And that’s how I came to call Mr. Castle and get this interview. This is my chance to make enough money that I could, theoretically, save up for a deposit and first month’s rent. I just have to play it slim for a while.
I don’t know what said interview entails, but at this point, I’ll do just about anything if it means securing this gig. When he described the job to me—cleaning, cooking, and laundry—it boiled down to a lot of hours, which is good. I can lose myself in hard work and the time goes by fast. I was always happiest in the kitchen when it was a busy Friday night and the work didn’t stop.
Finally, the front door opens, and Mr. Castle steps inside behind me. It started raining, which isn’t that odd for autumn, but not usually in the morning. Something about it feels ominous, but I try not to read into it too closely.
He brushes the rain off his suit jacket and glances down at my pile of supplies, squinting. “Mr. Edgewood owns a vacuum, Ms. Austin.”
“Oh, I’m sure he does!” I smile brightly as I pull my emotional support vacuum close to my side. “But I know this one inside and out, and she does a great job. I would really be more comfortable with her.”
“Her?” Mr. Castle repeats. With a sigh, he waves a hand over his shoulder. “Whatever you like. All the supplies are in the supply closet on the second floor, next to the linen closet, at the end of the west hall.”
I try to commit this to memory as he talks rapidly.
“For your interview, I would like you to clean the manor.”
I pause, then blink a few times. “I’m sorry? Theentiremanor?”
Mr. Castle nods. “You’ll be paid, of course. Consider this your trial run, Ms. Austin.”
That sounds fair enough, though it might have been nice if Mr. Edgewood had introduced himself, but maybe he’s not around. A billionaire is probably too busy to be meeting with the hired help.
“All right.” I glance up. “Do you have a ladder I could use, please?”
While Mr. Castle is fetching the ladder, I take a quick tour of the house, simply walking the halls and peeking into open doorways to get a sense of its size. It would take an army of maids to clean this entire place in one day. It will take me five days, probably, if I work ten hours each day. I would push it to twelve, but the work’s going to be hard on my body as it is, and I need to survive longer than just the first week.
I have to show I can do this job for the long term.
“You’ll also need to cook Mr. Edgewood’s meals,” Mr. Castle reminds me as I put on my gloves and set up the ladder beside the chandelier so I can get up to dust it.
“Do you want me to do that for my interview, too?”
I pause to peer down at him, and Mr. Castle clears his throat.
“Yes. The only things Mr. Edgewood can’t eat are onions or leeks.”
It’ll be a bit of a trick to cook without onions, but I can do it. Customers have asked for stranger things.
“All right,” I say amiably. “Should I draw up a grocery list, or do you want me to use what you have?”
“A grocery list, if you would.”
I come down the ladder and pull out the tiny notebook I keep for taking notes while I work. In the restaurant, I used it whenever I had a great idea. I scribble out what I’ll need to make meals for the next three days, and Mr. Castle takes it with a grunt that sounds a little like a “thank you.”
Once he’s gone, I can finally get started. I make quick work of the chandelier, then dust all the baseboards in the main room and along the stairs. I start my deep cleaning on the ground floor, which is all empty sitting rooms, dens, even a piano room. In each one, I vacuum up the considerable dust, clean dirty windows, and empty out fireplaces. I even manage to find where the wood is stored outside the side door of the west hall and bring more in.
By the time dinner rolls around, I’m famished, so I break into the bread Mr. Castle has bought and dip it in some fancy olive oil I find in the cupboard. The kitchen is stocked with everything I could possibly need, as if someone who knows how to cook quite well lives here.
Is that Mr. Edgewood? And if it is, why doesn’t he cook for himself?
Maybe it was the last housekeeper.
I decide to put together a basic steak, vegetables, and sauce, not knowing Mr. Edgewood’s tastes. I let the steak come to room temperature while I work on cleaning the kitchen, salting both sides so it seeps into the meat. It looks like some basic counter wiping has been going on, but no one has deep cleaned in ages, and there’s dust and crumbs gathered in all the corners. I wonder how long it’s been since someone properly took care of things around here.
Around six, Mr. Castle finds me putting the finishing touches on dinner. He bought some fresh rosemary when he went shopping, so as a flourish, I put a sprig on top of the steak after drizzling the sauce on it.
“I have one for you, too,” I say, sliding another plate across the island toward him. Mr. Castle’s brows rise high on his forehead. “Should I take this to Mr. Edgewood, or will he be joining us?”
I still haven’t seen or met the master of the house yet. I thought surely we’d be introduced, but perhaps not until my interview is over.
