Chapter 23
CHAPTER 23
TUESDAY, DECEMBER 27, 1927
L ouisa
Clara arrived home late yesterday afternoon, clearly smitten with William Thompson. The worry lines creasing her forehead took centre stage in our conversation, which continued long past the midnight hour. Still unsettled by Mr. Barnes, my sister has somehow convinced herself that her interest in William is inappropriate and will cost her the position at the hotel she has worked so hard for.
After going several rounds with Clara, I fell into a fitful sleep with no additional clarity on the topic. This morning I woke early and with a plan in place. When I arrive at the hotel, I will head straight to Mr. Barnes’ suite and get to the bottom of Clara’s unease. If things go as I expect they will, I will have fixed their misunderstanding and safeguarded Clara’s position, while also securing the man’s trust in me. He won’t be able to resist helping me find a suitable role in Hollywood once I’ve smoothed everything over.
Clara stumbles into the kitchen later than usual. Her face transforms from panic at having overslept to shock when she find our lunches packed and breakfast waiting on the table. My enthusiasm for the day ahead is buoyed by her perplexed but thankful expression. A simple breakfast of leftover biscuits, cheese, and warmed-up mashed potatoes is not our standard fare, but I didn’t quite trust myself with the task of flipping eggs.
I gesture for her to sit and place a cup of tea, sweetened with sugar, near her plate. “You just missed Papa, but not to worry. He has already eaten, and I packed him a turkey sandwich, an apple, and the last slice of coffee cake.” I stand a little taller at the mention of my morning activities.
“Did you sleep at all?” Clara scoops up a mouthful of potatoes before taking a sip of tea.
“A little.” A small chuckle leaves my lips. “I expect I’ll pay for it tonight.”
Not wishing to divulge my morning plans, I excuse myself to finish getting ready, calling over my shoulder, “I’ll be set to leave in five minutes. I need to catch up with Hazel about the new maid, so I’d like to get to work a little earlier today, if you don’t mind.”
We are halfway to the hotel before Clara emerges enough from her sleep-deprived state to continue our conversation. “How are things going with the new maid, anyway? Gwen is her name, right?”
“Good, I think, but it is a little curious.” I swivel my head in both directions before stepping out from the street corner. “Do you remember the girl from The New Orpheum?”
“The ladies’ room maid who called you over as we were leaving?” Clara asks with a questioning tilt of her head.
“That’s Gwen. She showed up at the hotel a few days later. Ms. Thompson had given her a job.”
“I knew she looked familiar.” Recognition dawns on Clara. “Why do you find it curious? She did ask about where we worked. Perhaps she thought the hotel was a better option for her.”
We pause our conversation to bid the doorman at The Hotel Georgia a good morning.
“I suppose you could be right. There is something about the girl I don’t quite trust, but I haven’t been able to put my finger on it.”
“How do you mean?” Clara shifts her bag to the opposite shoulder and gives me her full attention as we pass The Hotel Vancouver. Silently, I wonder if she is knowingly putting her back to the elite hotel and, by extension, her invitation to the upcoming ball.
“She is as doe-eyed as they come.” I roll my eyes in mock exaggeration. “But there is also a conniving side to her that pops up like a prairie dog when you least expect it.”
Clara laughs at my remark. “To be honest, I haven’t given her so much as a nod hello. I suppose I should make more of an effort.”
I shrug my shoulders, unconcerned. “I wouldn’t worry over it. Something tells me she won’t be with us long.”
Our conversation stops abruptly when a snowball sails over our heads as we round the corner into the alley behind The Hamilton.
Cookie stands at the top of the back stairs, laughing with abandon. Masao is at the bottom of the stairs, with another snowball ready to launch. His face is lit with pure glee as he lobs another frozen mound in our direction.
We duck in unison before dashing forward to catch our friend. Clara holds his arms down playfully while I ply him with tickles. I am sure he doesn’t feel a thing through his thick winter coat, but he laughs hysterically until tears stream down his face.
“Stop. Please stop, Miss Louisa.” He can barely get the words out between giggles.
Masao is breathing hard, trying to recover himself, as all three of us climb the stairs to the warmth of the kitchen hall.
“I told you they’d get you,” Cookie teases the boy before placing an arm around his shoulders and guiding him through the door. Once inside, Cookie disappears into her pastry kitchen, telling Masao to sit tight until she returns.
“Did you have a happy Christmas, Masao?” Clara asks as she unravels the scarf from around her neck.
The boy nods in earnest. “Santa brought me a train, and my grandmother gave me my own book about planting trees.”
I lean forward. “Does it have a section on planting an apple tree?”
Masao beams back at me, and his head bobs in eager affirmation.
“My mother sent this for you. It is the last one of the season.” Masao pulls another delicately wrapped Japanese orange from his coat pocket. “She wanted to thank you for visiting her tea shop yesterday.”
Clara steps forward and accepts the orange. “Please tell her thank you for us and that I enjoy her tea shop very much. I will save this special orange for our dessert tonight, to share with Louisa and our papa.”
Masao seems pleased with Clara’s plans for sharing the orange, but his eyes grow big when Cookie returns with a large cinnamon bun wrapped in a napkin.
“Why don’t you come with me to enjoy this treat and we’ll put your mittens and hat near the oven to dry? Then you can head home nice and toasty.”
Masao waves goodbye to us as Cookie tells him that he is just in time, as she is expecting her friend, Mr. William, to join her for a treat shortly.
Hearing the news of William’s impending arrival, Clara is suddenly in a hurry to get to the locker room. Normally, I would take the opportunity to tease her, but this morning, her desire to disappear works to my advantage.
“I’ll be there in a bit. I have something I need to do first.” I take the opposite path at the fork in the back-of-house corridor, not looking back for fear of being stopped.
Clara doesn’t even question me. She waves a hurried goodbye before heading toward the locker room.
I reach the eighth floor undetected, shedding my scarf, hat, gloves, and jacket along the way. Poking my head out the door, I survey the hall to ensure no one is present before stepping onto the cloud-like carpet that, without fail, slows my steps as my shoes sink into it.
As I lift my arm to knock, I pause, questioning for the first time whether the morning hour is appropriate for such inquiries. Movement beyond the door confirms that Mr. Barnes is present and awake. I inhale deeply and rap my knuckles lightly three times against the solid wooden door.
The door opens in Mr. Barnes’ typical hasty fashion. His cheerful expression greets me first. “Good morning, Miss Wilson, and a belated merry Christmas to you.”
“Good morning, Mr. Barnes, and a belated happy holiday to you as well. I hope you enjoyed a pleasant Christmas.”
With a wink, he stands up straight and recites in a solemn tone, “I will honour Christmas in my heart and try to keep it all the year.”
“Very good.” I clap my hands together. “From A Christmas Carol ?”
“I knew that if anyone would appreciate a theatrical mention of the season, you would, Miss Wilson.” Mr. Barnes bends in a mock bow. Noticing my jacket in hand, his head quirks to the side. “You are not in uniform. I take it this is a social call, then.”
Before I can respond, he swings the door open wide and waves me through with an outspread arm. “Come in, please.”
Stepping into the suite, I let my eyes adjust to the darkness, all the while questioning Clara’s trouble with the man. I am even more certain now that somehow my sister has gotten it wrong. Or perhaps I am merely desperate for it to be so. For Clara’s sake as well as my own.
Mr. Barnes walks to the window, pulling open the curtains to let in the light from the grey sky beyond. He turns on two additional lamps and gestures for me to take a seat on his sofa.
I decline his offer of coffee as he pours a cup for himself from a silver coffee pot. He stirs in two heaping spoonfuls of sugar and an ample splash of cream before addressing me again.
“So, what can I help you with, Miss Wilson?”
“I know we spoke briefly the other day in the lobby, but given the surroundings, we weren’t able to talk frankly. I wanted to thank you for not mentioning the incident with my sister to the hotel’s management. She remains troubled by the situation, and I was hoping to understand what transpired so I can help calm her worries.”
“Ah, I see.” Mr. Barnes sips his coffee. “It is good of you to look out for your sister. Not everyone has someone they can rely on.”
“Thank you, sir.” I can’t decide whether he is dodging my question or is genuinely appreciative of my concern for Clara.
“What did your sister have to say about our meeting?”
“Very little, actually. She has been rather close-lipped about the whole thing. I assumed it was because she was embarrassed by her actions.”
Mr. Barnes bobs his head in understanding. “There is little to tell, really. Your sister and I were chatting after she had finished cleaning my suite. I leaned forward to brush something from her shoulder, and her hand came up and connected with my cheek.”
I marvel at the way he negotiates the words so as not to accuse Clara of anything as unbecoming as slapping him.
“In all honesty, I thought a spider had made its way inside and managed to climb onto her shoulder. I didn’t wish to startle her by mentioning the thing, so I simply tried to sweep it away.” Mr. Barnes’ cheeks pink. “I assume she reacted out of instinct, and I can hardly blame her for that.”
I lean back slightly against the sofa. “I can understand now how a misunderstanding might have occurred. Thank you for telling me. Please know that she is dreadfully sorry to have struck you. If she had it to do over again, I suspect she wouldn’t overreact.”
Placing his cup on the low table in front of the sofa, Mr. Barnes shifts his position to look me in the eye. His face is lined with sincerity. “Please tell her I have no intention of speaking with the hotel management about this issue. Her position at the hotel is not in any danger from me. I welcome her into my suite as my maid, and I have no hard feelings toward her.”
The relief in my exhale is palpable. “Thank you. I will be sure to convey your message.”
Mr. Barnes pulls his shirt sleeve back to reveal a watch. “Well, I had better get going. I have a meeting this morning, and I am sure you have more important things to do than hang around and chat with an old chap like me.”
I stand, realizing that I too should be off, so as not to be late for roll call. “Thank you again, sir. I am pleased to have things settled.”
He walks me to the door, and though I am itching to inquire about meeting him again to discuss my future, I begrudgingly decide that I’ve asked enough of the man for one day.
I step over the threshold, ready to bid him farewell and vacate the eighth floor before I am spotted, when Mr. Barnes stops me with a hand on my forearm.
“Miss Wilson, why don’t you come back this afternoon and we can chat about you? I believe you were looking for some guidance about pursuing a career in the movie business? I’d be delighted to assist you in any way I am able.”
A thrill of excitement rushes through me. “I look forward to it.” I deliver him one of my most dazzling smiles, toss my hair over one shoulder, and hurry down the hall toward the stairwell.