The Address(4)

“That’s fine, Edwina.”

“Edwina, my mother’s name.” Mr. Camden swiveled around and gave the girl a smile. His face beamed with delight. “Edwina, may we trouble you for some tea?”

He was here to stay. But what for, she couldn’t guess. Edwina turned to Sara. Her eyes held the same faint alarm Sara’s must have, but Sara checked herself. “Yes, please, Edwina.”

The girl shuffled off and Mr. Camden turned back to Sara. “If I’m not keeping you from anything, of course.”

“Not at all. But there is no need for further mention of the incident. All’s well, as they say.”

“May I ask about your background?”

“I’m not sure if that’s necessary, Mr. Camden.”

He blushed. She hadn’t meant to embarrass him, just wanted to redirect the conversation. But how easily he’d gone all pink, like a schoolboy. Caught off guard, he tilted his head and stammered. “In a professional capacity, of course. I’m quite interested in how a big place like this keeps running along day after day, crisis after crisis.”

“I assure you we seldom have crises like the one today. Most of the time it’s a well-oiled machine.” One of Mr. Birmingham’s favorite expressions. She’d never liked it, as it turned the flesh-and-blood staff into cogs in an engine, but she was uncertain how to keep the conversation with Mr. Camden flowing.

“Of course not. What would you say is the biggest problem the staff encounters?”

She considered the question. “We are a first-class hotel, Mr. Camden. We make sure that every guest’s whim is answered. Sometimes that can be a juggling act, as the turnover is quite high.”

“Do many of the guests bring their own servants?”

“Of course. But they still need rooms cleaned and freshened. Ladies’ maids and butlers have their own roles to play, separate from the hotel’s amenities.”

“Before this, did you work in service?”

“I did not; however, my mother was housekeeper to an earl. Before this I was a dressmaker’s apprentice.”

“Yet you still ended up in service?”

She should never have offered so much of her own history. But something about the man’s manner made her speak more than was proper. And now she’d stumbled into uncomfortable territory.

The tea arrived and Sara welcomed the interruption. Enough with Mr. Camden’s incessant questions. She would turn the tables, regain the upper hand. As she poured the tea, she inquired after his work. Americans seemed to enjoy chattering on at great length about their accomplishments.

He rose to the occasion. “I’m assisting the construction of an apartment house in New York City.”

“You’re an architect?”

He beamed. “Yes. I work for the great Henry Hardenbergh.”

Sara shook her head. “I’m afraid I’m not acquainted with his name.”

“He’s taking New York City by storm. He’s designed a place where the best families can live with elegance and privacy, sharing amenities like laundry and housekeeping. Why, we’re even keeping a tailor and baker on staff. As you can see, I’m fascinated with the inner workings of places like the Langham. Who keeps it humming, and how.”

That explained everything. Her shoulders dropped and she offered a warm smile, relieved that Mr. Birmingham wasn’t behind the interrogation. “It sounds like a large project.”

“The Dakota, it’s called, and it will change the way the upper class of the city live. At the moment, the elite of New York reside in brownstones, equivalent to your terrace houses, with one family per abode. The idea of sharing common space and amenities with others, as the French do, is considered gauche.”

“And why is that?”

“It’s too similar to a working-class tenement, where dozens of families live together in poverty and squalor.”

He continued on about the new building, barely stopping for breath, and she drank down her tea quickly, grateful for the liquid on her parched throat. Finally, he pulled out his watch. “I must go. We leave very soon, heading back to New York. I say, you wouldn’t want to work at the Dakota, would you?”

Her cup clattered against the saucer. She’d looked up when he’d spoken and missed the center.

He laughed. “I see I caught you unawares. We’re in need of a head housekeeper, and you are obviously well qualified. New York City is an exciting place, I promise. I could mention your name to Mr. Douglas, the building’s agent.”

His words came tumbling out, as if he’d only just thought of the idea. Perhaps he had. Typical American boldness. It was a ridiculous suggestion, going to another country when she had a perfectly good job here, even if Mr. Birmingham was never pleased.

“I’m quite happy where I am, Mr. Camden. But thank you for the offer.”

“I’m serious.” His voice and visage grew animated as he worked through the details. “I’m going to send you a formal letter when I get back, as well as fare to come over. The opening is set for the end of October. Consider the idea. It’s the least I could do, after what you did for my family today. Will you consider it?”

She shook her head. He was caught up in the moment, an impulsive American like many others she’d encountered at the Langham. Too loud, too close, no sense of propriety.