She laughs. “Especially if they’re still in bed, doing who knows what!”
I’m tempted to laugh as well, but I hold on to my sober face. “After you knock, announce yourself, clear and respectful. Chambermaid!” I knock, then call, my mouth close to the door. There’s no response, so I do both again. “Do it twice, see? Knock, then call. Knock again, then call.”
When there is still no reply, I open the door an inch and give the guests one more warning. Still no answer, so we walk in.
I hear a blissful sigh behind me and turn to see Bianca’s delighted expression. “What a magnificent room!” she exclaims.
I see it as she does, sure and I remember the astonishment I felt the first time, then almost every time since. ’Tis all grand, and she hasn’t even seen the view from the window yet.
“They are all lovely,” I agree. “Now pay attention. Everything must be clean and orderly, but the one thing that everyone notices is the bed, since it’s the biggest thing in the room. Watch me.” I strip the bed and leave everything on the floor for now, then I pull a folded sheet from my trolley and open it onto the mattress, lining up the corners of the sheet with the corners of the bed. “Each corner gets tucked neatly under, you see? When all four corners are in place, you tuck all the sides in as deep as you can under the mattress. The sheet must be tight and have no wrinkles at all,” I say, bringing out the next folded sheet. I hug the bundle to my face and inhale. They’re smooth and fresh. “This is the top sheet. It goes over the first and under the blanket. Then we add the pillows. Everything will be under the coverlet.”
She’s frowning, a hand on one hip. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why so many pieces? I sleep just fine with a blanket and pillow. Why do they need so much?”
“Ah, now, I’m not going to answer that, because ’tis a stupid question. These people don’t sleep like me and you. Watch. The top sheet lies over the first, so that it hangs evenly on both sides, see? Tuck the bottom side under the mattress like before. This is called a ‘hospital corner.’?” I show her how to pull up the sheet at its corner and make a little triangle, then I make a neat crease so it lies flat. “See how the other side of the sheet is still hanging? Tuck that in first, and when ’tis tight you fold in this triangle part. Understand?”
She’s still perplexed. She opens her mouth to say something, but I shake my head. “Close your mouth, Bianca, for I’ll not answer any more stupid questions. We do it this way because ’tis how we do our job. That’s all.”
It takes a couple of tries, but she gets the corners eventually, and I’m satisfied that she makes a neat bed. We clean the room together, then we move to the washroom. I notice right away that the bathtub tap is dripping. I try to tighten it, but the dripping keeps on.
“When something like this happens,” I tell Bianca, “we tell Mrs. Evans. She will call Leo, the handyman.”
“Leo? Battaglia?” She is pleased that she already knows the answer. “I heard he was working here. My uncle’s friend.”
That saves me the trouble of going against Mrs. Evans’s rules and sharing a bit of gossip. If Bianca didn’t know Leo, I might have told her that Mrs. Evans has accused him in the past of stealing supplies. She even told the police, but nothing was done. Since Bianca knows him, I don’t want to start any rumours. Mind you, I shouldn’t gossip whether I know the person or not. Trust Bianca to be rubbing off on me already, and not in a good way.
At the next room, I have Bianca do the knocking and calling. She’s a little too fast—maybe it’s her nerves—but she seems glad to do it. All at once the door whooshes open, and we are confronted by an enraged,red-faced guest tying his robe over a large belly. His grey hair is sticking out all over the place, and his round glasses are not only crooked but in need of a thorough polishing. Bianca and I step back, alarmed.
I could kick myself for bringing Bianca here. It’s Mr. Lipstick-on-the-Collar himself. Seeing Mr. Hargrove is not the best way to start Bianca’s day.
“What the devil is all this noise? For the amount of money I pay for this room, I deserve to get at least a little sleep!”
“I’m truly sorry, Mr. Hargrove,” I say meekly.
Bianca’s closer to the door, so he glares fiercely at her. “Was that you with your infernal knocking and shouting?”
“It was hardly a shout,” she replies, indignant.
That only stokes his fire. We stand there for what feels like forever while he rants about the noise: people talking or laughing in the hallway, car horns beyond his window, and whatever else he can think of.
“Very sorry, sir,” I say again, and I yank a furious Bianca out of his way. We stride swiftly down the hall and are gone round the corner before Bianca loses her temper completely.
“How dare he?” she whispers too loudly. At least the corridor is empty.
“That is Mr. Hargrove,” I say, as if that explains everything. “I’d forgotten he was here this week. Mr. Hargrove is a rich man, and he gets whatever he wants.” I peer back at his door. “Including women, which was maybe why he was so savage.”
She scrunches her nose, and I know she’s thinking of Mr. Hargrove’s big pink belly with the scraggly grey hairs. “He must pay them well.”
I’ve thought the same thing, but I don’t say it. “Best thing is to stay out of his way, and when you get to his door, knock softly. I’ve even waited for him to leave his room before I knock. Either that or put up with his shouting. When I started here, he did that very same thing, and Mrs. Evans spoke to him about it. She was polite, told him to to treat the staff with respect, but Mr. Hargrove didn’t like that one bit. Do you know, he got so angry I feared he might shove her. ‘You’ll regret speaking to me like that,’ he told her, but she just gave him a ‘Good day to you’ and walkedaway. Mrs. Evans is the fiercest of all. If I were you, I’d stay on her good side.”
She glares at me. “Does Mr. Hargrove take that room every time?”
“Usually.”
“You take that room from now on.”
