I found myself unable to speak. I eventually recovered my voice and thanked him for his kindness. Our conversation was short, given the cost of such long-distance communication, but his thoughtfulness has stayed with me since.
My thoughts of William are abruptly interrupted as I near Ms. Thompson’s closed office door.
“May I remind you that other maids have been let go for less serious infractions.” Ms. Thompson’s reprimand echoes past the closed door, bouncing off the brick wall like winter hail on pavement.
Instinctively, I step a few feet down the hall so I do not appear to be purposely listening to the goings-on inside.
Ms. Thompson’s voice drops an octave, and I imagine her putting on her less rigid demeanour. “There are rules in place for a reason. They exist to protect both you and our guests. What if the shoe were on the other foot? You could have found yourself in a much more serious situation. Do you understand?”
I assume the maid either nods or whispers her understanding, as it is Mr. Olson’s voice I hear next.
“Let me be clear on this.” Though I’ve only known him to be a fair and honest man, Mr. Olson’s baritone voice inspires me to straighten my own posture. “You had the opportunity to be truthful about the situation, but you chose to dodge the facts. The Hotel Hamilton will not allow any such shenanigans between maids and guests, and we certainly will not tolerate a maid who turns to untruths in order to avoid reprimand. Am I clear?”
A muffled “Yes, sir” is all I hear.
“You may go, then.”
A whoosh of air follows a third-floor maid I’ve had little interaction with as she runs from the basement office and the scolding she’s just received. “Excuse me,” she says as she skirts around me. I count to ninety before stepping toward Ms. Thompson’s office. I linger out of sight and peer around the fully ajar door.
“Well, I think that will stop anything further. If not, she’ll certainly be out of a job before Christmas.” Mr. Olson’s sigh is laced with exasperation. “I may be old-fashioned, but honestly, what has gotten into these young women? Thinking they can be as brazen at work as they are at those nightclubs they frequent. Don’t they realize the consequences of their actions? What will they do when they are left with no job, no prospects, and a damaged reputation?”
Ms. Thompson shakes her head. “Flirting with a guest. A married one at that. And then having the gall to lie about it. If it hadn’t been for the wife, I suspect we wouldn’t have ever heard a thing about it, and then where would we be?”
Mr. Olson’s voice is muffled as he runs a hand over his face. “I’m afraid I made the mistake of believing the girl the first time the wife came to me with her concern. I won’t make that mistake again.”
Ms. Thompson lowers herself to her office chair. “Well, the couple has vacated the hotel, at any rate. I checked them out myself this morning and didn’t charge them for their weekend stay, though I don’t suspect we will see them again anytime soon. I can’t help but wonder how much of a role the husband played in all of this.”
“ I don’t imagine we will ever know for certain, but from what I saw, this was not his first indiscretion.” Mr. Olson’s lips quirk up in a bemused smile. “His wife grabbed him by the ear like he was a naughty four-year-old.” He let out a sigh. “Boys will be boys, I suppose. In any case, it’s no longer our concern.”
“I am not sure I can agree with you, Robert, if you are suggesting the husband’s involvement in all of this is in any way acceptable.”
Ms. Thompson’s voice is stretched tight, and from my vantage point, I sense another discussion brewing. At the risk of having my morning delayed, I step into view in front of the open door and knock lightly on the door’s moulding.
“Ah, Miss Wilson.” Ms. Thompson smooths the front of her dress as she stands. “I almost forgot we were to meet. The morning must be getting on.” She examines the watch pulled from her skirt pocket.
“As should I.” Mr. Olson turns to leave. “Thank you, Ms. Thompson, for your assistance with this matter.”
I step aside to let Mr. Olson pass through the narrow doorway. “Miss Wilson.” Mr. Olson dips his head in greeting.
Out of respect for the hotel’s manager, or perhaps the stern words he recently issued, I fold myself into a quick curtsy as he passes.
“Please come in, Miss Wilson.” Ms. Thompson gestures to the chair across the desk from her own.
I take the offered seat and fold my hands in my lap.
Taking her own seat, Ms. Thompson gives me an affirming nod. “Miss Smythe tells me you have gotten on well with training.”
“Thank you, ma’am. Miss Smythe has been a good teacher.”
“She is one of our best. You choose your friends wisely, Miss Wilson. That is something to be commended for.” Ms. Thompson shuffles papers on her desk, tugging one from the stack. “We will start you with one guest suite today and see how you get on. Perhaps by the end of the week, you’ll be ready for a second. For now, you will take charge of suite 815.” She examines the list. “Mr. Barnes is staying with us for the duration of the week and will be checking in this afternoon. He enjoys fresh flowers in his room daily, a task I am certain you can manage well. Given the winter season, we have less floral variety than usual, but I am sure you can find something that will please our guest.”
The hotel’s matron eyes me knowingly. My help with the flower arrangements throughout the hotel has been an enjoyable addition to my regular list of tasks and is something Ms. Thompson has applauded me for on several occasions.
“Yes, ma’am. I will be happy to ensure Mr. Barnes has fresh flowers daily.” My mind riffles through last week’s flower delivery. Mostly greenery and a few sticks of holly. I can work with that today, but I make a mental note to inquire with the delivery driver as to what is available this time of year.
“Excellent. We won’t leave you stranded, Miss Wilson. Should you need anything at all, you know where to find me.” Ms. Thompson stands, and I take the cue that our meeting has come to an end.
“Thank you, ma’am. I won’t disappoint you.” I stand to leave, thankful for the favour Ms. Thompson has shown me.
I am at the threshold when Ms. Thompson’s voice calls me back. “I almost forgot.” She steps around her desk, reaching for something within the folds of her skirt pocket. “My brother asked me to pass this on to you. He included it with a package he sent me last week. Saving on a bit of postage, I assume.” She places a small envelope in my hand.
“Thank you.” I take the envelope and sheepishly tuck it into my apron pocket.
“I understand you two are becoming friends.”
The word “friends” hangs in the air between us, and I realize in this moment that my budding friendship with William may actually be a misstep on my part. Is exchanging letters with Ms. Thompson’s brother considered hotel shenanigans? He was a hotel guest when we first met, after all. My face falls at the thought of having done wrong.
“No need to fret, Miss Wilson.”
I do my best to recover. “He has written a couple of times, ma’am. Your brother is a kind gentleman.”
Ms. Thompson’s smile stretches at the mention of William’s kindness. “Like I said, Miss Wilson. You choose your friends wisely.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” I turn to leave.
“Oh, and Miss Wilson, be sure to gather the maids together in thirty minutes. I will meet you in the large linen cupboard on the eighth floor. I have an important announcement to make.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I dip my chin and head toward the eighth floor.
Thirty minutes later, all nine eighth-floor maids are huddled together within the confines of the largest supply closet.
“Ah, good. You are all here.” Ms. Thompson enters the closet, clipboard in hand, and closes the double doors behind her.
The matron’s arrival has us straightening our posture and closing our mouths.
“Ladies, I have some exciting news for you.” Ms. Thompson’s gaze lands on each of us individually. “You may know it is considered standard practice for an exemplary employer to present each employee with a holiday gift during the Christmas season.”
All heads but mine nod in understanding, so I follow suit despite being unaware of such a tradition.
“The Hotel Hamilton is pleased to present each one of you with a fresh turkey for your holiday meal.”
The maids smile and nod in appreciation, with a few clapping their hands together in quiet celebration. I am delighted by such a gesture, knowing all too well the additional cost of a Christmas turkey over that of a chicken. The last time our family enjoyed a turkey feast was when Mama was alive and we lived on the Murray Estate. Mr. Murray always made certain that Mama had a fine bird to roast for Christmas dinner.
“But that is not all, ladies.” Ms. Thompson’s eyes twinkle with a hint of anticipation. “Mr. Hamilton has decided to reward one maid for each floor with a cash gift of a week’s salary.”
My jaw almost hits the plush, red carpet beneath my feet. A whole week’s wages is more than generous. I take hold of Rebecca’s arm to steady myself and see the excitement in her eyes.
“Now, ladies. This is meant to be a friendly competition and one in which doing your best will be rewarded. The holiday bonus will go to the maid who shows a strong ability to manage her daily workload here on the eighth floor while being polite, respectful, and helpful toward all hotel guests and each other.”
All heads nod eagerly.
“The winner will be announced the first week of January, so it is up to you to excel, as I know you can, throughout the holiday season. Things will be busier than usual. Guests will be arriving in time for the Spencer’s Christmas Parade next week, and there will be many holiday packages to stow and possibly gift wrap. Should any of you need assistance with a task you are unfamiliar with, please see me directly. The only way to succeed, ladies, is to admit what you do not know and take the steps necessary to learn.”
I make a mental inventory of the additional tasks we may be asked to perform during the holiday season. Though I am the newest staff member on the eighth floor, Ms. Thompson has instilled in me the knowledge that I am capable of more than I think. A few months ago, I may have counted myself out of such a competition before it began. But now I know that if I don’t try, I have no chance at all.