Chapter 4 - Daisy
S omeone’s confused.Maybe me.
Anders and I had made polite chit-chat as we ate - he’s very friendly - but, once my stomach was full and he was focused on driving, my eyes grew heavy. The backseat of the Rolls was much more comfortable than last night’s tent between the hedges.
When I wake, I’m still in the backseat but the car is no longer moving and I’m alone. We must’ve reached the estate because there are acres and acres of trees and grass surrounding a private drive made of flat white stones that stretches out of sight.
Turning my head, my jaw drops when I behold the house, a palatial Victorian with gables and turrets, impressive stonework and gorgeous stain-glass windows. I wish I had some paints handy to capture those colors. I didn’t dream that conversation earlier. Grant Barclay really is my new boss and is giving me a job here.
I spy Anders speaking to an elderly woman on the front steps past the enormous fountain and he’s gesturing toward the car. That must be Mrs. Keating, the housekeeper, the woman I must win over.
Ready to be my most charming self, I reach for the door handle which sets off a curious chain of events. Anders dashes toward the car as though I’m a prisoner about to escape and Mrs. Keating flaps her hands at him, urging him to make haste.
“I beg your pardon. Didn’t wish to wake you. Allow me to open your door.”
With a self-conscious grin, I nod and let him do the gentlemanly thing if it’s so important to him. I grab my satchel off the seat and he begs to carry it for me. “That’s not necessary.”
He does it anyway. “Mrs. Keating would have my hide if I didn’t. We all have our roles to play, Daisy,” he tells me with a conspiratorial wink.
I’m not sure why the wink leaves me feeling strangely uneasy but the lady he was speaking to joins us next. She’s nearly Mimi’s age and she can’t be more than five feet in stature but there’s a lively twinkle in her eyes. Her white hair is pulled into a bun as tidy as her matronly black dress. She has a lovely lilting accent that I can’t quite place when she says, “Welcome to Barclay Manor, ma’am. I am honored to make your acquaintance.”
She’s honored to meet me? “Mrs. Keating, it is I who am honored. Mr. Barclay thinks very highly of your good opinion and I hope we shall get along very-”
“Oh, you are a dear, aren’t you?” she gushes, warming to me at once. Daisy, you charmer, I think, pleased with myself. “I knew you must be to win over our young gentleman.”
I stifle a giggle at ‘our young gentleman.’ Grant’s nine years older than me but now I’m picturing this little old woman pinching his cheeks if she could reach them.
“Such a lovely dress and headpiece, the picture of elegant simplicity but may I inquire what has happened to your poor shoes?”
My cheeks grow warm as I recite the tale of my coffee dousing my sneakers and Mr. Barclay’s suit this morning. “I was so mortified.”
Mrs. Keating tuts, bemusedly. “I’m certain he didn’t mind. Was work where you first met him?”
“Yes… at work.” No need to go into all the details. “Perhaps I should get changed,” I say, glancing down at my dress again.
“Of course! Here I am prattling away…”
She says she’ll show me to my room and, after I recover my satchel from Anders, I’m led inside to the grand foyer. All I can do is gape at the enormity of this place. The walls are wood-paneled with exquisite parquet flooring underfoot. There’s a large chandelier hanging several feet above our heads and a healthy bit of dust coating it. That’s going to take some work to clean.
Mrs. Keating tells me she’s been here forty years since emigrating from Wales before she leads me to the kitchen where I’m introduced to Jenna, the cook, and Luis, who maintains the grounds. The cook is a tall, stout woman with a jolly smile and whatever she’s been making smells amazing. Luis is silver-haired and quite short but strongly-built and friendly. He asks me about the ceremony.
“The ceremony?” I repeat, stumped.
“I’d have baked a cake if I’d known but I’ll remedy that soon enough.”
“Yes, cake for later, Jenna, and she’ll tell us of the ceremony then if she pleases, Luis, but our lady has had a busy day.”
Why are they all staring at me so expectantly? And, I’ve never had coworkers call me ‘our lady.’ Or offer to bake me a cake my first day on the job. Something is not quite right here.
The cook and gardener bid me adieu and Mrs. Keating leads me down a long corridor, its walls covered with old portraits. “Five generations of Barclays. I have served three of them,” she says with pride.
“That must be something to work at a grand estate like this for so many years. And, I can see the, um… family resemblance to Mr. Barclay.”
They certainly are a dour-looking lot but lacking Grant’s dashing good looks. Except for one young man who was undeniably attractive. “That was Mr. Hayes Barclay, ma’am. Mr. Linus’s only child and Master Grant’s father, God rest his reckless soul.”
Oh, his father and his grandfather are gone. What other family does he have? I wonder.
Up the grand staircase we go next before my curiosity can be satisfied. Where is she taking me? I thought the servants’ cottage meant a separate house. I can see why Grant wanted to hire a maid though. His grandfather’s seclusion has amounted to a pitifully neglected mansion. There’s much to do here, far more than one aging housekeeper should be managing on her own.
“I can get started whenever you please, Mrs. Keating.I’ll admit I’m new to the position but… are you unwell, ma’am?”
We have reached the top of the stairs and she’s noticeably short of breath. “Just my old ticker acting up. It hates these bloody stairs.”
“Oh goodness! Shall I call for-”
“Bah, it’s still ticking. One little heart attack hasn’t slowed Theodosia Keating down. Don’t fret.”
“But, I will. Now that I’m here I promise I’ll do everything in my power to ease your load.”
She takes my hand in hers, looking misty-eyed as she beams at me. “I knew it. You’re just what I’ve been praying for. He won’t be an easy man to live with, I know. Too guarded and too much like the late Mr. Linus in some ways. But, I think you’re precisely what he needs. I have a sense for these things.”
A sense for what?
Before I can ask, a shadow falls over us. A tall, thin stick of a man who looks like he drinks vinegar for breakfast is glaring at me. He’s around fifty and I’d bet all the money I don’t have that in one raking look he has noted my coffee-stained sneakers, worn satchel and any lingering dirt under my fingernails. He’s one of those, the sort who decides I’m nothing due to my circumstances in a single glance.
“Theodosia, I’ve a cleaning crew scheduled to arrive this afternoon. We’re long overdue for it. They’ll clean the house from top to bottom and then be on their way so stay out of theirs until they’re gone. Who is this… person?”
He said person the same way one might say vermin. Mrs. Keating gasps at the man’s rudeness so I answer. “Hello, my name is Daisy. I’m pleased to meet you.” No, not really but I can be polite. “Has the position of maid been filled?” I ask, worried by his talk of cleaning crews coming in and then being on their way.
His upper lip draws up into a snarl. “Well, Daisy , there is no position of maid to be filled until I say so as I am Fisher Radcliffe, the estate manager. Theodosia, we are not taking in strays. Send this beggar on her way.”
My anger flares but also a sense of hopelessness. There’s no position? Why did Grant send me here? To have a laugh at my expense or is he just that clueless about how his household is run? He also warned me not to get on Mr. Radcliffe’s bad side and I fear I have in less than a minute.
I’m trying to sort through my options when Mrs. Keating regains her breath, drawing herself up like a tiny dynamo. “Mr. Radcliffe, how dare you speak to our new mistress, the lady of this house in such a manner! I am escorting our young gentleman’s bride to her bedchamber.”
Mr. Radcliffe looks as shocked as I am. “Bride? I did not… I was not informed that Mr. Barclay had chosen-”
“Since when must Master Grant inform you of his personal matters? We all knew he was to marry, that it was Mr. Linus’ express wish that he do so. And, here she is, a perfectly lovely girl to keep the Barclay family tree blooming...”
Her mouth is still moving and Mr. Radcliffe’s eyebrows are marching higher and higher up his brow but I’m having auditory hallucinations. Has the poor dear gone off her rocker? How the hell did she jump to the conclusion that I’m Grant’s wife?
The dress, you idiot! But, come on. It’s a fancy sundress. It’s not a wedding gown. And, surely, Mr. Barclay wouldn’t just pop up and marry unexpectedly one Monday.
I’m completely stunned, couldn’t utter a word if I tried as Mr. Radcliffe starts blubbering his way through a stiff apology. He’s obviously flustered but there’s suspicion and dislike in his eyes, too. He would never give me the job now even if I explained things.
At last, the estate manager stalks away in humiliation and Mrs. Keating sniffs with satisfaction before leading me on. “Puffed up with pride, that one. Always has been because Mr. Linus trusted him so. Pay him no mind, ma’am. Ah, here we are,” she says as she opens the doors to quarters fit for a king.
I can tell this room hasn’t been left in a state of neglect. It’s very tidy with soothing blue walls, dark cherry furnishings and plush pale carpet underfoot. There’s a fireplace and a sitting area and a huge bay window with a view of the grounds beyond. What a marvelous room to paint in it would be. Not the point right now, Daisy!
Mrs. Keating is opening doors and prattling on, telling me of the hearty stew Jenna is making and the ducks I might enjoy visiting by the pond.
Meanwhile, the walk-in closet is bigger than Jewel’s apartment. A long rack of tailored suits, a cabinet full of leather shoes, a stand holding expensive cufflinks and wristwatches. It smells like him in here, that dreamy bergamot and birch scent.
“And, here is the ensuite.”
The bathroom… oof, double vanities, slate gray marble, a huge walk-in shower and that gorgeous claw-footed tub. It looks like heaven. I’ve not had a luxurious hot bath in so long.
“The entire suite was redone this past year. His grandfather preferred keeping a room on the first floor during his final years but he said it should be suitable for his heir to make his own heirs someday. Begging your pardon, ma’am,” Mrs. Keating adds with a wry chuckle.
“Mrs. Keating,” I begin, finally finding my tongue if not all the words. “I’m not…”
“Dearie me,” she says, looking toward the king-sized bed covered in dark damask fabric. “Are you nervous about tonight, child?”
Oh, help. What do I say to this woman that won’t cause another heart attack? Can I tell her the truth and we’ll just share a laugh? No, I have a feeling that will just amount to me being turned out of the house. I’d be stranded in Napa Valley with no easy way back to San Francisco.
“No, ma’am, it’s not that but… Mr. Barclay will be in Vancouver for the next few nights.”
She huffs in exasperation. “That man! Hurry, hurry, work and worry all his life. Making up for his father’s playboy ways. Well, don’t you worry about his return. He’ll conduct himself as a gentleman should in that department, I’m sure.”
I bite back an embarrassed snort at the picture she paints. Me having sex with Grant? He’d never want me.
“I’ll leave you to settle but I’ll knock when dinner is ready. When may we expect the rest of your belongings, ma’am?”
“Umm…”
Tell her, Daisy! my conscience screams.
“In a day or so. Please, call me Daisy.”
Ugh!
With a nod, she departs and I walk into the bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror. You should march right downstairs and explain all this at once, Daisy Potter. The jig will be up as soon as he comes home.
I nod at my reflection, fully prepared to do so… and then turn on the tub’s faucet. The thought of facing Mr. Vinegar Fish Radcliffe again isn’t pleasant so why not treat myself to one little hot bath first? And some yummy stew? I can sneak off soon enough and hitchhike back to the city if I must.
Or, perhaps when Grant returns we can figure this out together? Ha, not likely. It will just have to be a problem for another day, I suppose.