And I will be there to greet them. I walk around the corner toward the side door, noting with disappointment that I’m not the first in line. Kiera and Deirdre stand shivering in the early-morning chill, observing me as I approach. I’ll say it’s a fair bit rotten, the way they scowl at me, for everyone in The Ward knows I meant to get a job here. It’s not like I’ll snatch up all the work, but these two are like that. They could have waited to walk with me, but no, they preferred to go ahead and glare at me instead. I don’t care one whit. They can do what they want. I know what I’m about.
By five thirty or so (Deirdre has a watch she shows off), a line of girls has formed behind us, and I am ever so glad I was up before four o’clock. I hadwanted to make sure I was early, and I’d been right about that. The line’s so long that it stretches around the corner toward Union Station. It’s cold out here, since ’tis too early for the sunshine to warm the air, and it whitens with shivering, nervous plumes exhaled by dozens of girls.
Every few minutes, I grab Deirdre’s wrist so I can see the time passing. At last, on the stroke of six, I hear the lock click inside, then the door swings slowly open. I can’t think, for my heart’s in my mouth. Kiera, Deirdre, and I stand straight and tall, prepared to be scrutinized by anyone at any time. Behind us, haven’t the other girls all gone quiet as ghosts in a cemetery, and I feel a sort of pressure at my back. It’s like they’re all leaning in, awaiting the next moment.
A woman appears from behind the door. She is tall, and slender as a bird, with tight brown curls beneath a white cap. Her stern gaze travels down the line of girls, assessing. She is wearing a stiff black-and-white uniform. I want that uniform so badly I can almost taste it.
“Good morning, girls. My name is Mrs. Evans. I am the head maid here at the Dominion Hotel.” Her accent, I think, is from England. Mrs. Engle, the woman who taught me to read, sounded like that, and she was from England.
Mrs. Evans has a strong voice, but not everyone will hear it. I imagine all the girls behind me whispering the message to each other along the line.
I absorb every single word.
“I will invite three girls inside at a time. The rest of you will wait out here for your turn. I will interview as many girls as I am able, but I might not get to all of you.”
She drops her attention to Kiera and Deirdre, then me. Her face is all business, but her expression is kind. I already like her.
“Come in and follow me, please. Remember to wipe your boots at the door.”
It takes a moment to adjust to the dimness inside. I inhale the smell of new paint, plaster, and the wool in the carpet. ’Tis heavenly to me. I wipe my boots as she asked, and when I step forward, they sink into a soft cushion of red velvet.
Da might have put in this section of carpet, I think proudly.
We follow Mrs. Evans down the corridor, quiet as mice. At first, I watch the back of Deirdre’s boots trudging along the carpet, then I feel the embrace of the dark oak walls around me, warmed by the light of a brilliant chandelier, and I look up. It twinkles like a king’s ransom of diamonds. But I’m no fool. Sure, they’re crystals, not diamonds. Still, everything about this morning is pure magic already, so I pretend.
Mrs. Evans walks into a small room with a desk and gestures for us to enter then shut the door behind us. She sits, we stand.
“Right. I’ll take your names, please.” We give them, she writes them down.
“You’re from the same neighbourhood, I imagine.”
We nod.
“Experience? Do you have any at all?”
Kiera and Deirdre shuffle a little, and I push my voice to the surface. “I worked in the laundry at the Queen’s Hotel, ma’am.” A little braver now. “I did speak with Mrs. Lowell about my wish to work here.”
She taps her page, then lifts her chin. “Ah yes. I recall her mentioning something about a Roisin Ryan.”
My face flares with pleasure at being recognized. “Yes, ma’am. People call me Rosie.”
Her attention falls back to her desk, then she regards me directly. “Did you hope to work in the laundry here as well, Miss Ryan?”
Both Kiera and Deirdre are watching me like owls. I know there’s envy in their expressions, but I don’t say a thing. I’m not a mean girl. Truly, I’m not. But I’ll admit I’m glad to be the one getting Mrs. Evans’s attention. I worked awful hard in that laundry, I did. I deserve a chance to clean something besides sheets and towels.
I swallow through a dry throat, daring myself. Now is not the time to lose my nerve.
“Ma’am, I want very much to work here. If the only position available is in the laundry, I’ll gladly take it. But what I’d truly like, ma’am, what I’ve set my heart on, I mean, is to be a chambermaid.”
“I see. Can you follow rules?”
Granny says there is no luck except where there is discipline. Am I perfect to her? No, of course not. But I do my best. And I do believe I’m good enough to work for Mrs. Evans.
Still, my heart is beating like it might leap out of my chest. “To the letter, ma’am.”
“Mrs. Lowell says the same. She says you’re no gossip, either.” She considers the other two girls. “I will not hire anyone whose interest lies in other people’s business. Our guests’ privacy is extremely important.” She faces me. “Miss Ryan, do you feel you’ve earned this job?”
“It’s not my place to say, ma’am,” I say humbly. At the same time, I push my shoulders back, making sure she sees all the professionalism I can muster in the way I stand.
