Chapter Eighteen #2
“Why not? Just because I ain’t rich, that don’t mean he wouldn’t like a little chambermaid on the side, if you know what I mean.”
“Bianca!” I hear my voice, high and shrieking in the room, so I drop it again. “Do you have any idea what you sound like?”
She shrugs. “Don’t care. And don’t you be such a prude, Mrs. Damien Walsh.”
“Stop that.”
Bianca leans in and hugs me. “Ah, I’m teasing. You know that. Anyway, I’m done for the day.” She straightens and jabs her thumb in the direction of Mr. Carboni’s room. “You, on the other hand, you gotta wait another half hour. I’m leaving. I’ll see you back home.”
That means I won’t be sharing Damien on the walk home. I almost forgive her.
When ’tis time, I knock on 16-115’s door, then call. Twice. I open the door an inch.
“Chambermaid!”
No answer, so in I go. Well now, isn’t Mr. Carboni sitting right there in the same spot, grinning at me. He has the biggest hands I’ve ever seen, and they’re linked together on his desk.
“I’m so sorry, sir!” I cry, spinning back to the door. “I’ll come back later.”
He chuckles. “This is later, Rosie Ryan. Don’t go. The suite’s a mess. It needs going over. I’ll sit here and leave you alone to work.”
I feel my pulse in my throat. “Uh, all right, sir. I’ll just… Would you like me to start in the bedroom?”
“Where do you normally start?”
I feel sick. This is awful. ’Twas bad enough when Bianca was here. I don’t want to be alone with him.
“I start in this room, sir.”
“I’ll get out of your way, then.”
He gets up, and I try not to stare. He’s a head taller than me, and his shoulders are wide as the door. His face is round, and his thick eyebrows angle down the middle. He is not handsome in the least. For the life of me, I can’t understand what Bianca is thinking.
What should I do? Beg him to stay put, and I’ll work elsewhere? Pretend it’s nothing at all for me to be working around him and his pistol? My mind’s in a muddle.
Worse than that, I cannot move. Mr. Carboni comes toward me, and I see a wolf in his smile. For the second time today, I feel like a rabbit, with every muscle primed to flee, only this time I’m frozen with fear.
His hands curl over my shoulders. “You’re trembling, Miss Ryan.”
I can’t speak. Why is he touching me like this? He leans a tiny bit closer, and I stop breathing.
“I don’t know what you’ve heard, but there ain’t no reason,” he says, his eyes a dark, liquid brown, his voice like thick gravy, “to be scared of me.”
I saw your gun. I know who you are. I have every reason to be frightened.
“You’re good at your job, Rosie,” he tells me smoothly. “I admire that in a person.”
I snap back, and my feet are free to step out of his reach.
“Thank you, Mr. Carboni,” I say quick. “We’re honoured that you have chosen to make the Dominion Hotel your home when you’re in Toronto. I am fortunate to be the one to clean your suite.”
“Yeah? That’s nice.” He blinks slow and lazy. “I like that you’re my chambermaid, Rosie.”
I edge away, step by step, until I’m at the door. Listen, I’ll not be scrubbing a thing with him breathing over me like that. I’ll apologize to Mrs. Evans. She’ll know what to do.
“Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Carboni,” I blurt, then I’m out in the hallway again, the door latched behind me.
I think I hear him laughing behind the closed door, and that’s no help.
I push my trolley to the elevator, and only when I’m headed down do I lose control of myself.
I’m shaking like mad, panting hard enough to see sparks.
I won’t cry in case anyone passes by, so I suck back my tears.
The elevator reaches the basement, the door opens, and I roll the trolley out in front.
“Miss Ryan?”
Mrs. Evans. Christ above. Why do I feel like ’tis me what’s done something wrong?
“Good evening, ma’am.”
She frowns. “What’s wrong, Rosie?”
So many words fly through my head, but none of them reach my mouth.
“What is it?”
“I went at half five to clean 16-115, just as Mr. Carboni asked, but he was waiting for me. Faith, and he won’t leave his room, ma’am. And he, well…” I hesitate. “I’ll not clean when he’s there.”
She takes that in, her expression serious as death.
“I see. Thank you for telling me. I will manage this. All will be fine tomorrow. Miss Ryan, I want to make something clear. You are not to upset Mr. Carboni, and you are not to encourage him in any way. In case I have not made this clear, he is a very dangerous man.” She frowns.
“Please tell your friend Miss Fiore this as well. I will feel better if I know the two of you are nowhere near him. Anything else?”
I still feel Mr. Carboni’s giant hands on my shoulders. “No, ma’am. Only, I’m tired, and I must get home to Granny. She’s not well.”
All that is true, I just don’t want to tell her that Mr. Carboni touched me. Mrs. Evans has enough to worry about.
She studies me. “She’s ill?”
Truth is, I’ve been worried over Granny for a few days now.
“She won’t eat, and sometimes I hear her coughing when she should be asleep. Goes on and on, so I’m not sleeping much, to be honest. She’s old, sure. Old folk get sick, don’t they?”
“Does your granny have friends she visits with? People who care for her while you are at work?”
“She don’t want anyone near. That’s how she gets.”
Mrs. Evans is watching me closely. “Miss Ryan, do you know if any of her friends have been ill?”
’Tis an odd question. I picture Mrs. Tomlin, Mrs. Lionel, and Mrs. Cleary, her dear old friends.
For as long as I can remember, they marched into our kitchen without so much as a hello to me, then they spent the day complaining and cooking soup.
They are all the same age, but Granny delights in claiming she is the youngest. ’Tis a comfort that they have been there keeping Granny company.
I’d been sorry to learn of Mrs. Lionel passing recently.
Come to think of it, Mrs. Cleary as well, that dear old coot.
That’s when the meaning of Mrs. Evans’s question sinks in. All the blood from my face drops down to my feet.
“Two of them recently died,” I whisper, beginning to feel sick myself. “They’re all quite old, but… No. You don’t think it could be—”
“Now, now. We shall not rush to conclusions, Miss Ryan, but I think it would be prudent for you to take precautions. I’m sorry to say, but if your granny does have TB, there’s not much can be done for her.”
And if that is what it is, I can catch it easy.
In The Ward, folks murmur about tuberculosis with dread in their voices.
Runs rampant through rat-infested places, it does.
And yet, I’d never thought much about it.
’Tis like anything else in life, sure. Folks get hit by streetcars every day, but you never think it might be you under the wheels.
“You must protect yourself, Miss Ryan. You’ll need to boil the linens and clean everything thoroughly,” she tells me.
“When you’re near your granny, I want you to wrap a cloth around your nose and mouth.
After you touch her, wash your hands well.
” She hesitates, then puts extra weight on her next words.
“If you are feeling the least bit unwell, I do not want you coming to work.”
I feel a reflexive urge to cough, but I swallow it back.
She steps into her office and returns with a little tin box. “I swear by this tea,” she says, handing it to me. “I hope she feels better soon. And don’t worry about Mr. Carboni. I will speak with him this evening.”
At the day’s end, Damien’s waiting outside. He’s the picture of health. Relief floods through me at the sight. He is all I need. He takes my hand as we walk, and I don’t know what to do. What if I have the consumption already? Am I giving it to him this very moment?
Well, if I have, I suppose I have. Nothing to do about it now.
“How was your day?” he asks.
All I can think about is Mr. Carboni’s hands on my shoulders. I’ll not tell Damien about that. God forbid he speak with that man about me. I’d never see him hurt because of me. Never.
I won’t tell Damien about Granny yet, either. What if it’s nothing, and I scare him off? ’Tis selfish of me. I know it.
As for Bianca, there’s no need to tell him what she did. It makes me bristle just thinking of that girl’s nerve. She had better never do anything like that again. But I know very well that she might.
What a day it has been.
“Same as always,” I tell him.
I smile so hard that my eyes become half-moons, hiding my tears. I don’t want him to see those. I don’t mean for them to be there at all, but I suppose I have a lot on my mind.
“ ’Tis so grand to see you, Damien. You’re the best part of my day.”