So once an irritable Mr. Castle takes my car away, I scurry inside the house with my vacuum and caddy in tow, ready to tackle as much as possible without any delay.
I just manage to whip through the first bedroom on the west side before it’s time to make lunch. I feel out of my element today, exhausted from sleeping on the bench all night, and I have a hard time coming up with anything creative to cook given the last of our grocery store ingredients. The cilantro is already bad, so there goes one recipe out the window.
Eventually I come up with something simple, a cheesy pasta, and send it off with Mr. Castle, who doesn’t have anything to say to me as he takes it.
I promise myself I won’t be late ever again.
That afternoon, I tackle the next bedroom, and then the next, each of which comes with an attached study, closet, andbathroom. This place could house an army, but I’m pretty sure none of these beds has ever been slept in.
Before I know it, the afternoon is gone, and I’ve made very little progress compared to the last few days. I trudge back to the kitchen to make dinner, mixing up meatballs and cooking polenta. After throwing together a fun sauce to drizzle over the top, Mr. Castle appears to take away the meal. Then he returns to eat from his own plate, sitting in silence at the counter while I clean the dishes.
“I’m sorry,” I say, turning to face him as I scrub a pot. “It really will not happen again. Today was…” I trail off, because I can’t tell him what really happened. “Today was a fluke.”
Mr. Castle lifts his head from his food, his silver eyebrows raised. He scans my face, then lets out a sigh.
“It’s not your fault.” He gestures over his shoulder, in the direction of the east wing. “It’s just that Mr. Edgewood was very angry when you didn’t arrive on time this morning.”
I didn’t realize Mr. Edgewood paid that much attention to my comings and goings. I thought I certainly wasn’t important enough.
“And when the master is angry,” Mr. Castle continues, “the whole house feels it. He demanded I go look for you to make sure your car hadn’t broken down on the way, so I drove all over.”
Fuck. I stare down at my plate with guilt.
“I’m so sorry,” I say quietly. “I didn’t think he would take it out on you.”
Mr. Castle waves it off. “I’m past it now. I know you meant no harm, and you would’ve been here if you could’ve been.” He peers at me as if he knows the truth despite me not saying anything. “I get the sense you are otherwise very reliable.”
I nod hastily. “At my last job, I always got to work ontime, and I never took vacation. I promise I’ll be here every day at eight on the dot.”
Mr. Castle sighs. “I appreciate that you’re dedicated, but please take your vacation days. You get ten of them a year, paid.”
“What?” I gape at him. A housekeeping job with paid vacation? “Really?”
“Of course. I get fifteen days, which you’ll get after you’ve been here for a few years.”
A few years. That’s a surprising thought. By then I could have an apartment of my own, maybe, and a better car. Not to mention a phone.
As if he can read my mind, Mr. Castle says, “But you really ought to have a phone, Ms. Austin.”
I cover my face. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m working toward it, I promise.”
He cocks his head like he wants to ask me a question, but it halts in his mouth.
“All right,” he finally says. “Perhaps when you get your first paycheck.”
I’m glad that he understands.
When Mr. Edgewood’s dinner plate returns, there is a note sitting on top.
Very good. Don’t be late again.
-R
I crinkle my nose. He doesn’t have to tell me twice. But I’m glad he enjoyed the meal, and I hope it means he’s forgiven me. I need this job.
five
. . .
