Chapter 34 Cynthia
Cynthia
Cynthia knew better than to take a shortcut through the guest dining room rather than adhere to the protocol routing staff through back corridors and keeping them generally out of sight of the guests.
Still, she was in a hurry and deemed it better to risk breaking the rules than to incur Iris’s wrath by failing to perform her duties in a timely manner.
The housekeeper had been on edge lately, and Cynthia wondered if it had to do with her own newness in the position.
While Cynthia had limited experience being a maid, hers was only a summer job.
But Iris relied on her income, and must be feeling the pressure to perform in her new role as housekeeper.
Cynthia certainly did not envy her the task.
She had no illusion that Iris was more demanding than Miss Arden was herself.
And on a day like this one, with additional persons prowling about the premises, Iris must have been feeling enormous strain.
It was the lull between lunch and dinner, and as Cynthia had expected, the dining room proved empty.
Sweeping her gaze over the long sideboard and tables covered in snowy-white cloths, she paused to remove scattered petals from vases placed here and there about the room.
It would never do for such inattention to detail spoiling the ambience of the resort.
Cynthia knew the dietitian and the chef relied on the presentation of the meals to distract guests from the minute quantities of food they contained.
Having carried Mrs. Putnam’s breakfast tray to her again and again, she marveled at the meager portions.
It boggled her mind to think that women paid such exorbitant sums to be so severely deprived.
But she would keep those thoughts to herself, just as she had with so many others since arriving at the resort.
What pampered guests wished to do with their own money was their affair and had no bearing on her own life whatsoever.
As she tucked a handful of discarded petals into the pocket of her uniform apron, her thoughts drifted to Calvin.
At the far end of the dining room, a small door opened into a staff corridor leading to the guest kitchen.
Beside it was a far larger pair of French doors giving an expansive view of the lush grounds.
Unfamiliar women dressed in tea-length frocks, wide straw hats with cotton gloves, strands of pearls around their necks, and straw handbags dangling from their wrists strolled past bedding gardens bursting with red, blue, and white blooms. Now and again, one of them would stop and bend over a rosebush, plunging her nose deep into its fragrant blossoms, just as Cynthia herself so often did.
It seemed the visitors were enjoying themselves immensely if the broad smiles on their faces were any indication.
She slipped into the corridor and made her way towards the kitchen, where she collected one of the heavy trays loaded down with tiny tea sandwiches and iced cookies.
Even the tray held a small vase filled with colorful blooms, plucked, Cynthia was sure, that very morning from the garden beds just outside the kitchen.
Maurice, the guest chef, gave her a warm smile and a nod as she grabbed the tray and headed back down the hallway.
She could not quite believe how much strength she had built up since her arrival.
It gave her a new appreciation for all the labor her mother had provided for the family over the years.
Cynthia had never been all that pleased with the fact that she was asked to perform household tasks her brother was never expected to help with.
Her time at the resort made her all the surer that housework should be more evenly distributed between all members of the family, regardless of gender.
In fact, she often thought how much more sensible it would be if all the chauffeurs were women, and the servants stripping beds and hoisting laundry were the far more muscular men employed as drivers.
She turned and placed her back against the door, pressing it open by levering her elbow down against the handle.
She spun around, deftly squeezing through the space while managing not to jostle any of Maurice’s delicately arranged platters of food.
Just looking at the sandwiches made her stomach grumble.
It would be at least another hour before she was able to slip away to the staff kitchen for a quick bite to eat, and that was if she was lucky.
A refreshment area had been set up for the garden-club visitors under a pair of towering oak trees.
The spot not only offered cooling shade in the summer afternoon, but also a beautiful view of the rolling lawn and carefully tended bedding gardens.
Cynthia carried her tray to one of the several trestle tables set up for the occasion.
Each of them had been spread with the same snowy-white tablecloths that adorned the dining room.
How like Miss Arden it was for there to be such attention to detail, even outdoors. No wonder Iris appeared so tense.
There, hovering at the edge of the table, stood Mrs. Putnam, helping herself to items from the trays and surreptitiously slipping wedges of cake and ham finger sandwiches wrapped in a paper napkin into her work satchel.
A smudge of yellow paint marred her cheek, and her well-used canvas brush roll stuck out from the top of the bag.
It looked as though she had been hard at work.
She glanced up at Cynthia and raised a finger to her lips.
Cynthia smiled, knowing how much of a sweet tooth the older woman had confessed to having.
Besides, she was in no way in need of a slimming regimen.
In fact, it would have done her more good to partake of the far less popular plumping regimen that was also offered on rare occasions to those women who were markedly underweight.
“So, I see you really are as hard at work as young Calvin claimed you to be. It seems preposterous to me that the paying guests should have to do without your attention in favor of interlopers,” Mrs. Putnam said, scowling towards the sounds of feminine chattering wafting their way from the gardens beyond.
“Still, at least she’s put on a good spread for them; I’ll give her that. ”
Suddenly, from behind, Cynthia heard her name being called out but could not quite place the source of the voice. It was familiar but did not seem to make sense in those surroundings. She turned and felt her heart squeeze with shock.
“Cynthia, I thought your claim about a research project seemed dubious,” Mrs. Mayhew said, closing the distance between them at an alarming rate.
She stared at Cynthia, her eyes wide and her thinly plucked brows raised high.
“Although it pains me to say it of a friend of Pauline’s, it makes much more sense that you’re here as a maid. ”
Not one coherent thought came to Cynthia’s mind.
She felt completely robbed of the power of speech.
She opened her mouth to speak, but all she could think of was the fact that Mrs. Mayhew had found her out.
All the older woman’s suspicions about her not being the right sort of friend for her daughter had been confirmed.
Mrs. Putnam strode around the side of the heavily laden table and came to a stop right beside her. She threw back her head and let out a ringing laugh.
“Don’t be preposterous. Cynthia is my artist model. We simply stopped mid-session to fortify ourselves with some refreshments. Creativity is hard work and requires quite a bit of feeding,” she said.
Mrs. Putnam wrapped one of her strong hands around Cynthia’s arm as if to help hold her upright. Since her knees felt wobbly, it was a well-timed bit of assistance.
Mrs. Mayhew tipped her head to one side and crossed her arms across her chest. “And who might you be?”
Mrs. Putnam straightened. “My name is Geraldine Putnam, and if I may say so without appearing immodest, I am an artist of some renown. And who are you?”
“June Mayhew. Cynthia was a guest in my home until recently. I feel a certain responsibility for her, considering she’s not spending her time as she claimed that she would be,” Mrs. Mayhew said. “But now I find her standing here dressed in a maid’s uniform. Just what am I to think?”
“I don’t suppose you need think anything about it whatsoever, as I can’t see how it could possibly be your business.
That said, I can see that you’re overwhelmed by curiosity.
I’m painting Cynthia as a maid because it suits me to do so.
The housekeeper here has graciously provided her with the uniform to wear for our sessions.
” Mrs. Putnam turned towards Cynthia. “In fact, we’ve been away from the studio for longer than I had intended.
Make sure you grab a few of the sandwiches for yourself.
I can’t have you passing out mid-session because you’re famished. ”
Cynthia nodded. “It was as enjoyable as ever to see you again, Mrs. Mayhew. I hope you will give my best to Pauline.” Mrs. Mayhew kept a gimlet eye trained on the pair as Cynthia placed a selection of sandwiches and a slice of cake on a plate before following Mrs. Putnam towards the outbuilding she had requisitioned as a studio.
Once they were out of earshot, Mrs. Putnam bent towards her.
“That was a near miss, wasn’t it? I suppose we shall have to keep you hidden away in the studio for the rest of the day.
How marvelous for me that despite us being descended upon by the garden club, you will have the opportunity to sit for me after all. ”