Chapter 25 Cynthia
Cynthia
Iris led Cynthia out through one of the single-story wings of the building angled off from the main structure.
The wing contained a large dining room not currently in use, and despite her experience with upscale surroundings at the homes of her college friends, she found herself impressed by the display of luxury.
Tables draped in crisp white cloths each held vases filled with the freshest of blooms. A large but tasteful crystal chandelier sparkled from the center of the ceiling.
Velvet draperies hung at the sides of the long windows, and the flocked golden wallpaper gleamed even though the chandelier was switched off.
Unless her eyes deceived her, all the artwork hanging on the walls was original, one quite possibly a Stubbs.
While Cynthia did not share Miss Arden’s taste for scenes depicting horses standing in fields or riding to hounds, she admired the quality of the compositions and brushwork.
She barely caught a glimpse of the lake through the long windows looking out across the sweeping lawn before they had passed on to a smaller anteroom and then exited the building.
Iris walked at a pace that could be considered a slow jog, and despite the two decades the older woman must have on her, Cynthia found herself pushing to keep up.
While she did not want to entertain the notion that Iris might have a point about her own level of physical fitness for the job she had agreed to, she had to admit it had been a long time since she had hurried so quickly, if she were not almost late for a class.
Cynthia wondered whether it was a matter of urgency or whether Iris always walked at such a brisk pace. Did everyone in her employ?
The staff house—as the dormitory for employees in residence was called—was a one-story structure clad in white clapboards and dark-green trim.
In this way, it resembled so many of the houses Cynthia had seen all over the state of Maine.
The house sat tucked away from view so that it would not be able to be seen by guests at the resort, but close enough at hand that workers could be on the spot for any needs that arose with little time wasted.
Even though it was not designed to be seen by the guests, lush plantings of flowering shrubs and climbing vines softened the front facade and corners of the building.
Flower boxes clung to the windows on the front, and a screened porch stretched across the left side.
Cynthia wondered if it had been custom-built for staff or rather it had been a home that had been repurposed.
“What a charming building,” Cynthia said as they started up the stone pathway to the front door. “Was it built for the staff as a dormitory? It looks like a year-round home.”
“It’s one of many buildings that Miss Arden purchased when she set about creating the estate. None of it was built to be what it’s been turned into,” Iris said, not slowing her pace until she reached out and grasped the screen-door handle and pulled it open.
Cynthia followed her inside before commenting again. “Are there many other buildings on the estate?”
“Over a dozen.”
“As many as that? How did Miss Arden find so many people willing to sell to her?” Cynthia asked.
As soon as she asked the question, Cynthia realized she had blundered. No one would have sold their homes if they were not in need of the money.
“The resort was conceived in the early thirties, and I’m sure that a well-educated college girl like you must know something about the Depression. She had a vision for her business, and she made offers to people who were too grateful not to accept them.”
There was something in Iris’s tone that made Cynthia wonder if she had touched on the housekeeper’s nerves. Iris was a local woman, according to Mr. Mayhew, and perhaps knew someone who had been affected by the sales. It seemed best to keep any further questions to herself.
“Miss Arden seems to have lavished a lot of attention to detail on the estate. The landscaping outside this building is so pretty you would not think it was meant for housing the help,” Cynthia said.
“She certainly does have an eye for detail and holds the strictest standards for the entire estate. That said, many of the plantings outside this building predate her acquisition of the property,” Iris said.
Again, Cynthia was certain there was a bit of history behind Iris’s words. It was clear from what she said that she respected her employer and was not inclined to portray her in any sort of negative light. That didn’t mean, however, that there was no complication to the situation.
Cynthia knew full well, from her own upbringing in a small town with one major employer, how resentment could grow towards that company or the family that owned it.
Folks did not particularly like being beholden to people who might consider themselves their betters.
In a town where there was such a difference between the wealth of the visitors and that of the permanent residents, Cynthia could easily see how, no matter her intentions, Miss Arden might not be an easy favorite with everyone.
Iris led her towards the back of the building and opened a door into a small, bright room, complete with a pair of dressers and a set of bunk beds.
Except for the fact that it was missing desks and chairs, the accommodations reminded her to a remarkable degree of the dorm room she shared with Pauline.
A wave of nostalgia washed over her as she thought of all the late nights of studying, talking, and sharing secrets she had spent with her college friend.
A lump rose in her throat as she considered that if she wasn’t able to meet Iris’s expectations for her staff, she might not experience any more of them.
It appeared that the bottom bunk had already been claimed. A dressing gown, a Raggedy Ann doll, and a teddy bear lay displayed on the foot of the bed as a stamp of ownership, however temporary it might be.
“It’s a good thing you have young legs,” Iris said, pointing to the top bunk. “That one is yours. I hope you manage to keep it longer than the last occupant. Fresh linens and pillows are in a cupboard down the hall.”
Cynthia nodded and headed for the bunk pressed against the far wall.
She always preferred to sleep at a distance from the doorway.
“It looks very comfortable,” she said, reaching up to give the mattress a bit of a squeeze.
While it did not seem particularly thick, it was not unyielding either.
It certainly was no worse than the one she was used to at college.
Iris nodded. “We have a room to store the suitcases in the back of the house. Now, let’s get you a uniform.”
Iris crossed the room and opened a small closet tucked into one wall.
A row of freshly laundered and pressed blue cotton dresses, with white piping and full navy-blue aprons with large pockets on the front, hung neatly inside.
Iris flipped through them, peering closely, until she found one that seemed to meet with her approval. She held it out to Cynthia.
“I expect this one is just about your size. Why don’t you go ahead and try it on? If it doesn’t fit, choose a different one from the closet. I’ll meet you in the staff kitchen once you’re dressed.”
Cynthia waited until Iris closed the door softly behind her and pulled the curtains shut on the two large windows.
As she tugged them together, she caught a glimpse of two of the gardeners in the near distance.
She slipped out of her own blouse and skirt and stepped into the uniform.
Iris had a good eye for size, as it fit her as though it had been made with her in mind.
While it was not the sort of thing she generally wore, it was well-made and quite comfortable.
She slid her head and arms through the openings in the apron and cinched it firmly around her waist. There was no mirror in the room to check her appearance, but she had every confidence that she was presentable.
There was something about the uniform that gave her a feeling of officialdom, somehow.
While she had not worked as a maid before, at least she looked the part.
The pockets were enormous, and she could imagine they would be useful for stashing plenty of cleaning rags or dustcloths.
Before she exited the room, she located an empty drawer in the dresser and neatly folded her blouse before tucking it inside.
She wondered how long it would be before she would have a reason to wear her own clothing again.
She had not thought to ask about time off during the interview; she had been too eager to secure the job to ask such a thing.
After all, what kind of impression would she make if the first thing she wanted to know was when she could stop working?
She left the room, leaving the door open behind her, just as they had found it when they arrived.
She followed the corridor towards the back of the building and easily located what must have been the staff kitchen.
Iris stood next to a short woman of advanced age.
The old lady’s eyes barely peered over the top of a tall stockpot placed on the large range oven.
Her hand was raised above her head to stir the contents of the pot with a long wooden spoon.
Both women turned and gave Cynthia an appraising glance as she crossed the threshold and stepped across the well-scrubbed green linoleum.
Iris bobbed her head as if satisfied with Cynthia’s appearance. “It fits you, then,” she said, pointing towards the uniform.
“Yes, it does.”