Maid to Match

by Deeanne Gist

  A prickling sensation began behind Tillie’s eyes. The nausea now sat at the back of her throat. Beads of moisture formed on her upper lip. Don’t do this, Tillie. Don’t.

  She concentrated harder on the gown. If she were to earn the lady’s maid position, would the outfit one day be hers when it was tossed aside?

  Moisture collected on her neck, back, and under her arms. She opened her mouth, quietly drawing in deep breaths, then blowing them out. Think of something else.

  She eyed her mistress more closely. Hers wasn’t the lush hourglass figure so popular nowadays, but more willowy. Tillie was somewhere in between. But if she needed more fabric in the bodice, she’d be able to take a few inches from the length of the skirt.

  The carriage hit another bump. Gagging, Tillie slammed her eyes shut and pressed gloved fingers to her mouth.

  “Are you all right, Tillie?”

  Please, Lord. Make it go away. I cannot cast up my accounts on my first assignment!

  She swallowed, forcing the bile back down. “I’m fine, ma’am. Thank you.”

  Placing a ribbon between the pages of her book, Mrs. Vanderbilt set it to the side, then tapped on the roof of the carriage. It immediately slowed, then pulled to a stop. The vehicle rocked as the driver bounced off. The door opened.

  “Is anything amiss, ma’am?”

  “I think I’d like to ride the rest of the way with the top down, Earl. Would you mind?”

  He held out his hand. “Not at all, ma’am.”

  She placed her hand in his, allowing him to guide her through the door. “Come, Tillie. Let’s stretch our legs, shall we?”

  The tall young coachman offered her a hand.

  Tillie covered her entire mouth. Tears sprung to her eyes. Her shoulders jerked in an effort to hold the sickness inside.

  Earl leaned in to see what the delay was, his eyes widening. “Take the deuce.”

  Grabbing her around the waist, he hauled her out of the carriage and bodily carried her to the nearest tree. Too miserable to object, she waited for him to release her, then crumpled to her knees, unable to control the waves of nausea any longer.

  “It’s all right.” Mrs. Vanderbilt smiled from across the open carriage. She’d insisted on Tillie facing forward while she rode backward. No amount of naysaying would persuade her otherwise.

  And if that wasn’t bad enough, after humiliating herself in front of Mrs. Vanderbilt and Earl, Tillie then succumbed to tears. Silent tears, but tears nonetheless. Tears which refused to stop. And it didn’t matter anyway. Her chances of becoming a lady’s maid were gone.

  The thought brought a fresh bout. She made no pretense of delicately patting her eyes with her handkerchief. She wiped them, then blew her nose, knowing full well it was unladylike. But then, so were puffy eyes, a blotched face, and a red nose.

  She rubbed her head. Her mother would be heartbroken. It would have been better if Tillie had never been in the running than to have been selected as a candidate only to be withdrawn before the contest had even begun.

  And not just because of her mother, but because of Tillie’s own aspirations. Becoming a lady’s maid was her one chance to come up in the world and see beyond the borders of Asheville, North Carolina. But now that chance was gone. Trampled. All because she couldn’t ride in a vehicle for any length of time without getting sick.

  Mrs. Vanderbilt cocked her head to the side. “My sister used to be afflicted with your same ailment.”

  Tillie sniffled.

  “For her, riding backward, being enclosed, or doing stitching while in motion was what usually brought it on.”

  Tillie nodded. “Me too. I’m so sorry, ma’am.”

  “Nonsense. Don’t give it another thought.” She held up her book. “I found this in my husband’s library. It’s by a man named Mark Twain. It’s quite good.”

  Tillie crinkled the wet handkerchief in her hands. “I’ve never read him before.”

  “You like to read?”

  “I love to.” Looking off into the distance, she scanned the Blue Ridge Mountains, which framed the horizon. “When I was a girl, I collected my own library. Inside the cover of each book, I’d write ‘Private Library,’ along with a number and my name.”

  Mrs. Vanderbilt leaned back. “And what books did you have in your library?”

  “Let’s see . . . The Three Musketeers, Ben Hur, Macbeth, Oliver Twist.”

  “A rather adventurous list.”

  She dropped her gaze. “I had three older brothers and I desperately wanted to be one of them – one of the big toads, I used to say.” She shrugged. “So I read books like Pride and Prejudice only under the cover of darkness.”

  Amusement played at the corners of Mrs. Vanderbilt’s lips. “And did you become one of the big toads?”

  “No, ma’am. They always saw me as a girl first and a pest second.”

  She nodded. “I only have sisters, but I can appreciate your wanting to be one of the big toads. I’ve felt the same way at times.”

  The chasm between Tillie’s world and hers was insurmountable, yet the new Mrs. Vanderbilt was so approachable, so normal, it took Tillie aback. In previous wealthy homes her employers had been haughty at best, tyrannical at worst. She’d not been allowed to speak with the lady of the house unless it was to deliver a message, and then she had to do so in as few words as possible.

  Yet here she sat having an actual conversation with Mrs. Vanderbilt. And though her mistress expressed a childhood yearning to be one of the big toads, not even her sisters would dare question her standing now.

  “Where’s your library?” Mrs. Vanderbilt asked. “I assume it isn’t up in your room at the Estate?”

  “Oh no, ma’am. It’s at my parents’ house. They live on the property, though. My father is a painter. He paints Mr. Vanderbilt’s insignia on, well, just about anything that needs it.” She gestured to the right and left. “He painted it on the doors of this carriage, for instance.”

  Eyes bright, Mrs. Vanderbilt raised her brows. “Did he? I’ll have to take a closer look when we stop.” Picking up The Prince and the Pauper, she gave Tillie a rundown of what had happened in the story so far. “I’d ask you to read for me, but I’m afraid that wouldn’t be a very good idea under the circumstances.”

  “I could try, ma’am.”

  She chuckled. “No, no. I insist. I’ll read it to you instead.”

  CHAPTER

  Three

  The day had been something straight out of a fairy tale. Other than the debacle at the side of the road, of course. But once Earl had put the top down and Mrs. Vanderbilt had begun to read aloud, Tillie’s stomach settled and they reached Asheville just as the prince and the pauper decided to switch places.

  Tillie had no time to ruminate about it, though. The intoxication of being in town, shopping with Mrs. Vanderbilt, and carrying her purchases had captured all of Tillie’s attention. The Vanderbilts were nothing short of royalty in the area, and though everyone liked Mr. Vanderbilt, they absolutely adored his new bride.

  Tillie had been told as much many times, but because most of her work was done indoors before the family rose in the morning, she hadn’t had an opportunity to see it firsthand. All day long the townsfolk catered to Mrs. Vanderbilt, and then in turn to Tillie – simply because she was accompanying the lady of the manor.

  Storekeepers tried to anticipate her needs. The bookshop they visited filled with customers pretending to peruse books. A young man on the boardwalk turned a startling shade of red when they passed. And children ran beside their carriage throwing flowers.

  The entire experience left Tillie energized and enthralled. Arranging her skirts on the carriage seat, she savored the moments, tucking the memories deep into her heart.

  As Earl turned the coach south and approached the outskirts of town, Mrs. Vanderbilt whispered, “As soon as we’re out of sight, we’ll switch places.”

  Heat sprung to Tillie’s cheeks. “I’m much better, ma’am. There’s
no need.”

  “All the same. And next time, we’ll be sure to bring the cabriolet so we can both face forward.”

  Next time? Next time? Was Mrs. Vanderbilt suggesting Tillie was still in the running? She couldn’t possibly be. But –

  “Earl?” Mrs. Vanderbilt straightened. “What’s going on?”

  Tillie twisted around. The old ramshackle military school sat at the end of Black Bottom Street. It had housed one failed venture after another since the Civil War until finally being converted into an asylum for indigent orphan children. If she’d received the lady’s maid position, it would have topped her list of needy causes to contribute to. After helping her family, of course. But now, both were out of reach.

  Barren grounds and long-deserted farm equipment surrounded the crumbling three-story brick structure with missing windowpanes and a sagging roof. In the dirt yard, a crowd of children stood shoulder to shoulder, cheering on two grown men engaged in fisticuffs. One wore a suit, the other only trousers and a shirt.

  “What’s happening, Earl?” Mrs. Vanderbilt repeated.

  He slowed the carriage. “I’m not sure, ma’am. All I know is, my twin seems to be in the center of it.”

  “Your twin? You have a twin?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Tillie’s attention swerved back to the two men. It didn’t take long to ascertain which was the twin. The uppermost qualifications for coachmen and footmen were height and good looks. Earl had both and a good deal of brawn to go with it. So did his twin.

  “Stop the carriage at once,” Mrs. Vanderbilt said. “Go see if you can break them up, then bring him to me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Earl pulled into the unfenced yard, removed his hat, then jumped from the seat. Several of the children turned round, but the fighters took no notice.

  Earl’s tailed coat and velvet knee britches of deep maroon contrasted sharply with the simple, unadorned clothing of the orphans. And though his appearance and that of the fancy carriage distracted the children, they were unwilling to ignore the fight.

  Earl’s brother dodged a swing, then quickly followed with a fist to the nose of his opponent. A crack split the air.

  The man’s head snapped backward, eyes rolling. He slammed to the ground, flat on his back. A puff of dirt exploded around him.

  Tillie barely managed to conceal her distress. The man who’d just been laid out was the new orphanage director. She gripped her hands in her lap. Mr. Sloop had done wonders with the children since taking on the directorship last year. No longer did the wards of the state race about town causing mischief in threadbare clothing and filth. They bathed, dressed respectably, and didn’t stray beyond their yard – other than to attend Sunday services.

  Mr. Sloop had begun to renovate the old building and was in desperate need of more funds. Funds Tillie wanted to contribute, but couldn’t on her current salary.

  Bending over, Earl’s twin hauled Mr. Sloop back up by the collar and cocked back his fist.

  Earl stepped into the circle and grabbed his brother’s wrist. “He’s down, Mack.”

  Retaining his grasp on the man, Mack whipped his head around, dirty blond hair falling into enraged eyes. A trickle of blood seeped from his mouth into an unkempt beard. Recognition cleared his eyes and his lips curled into a snarl. “Better back up, brother, or you’ll soil your prissy finery.”

  “What’s going on?” Earl made no move to release his twin’s wrist.

  Mack’s eyes darted toward one of the children.

  Earl followed his gaze, zeroing in on a girl in a brown calico with a wide sailor collar. The juvenile style of her dress did nothing to disguise her maturing form. “Ora Lou?”

  Tillie caught a glimpse of a darkening bruise on the girl’s cheek before the teener spun around and raced through the front door of the orphanage.

  Earl returned his attention to a pair of brown eyes just like his. Only they were brimming with contempt. Whether it was contempt for Earl’s livery, his station, or for Earl himself, Tillie couldn’t be sure.

  “You’re picking a fight because he hit Ora Lou?” Earl’s exasperation was clear. “She’s just a girl, Mack. What does it matter?”

  Mrs. Vanderbilt stiffened. Tillie sucked in her breath. She was unsure which upset her more – Earl’s prejudice or his assumption the director had hit Ora Lou, which Tillie was certain he’d never do.

  A low growl from the back of Mack’s throat sent shivers up her arms. His muscles bulged from holding up the dead weight in his fisted hand.

  As one, the children backed up.

  “Take your hands off me, Earl.”

  Earl shook his head. “Can’t do that. I’ve got Mrs. Vanderbilt in the coach and she wants to meet you.”

  “Well, I don’t want to meet her.”

  Heat surged up Tillie’s neck. Couldn’t he see they were within hearing distance?

  “Doesn’t matter,” Earl said. “She told me to bring you to her and that’s exactly what I intend to do. I’d appreciate it if you’d come willingly, though. I really don’t want to make a mess of my prissy finery.”

  Mack studied his brother a moment, then sighed and turned his attention to the director in his clutches. He was still out cold.

  Mack drew him closer. “You ever lay a hand on my sister again, and I’ll finish what I started here.”

  With the warning spoken to unconscious ears, he flung Mr. Sloop to the ground. Earl released Mack’s wrist and swept his hand in an after-you gesture.

  “This better not take long.”

  The children parted, too timid to approach the carriage. None of them seemed concerned for their director. Much as Tillie wanted to see to his welfare, she forced herself to stay put. Finally, an adolescent boy hurried inside. Hopefully he was fetching Mrs. Sloop for help.

  As the brothers advanced, Tillie couldn’t discern for certain if they were identical. They definitely had the same build, same height, and same eyes, but with Mack’s beard and filth disguising all else, she couldn’t be sure.

  She knew what Mrs. Vanderbilt was thinking, though. Two footmen who were not only tall and handsome, but identical, would be the stuff of legends amongst her set.

  “Ma’am, this is my brother, Mack Danver.”

  Mack looked her square in the eye. The challenge was unmistakable.

  Mrs. Vanderbilt tilted her head. “I think your defense of your sister is honorable, Mack Danver, though I’m not sure about the method.”

  He lifted one shoulder in a disdainful shrug. “I probably overreacted. She’s just a girl, after all. Little more than a domestic animal.”

  Tillie gasped.

  Mrs. Vanderbilt lifted a brow. “A mountain highlander, I presume? What brings you to the city?”

  Mack turned to leave.

  Earl grabbed his arm. “Our pa’s been gone awhile, but Ma just passed, so we had to break up the family. Our siblings, other than Ora Lou, were placed into homes and scattered all over the mountain. Since I live up at the Estate and Mack boards as a janitor for the Battery Park Hotel, we had to put Ora Lou here at Sloop’s orphanage.”

  Mrs. Vanderbilt leaned into the cushions of the landau. “How would you like to work at Biltmore House, Mr. Danver?”

  Tillie gaped at her mistress. She could understand wanting him on the property as a stable hand or in the dairy until he could be cleaned up and taught a few things. But in the house? Right away? Without a reference?

  Mack turned his head to the side and spit. “I don’t think I’d care to work there one iota.”

  “My husband pays his staff New York wages. Much more than what you’re making at Battery Park, I’m sure. With the income you’d make at Biltmore, you’d be able to set your sister up in her own place in no time.”

  “She’ll make do.”

  “In my experience, sir, orphanages rarely raise a child to adulthood. If the ward can’t be placed out, she’s often put onto the street.”

  His eyes grew cold. “S
he can just dress like a boy and carry a pistol, then. I’m not working for a bunch of brigetty folks who live at the back of beyond.”

  Mrs. Vanderbilt held his gaze for a long moment. “So you’re afraid?”

  Shaking off Earl’s hand, Mack took a step forward. “I’m not afraid.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  He didn’t answer. Nor did he need to. He looked ready to prove his point the same way he had with the unfortunate Mr. Sloop.

  Finally, Mrs. Vanderbilt gave a nod. “If you change your mind, come to the house and tell them I sent you.”

  Tillie stood in front of Mrs. Winter’s desk.

  “It isn’t enough to pass lightly over the surface,” the housekeeper was saying. Her blond hair had begun to silver and new wrinkles appeared at the corners of her eyes and mouth. “The rims and legs of the tables along with the backs and legs of the chairs and sofas need to be rubbed vigorously.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She’d assumed she’d been called in because of the little episode she’d had on the way to town. Never did it occur to her Alice had done shoddy work in the tapestry gallery.

  “It’s very unlike you, Tillie.”

  “Yes, ma’am. It won’t happen again.” She wasn’t about to shift the blame to Alice. Part of her trial period was to delegate her responsibilities to others when she had need to. With the trip to Asheville, she’d needed to.

  Still, as head parlormaid, those downstairs rooms were her domain. She’d see to it Alice didn’t miss so much as an inch of furniture next time.

  Mrs. Winter removed the glasses perched on her nose. Her blue eyes gentled. “I understand you comported yourself quite well in town today.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Here it comes.

  “Mrs. Vanderbilt was suitably impressed.”

  But . . .

  “In a day or two she and Lucy will be going about the estate. Mrs. Vanderbilt intends to take a census of all staff members and their families.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”