London, 1849
Calista Faulkner clasped her hands together to keep from fidgeting. Her heart was in her throat. Goodness. She needed this position. Desperately.
Her stomach clenched at that thought. An employer might think her agitation signaled a lack of inexperience. And they’d be right.
She took a deep breath. Forced herself to sit still. After all, she’d not worked a single day in her life. But she was willing to learn, even though she feared she wouldn’t be given the chance. Not after being turned away from eight businesses already, as well as an upper class home in need of a governess.
Seated across from her now in this neatly furnished office was yet another man with the power to determine her fate. He’d introduced himself as Mr. Greene, the Hotel Imperial’s manager. She’d told him she was Jane Smith for the sake of preserving her anonymity.
It wouldn’t do for her real name to get out.
Slim of build with thinning brown hair slicked back, a slender nose, flat mouth, and beady eyes framed by wire-rimmed spectacles, Mr. Greene looked to be in his mid to late fifties.
“Frankly,” he said, glancing at the pocket watch he’d placed on his desk, “I don’t know what you mean to accomplish here without a letter of reference.”
“I was hoping I might be permitted to prove myself capable,” Calista said. She added a smile even though he proceeded to scowl. “My accounting skills are impeccable and—”
He stopped her with a snort. “Perhaps if you were to lower your expectations, you’d have more success in gaining employment.”
“Right.” Calista stared across at him with determination. “I also know what’s required of a good maid and”—she swallowed when his eyebrows rose toward his hairline—“I can assure you I shall work hard to live up to the standards this hotel is known for.”
“Hmm… You strike me as rather well-spoken. Educated even.” Mr. Greene tilted his head while he studied her. She tried to sit perfectly still. “And your accent… American, is it?”
She nodded. “I’m from New York.”
“Ah. Well thank you for coming in, Miss Smith. I wish you the best of luck in your…ahem…future endeavors.”
Calista blinked. “So you’re not hiring me?”
“No.”
“Because I don’t have references or because I’m American?”
Mr. Greene glanced at the door as if he hoped she’d decide to use it. “To be honest, it’s both, but if it makes you feel any better I’d made up my mind before I learned where you’re from.”
Calista frowned. “Before I even spoke?”
A red hue colored Mr. Greene’s cheeks. “While your proposal to work as maid is not entirely ridiculous, I fear you’re too pretty. Wives won’t trust you to clean their rooms. In case the husband sees you, that is. Again, I’m sorry.”
Appalled by his implication that she might tempt a married man to stray, Calista stood, hands fisted at her sides. “Mr. Greene. All I want is honest work and while I may not have experience, I know how to make a bed and how to sweep a floor. Indeed, I’m even able to light a fire if that’s what’s required of me. These tasks are simple to do. They don’t require much skill. As for my looks, they cannot be helped though I must say I disagree with your assessment. I’m not the sort of woman any wife need fear, and the fact that you would suggest as much is offensive to me. That aside, I swear to you that if you give me a chance, you won’t be sorry.” She took a deep breath and sank back onto her seat. Determined to make one final attempt, she leaned forward and said in earnest, “Please. I need this position.”
“While I appreciate your fortitude, you simply aren’t suited to work here, Miss Smith. Now please, if you don’t mind, this interview is—”
The door opened behind Calista and someone else entered the room.
“A word please, Mr. Greene,” a man’s voice spoke from behind her.
Mr. Greene scrambled from his chair and crossed the floor. Calista twisted in her seat in an effort to catch a glimpse of the man who’d commanded, rather than asked, Mr. Greene to join him. He was gone from view before she had the chance.
Mr. Greene vanished as well. The door closed and a muted conversation ensued from the opposite side. What on earth was going on? It sounded like there might be some sort of emergency.
She was still trying to work her way through the various reasons for the stranger’s interruption when Mr. Greene returned.
He stood for a moment in the doorway, watching her as though she were a riddle he didn’t know how to solve.
“Well, Miss Smith,” he finally said, “it seems you have a job.”
Her jaw dropped. Had he not just dismissed her? She stared at Mr. Greene. Who was this man who’d spoken to him and what had he said to change his mind?
“If you still desire to work here you’ll start as a scullery maid in the kitchen.”
A scullery maid?
“But—”
“Take it or leave it, Miss Smith.” When she didn’t respond right away he said, “The pay isn’t bad. You’ll get ten pounds per annum, which is more than the position is worth, if you ask me.”
Calista sank against her chair. At this rate, it would take forever before she’d have enough money to purchase a ticket back to New York.
“What about room and board?” she asked, hoping to avoid the cost of lodging so she could save more of her salary.
“There’s nothing left in the servants’ quarters, but I’m sure we can set up a cot for you in the pantry. As long as you’re willing to clear it away each morning before you start.”
Calista swallowed. This wasn’t what she wanted for herself, but she couldn’t afford to turn down the offer either. Not when she was running dangerously low on funds. Already, she’d been forced to sell most of the fine dresses she’d brought with her to England. If she refused the position, she’d likely end up on the street. Acquiring a job had proven hard enough without letting pride get in her way.
“Thank you, Mr. Greene.” She would be polite and respectful, just as her mother had taught her. Calista stood, reticule in hand. “I’ll just collect my things from the boarding house. It’s not far, so I shan’t be long.”
Mr. Greene looked down his nose at her. “When you return, make sure you use the back entrance. The one on the side is reserved for the upstairs staff.”
Calista forced a smile. “Duly noted.”
When Mr. Greene stared back at her with both eyebrows raised, she bobbed a quick curtsey and took her leave.
One hour later, Calista Faulkner was handed a tub filled with dirty dishes and told to scrub them clean.
Refusing to be disheartened, she forced herself to think of her plan to go home. Surely she could wash dishes. How hard could it be? “Where should I fetch the water from?”
The servant who’d been tasked with getting Calista started, a plump woman Mr. Greene had referred to as Tilda, gave her an incredulous look and pointed toward the stoves. “There are the kettles. Soap’s in the pail behind you.”
Calista wanted to ask about a sponge or a brush, but Tilda was already walking away. Setting the tub on a nearby work bench, she wrinkled her nose and wondered how best to proceed.
“Well don’t just stand there, girl,” the cook snapped. “Get on with it or get out. We’ve not the time to rest on our laurels ’round ’ere.”
“What do you expect from a fancy foreigner, Mrs. Elkins?” a middle-aged man dressed in a dark suit inquired as he collected the plates that had just been prepared by a maid Calista took to be Mrs. Elkins’s assistant. “I wager she’ll be sacked before the end of the week.”
Considering it was already Thursday, the comment did not bode well. Determined to prove herself capable and earn these people’s respect, Calista dumped a measure of soap into the tub, then crossed to the stove and grabbed the kettle. Only to withdraw her hand with an agonized squeal as soon as she touched the hot metal.
Laughter erupted behind her.
“You don’t belong in a kitchen,” Mrs. Elkins said while Calista’s hand began to sting from the burn. “The sooner you realize that, the better.”
Calista cursed herself for her foolishness. In her haste to disprove these people’s assumption about her, she’d only lent credence to their opinions.
Furious with herself, she snatched a navy blue potholder from a hook on the wall and grabbed the kettle once more. As soon as the tub was filled with steaming hot water and frothy bubbles, she pondered her next move. A space would have to be prepared for the clean dishes to dry on. She’d figure that out while she waited for the water to reach a more comfortable temperature for her hands.
Eventually, with a dishrag laid out, she considered the fine white porcelain dishes stacked on the table, smeared in leftover gravy and bits of food. Right. Best get on with it then.
Pushing her sleeves up, she grabbed the sponge she’d located under the counter, and proceeded to wash each plate with care.
“I need more plates,” someone shouted from the other end of the room.
“Check with the new girl,” Mrs. Elkins replied.
Calista froze. She’d only just started washing up a short while ago. She began scrubbing faster just as another tub filled with dirty dishes landed beside her with a clatter.
“Cor,” a young man mumbled. “Is that all you’ve done this past hour? Sammy, come lend a hand here, will you? We need those plates now and this scullery maid is taking forever.”
“Let’s have a look then,” a young girl said as she shouldered Calista out of the way. She surveyed the scene and turned to Calista with sharp disbelief. “You’ve not even finished rinsing them yet.”
“Wha…” Calista stared at the tub filled with water and soap. “I’m washing them.”
The girl clucked her tongue. “You mean to tell me you were planning to dry those off and let all the upstairs gents and ladies dine off of them after only one dip? Are you cracked in the head?”
Calista stared back at her, horrified by the pricking sensation now burning behind her eyes. She’d always believed herself to be well educated and smart, and yet she could not do a simple task like washing dishes properly. “I’m sorry. I thought—”
“Well you thought wrong and now there’ll be a delay. Heaven above, if Mr. Greene won’t have all our hides for this. Move over.”
Calista stepped back and watched Sammy rinse off the rest of the dirty plates with swift efficiency. She piled them on the side of the work table, then filled an empty tub with fresh hot water and soap.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Calista asked while doing her best to ignore the angry stares the rest of the servants were sending her way.
“You can toss the dirty water outside,” Sammy said without looking at her. “If you’re capable, that is.”
Forcing back the tears, Calista picked up the tub and made her way to the door leading out to a courtyard beyond. She would not cry in front of these people. She refused to. And yet, the painful knot in her throat suggested she might do precisely that at any moment, so she rushed through the doorway, sloshing water all over the front of her gown in her haste to disappear from the kitchen and from the censure she had to face there.
Hopefully with time, her situation here would improve, she told herself as she rinsed out the tub at the pump. It was important to be positive and to remember all she accomplished by being here. At least she had a roof over her head and the means by which to earn the money she so desperately needed.
But as the weeks wore on, she realized the hostility she faced would not diminish with time. And while she now knew her way around the kitchen and had learned how to accomplish her chores in a satisfactory manner, she invariably felt as though she risked getting sacked at any moment. It was as though an axe hung over her head, ready to drop on account of the slightest mistake.
It hadn’t yet, though Mr. Greene had certainly threatened her with that eventuality more than once. The last time being when a plate she’d been meaning to wash had fallen to the floor and shattered. It hadn’t been her fault. She was certain of this. Rather, the blame belonged to a waiter named Richard, who’d been harassing her since her arrival. He’d walked past her spot and pushed the plate straight off the work table.
“Mr. Greene won’t be pleased with that,” Richard said with a sneer. The young waiter had been particularly cold toward her after she’d threatened him with a knife during her first night in the pantry. His advances had not been welcome. So he did what he could to take revenge.
“I ought to turn you out over this,” Mr. Greene said when he learned what had happened. “Instead, I’ll deny you the next month’s wages.”
Tucked away in the pantry later that night and with the door barricaded against unwanted visitors, Calista swore she would start seeking other employment. The only problem was her breaks were limited. But when she finally did manage to get to an agency, the response she received was no different from the one she’d been given before. References were required and since her only work experience was as a scullery maid, she had no hope of advancing to lady’s maid or governess. In fact, advancing to the next position as tweeny would take at least another year of experience, she learned.
Disheartened and unhappy, Calista returned to the Imperial. This was only temporary, she reminded herself and as such, she would simply have to make the most of her dismal situation. She sighed as she crept into bed that night. At this point she would gladly give up the cabin she’d hoped to purchase for her return to New York and settle for the cheapest passage available. It would in all likelihood mean she’d be traveling with the cargo and all the other poor souls who couldn’t afford any better. But Calista no longer cared. All she knew was that she had to get away from the Imperial as fast as she possibly could.