The Interview

A cluster of red petals exploded amongst the white. There was probably some symbolism in that, Lainey was sure. Everything else in the parlor is decked in whites, tans, and golds. Gilded frames adorned the walls, gold-plated vases and lamps scattered throughout the starkness of the furniture and carpeting.

She scooted to the edge of the brocaded couch, afraid to touch anything. Just walking across the white shag carpet had been treacherous. Had she stepped in mud? Tracked in street filth? She studied the path she’d taken on the carpet to see if there was any trace of dirt.

She couldn’t afford to make any mistakes. There could be no errors. Lainey had to be as perfect as everything in this room.

The minutes dragged on, and she turned her attention back to the bouquet on the coffee table. Why had the Dowager Countess of Wolfforth made such a dramatic decision with the splash of color? How long had Lainey been waiting? The only sounds were the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner – also white with gold inlay.

Lainey shifted, her mind drifting to her reason for being in this awkward position. It was imperative she did well on this interview. But she wasn’t sure if she would be a good fit in this pristine, uniform world. She was more like those red petals among the white, a burst of chaotic color among the average ladies in London.

But you must fit in, she told herself resolutely. You don’t have a choice. Everything hinges on this.

It was either this or another…unsavory occupation. And she had vowed to start her life over and be respectable.

The parlor door finally swung open, and a gaunt elderly woman entered, her steely eyes fixing on Lainey immediately. As she moved regally into the room, a well-dressed older man followed her with a scowl on his face.

Lainey stood and smoothed her dress nervously, unused to the finery and gloves wrapped around her hands. As the two stopped in front of her, she dropped her eyes and curtsied perfectly. She rose, eyes still turned towards the floor, clasped her hands in front of her, and waited for their first judgement.

A sniff sounded in the room. The voice that followed was full of gravel.

“You’re very tall, aren’t you?”

Lainey glanced at the woman, who was just as tall as she was. I’ll probably look as gaunt and bent as her someday, she thought. She fought the urge to run her hands down the dress again under their scrutiny and raised her chin instead.

The woman frowned. “And insolent.”

The man scowled harder, if possible, and put his hands behind his back.

“I am Hubley, the house steward, and this is Mrs. Willick, the head keeper of the house,” he nodded his head at the woman next to him. “If you were to be hired, you would answer directly to us.”

Lainey inclined her head. “I understand, Mr. Hubley.”

Mrs. Willick perched on the end of the chair across from Lainey and gestured for her to sit as well. Hubley settled on a third chair as the housekeeper held up a sheaf of papers and scanned them.

“Ms. Elaine Taft,” she peered over the papers at Lainey.

“Yes ma’am,” Lainey crossed her ankles and clasped her hands, both things her body didn’t wish to do. She had practiced, but the movements were so foreign to her natural habits. She’d never disciplined her limbs so precisely, preferring to move freely. Nobility hated freedom, even of one’s basic movements. Heaven forbid an ankle be turned the wrong way.

“Your background as a lady’s maid is short yet favorable,” Hubley studied his own papers with glasses now perched on his nose. “Why did you leave your last post?”

Lainey took a breath. “I have only worked in the country, sir, and only for wealthy merchants. When my last employer, Mr. Larson, decided to move his family to America for his business, I turned down his offer to accompany him. I have always wanted to see London and work for a noble family.”

The steward made a noise in the back of his throat. Mrs. Willick lowered her hand and opened her mouth, but before she could say anything the parlor door opened again. All three turned their heads to see the new arrival.

The woman who breezed in was still young, curvy, and had the bearing of a queen.

Sarah Whitmore, the Dowager Countess of Wolfforth, stopped as if surprised the parlor was already occupied and raised an elegant hand to her swanlike neck, a large emerald shining on her fingers. Gray skirts swirled around her ankles. Lainey tried not to stare at the stunning woman who’s gold-spun hair was arranged in artful swirls on her head.

Even among the dregs of society, the Dowager was notorious. Demanding and terrifyingly beautiful, she never kept servants long.

Lainey swallowed and rose hastily, a tad behind the two servants with her. They all lowered themselves but when Lainey looked up at Sarah, the other woman was focused on her with a raised eyebrow.

“My Lady,” Hubley took a step towards the Dowager. “I apologize. We thought to do the interviews for Lady Miranda’s maid in the parlor today.” He glanced at Mrs. Willick. “We can move to the study, My Lady.”

“No, no.” Sarah waved the steward away and came closer, those dark, dark eyes piercing Lainey. “Hmm.” She circled, no doubt taking in every speck or wrinkle on Lainey’s person.

When the Dowager stopped in front of her, she kept her eyes downcast and prayed the woman wouldn’t dismiss her without consideration. Be perfect, be perfect, she told herself.

“She is tall,” Sarah said unnecessarily. Lainey saw the gray skirts swing towards Mrs. Willick. “Her references?”

“In good order, mum, though she is young and new to London from the country.”

“Yes, well. Miranda may respond better to someone closer to her age.”

A hand suddenly shot out and grasped Lainey’s chin, raising her face so the Dowager could see it better. A frown creased her perfect features. “You look familiar. Did you serve somewhere I would have seen you before?”

“No, My Lady. I was previously employed by Mr. Larson, the railroad magnate.”

Dropping her hand abruptly, the Dowager’s lip curled. “You were a merchant’s maid.”

A retort leapt to Lainey’s tongue, but before it could burst forth, she remembered how badly she needed this job. It was her only way to have a better life.

Lainey straightened her shoulders and met the Dowager’s scornful look with a steady one of her own. Steady, not insolent.

“My Lady, I attended Mrs. Jane Littleton’s School of Comportment and Housework. I worked for Mr. Larson because it was the only job in my hometown, but I saved my earnings so when he relocated to America, I was able to travel here, to London, to work for the great families of society. The Whitmore family was at the top of that list.”

The perfect mouth quirked as Sarah studied her a moment longer before she turned, dismissing Lainey completely. “She’ll do.”

Elation bubbled up in Lainey as Mrs. Willick and Hubley exchanged a glance. Hubley cleared his throat. “My lady, we still have others to interview –“

His voice faded as Sarah leveled a glare at him.

“Of course, My Lady.” He bowed his head. Sarah sailed to the door without another word.

And just like that, a Lainey’s path changed to a less muddy, pocked road. She smiled broadly and began her plans.