Chapter Fifteen
LATE JULY
Someone in one of my rooms was awful sick last night, so I scrub the carpet until my hands are raw. That spot was also full of shattered glass, so I must mind myself while I clean. Even so, my knuckles catch a few shards. I bind up my hand so as not to get blood on any of the guests’ sheets.
A chambermaid’s work demands attention to detail, but no one could call it grand or clever. Part of my brain tells me to scrub until the shadow of the stain finally gives up, but the rest of my head is throbbing with questions about Damien and the criminal he works for on the side.
I’d like you to keep this part of his character in mind as you go.
I want to forget what Mrs. Evans said about Damien being in a dangerous position, but I would be a fool to do that.
She is a steady, smart woman with years of experience and knowledge behind her, and I value her friendship and lessons.
In truth, she feels almost like a mother to me, though I’m no expert when it comes to knowing what a mother is supposed to feel like.
Even worse, Mrs. Evans has her own story about someone dear to her being caught up in criminal behaviour.
Somehow, she’d lost her husband to the same man Damien now works for.
The thought of losing Damien freezes the marrow in my bones. Already, I’m lost at the thought of him gone.
I move on to my next room when I’m done, but a guest is still inside when I knock. The door opens a crack and a gentleman peeks out at me. He’s tall and fetching, with his hair and moustache waxed to a shine.
“Can you wait five minutes?”
“Of course, sir.”
I’m tempted to move to the next room, but five minutes isn’t too long to wait.
I take the time to examine my trolley, making sure I have everything I need—though I know that I do.
After that, I stand quiet beside it, toying with the cool brass master keys on the ring at my waist. Each one is the same, plain as the next except for the room number stamped on the front.
They’re nothing like the beautiful, ornate keys given to the guests, but that is understandable.
A whole ring would weigh too much, and I’m sure they would cost a pretty penny to make.
I have held a guest key, and ’tis a special thing, to be sure. Its weight is even more memorable than its swirls. It’s like the guests are holding a promise of something truly special.
My keys might seem ordinary, but they have purpose. Mrs. Evans says these keys are a matter of trust, since they can open any door on this floor as well as our lockers. I like thinking about that.
The friendly guest opens his door again. “Thank you for waiting.”
“ ’Tis my pleasure, sir,” I say, then I am back to work.
My day is done by eight o’clock, which is well timed with Damien’s shift. I wrap my jumper tight around myself as I step into the summer night. Damien meets me in the half-light by the staff door, and I can’t help but think he’s a fair picture of a man, he is.
“How are you keeping?” I ask.
“Better since you’re here.” He frowns at the glowing white bandage around my hand. I’d clean forgot it was there. Very carefully, he unwinds it, then holds my hand under the streetlamp to inspect it. The blood has all dried, but the cloth will need laundering.
“I covered it so as not to make a mess,” I tell him.
He kisses the back of my hand, gentle as can be.
I stare at him. “It’s just a cut.”
“I suppose so,” he says. “Don’t like to see you hurt is all.”
I peer around his back and whisper, “What’s for supper?”
He motions with his head, so I follow him. We keep our mouths shut until we’re a block away, in the alley we have decided is ours.
“Chicken,” he says. “And I…” He stops himself, which he never does.
“What? You what?”
“I have a special dessert for after.”
“Dessert!”
“Let’s finish this first, shall we?”
I swoon, seeing the plate of chicken. “Oh, Damien. ’Tis lovely.”
He takes a bite, then remembers something.
“I got a grand story for you. You won’t believe it.
” He grins. “Me and the lads was talking in the kitchen, and I asked what they’re doing with their money, since ’tis starting to add up.
Do you know what? Ah. You’ll never guess.
Eddie and Frank just made money in the stock market! ”
I’m shocked. Eddie and Frank are cousins, and they work in the Dominion’s kitchen. They also live a couple of blocks from me, in a shack held together by sticks and stones.
“Well, I never! Shame on them. They can’t afford what they have now.”
“They did good, Rosie.”
I shake my head. “I don’t believe it, but I reckon a fool’s money don’t stay in their pocket for long.”
“It’s true.”
But now I’m curious. “How did they know how to do that? That’s rich men’s business.”
“The man I work for helped them. Seems stocks are selling real low right now, so they bought some, then sold some. I asked where the profit is, and they were proud to tell me they’d invested it all.”
“Ah, stop now!”
“Something big is coming, they told me. I’m thinking I might invest.”
“I wouldn’t, if I had any to spare.”
“Why not? There’s money to be made in stocks. Better than hiding it under your bed.”
I glance at him, but he hasn’t any idea where my money box is. How could he? I suppose it’s maybe a regular place. I should get more creative or my brothers will find it.
“I’m sure there is,” I say, “but nothing is as secure as holding on to your own money.”
“Unless you’re robbed.”
“Then you’re not being careful enough.”
I moan, tasting another bite of my supper. Faith, rich people haven’t a clue, eating this way every night. How can they enjoy it when it’s handed to them all the time? The plate alone is worth twice my weekly salary.
Damien gives me a nudge with his elbow. “Someday, you and me, we’ll be able to buy our own suppers at the fanciest restaurants.”
My heart flutters at the thought. ’Tis not the talk of fancy restaurants. ’Tis the talk of “you and me.”
“Is that right?”
“ ’Tis indeed.” He swallows a bite of chicken, and I resist the urge to dab a little white sauce off his lip. “I’ve been saving, Rosie. For when we set off.”
This is new, this certainty. I need him to say more out loud. “For what, exactly?”
“Our own home.” He waits a beat. “Our children.”
Before I can voice my surprise, he takes a little box from his pocket. “This is the dessert I was talking about. Open it.”
I lift the top of the box and gasp. “What’s this? Where’d you get it?”
His finger and thumb pinch the fine silver chain of the necklace within and draw it out of the box. He dangles the treasure so we can see the little silver locket hanging from it. ’Tis the most beautiful thing in the world, but I have an awful feeling in my stomach.
I fold my hands over his, containing the necklace in his palm, not mine. “No, Damien. You must stop stealing. This is lovely. Truly, it is. But I’ll be happy for the rest of my life if I have nothing and you aren’t hauled to jail.”
He uncurls my fingers and presents the gift again. “I paid for this,” he says proudly. “With my own money.”
“You never did.”
Very gently, he turns the locket over in his palm. “See there?”
I squint, wondering what on earth—then I see it and my heart stops. RR & DW has been engraved on the silver. Rosie Ryan and Damien Walsh. I stare at him in amazement.
“Is it all right?” he asks shyly. “Do you mind that I did that with the letters and all? I wanted it special-like for you. So you’d know that I mean it.”
I’m having trouble finding words. “ ’Tis the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.”
His face splits with a grin, and I realize he’s been worried.
Did he think I’d not love it? That it’s not the most beautiful, meaningful gift I could ever imagine?
He moves behind me and fastens the tiny clasp at the back of my neck, and my fingers fly to my chest, getting used to the little heart hanging there.
When I blink, happy tears rush down my cheeks.
He frowns a bit, seeing that. He isn’t sure if my tears are happy or sad, and his worry makes them fall faster. “Out with it, Rosie. Is it not to your liking?”
Granny would fall over in her rocker if she knew what I did next. I’ll never tell her.
I drop my hand from the locket so I can hold his face. The short stubble of his beard feels like sandpaper on my palms, and it stirs something deep within me.
“It’s better than all right, Damien. It’s perfect.”
The streetlight is dim here, but I know his green eyes are shining. He hesitates. “I worried you might think me too bold. Do you?”
He knows what I’m going to do before I do, I think. When I lift onto my tippy-toes, he bends toward me, then kisses my lips. His kiss…’tis soft and ’tis careful, and it changes my world.