Chapter 6
The next morning, Maggie arrived at Field’s at twenty-five minutes past seven, with a spring in her step, despite the earliness of the hour.
She’d barely slept last night, both from the anxiety and excitement of starting this new job, but also for the way she and Brendan had fallen out so precipitously.
He hadn’t spoken to her for the rest of the evening, and neither had Mrs. O’Malley, and Maggie had felt as if she were being scolded all through dinner, despite Sarah Whitman’s warm response to the news of her employment, and Danny’s enthusiasm about her new job, as well as life in Chicago in general.
This morning, when she’d begun to stir at half past five, Brendan had come quietly into the room and handed her a cup of tea without explanation, but his thoughtfulness had been enough to bring a lump to her throat.
“I’m sorry,” she’d whispered, but perhaps she’d spoken too softly, for he had not made any reply. He’d already been dressed for work, and he’d left just a short while later, and wouldn’t be home, he’d said, until after seven o’clock.
Maggie had drunk her tea and dressed quickly, for she had an early start as well, if not as early as Brendan, who would be expected to work ten or even twelve hours a day, six days a week, a prospect that made her decidedly anxious.
When she’d left a little before seven, Harriet did not come out of the kitchen, and Maggie did not ask for any breakfast, even though she saw from the plates on the table that Danny and Brendan both must have eaten.
She’d get a cup of coffee and a roll from a handcart, she’d decided.
She’d seen some along the street by the cable car stop, and she still had a few pennies left over from what Brendan had given her.
Fog had been rising off Lake Michigan and was already being burned from the sky by a bright summer sun as Maggie had ridden a streetcar into the city.
It was, she’d reflected, a very different place from New York, with a sense of openness thanks to both lake and prairie, but it also gave her an understanding of her own smallness from the tall skyscrapers that towered over everything in the downtown area.
And Brendan had been right about the energy she felt from the place—everything seemed raw and new, only just starting to take root and determined to grow, just as she was.
On State Street, Maggie paused in front of the revolving doors of Field’s, the doormen already in place although the store would not open for more than a half-hour.
She felt unaccountably nervous, half-wondering if she really did have a job at all.
What if Mr. Selfridge had been teasing her, or what if he’d forgotten his cavalier offer?
Perhaps he hadn’t mentioned it to her supervisor, the strict but fair Mrs. Attlebury whom she had yet to meet.
She suspected, based on what she’d seen of the man’s gregarious personality, that his careless generosity might be a besetting sin. If he’d forgotten, she would be desolate, Maggie knew, but there was only one way to find out.
Straightening her shoulders, she walked up to the doorman, who frowned slightly as he saw her. “The store doesn’t open for another half-hour, miss—”
“Today’s my first day of work here,” Maggie told him a little breathlessly. “I’m starting in the millinery department, under Mrs. Attlebury.”
The man’s face creased into a warm smile. “Are you now? Well then, welcome to Field’s! The best place to work in all of Chicago.” And with a stately flourish, he gestured to the revolving door, and Maggie marched through it with a wide smile.
Inside, the store was empty of customers but not of industry.
Sweepers were going up and down the polished floors with their wide brooms, and salesclerks bustled to and fro, setting out their wares and polishing their countertops.
Department managers walked smartly by, inspecting everything and barking out orders.
No one paid any notice to Maggie, but she didn’t mind.
She smoothed down the cambric of her new black dress, lifting her head proudly as she headed for the stairs.
She belonged here, she told herself. She really did.
As she came into the millinery department, however, she faltered at the sight of Mrs. Wentworth’s anxious face.
“What is it?” she asked as her new colleague gave her an unhappy smile. “Is something wrong?”
“It’s Mrs. Attlebury,” Mrs. Wentworth whispered.
“She wasn’t best pleased when she discovered Mr. Selfridge hired you on the spot.
She likes to have a say in things when it comes to her own department, and she particularly doesn’t like when Mr. Selfridge goes over her.
You met him, so you know what he’s like. Charming, but forceful.”
Maggie’s stomach fluttered queasily with nerves, and she pressed one hand to it to quell them. “But she can’t… dismiss me, can she?” she asked in an answering whisper. “Not if Mr. Selfridge himself hired me?”
Mrs. Wentworth shrugged. “I don’t rightly know.
Mr. Selfridge does like to intervene on behalf of employees, but whether he’ll trouble himself over such a new hire…
he can be quite impulsive,” she explained, dropping her voice even further so Maggie had to lean forward to strain to hear.
“But also so generous! Why, last year, when one of the poor little cash boys was caught stealing twenty dollars from someone’s dropped wallet and was dismissed on the spot, Mr. Selfridge intervened after he’d learned the boy’s parents were both sickly.
His father had his fingers chopped clean off at the meatpacking plant.
” Mrs. Wentworth shuddered, while Maggie gaped at her.
She’d known the meatpacking plants were filthy and disease-ridden, but she had not realized they could be so dangerous, too.
And Brendan was there right now, starting work…
“And not only did he insist the boy be kept on,” Mrs. Wentworth continued while Maggie’s mind whirled, “but Mr. Selfridge himself brought a basket of food—the choicest items—and home goods to the boy’s family.
He really can be extraordinarily kind. And last year he invited all the employees to his house in the country for the grandest summer party.
There were strawberries and ice cream and champagne! ”
“He does sound very kind,” Maggie remarked nervously. “If Mrs. Attlebury does dismiss me, perhaps he will intervene?”
“Perhaps,” Mrs. Wentworth agreed, but she sounded dubious at best, and Maggie couldn’t blame her. Mr. Selfridge’s decision to hire her had seemed like a spur-of-the-moment whim. Would he fight for it if Mrs. Attlebury, a dedicated employee, dissented?
It wasn’t long before Maggie found out her fate. Just a few minutes later, Mrs. Attlebury bore down on them, a tall, severe woman with her dark, silver-streaked hair elegantly dressed, her black gown of the best quality, her face stern and unsmiling.
A smile trembled on Maggie’s lips and then slipped right off as the older woman glared at her. “You must be the infamous Miss O’Halloran,” she remarked in a crisp, dry voice. “Who captured Mr. Selfridge’s notoriously fleeting fancy.”
“Ma’am,” Maggie replied, and bobbed an awkward curtsy that had her supervisor emitting a sharp laugh.
“No need to curtsy, Miss O’Halloran, you’re not in the old country anymore, and neither are you in service. But you will need to understand the rules here at Field’s.”
Maggie stared at her for a second, stunned by the simple remark. She’d been so bracing herself to be instantly dismissed that the idea she might not be seemed nearly miraculous. As stern as her supervisor was, she did seem fair, just as Mrs. Wentworth had said.
“Yes, ma’am,” she whispered, jerking her head in a nod. “Of course.”
“It is Mr. Selfridge who has instructed all employees to learn the Marshall Field to do some things better than they were ever done before; to eliminate errors; to know both sides of the question; to be courteous; to be an example; to work for love of the work; to anticipate requirements; to develop resources; to recognize no impediments; to master circumstances; to act from reason rather than rule; to be satisfied with nothing short of perfection.”
Mrs. Attlebury gave Maggie a beady stare as she fell silent after this grand pronouncement, almost as if she expected her to have learned it already.
Then her mouth pursed and her gaze narrowed as she snapped, “See you memorize it in its entirety by the end of the day.” She gave Maggie’s fellow employee a gracious nod.
“Mrs. Wentworth will instruct you on the way we do things here. If you fail in any regard, you can consider yourself on notice.” And with that, Mrs. Attlebury turned on her heel and marched off.
Maggie let out a shaky breath as she and Mrs. Wentworth exchanged relieved smiles. “That went better than I expected,” she whispered with a nervous laugh.
Mrs. Wentworth nodded thoughtfully. “She’s certainly changed her tune since she marched in here a short while ago. I don’t think Mr. Selfridge told her he’d hired you until this morning, and I suspect he’s spoken to her since.”
“About me?” Maggie couldn’t help but feel alarmed. “But why?”
Her new workmate and friend gave her a laughingly shrewd look. “Because you’re young and pretty and have a sassy streak,” she told her. “Why wouldn’t he want to hire you?”