Maid to Match (6 page)

One of the heavy wooden doors behind the grill creaked open. Mack froze. He knew he should dart out of sight, but according to his Bible, all men were equal.

A middle-aged man in a dark navy suit stepped onto the landing. His jowls slackened. “Earl! What are you doing out here? And dressed like that?”

“I’m not Earl. I’m his brother Mack.”

The blond man scurried forward, shooing Mack with his hands. He was tall and broad, but the broadness also extended to his waist. “Return to the carriage house at once.”

He sighed. “I’m not Earl. I’m his twin brother, Mack. Mrs. Vanderbilt told me to come.”

The man looked down his nose. “I think I’d know if you had an identical twin, Earl. I have told you before that the joke playing has grown old. Do not think working outside the house exempts you from following my directives.”

Mack tightened his jaw. “Let me talk to the butler.”

Puffing up, the man released the latch and pulled the gate open. “As you well know, I
am
the butler.”

“You’re Mr. Sterling?” Mack extended his hand. “Earl’s told me about you. I’m Mack Danver. Mrs. Vanderbilt asked me to come.”

Sterling slapped Mack’s hand away.

Mack didn’t so much as hesitate. He hated men who used their power as an excuse to bully others. He grabbed the butler by the shirtfront and propelled him backward. “Listen, mister. When I say I’m Mack Danver, I mean I’m Mack Danver. When I extend a hand in greeting, I expect it to be taken. When it’s not, I take offense.”

“Unhand me!”

“Apologize first.”

“I’ll do no such thing!”

“Mr. Sterling? Is everything – ” A maid with the fairest skin he’d ever seen stood at the door, hand covering her mouth. “Earl! What’s the matter with you!”

Black hair peeked out from beneath her small white cap. Her eyes widened. The eastern sun had reduced her pupils to dots, leaving eyes so blue they appeared almost lavender. She rushed out the door. “Let him go!”

He let go.

Stumbling back, the butler caught a heel on the steps. Mack grabbed his arm to keep him from falling.

Sterling recovered his footing and shoved Mack away. “Take your hands
off
me. You’re done here! I don’t care what – ”

Mack took a swing, but the butler swerved, causing Mack to graze the man’s chin.

The girl jumped in front of him, squaring off with Mack. “Stop it! Stop it right this minute.” She took a step forward.

He took a step back.

“I cannot believe you would be so careless as to drink on a work night and not turn up until morning.” She propped her hands on her waist. “You’ve done it this time, Earl Danver. And it’s going to break Mrs. Vanderbilt’s heart. She thinks the world of you. And what about Mr. Vanderbilt? Can you imagine how you’ve let him down? After all he’s done for you?
This
is how you repay him?”

The butler touched his chin, then looked at his hand. He seemed perfectly willing to let a woman do his fighting for him. Mack curled his lip.

The woman jabbed Mack’s chest with her finger. “I’m very angry with you. Very angry.”

She was tall for a woman, but still only came to his shoulders. Did she actually believe he was frightened of her? He felt the tug of a smile on his lips. “I’m not Earl, miss. I’m his brother Mack. And I haven’t been drinking.”

The disapproval she’d shown before was nothing compared to the horror that filled her eyes now. She pressed a hand against her stiffly starched apron. “Oh no. You’re the brother?”

He nodded.

“But, but . . . where’s your beard? What happened to your hair?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Do I know you?”

She shook her head. “I was with Mrs. Vanderbilt when she saw you in town.”

That couldn’t possibly be true. He would never have forgotten her had he seen her before. Still, he’d been a bit distracted at the time.

“What’s this?” Sterling now held a handkerchief to his chin. “You say this man isn’t Earl?”

“No, sir,” the girl said. “He’s Earl’s twin. Mrs. Vanderbilt saw him in Asheville and offered him a position in the house. Told him to come round if he was interested.”

Sterling inhaled quickly through his teeth.

“You came to the
front
door?” she asked Mack. “What possessed you to come to the front door?”

“I was just looking. I didn’t knock or anything. He simply opened the door and . . .” He shrugged.

Rolling her eyes, she turned to the butler. “He’s a mountain man and was engaged in fisticuffs when Mrs. Vanderbilt first saw him. I’m sure he’ll refrain from using his fists in the future once we explain how we do things.”

Sterling looked Mack up and down. “I don’t know, Tillie.”

“Please, sir. I’ll take him round back myself. I’ll make sure he doesn’t get into any more trouble.”

Mack tucked his shirt into his trousers. “I can fight my own fights . . . Tillie, is it? You needn’t do it for me.”

She seared him with her gaze. “Do not say another word.”

He bristled and opened his mouth to argue.

She lifted her index finger. “Not. Another. Word.” With her finger still in the air, she turned back to the butler. “May I take him round back, sir?”

Tugging the hem of his jacket, Sterling tightened his lips. “Go ahead, then. I’ll talk with Mrs. Winter and tell you what we decide to do with him.”

Mack took a step forward.

Tillie steepled one hand on his chest. With the other, she pointed toward the gate. “That way, Mr. Danver. The servants’ entrance is that way.”

CHAPTER
Six

Allan Reese held a distinct family resemblance to his sister Tillie – black hair, white skin, and light eyes – but he also had a ready grin, which she’d been lacking.

He slapped a hand onto Mack’s shoulder. “Seems you’re to be our new useful man. Which is a nice way of saying you’re the universal packhorse of the house and should be ready to throw yourself into any and every gap.”

They passed through a long corridor belowstairs, bumping shoulders with liveried footmen and freshly starched chambermaids. Parlormaids and housemaids. Kitchen maids and laundry maids. Hallboys and footboys. Tweenies and step-girls. He couldn’t imagine the streets of New York City being any noisier or busier than this corridor.

“Your duties will comprise window and vestibule,” Allan continued. “Cleaning the terrace and balconies. The getting up of wood for all open fires over the entire house. Trunk lifting, ice breaking, boot and shoe polishing, running errands, and doing anything which might require a strong arm.”

Surprisingly, the basement was built into the downward slope of a hill, allowing windows along the entire western wall. What he’d expected to be dark and confining turned out to be filled with sunshine and fresh air.

“You’ll need to be an early riser, since much of your work is to be done before the mister and missus are astir.”

They passed a canning pantry lined with shelves. Rows and rows of readymade food in tin containers. Mack tried to stop. Even the grocer didn’t have that many cans.

Allan propelled him forward. “The main rooms are heated with a horizontal tubular return. But the bedrooms only have fireplaces.”

Mack dodged a tweenie with a tray of cream, butter, and cheese. He looked to be about thirteen. Sweat matted the hair sticking out from beneath his cap. He must have run ’tween the floors several times already.

“They’re heated by a horizontal what?” he asked.

Allan shrugged. “Basically the sub-basement makes a bunch of steam, which rises up the walls through a series of radiators built into shafts. Those shafts have vents in the main living areas. The bedrooms, though, will need firewood. Firewood that you will supply.”

Mack stopped. “You’re joking.”

Allan kept walking. “You don’t have to chop it. Just haul it.”

“I meant the heating system. You’re joking about the heating system.”

When Allan realized Mack hadn’t moved, he turned. “It’s true. The living areas do have fireplaces, though, for the deep of winter. The winds blow from north to south, so the north wing will be the coldest. We have an elevator you can use to haul wood, so that should ease your burden some.”

Mack had just begun to move when he stopped again. “An elevator?”

“Two, actually. One for the guests and one for us. It’s really slow, though. I prefer the stairs. Still, it’s nice when guests are in residence and we have to lug up a bunch of trunks.”

Mack had never seen an elevator, much less been inside one, wasn’t sure he even
wanted
to be inside one.

Allan waved him forward. “Come on. I need to show you your workroom.”

The farther they went, the farther they were from the kitchens. The hubbub began to fade until it died down completely. At the juncture of yet another corridor, two doors stood side by side. Both closed.

Allan fit a key into the one on the left. “You’ll find all the tools you need in here.”

He pushed the door open and touched a button on the side. Light splashed into the tiny, windowless room.

Mack jerked his head up. An Edison bulb stuck out of the ceiling, glowing and humming. “The house is wired for electricity?”

“Yes. The white button turns the light on, the black one turns it off.” Allan demonstrated, plunging them into darkness, then once again into light.

“The
entire
house?” Mack asked. “Including the servant areas?”

“Everything.”

Mack stood flatfooted. What manner of man was George Vanderbilt that he would provide an elevator, electric lights, and banks of windows for his servants?

“When they moved your brother out to the carriage house, we had to utilize our useful man as a footman. As a result, a lot of things have been neglected. You’re going to have your hands full catching up.”

The room looked as if its occupant had been called home to Jesus in the middle of a task, leaving everything in chaos. Two tall tables had been pushed against the walls. Strewn across their surfaces were filthy cloths, open bottles of polish, and brushes.

A carpenter’s box held tools in sad need of cleaning. Mack stepped to the table. Sawdust, chips, and shavings crunched beneath his boots. He opened a few drawers. Most were empty, but the ones that were occupied held tools in no particular order. Not a spare cloth in sight.

Allan handed him the key. “If you lock the door behind you, then your tools will be unmolested by anyone else. Even the butler.”

Mack looked at the key in his hand. No one had ever trusted him with a key before.

Leaning a shoulder against the doorframe, Allan gave him a speculative look. “You know, the best butlers are the ones who began as useful men. You’re big. You’re tall. You’re fair of face. If you have an eye toward advancement – and if you don’t have a thirst for spirits the way your brother does – then you could do quite well for yourself here.”

Mack snorted. “I have no interest in being butler or anything else.”

Allan pushed off the door. “Just the same, you need to be on your best behavior. That includes staying out of sight of the Vanderbilts and any guests, following orders from anyone who gives them, and keeping your fists to yourself. You hear?”

Mack nodded but refrained from actually answering.

Let there be light
.

Tillie pressed the white button, then squealed and jumped backward. Earl stood before a set of glass doors opening onto the terrace, his back to the tapestry gallery. He looked over his shoulder, blond hair mussed, brown eyes dark and intense.

It wasn’t Earl. It was the brother, Mack.

She touched a hand to her chest. “What are you doing?”

He stiffened. “I’m allowed. Cleaning the windows and terrace are part of my responsibilities.”

Letting out a deep breath, she moved toward him. “I didn’t mean you weren’t allowed. I meant, why are you standing there in the dark?”

He shrugged and turned back toward the terrace. “I’m listening.”

She tilted her head. “To what?”

“The silence.”

The rags he’d shown up in yesterday had been replaced by typical work clothes of brown trousers, white shirt, and copper vest. There was nothing typical about the way he wore them, though.

He’d rolled up his shirt sleeves, leaving the lower portion of his arms exposed. A fine dusting of blond hair stood out against skin browned by the sun. A wheat-colored neckerchief was tied around his thick neck and his vest hung open, revealing a very broad chest and flat stomach.

“Can you turn them off?” he asked.

“What?”

“The Edisons. They’re disrupting the quiet.”

The hum of the light bulbs grew loud in her ears. She glanced at the control buttons. “But I have work to do. I need them on.”

“Just for a minute. Please, miss.”

She hesitated, understanding his thirst for quiet. It was one of the reasons she rose so early. She loved having the main floor still and hushed and all to herself.

She sighed. “All right. Just for a minute. And it’s Tillie. Everyone goes by their Christian name except for the housekeeper, butler, and chef.”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

She plunged the room into darkness, then stepped up beside him. It was four in the morning. Much too dark to see Mt. Pisgah and the miles of backyard which belonged to Mr. Vanderbilt. But she could picture it. The rolling hills, the horseback trails, the blanket of trees in every shade of green. All hedged by the Carolina mountains and a dark blue sky on the horizon.