Ben Pike had just returned from a very satisfying errand involving haggling over—then purchasing for much lower than the original price—supplies he was going to use to repair a portion of the roof over the annex. He was quite proud of himself. From the moment he’d begun working at The Grand Palace on the Thames, Mrs. Hardy and Mrs. Durand had trusted his judgment and made him feel like an essential contributor to the happiness and comfort of everyone who lived there. Rather than like, for instance, furniture one could order around, which was how his erstwhile, dastardly employer the Earl of Brundage had treated his servants.
Helovedhis job at The Grand Palace on the Thames.
But every rose had its thorn.
He was on his way to the top of the stairs through the foyer to report the good news to Mrs. Durand and Mrs. Hardy, when he paused at the sight of the bane of his existence in the sitting room.
Dot appeared to be, of all things, caressing a lamp.
He watched, mystified, as she pawed at it.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Much the way one would stroke a cat.
Then she took a large step backward and staredat it, hands held to her mouth in apparent excited expectation.
A few seconds later, she stepped forward and did the whole thing all over again.
What thedevil...?
Her face a picture of disappointment, she moved over to another lamp.
This time she tried a sort of twisting stroke that made the back of his neck feel uncomfortably hot.
She took a large step backward and stared at the lamp again, her posture tense with anticipation.
“What are you doing, Dot?”
She shot nearly straight up in the air and spun around. He watched with fascination as her face took on the exact shade of a tomato.
“Nothing important,” she said. After a long silent moment during which she was clearly deciding how to reply.
“You were rubbing lamps,” he noted, wickedly.
“If you could see what I was doing, why did you ask?”
“That’s a fair question. I’ll be more specific. Why were you rubbing the lamps?”
She studied him for a long, speculative time. “I will tell you, if you promise not to laugh.”
“I promise.” He might laugh later, alone in his room.
“In the sitting room at night, we’re reading a book about a genie who emerges from a lamp when you rub it. He’s a magic being. And he offers you wishes when he appears.”
He took this in.
“I see. You thought perhaps genies lived in our lamps?”
“Wouldn’t it be foolish not to find out if they do?”
He stared at her. He honestly had no idea howto reply to that. He could not quite bring himself to say yes.
She had the most remarkable eyes, Dot. Sometimes they seemed almost vacant to him, other times all-seeing, as though she was privy to realms he couldn’t possibly imagine. They were perfectly round, like saucers, and the palest blue. He found her absolutely, teeth-grindingly frustrating, and he wasn’t even certain he liked her, yet she had begun to fascinate him almost relentlessly. The other maids seemed more sensible, if infinitely gigglier. But they were somehow far less interesting, too.
