The Address(14)

“How are there windows underground?” she asked.

“There’s a waterless moat around the building. But that’s not the only source. If you look up”—he pointed at the ceiling—“you can see the skylights set in the courtyard fountains.”

Fitzroy carried on with the tour, pointing out the water pipes that powered the lifts, she wasn’t sure exactly how, and dozens of small rooms. “Here’s where the tailor will go, and here will be a storage room for the tenants’ trunks. A ramp on the west side of the building allows for deliveries to be made directly to the basement.”

They took an elevator up one flight and Fitzroy unlocked the door to an office off the reception room, flinging it open.

Mr. Camden was correct. No expense had been spared. On the mahogany walls were handsome wood bookshelves, beside which sat a matching desk. The tableau was more suited to an old schooner, the place where the captain of a ship plotted the navigation. Piled on top of the desk were stacks of papers and unopened envelopes. Several had fallen to the floor.

“What’s all this?”

“Bills, requests from tenants, that sort of thing. The manager was supposed to have been here a week ago, so we’re a little behind.”

Fitzroy picked up the envelopes from the floor and laid them carefully on one of the shorter piles. “Did Mr. Camden mention the staff meeting?”

“No. No, he did not.”

“Right, then.” He checked his timepiece. “The entire staff will be arriving shortly and meeting in the dining room in one hour to receive their orders.”

“Mr. Douglas’s way of leading the charge?”

“Mr. Douglas?” Fitzroy looked at her askance. “No, Mrs. Smythe. You’ll be heading the meeting. You’re leading the charge.”



The next thirty minutes were spent rifling through the piles of papers, sorting them out by invoices, resident requests, vendor notices, and the like. It didn’t speak much to the organization of the place that Mr. Douglas had assigned her these duties without telling her exactly what was expected of her. She doubted he even knew. Everyone was starting from scratch with this apartment-house-that-ran-like-a-hotel nonsense. As far as she could tell, her job as lady managerette was to keep the Dakota Apartment House afloat. How that broke down into responsibilities was beyond her, and was probably beyond Mr. Douglas as well, who was busy with his own deadlines and duties.

She knew how to manage housemaids, nothing more than that. All right, perhaps more than that, as Mr. Birmingham at the Langham had presented her with additional responsibilities over the years. Particularly those he disliked, like hiring and firing staff and dealing with the more finicky guests.

She’d fought her way up to housekeeper there, so why should she not jump on this opportunity as well?

Because she might fail, horribly, and have to return to Fishbourne with her tail between her legs, as her mother expected.

A girl with strawberry-blond hair peered in from the doorway. “Mrs. Smythe?”

Sara nodded. “May I help you?”

The girl walked in, followed by a thin, reedy woman. They couldn’t have been more different from each other. The younger one was soft and round with a smattering of pale freckles that dotted her nose and cheeks. Her expression was curious and eager, like that of a girl who’d just walked into a bakery full of pastries. The older one’s mouth turned down at the sides, and her plain gray frock had the unfortunate effect of turning her skin tone rather ashen.

“I’m Daisy Cavanaugh, your assistant,” said the girl. “This is Mrs. Haines, who is also your assistant.”

Sara rose. “It is quite a pleasure to meet you both. Please, sit.” She gestured to the two chairs. “I’m afraid I have yet to find the staff list. Can you tell me a little about yourselves and what your jobs entail?”

Maybe that would give her some clue about her own.

Daisy leaned forward in her chair. “I was told that I’m to do whatever I can to assist you. I assume my first order of business is to locate the staff list.”

She liked the girl already.

“Previously”—Daisy cocked her head—“I worked at the Cosmopolitan Hotel, assisting the manager.”

“This is an entirely different animal.” Mrs. Haines’s mouth barely moved when she spoke, as if she had problems with her teeth. “I worked at the Hubert Home Club for the past three years, and I assure you, managing an apartment house is quite a lot more work. My duties will include checking in guests and calling up to the owners to grant them permission to visit, as I did there. A gatekeeper, if you will, to keep out the riffraff. The switchboard shall be my domain.”

“Will you both be residing here at the Dakota?”

Mrs. Haines nodded. “We are moving in today, on the ninth floor.”

“Yes, our rooms are right around the corner from each other,” offered Daisy, looking pleased.

Mrs. Haines didn’t bother to mask her disappointment at the arrangement. The two women were unlikely to become bosom friends, but with luck they’d learn to work together.

The front bell rang and Mrs. Haines sprung up. “I’d like to get started, if that’s all right with you.”

Sara dismissed them, but Daisy turned back in the doorway. “Mrs. Smythe, is it true you came from London?”