one
. . .
peony
The morning fog makes it hard to see the little dirt road ahead as I trundle along in my sedan. I’ve never been out this way before, so I drive slowly and turn my headlights up to brights, hoping I don’t hit a deer. The last thing I need right now is a totaled car when it’s already held together by zip ties.
When I come to an intersection, I stop to study my paper map. Mr. Castle told me my GPS might not work, which is fine, because I don’t have a phone anyway. I had access to a landline when I lived with Andy, but he claimed we couldn’t afford for me to have my own cell phone.
With a sigh, I turn right like it says on my map. I printed it out at the library and marked it up with Mr. Castle’s spoken directions so I wouldn’t forget how to get to the estate. This time I’m going to do everything in my power to get this job and keep it.
The directions take me into the woods, and I’m surprised I still haven’t seen a sign of any kind. The deeper I get into the trees, the narrower and rockier the road gets. I thought Mr. Edgewood was supposed to be a millionaire. Or a billionaire. Whatever, some dude who has a shitload of money. But with the sorry state of this road, it’s like he doesn’t want anyone to come here.
Eventually, just when I’m starting to wonder whether or not I’ve ended up in the next state over, the trees give way, and a huge, grassy hill appears. At the top is a bigger mansion than anything I’ve ever seen.
Edgewood Manor,states a stone sign alongside the road. The manor is a great brick beast with white shutters on the dozens of windows that span to the east and west. The front door is north facing, so all of it is cast in shadow.
Odd choice, when there’s a whole big hill here to build on.
I drive up to the carriage circle, where a tall man with silvery hair stands waiting for me. The man raises one hand as I approach, so I put on my brake.
“Ms. Austin?” he asks through my open window.
“That’s me.”
As I step out of my car, he offers me his palm. "Keys, please."
What does he need them for? But I want to make a good impression, so I drop them into his outstretched hand.
“Are you Mr. Castle?” I ask.
“That’s me,” he answers in a smooth voice, with just a hint of a Southern accent. “Wait inside, and I’ll be with you momentarily.”
I’m about to nod and agree when I remember that all my supplies are in the trunk. “Oh, one second.”
I head around to the back and dig out my vacuum, caddy,and pail from among my clothes and pillows. Once I have it all sitting out on the sidewalk, Mr. Castle nods.
“Thank you. I’ll be back shortly.”
Huh. Guess there aren’t any minions around to do work like valeting a car. Maybe he’s the only one working for Mr. Edgewood.
Once Mr. Castle has driven away in my car, I head up the stone stairs that lead to the big front door, lifting my vacuum from one step to the next. The door is white with a brass handle and an enormous knocker in the center.
The knocker’s face is… monstrous, really. It has a broad, flat nose and a snout like a dog but the mane and fangs of a lion, with sharp horns curling up from its head. The eyes are deep inset. What an odd thing to put on a modern house.
I try the handle because Mr. Castle did tell me to let myself in, and the door easily opens. At least I don’t have to use the weird knocker.
Dragging in my vacuum, the caddy, and the pail, I pile them all up in the entryway. Further inside is a grand staircase with a wide-open gallery and a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
That will be a pain in the ass to clean.
I haven’t been cleaning long, but my mother did it while I was growing up, so I know some tips and tricks. Most importantly, you never use something that could leave behind fibers or streaks when you’re cleaning windows.
Newspaper, actually, works great.
There’s artwork on all the walls, but it’s very generic: hunting dogs chasing a fox, an abstract piece with earthy colors, and up the stairs, a pair of circling koi fish. I wonder what Mr. Edgewood is like. My great-aunt didn’t have much to say about him when she gave me the referral to be his housekeeper. She could have given me enough money toafford a down payment on an apartment—rather easily, I might add—but that wouldn’t “teach you the value of hard work and pulling yourself up by your bootstraps.”
Great-Aunt Stella has always been kind of a bitch, and never helped my family when we needed it, so I should have known what to expect. I’d been about to hang up the phone when she’d said, “But I can maybe get you a job.”
