Maid to Match

by Deeanne Gist

  Last of all, Mrs. Vanderbilt entered on the arm of another special guest, her peau de soie gown with spangled chiffon complementing her long, slender form. Tillie’s heart swelled with pride. Her mistress hadn’t draped herself with diamonds and gems, but wore only an exquisite bracelet with small emeralds and pearls set in platinum.

  Rather than taking the traditional seats at the head and foot of the table, Mr. and Mrs. Vanderbilt always sat side by side in the middle. Her escort guided her to her husband and pulled out the chair. Mr. Vanderbilt gave her a slight smile, his eyes lighting with pleasure.

  Once everyone had settled, the footmen at the far end of the room moved to stand along the length of the table opposite Tillie. She advanced with the other servants, removing the soup covers and quietly placing them on dinner trays, which were whisked away by liveried footboys waiting in the wings.

  She returned to her station, a few feet behind the guests in her charge and slightly to the left.

  Raising her gaze to stare unseeing at the footmen directly across from her, she sucked in her breath. Mack and Earl stood side by side, resplendent in their livery. She knew immediately which was Mack. She’d know him anywhere, and not just because he was stiff and uncomfortable in his livery.

  The last she’d seen him he’d been unshaven, filthy, and covered in sweat. To have him unexpectedly appear stunning and magnificent in braided coat, gold buttons, burgundy knee breeches, silk stockings, and white gloves, she had to remind herself to breathe.

  She’d seen Earl in his dinner attire countless times. Always handsome and attractive. But in spite of his identical appearance, he’d never frozen her in place. Never made her heart race.

  A guest with a perfect part down the center of his head lifted a glass. “I’ve acquired one of Edison’s phonographs.” He shook his head. “Amazing devices, but the cylinders only last two minutes.”

  The man across from him finished his soup and relaxed in his chair. “I saw George Gaskin last month. He said he had to sing the same song two hundred times in order to record enough cylinders for Edison’s company to sell.”

  “Oh, I love George Gaskin.” A woman tapped the corners of her mouth with a napkin elaborately embroidered with the golden V monogram. “Such a wonderfully tinny voice.”

  Mack captured Tillie’s gaze. He looked horrified. At the table conversation, she wondered? Or because he was wearing the livery? Or perhaps he was petrified of making a mistake.

  Picking up a hand-waiter, she gave him a “just watch me” glance, then placed the tray in her right hand. Mack moved his to his right hand.

  She removed a spoon from an empty soup bowl and placed it on the waiter. A moment behind her, Mack did the same.

  She remembered her first time serving. How she’d trembled and fumbled. How she’d had an unconquerable desire to laugh at a joke Mr. Vanderbilt had told at the table. How difficult it had been to project a deliberate, ineffable calm while underneath she was a bundle of nerves.

  She tried to reassure Mack with her eyes, but the truth was, she wasn’t certain he’d be able to accomplish the task. He watched her and Earl without being obvious. They both sent him subtle signals of what to do next or how to correct a wrong before it occurred, then breathed a sigh of relief when he managed it.

  After many courses had come and gone, after the wine and champagne began to flow, after olives and salads and pure white celery hearts had been placed before the guests, her admiration for him flowered.

  He never missed a step. Never spilled a drop.

  “I understand there are to be parlor games in the gallery later this evening.” The gentleman with the center part leaned close to the lady beside him. “I hope I shall have an opportunity to partner with you in one of them.”

  She peeked at him from beneath her lashes. “And what games are we to play?”

  “The Wolf and the Lambs,” he replied, his voice dropping.

  The woman blushed and nearly knocked her wineglass over. Mack lurched, then caught himself before making a spectacle. The guest recovered her drink without incident.

  Mack and Tillie exchanged a glance. Never had she been so in tune with another. So aware of his every move.

  Finally, the last of the dessert cake, cooling ices, and tropical fruit were eaten. Mrs. Vanderbilt rose. The men immediately stood, assisting their neighboring ladies to their feet. The women followed Mrs. Vanderbilt to the salon, leaving the men to their cigars, wine, and after-dinner talk.

  Tillie, too, needed to leave. Over the heads of the gentlemen, she sent Mack a silent congratulations. And to her absolute horror, he winked.

  During the following two weeks, Tillie only saw Mack from afar. She never knew from one moment to the next if he would be hobnobbing with the coal heavers in his workaday clothes or standing gorgeous in livery amidst the flower-scented wealthy and fashionable set.

  Mrs. Winter had an alternate shirtwaist and tweed skirt delivered to Tillie’s room, allowing her to wear one while the other was laundered. Today she wore her navy serge and silk-waist while following Miss DePriest to the basement for a game of bowling.

  She’d never had access to this portion of the basement, nor even seen a bowling alley. Anticipation swelled as she stepped into the long, crowded room. Excited chatter interspersed with cheers bounced off the two-story ceiling.

  Young men in plaid shirts and striped jackets congregated at the foot of two maple lanes which stretched an impossibly long way toward dark fireplace-like alcoves. But instead of burning wood, each held a grouping of white pins.

  All quieted as one of the men picked up a heavy black ball with two holes, took four long steps down the lane, then released the ball with a spin. Unable to see without being obvious, Tillie listened to its rumbling roll and culminating crash. One set of men roared, the other set groaned. Several women oohed and clapped their gloved hands.

  A group of young girls hailed Miss DePriest, offering her an available chair. Tillie immediately stationed herself against the wall behind them and became “invisible.”

  Miss DePriest’s companion whipped open her fan. “Look there at Mr. Huffman and Miss Lowery. She had to pay him a kissing forfeit last night after Pinch Without Laughing. He’s been following her around like a besotted pup ever since.”

  Tillie looked across the way but was unable to ascertain exactly who the ladies were gossiping about. What she did see, though, was Lucy Lewers standing calm and collected behind her lady. The advanced years of her charge surprised Tillie.

  At first, a spurt of pride raced through her at how much lovelier Miss DePriest was than Lucy’s lady. But it only took a moment to ascertain Lucy’s woman comported herself with genuine grace and was clearly a favorite of Mrs. Vanderbilt’s.

  Footmen wove through the throng, blocking her view as they offered silver trays of dainties and refreshments from the kitchen. Mack was not among the men.

  Miss DePriest grabbed the elbow of the woman beside her. “Look! It’s them.”

  The girl craned her neck just as a liveried footman stepped from behind a wooden barrier at the far end of the bowling alley. He quickly set the pins to rights, then rolled the ball back to the players via a long wooden gutter.

  When he straightened, Tillie caught her breath. Mack. She glanced at the other alley and saw Earl standing behind its barrier.

  The girl and Miss DePriest dipped their heads together, giggling and murmuring. “Aren’t they just the most divine things you’ve ever seen?”

  “And here we thought bowling was going to be the main attraction!”

  They broke apart in nervous sniggers.

  Tillie stiffened.

  “Let’s sign up to play,” Miss DePriest whispered.

  “Are we allowed?”

  “Yes, of course, see there?”

  Mrs. Vanderbilt in a white serge gown with tubular braids stepped up to Earl’s alley. With a much smaller, more delicate ball, she took four steps and sent the sphere whirling down the lane.

>   All but two of the pins skittered across the highly polished wood. Her team roared, and a footman at a chalkboard made a notation.

  “Which lane should we sign up for?” Miss DePriest asked.

  “Heavens, does it matter? They’re identical.”

  Miss DePriest ran a hand up the back of her hair twist. “Perhaps, but I can tell them apart.”

  Her friend turned rounded eyes onto her. “Never say so. How?”

  She gave a dainty shrug. “I just can, and it’s that one, the one on the right, that I shall want arranging my pins.”

  With a wicked laugh, her friend swatted Miss DePriest with a fan, then glanced at her maid. “Hilda, put our names on the slate.”

  Tillie locked her jaw. Miss DePriest was ogling Mack. Her Mack.

  It took every ounce of self-control she had to keep from jerking Hilda back. But there was nothing she could do. Nothing she could say.

  So she stood where she was, rigid and angry and at a complete loss as to how to handle the unwelcome feelings.

  Tillie toed the floor, setting her chair into a gentle rock. Positioning another diamond onto the bodice of Miss DePriest’s evening gown, she secured it in place with needle and thread.

  The servants’ hall, where female staff gathered during their breaks, was deserted. With a large house party in residence, no one had time to read the popular titles lining the bookcase or to have a cup of tea or to knit or mend their clothes.

  Especially not today. The guests would be taking their leave tomorrow and as a finale Mr. Vanderbilt was holding a formal ball. It would be the first ever held with the new Mrs. Vanderbilt and would be attended not only by their house guests, but by Asheville’s most wealthy and influential.

  The orchestra from Asheville’s Opera House had shown up en masse at the servants’ entrance. The kitchens had prepared dainty after dainty since the predawn hours. The butler and head chef nearly came to blows over where to cool the endless bottles of wine and champagne. And the gardener brought in mounds of out-of-season flowers from his hothouses and conservatory.

  Ordinarily, Tillie would have helped arrange the bouquets of roses, orchids, and lilies of the valley. Instead she sewed sprays of diamonds, simulating foliage, onto Miss DePriest’s bodice. And when the ball was over, she’d return to this very spot in the wee hours of the morning to rip them all out before returning them to her mistress’s jewelry case.

  She shook her head, awed by the expensive gown and priceless gems. Surely no royal princess in all the world was more handsomely gowned than these American women of wealth.

  Knotting off the last diamond, she rose on weary legs. She didn’t look forward to Miss DePriest’s toilet. It seemed like all she did, day after day, hour after hour, was dress, dress, dress. For breakfast, for riding, for boating, for lunch, for tea, for croquet, for . . . everything.

  And after every toilet, Tillie had to clean and polish every surface. Remove all signs of cosmetics and powder. Arrange every drawer. Return every article to its proper place. Freshen the gowns. Repair any rips. Prepare the next change of clothes. And start all over again.

  She gathered her sewing items, then turned as Lucy Lewers sailed into the hall with a tea tray. The sweet smell of tea filled the room, making Tillie’s mouth water.

  “Oh, Tillie, I’m so glad to find someone here. I was worried no one would be able to share a bit of tea with me. You aren’t leaving, are you?”

  She nodded. “I’m afraid so. I need to lay out Miss DePriest’s articles for tonight’s ball.”

  Lucy poured the rich amber liquid into a cup. “Isn’t being a lady’s maid absolutely divine? My mistress is the sweetest, loveliest lady. Do you know what she did this morning?”

  Tillie offered no response. It took all the energy she had to simply stay standing.

  “She told me to take the afternoon off. She knew we’d be up late with the ball and she didn’t want me to tire. So I’ve just awoken from a nice long nap.” Lucy took a sip, her eyes sparkling over the cup. “What about you? Did you have the afternoon off?”

  Tillie hadn’t had a single moment off since Miss DePriest’s arrival. She’d worked twenty days and had been called upon at all hours of the night. Last evening she’d just crawled into bed when Miss DePriest rang for her. The summons had been so Tillie could hand her a book, which was not four feet away.

  “No,” she said, “I’m afraid I didn’t have the afternoon off.”

  Lucy gave her a pretty pout. “Poor Tillie. You look awful. Rings under your eyes. Droopy shoulders. Sullen expression. Perhaps you don’t have what’s necessary to be a lady’s maid.”

  Perhaps I don’t. Still, she straightened, shook the fatigue from her frame, and headed to the Paris Gown-Room. “Enjoy your tea, Lucy.”

  CHAPTER

  Sixteen

  Tillie gathered folds of delicate lace at the small of Miss DePriest’s back while trying to secure it in place with a wide diamond pin.

  Miss DePriest clutched the back of a chair to hold herself steady. “Miss Houghton and I were thinking to visit Bass Pond and look at the stars. I’d like the twin footmen to escort us.”

  Tillie hesitated, then continued to work the pin in. “Tonight? In your ball gown?”

  “It’s supposed to be a dark sky and with this being our last chance to see them and all, well . . .”

  Last chance to see what? The stars or the twins?

  The pin came through, but at a crooked angle. She pulled it back and started again. “I’m afraid the footmen will be busy waiting in attendance at the ball. But, if you’d like, I can escort you.”

  She let out a short huff of air. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t protect us from night creatures, nor drive the carriage. No, we will require the twins. One to drive, the other for protection.”

  Tempting as it was to jab her, Tillie refrained and secured the clasp. “I’m afraid that will be impossible. We simply don’t have any footmen to spare.”

  Miss DePriest whipped around, her satin skirts swirling about her feet. “I will not be disappointed in this. I want to see the stars and I want to be escorted by the twin footmen. You will take care of it for me, Tillie, or there will be the devil to pay.”

  “I will put forth your request to the butler, miss. Perhaps he can find someone to spare, but I can’t guarantee who it will be.”

  Miss DePriest yanked on her gloves. “You tell your butler I will have no one else. They took Miss Cuff and Miss Rappolee last evening and they . . . well, it’s no business of yours what they did. You just tell the butler I insist it be the twins.”

  Tillie stared at the girl, unwilling to believe the implication. She’d heard plenty of rumors about Earl, but she didn’t want to believe it of Mack.

  She forced herself to curtsy. “Yes, miss. I’ll give him your message.”

  A feline smile pulled at Miss DePriest’s lips. Tillie tried to see her as a man might. Clear skin, huge blue eyes, mountains of blond hair, and an hourglass form sheathed in a low-cut bodice shimmering with diamonds.

  No question, she was breathtakingly beautiful . . . on the outside. And with Earl, that’s all that mattered. But not with Mack. Surely not with Mack.

  At the door, Miss DePriest presented her back and held up her arms. Tillie draped a shawl over her shoulders.

  Miss DePriest turned her head and gave Tillie a knowing look. “I might be out quite late. If I need help undressing, I’ll ring for you.” She opened the door, then paused. “And no need to come too early in the morning. You may wait for my summons.”

  The door clicked shut behind her. Horror and dismay stacked up at the back of Tillie’s throat. There was only one reason Miss DePriest wouldn’t need help undressing.

  Taking a deep breath, Tillie began to clean the room and prepare it for the night. She would give Mr. Sterling the message. And as gracious as the Vanderbilts were, there was no doubt in her mind Mr. Sterling would do everything he could to accommodate any and every request.

&n
bsp; Miss DePriest hadn’t rung for her at bedtime, nor once during the night, nor yet this morning. Tillie told herself to be thankful for the much-needed sleep. Instead, she was furious. With Mack. And Earl. And Miss Highfalutin’ DePriest.

  The temptation to cram the gowns into the trunk was great. But no matter how angry Tillie was, she couldn’t bring herself to abuse the beautiful articles. Still, if she pretended she was stuffing Miss DePriest as she scrunched up tissue and poked it inside the shirtwaists, so be it.

  Mack strode into the room, an empty trunk on his back. “Tillie. I didn’t expect to see you up here already.”

  Snatching up a new piece of tissue, she crinkled it into a tight ball. “Really? Where did you expect me to be?”

  “With Miss DePriest, I guess. She seems to monopolize every moment of your time these days.”

  “Oh, you’re right about that.” She crammed the tissue into the gut of the shirtwaist. “She monopolizes my days. And my nights, too. All except last night, that is.” Straightening, she propped a fist onto her waist. “Why do you suppose that is, Mack?”

  A wary look entered his eyes. “She wanted you to get some sleep?”

  “Ha!” She didn’t even try to suppress her irritation.

  He studied her. “Are you mad at me about something?”

  “Mad? Why should I be mad?” She pressed the shirtwaist into the trunk. “What does it matter to me how you or Miss DePriest or anybody else spends their nights, or with whom. It’s certainly none of my affair.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Just what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.” She slammed the lid of the trunk closed with a whack. “Nothing at all.”

  “Oh, it was something, all right. I just can’t figure out what.”

  “So how were the stars last night? Or did you even bother to look?”

  Removing his hat, he scratched his head. “Stars? What the devil are you talking about?”

  She started advancing. “Don’t you play innocent with me, Mack Danver. You and I both know that you and Earl have been escorting lady after lady, night after night, out to the privacy of Bass Pond to ‘gaze at the stars.’ ”