Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 14, 1927
C lara
My heart sinks at seeing my name scrawled on the guest room roster list, in Ms. Thompson’s cursive script, next to suite 815. After yesterday’s events, I am not at all inclined to see Mr. Barnes, let alone tend to his suite. But as Ms. Thompson said, I must put my head down and simply get on with it. As Ms. Thompson promised, she has added a second suite, 812, to my responsibilities. I have little time to waste if I am to show the matron I am capable of the workload.
“Miss Wilson, are you feeling well enough? After yesterday’s tumble, I mean.” Miss Smythe stands at the threshold of the expansive supply closet, genuine concern written on her face. “I was going to telephone you last night, but it was my father’s birthday, you see, and there was a cake and?—”
“I am quite well.” My lips twist in contemplation before adding, “And I didn’t tumble. I was perfectly safe descending the ladder.” I stifle an exasperated sigh and soften my expression. “I hope you enjoyed your father’s celebration.”
“Oh, I thought…” Miss Smythe’s eyes leave mine to scan the shelves lined with soaps, lotions, and towels. “Mr. Barnes has quite the knack for storytelling, it seems.”
My hand pauses as I reach for a stack of towels, my head tilting in question. “Go on.”
“I overheard him regaling several of the other maids yesterday afternoon. He spoke of rescuing you from a dire situation.” Miss Smythe’s cheeks colour in what I assume is a rush of embarrassment for me. “He said you were standing at the top of the ladder and you fell backwards.” She examines the floor for a moment before continuing. “He said that he saved you.”
I am unable to contain my humourless laugh. “Hardly. I was a step or two from the ground when he lunged forward and grabbed me around the waist. I was in no need of rescuing. Honestly, the man does have a vivid imagination.”
“I should not have assumed.” Miss Smythe steps forward and squeezes my shoulders with both hands. “I am relieved to know you are fine.”
“You aren’t the only one making assumptions, it seems.” I peek over her shoulder to ensure our privacy. “Rebecca, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Have you ever had a guest make you uncomfortable? No, that isn’t the right word. I mean, I am not sure how to interpret Mr. Barnes.” I clasp my hands in front of my apron.
My friend offers an understanding smile. “He is an attention seeker, that is for certain. I’ve not seen another guest of the eighth floor out and about in the hall as often as he is. If that answers your question.”
Always discreet, Miss Smythe affirms my suspicions about Mr. Barnes’ behaviour being unusual. “Thank you. I wanted to be sure I wasn’t imagining something that wasn’t there.”
“Not at all, Miss Wilson. I expect he is a handful. At least he appears to be a jovial handful.”
With Rebecca’s words to settle my nerves, I gather my cleaning cart and head toward suite 815. Three knocks on the door while announcing my presence go unanswered. Thankful for small mercies, I use my master key and enter the suite, eager to set it straight and move on to the second suite requiring my attention today.
Two hours later, I am sliding the completed checklist back into its slot on my cleaning cart and preparing to vacate the suite when the door opens with a whoosh. I startle at the sudden intrusion, my hands gripping the cart’s handle.
Mr. Barnes saunters into the living area, his winter coat draped over one arm. “Miss Wilson,” he bellows, making me wonder if he is hard of hearing or simply a fan of listening to himself speak.
“Good day, Mr. Barnes. I’m all done here. I’ll leave you to enjoy the suite.” I offer a polite nod and lean into the cleaning cart in an effort to nudge it forward on the thick carpet.
“I am delighted to see you up and about. You had me worried after yesterday’s fall.” The man steps forward, hanging his coat and hat on the rack near the writing desk. “I am so glad I was nearby and able to be of service.”
I clear my throat, preparing to respond, but I find my desire to set him straight to be overruled by my duty to follow hotel protocol. “I am fine. Thank you, sir.” I lean into the cart again, but as soon as the wheels inch forward, Mr. Barnes steps in its path.
The slight tilt of his head unsettles me, and I feel his eyes as they travel the length of me. Flustered and hardly acquainted with such overt attention, my hands grow clammy atop the cart’s handle.
“You know, Miss Wilson, I think I could help you with many things. I am a man of the world, you know.” He steps around the cleaning cart, and on instinct, I shrink back. “I’m considered quite a powerful man in many circles. I could show you things you’ve never imagined.”
“Thank you, sir.” The words stumble from my lips as my eyes fixate on the closed door that lies between me and the eighth-floor hallway. “I wouldn’t wish to burden you.”
“It’s no trouble.” Mr. Barnes places a single finger on my bent elbow and slides it down the length of my bare forearm. “No trouble at all, Miss Wilson.”
My head spins from the view of the door, and I force myself to meet his beady eyes. “Mr. Barnes.” My voice wavers as I reposition my hand on the cart, intending to move his finger away from my arm. “Your suite is tidied and ready for you to enjoy.”
I thrust the cleaning cart forward and, without looking back, pull open the suite’s door. I step into the quiet and presumed safety of the hall.
“I’m sure we’ll see one another soon, Miss Wilson.” His pointed words are muffled by the closing door.
A droplet of sweat trickles down my spine, while a surge of pride courses up it. I am even more grateful for the guidance provided by the hotel’s management. In a few short sentences, the maid’s booklet directed me in dealing with a challenging situation while maintaining my professional conduct.
I run through the checklist in my mind. I was courteous and attentive to my guest’s needs. Mr. Barnes’ suite was properly cleaned and stocked. I did not interrupt the enjoyment of his stay and tended to his suite’s needs at the most convenient time for him. Yes, I tell myself, I am being the best eighth-floor maid I can be. Surely this type of attentiveness will keep me in the running for the holiday bonus.
With my movements fuelled by adrenaline, my cleaning cart’s wheels glide smoothly over the thick carpet. I don’t stop moving until I am sequestered in the solitude of the brightly lit supply cupboard. Closing the door behind me, my assuredness with the way I handled the interaction falters. I let out a wobbly breath and lean my back against the wall to steady myself. Within moments, my short-lived burst of energy subsides and I feel my legs give out, shaking as I slide down the wall and come to a seated position on the floor.
I force myself to take slow, deep breaths. Being brave does not come naturally to me, and though I am acutely aware of my current frazzled state, I know I am able to do what is necessary in the moment.
I contemplate my next steps. I need to prove that I am capable of doing my job well. Being cast out of the running for the holiday bonus is not an option. With Louisa’s sights now set on California, the bonus would be both a financial cushion and proof for my sister and myself that I am capable of taking care of things on my own.
Besides, I remind myself, Ms. Thompson was clear enough in her directive. Mr. Barnes is to be treated with the utmost care and attention.
Mr. Olson’s words about shenanigans ring in my ears, reminding me of the consequences for untoward behaviour. Though I was certainly not flirting with a hotel guest, I am uncertain of how it might appear if Mr. Barnes is called to discuss the matter. What might a powerful man, who is seldom at a loss for words, say when backed into a corner? That is a risk I am unwilling to take.
I inhale another steadying breath. My job includes behaving in accordance with the hotel rules. When it comes to Mr. Barnes, I’ll simply have to be vigilant and do my best to ensure I stay on the right side of hotel policy.
Checking my watch, I realize the eighth-floor lunch hour is upon us. The girls will be coming back shortly to park their cleaning carts and gather for the midday meal. Using my hands, I push myself up off the floor and straighten my uniform, determined to continue my day as though nothing has happened. With any luck, Mr. Barnes will have taken my quick exit as a clear indication that I am not interested in being anything other than his suite’s maid.