Maid to Match (2 page)

Tillie offered her a slight smile, then glanced at her brother. Allan’s brows had converged. His thoughts unreadable.

Mrs. Winter took a sip of coffee. “While Mrs. Vanderbilt is deciding, Tillie and Lucy will be called upon to take on a few of Bénédicte’s duties. As a result, some of you will be required to take care of whatever chores they leave behind.”

To Tillie’s immediate right, Lucy Lewers sat tall and confident, her caramel-colored hair coiled neatly beneath a snowy cap, which was nothing more than a piece of frilly cloth resting on the crown of her head. Long lashes framed eyes the same caramel color as her hair. Her skin held no blemish, her profile no flaw. With the slightest lifting of her chin, she looked down the table at all the underlings, as if her appointment to the position was imminent.

“Finish up,” Mrs. Winter admonished. “The day is calling.”

Allan cornered Tillie on the way to morning prayers.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Grabbing her by the arm, he propelled her into the canning pantry and closed the door. He stood a half foot taller than she, with wide shoulders and hair every bit as thick and black as her own.

“I only found out myself just before we sat down to breakfast.” She rubbed the place he’d squeezed.

“What are you going to do?”

She cocked her head. “Do? I’m going to work my fingers to the bone and beg God for His favor. What do you think I’m going to do?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’ll change everything. You’ll be one of
them
, the swell set.”

She smiled at the term referring to the butler, chef, lady’s maid, and valet. “But I want to be one of them. Can you imagine all the opportunities I’ll have? The pay? The clothes? The privileges? The travel?”

“Travel? You can’t so much as look at a carriage without getting sick. How, exactly, do you plan to manage that?”

She stiffened. “I’m older now. I’m sure the motion won’t affect me like it did when I was little. Besides, think of the freedom I’ll have every single day. I’ll be able to – ”

“Freedom?” he scoffed. “There’s no such thing as freedom with that job. You’ll be at her ladyship’s beck and call all hours of the day and night.”

“But that’s just it. I’ll be confidante to
Edith Stuyvesant
Dresser Vanderbilt
!”

“You won’t be on the fourth floor with Dixie and all the other girls. You’ll be stuck on the second floor with
her
and the high-and-mighty Mrs. Winter. You won’t be able to have dessert, or tea, or gossip with the rest of us. You’ll have to retire to Mrs. Winter’s room with the swell set.”

“And partake of the same desserts the Vanderbilts are having!” Tillie shook her head in mock sorrow. “That will certainly be a burden.”

He tightened his mouth. “You won’t be able to get married.”

She frowned. “None of us can get married. Not unless we want to lose our jobs.”

“You could get married. It would just mean you couldn’t work in the house. You’d have to work on one of Mr. Vanderbilt’s farms or in the dairy or something like that.”

“Why would I want to do that when I can work here? Are you crazy?” She reached for the door.

He pressed his hand against it. “A lady’s maid position will eat up the best years of your life, Tillie. Then the minute a gray hair pops up or a tiny wrinkle forms, out you go. Only the young and beautiful can be ladies’ maids.”

“Gray hairs? You’re talking to me about gray hairs? I’m
eighteen
.”

“I know how old you are.”

“Then what are you so worried about? I’ll be careful with my earnings. And when the time comes, leaving my job won’t be a concern because I’ll have enough to live on for the rest of my life.”

“Alone. With no one to keep you company. And not at all in the style you’ll have become accustomed to.”

Rolling her eyes, she crossed her arms. “I thought you’d be happy for me. If I get this position, Mama will think she’s died and gone to heaven.”

“Conrad’s in love with you.”

She stilled, then slowly lowered her arms. “Conrad? The footman?”

She pictured the gangly young man who was so skinny he stuffed his stockings in order to give himself shapely calves.

“You know any other Conrads?” Allan asked.

Anger surged through her. “Well, he’d better put me right out of his mind. I’m not caring which nor whether about him nor anybody else, and if he jeopardizes this for me, I’ll have his head on a platter.” She hammered a finger against her brother’s chest. “You understand me?”

“You don’t even like him a little? All the girls flirt with him.”

“They’d better not let Mrs. Winter catch them or they’ll be the ones sacked, not him.” She took a deep breath. “I want this job, Bubby. I want it more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life. You tell Conrad to stay clear of me. You hear?”

Sighing, he released the door. “I hear.”

CHAPTER
Two

I will not cast up my accounts. I will not cast up my
accounts.

No matter how many times Tillie recited the mantra, the nausea would not go away. The carriage hit a rut, jostling her inside and out. Gritting her teeth, she looked out the window, but watching the trees and foliage roll past like ocean waves made it worse.

Oh, why couldn’t we have ridden with the top down?

She had much more control in an open carriage. It was the enclosed ones which gave her the most trouble. Her palms began to sweat.
Think of something else
.

Edith Vanderbilt sat across from her, reading
The Prince and
the Pauper
, her body swaying in rhythm with the carriage. She had brown hair and hazel eyes, was twenty-five years old, nearly six feet tall, and commanded such presence Tillie felt small by comparison – even though she herself was five foot eight.

The stale air inside the carriage thickened. Tillie’s nostrils pinched together in an effort to draw in oxygen.
Think of
something else
.

Mrs. Vanderbilt had met and married Mr. Vanderbilt in Paris, though she was originally from New York. So the gowns she’d brought with her were the very latest in European fashions.

Tillie’s nausea crept up to chest level. She slipped a finger between her neck and collar.

You’re not a child. You’re a grown woman. Think of something
else
.

The blue serge Mrs. Vanderbilt wore was different from anything Tillie had ever seen. The skirt fastened at the side and was elaborately trimmed with graduated braids of different shades and styles. The epaulettes covering slightly puffed sleeves were pointed and trimmed in the same style.

A prickling sensation began behind Tillie’s eyes. The nausea now sat at the back of her throat. Beads of moisture formed on her upper lip.
Don’t do this, Tillie. Don’t
.

She concentrated harder on the gown. If she were to earn the lady’s maid position, would the outfit one day be hers when it was tossed aside?

Moisture collected on her neck, back, and under her arms. She opened her mouth, quietly drawing in deep breaths, then blowing them out.
Think of something else.

She eyed her mistress more closely. Hers wasn’t the lush hourglass figure so popular nowadays, but more willowy. Tillie was somewhere in between. But if she needed more fabric in the bodice, she’d be able to take a few inches from the length of the skirt.

The carriage hit another bump. Gagging, Tillie slammed her eyes shut and pressed gloved fingers to her mouth.

“Are you all right, Tillie?”

Please, Lord. Make it go away. I cannot cast up my accounts
on my first assignment!

She swallowed, forcing the bile back down. “I’m fine, ma’am. Thank you.”

Placing a ribbon between the pages of her book, Mrs. Vanderbilt set it to the side, then tapped on the roof of the carriage. It immediately slowed, then pulled to a stop. The vehicle rocked as the driver bounced off. The door opened.

“Is anything amiss, ma’am?”

“I think I’d like to ride the rest of the way with the top down, Earl. Would you mind?”

He held out his hand. “Not at all, ma’am.”

She placed her hand in his, allowing him to guide her through the door. “Come, Tillie. Let’s stretch our legs, shall we?”

The tall young coachman offered her a hand.

Tillie covered her entire mouth. Tears sprung to her eyes. Her shoulders jerked in an effort to hold the sickness inside.

Earl leaned in to see what the delay was, his eyes widening. “Take the deuce.”

Grabbing her around the waist, he hauled her out of the carriage and bodily carried her to the nearest tree. Too miserable to object, she waited for him to release her, then crumpled to her knees, unable to control the waves of nausea any longer.

“It’s all right.” Mrs. Vanderbilt smiled from across the open carriage. She’d insisted on Tillie facing forward while she rode backward. No amount of naysaying would persuade her otherwise.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, after humiliating herself in front of Mrs. Vanderbilt and Earl, Tillie then succumbed to tears. Silent tears, but tears nonetheless. Tears which refused to stop. And it didn’t matter anyway. Her chances of becoming a lady’s maid were gone.

The thought brought a fresh bout. She made no pretense of delicately patting her eyes with her handkerchief. She wiped them, then blew her nose, knowing full well it was unladylike. But then, so were puffy eyes, a blotched face, and a red nose.

She rubbed her head. Her mother would be heartbroken. It would have been better if Tillie had never been in the running than to have been selected as a candidate only to be withdrawn before the contest had even begun.

And not just because of her mother, but because of Tillie’s own aspirations. Becoming a lady’s maid was her one chance to come up in the world and see beyond the borders of Asheville, North Carolina. But now that chance was gone. Trampled. All because she couldn’t ride in a vehicle for any length of time without getting sick.

Mrs. Vanderbilt cocked her head to the side. “My sister used to be afflicted with your same ailment.”

Tillie sniffled.

“For her, riding backward, being enclosed, or doing stitching while in motion was what usually brought it on.”

Tillie nodded. “Me too. I’m so sorry, ma’am.”

“Nonsense. Don’t give it another thought.” She held up her book. “I found this in my husband’s library. It’s by a man named Mark Twain. It’s quite good.”

Tillie crinkled the wet handkerchief in her hands. “I’ve never read him before.”

“You like to read?”

“I love to.” Looking off into the distance, she scanned the Blue Ridge Mountains, which framed the horizon. “When I was a girl, I collected my own library. Inside the cover of each book, I’d write ‘Private Library,’ along with a number and my name.”

Mrs. Vanderbilt leaned back. “And what books did you have in your library?”

“Let’s see . . .
The Three Musketeers, Ben Hur, Macbeth,
Oliver Twist
.”

“A rather adventurous list.”

She dropped her gaze. “I had three older brothers and I desperately wanted to be one of them – one of the big toads, I used to say.” She shrugged. “So I read books like
Pride and
Prejudice
only under the cover of darkness.”

Amusement played at the corners of Mrs. Vanderbilt’s lips. “And did you become one of the big toads?”

“No, ma’am. They always saw me as a girl first and a pest second.”

She nodded. “I only have sisters, but I can appreciate your wanting to be one of the big toads. I’ve felt the same way at times.”

The chasm between Tillie’s world and hers was insurmountable, yet the new Mrs. Vanderbilt was so approachable, so normal, it took Tillie aback. In previous wealthy homes her employers had been haughty at best, tyrannical at worst. She’d not been allowed to speak with the lady of the house unless it was to deliver a message, and then she had to do so in as few words as possible.

Yet here she sat having an actual
conversation
with Mrs. Vanderbilt. And though her mistress expressed a childhood yearning to be one of the big toads, not even her sisters would dare question her standing now.