When the grandfather clock chimed a quarter to the hour, a knock sounded at the door. You placed your tea on the table and rose to your feet.
“Mr. Ellsworth, is that you?”
With a face as placid as a frozen lake, the butler entered the parlor and strode to the sofa. He snapped his polished heels together and bowed his head. “I am sorry to keep you waiting.”
As the sun filtered through the gauzy curtains, wide eyes noticed something they missed in the shadows of the hall.
The man had no outer ears.
Behind a coiled silver beard, both sides of Ellsworth’s head bore a jagged set of raised scars. The hole for the ear was still there, but only a piece of uneven tissue implied that the shell once existed. A taunt braided cord held the wire frame of his circular bifocals in place.
“I must apologize again for Mr. Watts.” Dark eyes flashed as Ellsworth said the name. “He is talented, but his manners can be reprehensible.”
You raised a placating hand. “It is fine. No harm came of it.”
Ellsworth gestured to the sofa. “Will you please sit down, madam?”
Stiff as a board, you resumed your perch on the edge of the couch. His ever inspecting gaze measured the distance between your clothing and the back of the seat. You stayed still, like a baby rabbit in the grass. When Ellsworth closed his eyes, you felt like you could breathe again.
“By now, I am sure that one such as yourself has noted the peculiarities of this particular home.”
You nodded.
“When I was brought on, it was with the general guidance that our employer had a preference for staff who possessed talent. It did not matter if they lacked the polished manners that other more reputable households would find palatable.” He coughed. “In addition, I was summarily informed that unmarried female staff would serve as a distraction and were not to be considered.”
Your stomach clenched at his words.
“However, Professor Campbell was a dear friend of my master’s.”
Dear friend? You were with the professor over a decade and a half and never heard of Gravelorne Manor before yesterday.
“In addition,” Ellsworth continued, “my master surmised that, as an older widow, you are less inclined to flights of fancy. This made you an acceptable exception.”
Older widow? Wonderful. Pity the poor old thing, my loves. How she ever keeps both feet out of the grave, we shall never know.
Or… you could fail this interview and be a brothel girl catering to drunken sailors too tipsy to notice your pain.
Old hag sounded lovely.
You forced a smile. “I am grateful for your consideration.”
He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples in tight circles. “Before hiring you, it behooves me to explain the nature of this household. The entire manor and grounds are managed by a staff of six. Myself, our footman, our cook and undercook, our groundskeeper, and Mr. Watts are all we require to keep the entire manor in the style as lays before you.”
Your eyes bulged as you scanned the magnificent room.Every piece of it was flawless and free of dust. In addition to those six positions, an estate this size should require at least five maids to manage the cleaning and another two to three to assist the cook. Besides that, even if the household raised no animals or crops, there was no way one groundskeeper could possibly manage the lawns and gardens by himself.
“You are wondering how this is possible, I presume?”
Unable to trust your own voice, you nodded again.
“Look under the sofa.”
With eyebrows raised, you bent over and peeked into the shadows. There, under the sofa, was a flat, circular machine. The top of it contained a large gear that ticked exactly one tooth per second. Around this was a circular piece of brass with round bolts positioned like a clock face. As a stately chime rang the hour, an orange bulb glowed in the center of the gear. The mechanical wonder crawled out from its hiding place. You jumped to your feet.
“W-what is that?”
“Mr. Watts calls it a ‘dust-mouse.’ I thought it best to show you one of the little hellions before you stumbled across it in the dark. These smaller ones siphon the floors for debris before their larger counterparts steam clean the halls and rugs.”
“Surely someone must do the dusting?”
“There is a hovering version, but I do not trust it with the paintings or china. It is tolerable on the cabinets, tables, books, and ceilings.” Ellsworth tapped the floorboards with his shoe. “The house is heated by steam conduits, so the ash we generate is minimal. Electric lights mean we need not trim the candles. That limits our dust to a very manageable level. At present, Mr. Reeves cycles through the house every fortnight doing the polishing and fine dusting.”
The buzzing from the little robot sounded like the call of locusts feasting upon your livelihood.
“Who empties the machines?” you inquired, battling the strain in your voice.
“When they are full, they return to the mudroom at the back of the servants’ quarters. Organic debris is composted while inorganic materials are sorted and compacted. Mr. Watts takes what he cannot reuse to the village garbage once a week.”
Your soul was leaving your body. “What about the laundry?”
“A chute and conveyor belt system transports it to the washroom where machines sort it by texture. The automatic washer-dryer handles everyday pieces while fine fabrics are bagged for Miss Jasmine at the village laundry service.”
“The shoes?”
“We put them through the auto-polisher.”
“The waste bins?”
He pointed to the dust-mouse.
“The dishes?”
“There are two steam dishwashers: one for the finery and one for the kitchenware. Cook’s machine sorts his equipment into specific slots so he can find what he needs. I hand-sort the good china.”
Your head spun as Ellsworth continued on.
“Mr. Norton, the groundskeeper, uses the ride-on cutter to handle the lawns. He also has some horrid buzzing blade for the hedges.” Ellsworth sniffed. “It makes a filthy racket in my opinion.”
Your eyes glazed over as you squeaked out, “The whole house cleans itself?”
“Once a year, we do have to scrub the windows. Fortunately, the mechanical lift basket makes that easier.”
You tried to stifle the bubbling sensation sweeping up your throat, but a small huff danced past your fingertips. Your shoulders began to shake. Your eyes squeezed shut. Finally, you gave in and let the laughter fly.
“Oh, Mr. Ellsworth, sir, I am sorry,” you explained between gasping breaths. “I understand now. These things—” As the dust-mouse scurried across the room, another giggle rippled from your throat. “It would seem my position is rather obsolete.”
Ellsworth nodded. “I would say that the traditional role of a maid is unnecessary at Gravelorne. However, since you now understand, would you be willing to hear the proposed position?”
What did he want you to say to that? You came all this way as a last resort only to find out you were replaceable with some sort of dirt-eating mechanical mouse.
With a well-practiced false smile, you replied, “Yes, I would be open to it.”
“As I have mentioned, Mr. Reeves is caring for the duties that the dust-mice can not. While there are significantly fewer tasks to complete than in a traditional house, it consumes hours of his day. Therefore, our employer suggested that this work could be left to you. This, in turn, frees up Mr. Reeves for a proper education in manners and estate management for when I retire.” Ellsworth’s tone darkened. “I expect it will take several years, so the sooner it can start, the better.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ellsworth sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “In addition, our employer keeps late hours which I am rapidly growing too old to accommodate. Therefore, your hours would be set to match his.” Sharp brown eyes watched your reaction. “You would work from one in the afternoon through one in the morning on weekdays. There would be a thirty-minute meal break at four and another hour and a half break for dinner around eight o’clock. A short nap at that time would be advisable.”
Your heart was fluttering in your chest. At your first place of employment, your day started at seven sharp and ended no earlier than ten in the evening. If you spent more than one hour of that time eating three hot meals, your meager pay was severely docked. The professor had been a bit more generous, giving you a start time of nine in the morning and two hours’ rest in the afternoon. However, this was in exchange for keeping you up early into the morning reading his books. If Ellsworth was truthful, this position was even better still. In particular, there was one part of his statement that captivated you.
“Weekdays, sir?” You fought to keep the excitement out of your voice. “Do you mean—”
“You would have the weekends off, of course.”
Grasping hands cupped your mouth. Your heartbeat thumped in romantic couplets like the backbeat of a song. The melody was the triumphant crowing of a woman gone mad with excitement.
Every. Weekend. Off.
A tremble wracked your body.
Oooooh! Say it again.
Every. Weekend. Off.
“Madam? Are you listening to me?”
You snapped to attention. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Afternoon into the early morning with a lunch and dinner break, sir.” Clasping your fingers together was the only way to keep them from vibrating. “To clarify, you said it would be”—you swallowed, trying not to let him see the fanatical furor pulsing through your blood—“every weekend off?”
Ellsworth raised a feathered eyebrow. “Yes? Will that be a problem?”
“No, sir!” You blurted the words. A furious heat filled your cheeks. “No, sir. I am willing to accommodate most schedules.”
Ellsworth looked you up and down, taking in your sparkling eyes and ravenous interest in his words. “Room and board are included, of course. You will stay in the servants’ quarters with the rest of the house staff.
Our gardener and his wife live in a separate cottage on the grounds.”
“Of course,” you agreed. “I am accustomed to a live-in arrangement.”
“As for your pay, we can offer you seventy drossler a year. I hope this will be acceptable.”
Your bones felt like they were made of lead. “Sorry, sir. Could you repeat that?”
“Seventy drossler. It will be dispensed in dividend payments over fifty-two weeks, payable every fortnight.”
Seventy drossler per annum!? That was over double the average salary for a parlor maid! It was more than what a butler should make! Perhaps a noblewoman might scoff at it, but it was on par with the highest-paid factory workers. Stars above! It was…
…too good to be true.
As the accusations from the funeral flew through your thoughts, your eyes narrowed. “That salary is rather suspicious.”
“Is it?”
“I do not know what reputation has preceded me, but I suspect a gross misrepresentation of my character was made.” You clasped your bag in your fist and rose to your feet. Head tilted back, you fixed the man with a glare sharper than any blade. “I may no longer be some doe-eyed maiden, but I am unwilling to be some sort of sexual play toy for hire. I will see myself out.”
As you stormed to the door, a small smile flashed onto Ellsworth’s face. “Madam, before you go, I must apologize to you.”
You paused, fingers coiled tight around the door handle. “Oh?”
He gestured to the sofa. “Please, sit down. I will explain.”
Gritting your teeth, you acquiesced to the request but placed yourself at the edge of your seat.
Ellsworth walked to the window, folding his arms behind his back. “My employer holds no formal title, only a fortune built-in merchant’s trade. However, thanks to his talents, his holdings have long outstripped even the nobility of Coriland. It is my job to ensure applicants with ulterior motives do not trouble him.”
You clenched your teeth. “I am no fortune hunter, and my recommendation letter is genuine.”
“I find actions are the bearer of character, not pen and paper.”
“A fair assessment, I suppose,” you agreed, crossing your arms.
Ellsworth turned to face you. “I admit, when I heard the rumors associated with your name, I had my own doubts about your character. However, it would seem that these reports were inaccurate.” He swept into a low bow. “Please forgive an old man for testing you in this manner.”
You observed the gesture with a frown unchanged.
When your companion lifted his head, he touched the scar on the side of his greying temple. “I owe Mr. Sicarius a great debt. Therefore, I do what I can to serve him.”
Your chest tightened as a flurry of images flashed through your memories. Your husband’s grave. The stone steps of a great library. The smell of wet cement and sticky mud. A sore throat and an empty belly. The professor’s umbrella and his unkind words.
“Crying in the rain? Well, I suppose some might call it romantic, but I think it is a tedious way to waste a life. If you have no more need for yourself, then at least allow me to make something useful out of you. What do you say, girl?”
You glanced at the long scars, eyes moist and throat burning hot.
“Let us begin again.” Ivory teeth peaked from between tawny lips. “Knowing everything I have told you, would you be willing to work at this estate?”
You mustered a coy smile. “Yes, Mr. Ellsworth.”
Two hours later, as Mr. Reeves walked the new maid out to the garage, Ellsworth watched from the rear parlor window. The light in the hills was fading fast into golden hour. Reeves had straightened his back, but not his manner. His arms flapped about. By comparison, the maid’s hands stayed folded, so they were not tempted to run away with themselves. Slowly, as their conversation continued, Reeves began to adopt the same posture. Ellsworth let the curtains droop shut.
Walking to the hall, Ellsworth spun the dial on the rotary phone. An operator connected him to the network in Illestrad.
“Grand Vision Hotel. How may I help you?”
“The terrace suite, please.”
“May I ask who is calling?”
“Walter Ellsworth. I am Mr. Estrova’s butler.”
“One moment.”
Static crackled in the speaker. The line rang once. The line rang twice. The line rang—
With a click, a smooth baritone poured through the phone. “How did it go, Ellsworth?”
“I had to lower the pay, sir.”
There was a pause. “Lower it? Whatever for?”
Ellsworth pinched the bridge of his nose. “One hundred and forty drossler per annum was a staggering amount of money. I judged that it may alarm her, so I offered seventy instead.”
“And?”
“Still alarmed, but not enough to bolt.”
“Ellsworth, your skills with negotiation near the occult.” The man on the other end chuckled. “Did you know that Lady Eiden wishes to steal you away from me?”
“With all due respect, sir, Lady Eiden is a twit.”
“So she is, Ellsworth. It is lucky for me that you have no more use for pathetic employers.”
“It is not luck that draws people to you, sir. It is wit, wealth, and will.”
The voice on the phone hummed. “How do you like the professor’s pet?”
“She is skittish, but her manner is tolerable
and unobtrusive.”
“A high compliment indeed, coming from the man who is never impressed.”
Ellsworth snorted. “Reeves has taken her to her room at the Portly Porcine for the evening. I have sent for her things and expect them to arrive the day after tomorrow.”
“Excellent. I will be along after I have closed the last of the doors.”
Though Ellsworth’s expression never changed, he swallowed thick saliva before he could speak.
“Very well, Master Sicarius.”