Chapter 2
A police officer stood on one corner, nodding congenially to pedestrians, while a lady in a pink gown strolled past with a large poodle on a leash.
The difference between Mulberry Street and Fifth Avenue was like night and day.
I still couldn’t believe I would be welcomed into one of the fine mansions lining this street.
I’d heard stories of people leaving the tenements and finding respectable work as servants in one of the homes on Fifth, Park, or Madison Avenues—but I had never known anyone who accomplished it.
Most tenement workers had sweatshops in their apartments, like ours, or worked in one of the factories.
Servants were usually trained in Ireland or England and came to America with the purpose of finding domestic work.
What would Mrs. Hill have in mind for me?
I crossed Fifth Avenue to avoid walking past the policeman, who was eyeing me suspiciously, and wouldn’t let myself imagine the possibilities, for fear of being disappointed.
Even if she had work for me, I probably wouldn’t be qualified for it.
I had basic cooking and cleaning skills, but I could never help in a kitchen or as a chamber or parlor maid.
Maybe I could assist a washerwoman or be a scullery maid. But even then, I’d have a lot to learn.
This wasn’t a brownstone mansion, with its boxed look and dark exterior.
This home was tall and gothic, like the church spires, and the stone exterior was much lighter.
The intricate carvings and details were a marvel to see.
I could have stared at it for days. But it was nearing ten and I didn’t want to be late.
I turned down West 52nd Street and walked almost the entire length of the block before I came to the back entrance of the mansion. A low stone fence ran along the perimeter of the house with one opening at the back.
Trailing my hand down the front of my dress, I tried to take a steady breath.
I had spot-cleaned the dress before I came, washed my hands and face, and combed my dark brown hair before braiding it and twisting it into a crown on top of my head.
There had been no time for a sponge bath—and even if there had been, Aunt Orla would have questioned such behavior.
Water was hauled up to the apartment for cooking and drinking, and to keep our hands clean while we sewed.
Baths were reserved for the warmer months when we could pay five cents and swim for twenty minutes at the public bath house on the East River.
I was trembling as I walked down a set of stone steps and approached the back entrance to the massive home. It was chilly today, though the sun was shining. The leaves had changed, and most had fallen from the trees, their branches offering a stark contrast to the blue sky.
It took all my willpower to knock on that massive wood door and then step back to wait for a servant to answer.
Looking up, I felt dizzy at the height of the four-story structure.
I focused, instead, on the beautiful stonework.
Even the archway over the door to the servants’ entrance had beautiful carvings.
The door opened and a young woman in a black dress, white apron, and mobcap answered. She looked me up and down, her blue eyes disapproving. “What are the likes o’ you doin’ here?” she asked in an Irish accent, not too different from my own. “We’re not buyin’ whatever it is you’re sellin’.”
What was I doing here? I lowered my gaze and said, “I’ve come to see Mrs. Hill.”
The maid scoffed. “As if the lady o’ the house would see you. Mrs. Walker is the housekeeper. She does all the hirin’ and firin’. And she’s not lookin’ to hire street trash.”
She started to close the door, but I showed her the card Mrs. Hill had given me. “Mrs. Hill asked me to come.”
“Mrs. Hill herself?” The maid didn’t look like she believed me—yet if Mrs. Hill had asked me to come and the maid turned me away, she’d be in trouble.
“Aye,” I said. “Outside the opera house last night.” Should I mention that she’d paid for me to come? Just thinking about Mr. Alexander Paxton-Hill putting that five-dollar bill in my hand made my heart beat faster. It all seemed like a dream—one I’d soon wake up from.
“Outside the opera house?” she asked. “We’ll just see about that. You might as well come in out o’ the cold and wait to speak to Mrs. Walker. She’ll know what to do with you.”
The maid opened the door a little wider, revealing a servants’ hall.
It was long and wide, with doorways leading off on both sides.
There was a lot of activity as people came and went.
A tall man in a black tailcoat, a young woman in a gray dress with a white cap, and several others dressed like the maid who had opened the door for me.
“Wait in Mrs. Walker’s sittin’ room,” the maid said as she opened a door into a small, comfortable-looking room. “But don’t touch anythin’.”
I entered the room, and the maid kept the door open as she left to find the housekeeper.
Glancing at the clock, I saw it was already ten. Would Mrs. Hill be upset that I was late?
Thankfully, Mrs. Walker didn’t make me wait long.
She entered the sitting room as if she was in a hurry, but she didn’t look at me with the same disdain as the maid.
Mrs. Walker had a pleasant face with kind brown eyes.
Her gray hair was in a low chignon. “Hello,” she said with a smile and a British accent.
“Mari tells me you’ve come to see Mrs. Hill. ”
“Aye, ma’am,” I said, showing her the calling card. “I’m Keira O’Day.”
“Ah, yes. I was told to expect you.” She looked me up and down, like the maid had, but with curiosity and not condescension. “I’m Mrs. Walker, the housekeeper.”
“’Tis a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” I stood under her scrutinizing eye. She surveyed me much like Mrs. Hill and Mr. Paxton-Hill had yesterday.
Would Mrs. Walker be my boss? I wished I had a nicer dress or a stylish hat to wear for her approval.
“Come with me, Miss O’Day,” she said.
I wanted to ask her what the job might be, but I held my tongue. If she wanted to tell me, she would.
I followed Mrs. Walker back into the servants’ hall, which was covered in white tile on the walls and the ceiling—pristinely clean and clutter-free.
Then we walked up a winding staircase to the main floor.
Everything was darker here. The walls were paneled, and the floors were polished wood.
There was another hallway, this one narrower, and then we went up another set of stairs.
People passed us along the way, tossing curious glances at me, but no one said a word to us.
On the second floor, we left the back hallway and entered a large gallery. Huge paintings with gold frames hung around the room. In the center was a stained-glass ceiling and a stone railing, looking down at the black-and-white-checkered floor and grand staircase in the main entrance below.
What was this place? I’d been in a museum once and it looked just like this. But we were in a house, weren’t we? Mrs. Hill’s house?
I tried to keep my mouth closed as we walked past the paintings. Some were of people, others were of outdoor scenes, and all were vibrant and beautiful and old.
Mrs. Walker didn’t say a word as we walked down the long gallery to a door on the other side of the grand staircase. She tapped on the door and waited.
Was Mrs. Hill on the other side of that door?
“Come in,” said a lady.
Mrs. Walker opened the door and entered. “Miss O’Day has arrived.”
The room was just as lavish and grand as the gallery, with thick trim, walls covered in pink silk, and delicate, cream-colored furniture.
Mrs. Hill sat at a desk, wearing a soft pink day gown that matched the color of the walls.
Her hair was in a simple knot at the top of her head, and she wore a single-diamond ring—though it was the largest diamond I’d ever seen.
She looked up at me, her gray eyes filling with excitement. “You came!”
I nodded, clasping my hands together as I stood perfectly still, afraid if I touched something it would be stained or ruined.
“Mrs. Walker, tell Alec I want to see him. He hasn’t left for the office yet, has he?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Good. Have him come as soon as possible.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mrs. Walker nodded and then left the room.
I would see Mr. Paxton-Hill again? What did he have to do with hiring servants?
Mrs. Hill stood and moved aside her flowing gown, never taking her eyes off me, as she left her desk.
“I’m so pleased you’re here, Miss O’Day. Alec told me your name last night. I was determined to go looking for you if you hadn’t come.”
I couldn’t help but lift my eyebrows at that statement. Irish working girls were a dime a dozen in New York City. Surely she could have found someone else.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, almost anxious, as she went to a cord and pulled. “I should have told Mrs. Walker to bring tea. You’re so pale and fragile, we’ll need to strengthen your constitution.”
She motioned to a chair near a massive fireplace. The heat was warm and comforting—though I was too anxious to enjoy it.
“Please have a seat, Miss O’Day.”
I didn’t have a lot of experience with women like Mrs. Hill, but I had a feeling it wasn’t every day that she invited a poor tenement girl to take tea with her in her private room.
The whole thing made me stiff and uncomfortable.
Even if I was just here for a servant’s job, wouldn’t I meet with Mrs. Walker in her sitting room instead?
I lowered myself to the edge of the delicate chair, but I didn’t rest or relax. How could I?
Mrs. Hill sat on the chair opposite me, studying me like she had last night. Now, in the light of day, she seemed to be getting a better look. And I had a better view of her, as well. She was a little older than I had thought last night, with deep wrinkles around her eyes and lining her mouth.
She suddenly frowned. “Are you married?”
I shook my head.