Page 7 of The Heiress Masquerade (Dollar Princess #2)

Aimee spent the better part of the ten-minute carriage ride over to Mrs. Holbrook’s fuming over Mr. Stone’s promise. If the man thought he could boss her around outside of her work hours, he had another thing coming and would soon learn he had no control over her actions, even if he was her boss.

Albeit her temporary boss, thankfully, and just because he thought she was Thomas’s niece didn’t give him the right to tell her what she could or couldn’t do, even if it was in a misguided attempt to protect her.

Aimee didn’t need any man to protect her, and most especially not Mr. Stone.

Mr. Hartley had seemed to sense her annoyance and had said little on the trip over to Mrs. Holbrook’s, instead glancing out the window and making a few brief comments here and there, pointing out various landmarks within the neighborhood that he said she might find interesting.

What she’d find more interesting, and would help her stop thinking about Harrison and how infuriating he was, was finding out what was happening behind the scenes with the Wilheimer deal. From what she’d read of her father’s notes about it, amalgamating Wilheimer’s company into their own would increase their trade routes across Europe and England, making the Thornton-Jones shipping arm of the company one of the largest distribution companies in the world, which meant there was a lot riding on the deal.

“Mr. Hartley?” she asked, glancing to the man.

“Oh, please, you must call me Ben. Mr. Hartley is far too formal, given we shall be working together and everyone else calls me Ben, too,” he replied with a friendly smile.

“Then you must call me Ai—Evie.”

“Ai—Evie?” he asked, confused.

“Um, sometimes my cousin and I swap names for a bit of fun, you see, so it’s become somewhat of a habit of mine,” she replied, quietly sighing in relief when he nodded, seeming to accept her explanation. “So then, Ben, what’s going on with the Wilheimer deal?”

“How do you know about that?” Ben tugged nervously on his tie.

“You mentioned it in Mr. Stone’s office before we left.”

“Oh, yes, I suppose I did.”

“And Fred mentioned there was trouble with it.”

Ben blinked several times, seemingly at a loss of what to say in response. “I’m not sure if Harrison would appreciate me discussing the matter…perhaps you can ask him about it tomorrow?”

“If I must.” She’d do just that, though she didn’t hold out hope he would answer her. The man seemed ridiculously stubborn about certain things, and she imagined the Wilheimer deal would be at the top of his list on what not to discuss with her, as much as she could probably help him with it.

After all, she not only spoke fluent German, but her grandmother was German and had taught her a great deal about the Germanic people and their culture. And they preferred doing business with their own countrymen. “So how long have you been his right-hand man?”

“Nearly five years now.” He rubbed his chin.

“Since Mr. Stone was sent over by my uncle to start up the London arm of the company?”

“Yes.” Ben nodded. “He was interviewing me for a position along with three other men, and when I disagreed with them all about the future direction of the company, Harrison appreciated my honesty.”

“He didn’t seem to appreciate it when I disagreed with him today.”

Ben smiled. “Oh, I don’t know about that. Harrison appreciates honesty above everything. He can’t stand liars. Speaking up for what you believe in and telling him the truth will always serve you well with him.”

“That’s, um, good to hear.” Aimee’s throat suddenly felt constricted. She wasn’t really lying to him or any of them by pretending to be Evie…well, perhaps it was lying, but it was unavoidable and a small bit of deception given she wouldn’t be allowed to do what she was if she told everyone her true identity. She hadn’t lied about anything else.

“Here we are,” Ben announced as the carriage came to a stop in front of a two-story brownstone.

Taking in a deep breath, Aimee followed him out of the carriage and up the entrance stairs. The whole townhouse would fit in the foyer of her parents’ mansion on Fifth Avenue. Though it was small, the building was well maintained and quaint, with white curtains and flowers in vases adorning the inside window sills on the lower level of the residence.

She turned back to Ben. “How does such a small residence accommodate Mrs. Holbrook and all her staff?”

Ben glanced at her with bafflement in his eyes. “She has a housekeeper and a maid.”

“Two staff?” How did anyone make do with such a small number? Surely, a two-level residence, even one as small as Mrs. Holbrook’s, would be staffed by a minimum of eight servants. How did only two people do the work of so many? Her parents employed over fifty servants at their residence on Fifth Avenue alone, not to mention their Hampton estate and their villas in France and Italy. “But who does the cooking, or answers the door? Does Mrs. Holbrook even have a lady’s maid?”

“I don’t attend any balls to have need of a lady’s maid,” an imperious female voice enunciated from the direction of the door. The woman’s voice was crisp and she spoke with the most perfect and precise Queen’s English Aimee had heard on her trip thus far.

Aimee turned to the doorway and saw an older lady, probably in her sixties, staring at her with hazel eyes that seemed to miss nothing. The lady had not a single speck of hair out of place, with the black and gray strands pulled tightly back into an efficient bun at the nape of her neck. Her back was ramrod straight, much like a military general’s, and her black jacket and skirt were perfectly fitted in a style of efficient modesty. There was a manner about her that reminded Aimee of her old headmistress at the finishing school in Switzerland her parents had sent her to for the summer when she was fifteen.

“Ah, Mrs. Holbrook, how fortunate you’re home and able to greet Miss Jenkins!” Ben clapped his hands together.

“Quite so,” Mrs. Holbrook replied, with absolutely no expression crossing over her matronly features.

Aimee couldn’t tell if the lady was happy or upset with her arrival, her expression the epitome of a polite Englishwoman who was not prone to display anything so crass as feelings upon her face. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Holbrook.”

The woman raised a brow. “Is it? You’ve only just met me, Miss Jenkins, and I’ve yet to lay the ground rules for the house, so perhaps you should reserve judgment until I do.”

Lovely. It was going to be her finishing school all over again…a headmistress who was as strict as she was demanding. That, combined with having to deal with Mr. Stone, too, suddenly made Aimee think twice about what she’d taken on. Evie thought she’d been doing Aimee the favor, but after today, Aimee suspected it was the other way around.

Mrs. Holbrook stared at her for another moment before her gaze traveled over to Ben. “Frederick tells me there was a setback with the Wilheimer deal. Does Mr. Stone need me to go to the office to assist him with anything?”

The older lady said Stone’s name with such deference that it was clear she thought a great deal of him. Just like her father did, too. From what Aimee had observed he seemed competent enough, but hardly worthy of such devotion, especially given his arrogance.

“No. He has everything in hand,” Ben replied to the lady. “He asked me to arrange a meeting with Wilheimer for Monday, but I’m sure he’ll appraise you of all the details tomorrow morning. Oh, and he also said Miss Jenkins could start tomorrow, too.”

Mrs. Holbrook nodded. “Very well. You can go back to work then, Mr. Hartley, and I shall take care of Miss Jenkins.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Holbrook,” Ben said, tipping his hat to both women. “I look forward to seeing you both again tomorrow. It’s been a pleasure, Evie.”

“Thank you, Ben,” Aimee replied, watching as he stepped down onto the footpath and walked over to the carriage.

“You’re welcome,” he said, vaulting into the carriage. “Have a wonderful time staying with Mrs. Holbrook and the other ladies.” He waved before the door closed and the carriage drove away.

“Other ladies?” Aimee asked Mrs. Holbrook, who was currently assessing her much like someone would examine an unusual specimen under a microscope.

“Yes,” Mrs. Holbrook replied with a raise of her haughty brown eyebrow. “I mentor a great deal of other young ladies training to be secretaries for the company, and those who are not from London reside here with me. Currently, there are three other young women staying here,” she said, preempting Aimee’s question. “You’ll be the fourth and shall be sharing a room with Miss Mitchell.”

“Sharing a room?” She hadn’t considered that possibility, having never had to share a room before with anyone, but it made sense given the size of the house, or lack thereof.

“Yes, this is not the Mayfair Grand Hotel,” Mrs. Holbrook said, appearing thoroughly unimpressed with Aimee. “I don’t have suites for everyone, now do I? Is sharing a room going to be a problem?”

“No, not at all.” After all, how hard could it be to share some space? Especially when she planned to be at the office far more than she planned to be here.

“Good. Now, don’t just stand there, Miss Jenkins, come inside and I’ll show you to your room.” Mrs. Holbrook stepped inside and indicated for Aimee to follow her.

Aimee followed her over the threshold and then up the stairs to the first floor, where Mrs. Holbrook turned right and walked down the narrow corridor toward the back of the house. She stopped outside of a room on her left and opened the white door.

“This is the room you’ll be sharing with Miss Mitchell.”

Aimee glanced past her into the room and had to blink several times. The room was a small rectangle, with two single beds and two narrow bedside tables between them, along with a small desk and a tallboy that wasn’t tall on the wall opposite the beds. One of the beds was pushed tightly against the wall on the right, and the other was against the wall on the left and had her trunk at its foot. It was amazing the trunk even fit into the room, given there was a narrow gap of about three feet between the beds, and about the same space between the trunks and the furniture.

There was little room for one person to move around, let alone two. Indeed, the entire room was about half the size of the closet she’d had in her cabin on the journey across. Intellectually, Aimee had always known how fortunate she was growing up with wealth and living in luxury, but until right then, she hadn’t truly appreciated just how lucky she’d been.

Was this the sort of room Evie had grown up in? No wonder her cousin regularly seemed overwhelmed living with them, and Aimee could now understand the incredulousness on her cousin’s face when she’d first been shown to her bedroom just down the hall from Aimee. Evie had been lost for words, literally, and then when she’d said the room was bigger than her entire apartment back in London, Aimee had thought she was exaggerating. Obviously not it would seem, if this room was any indication.

“You can unpack your clothing into the chest of drawers. I believe the bottom two are free for you to use,” Mrs. Holbrook said. “Then we can store your trunk in the attic until it’s time for you to leave again. Now, dinner will be served at precisely eight tonight, though I will expect you down in the sitting room around seven, so I can introduce you to the other ladies when they get back from work.”

“That’s a late finish.”

“During the week we all work until around six thirty, sometimes later if there is a need. Saturdays is a half day where we finish around two. You get a lunch break of one hour each day, but aside from that you’re expected to work until all of the work is done. Are those hours going to be a problem for you, Miss Jenkins?”

“No, not at all. But don’t most businessmen finish work around four or five every afternoon?” Though her father usually stayed until six or seven, but most of his employees were well gone by then, and she’d assumed secretaries would be the same. Obviously not.

“Yes, businessmen do, Miss Jenkins, not secretaries.” The woman pursed her lips together and stared at Aimee. “But, surely, given you’ve been working as a companion you should be used to long, demanding hours. Though perhaps I am not considering your time spent living on Fifth Avenue and being a companion to a family member, rather than an employer. I imagine anyone’s expectations would change after residing in a mansion, and finding out their uncle is one of the richest men in the world.”

“I get the impression, Mrs. Holbrook, that perhaps we started off on the wrong foot,” Aimee replied.

“Not at all, Miss Jenkins.”

There was little expression on the woman’s face for Aimee to even tell if she was being truthful or sarcastic. It was frustrating to say the least.

“Now, I shall leave you to start unpacking.”

“Wait!” Aimee lightly grabbed the woman’s upper arm as she turned to leave. “There’s no bathroom attached to the room?” That couldn’t be right.

The woman pressed her lips together, and Aimee got the sense that she was trying not to laugh, given the hint of amusement in the older woman’s eyes. “Like I said, this is not a hotel, Miss Jenkins. The bathroom we all use is down the hall on your right, across from the stairs. There’s also a small powder room on the ground floor.”

It took Aimee a few seconds to process what Mrs. Holbrook was saying. “We share the one bathroom? All of us?”

“Yes, we do, Miss Jenkins,” Mrs. Holbrook confirmed. “In fact, we’re rather fortunate to even have a bathroom, as a lot of the terrace houses along this street are yet to install plumbing to their residences.”

“Oh…”

“Yes, when I was your age, it was a large white porcelain bowl in my bedroom that I had to use for my daily ablutions. Aren’t the inventions of our industrial revolution simply marvelous?”

Aimee opened her mouth to reply but didn’t really know what to say. A bathroom to share amongst several ladies? Good Lord. She couldn’t fathom it. “What about a bath? Do you have hot water plumbing installed for that?”

Mrs. Holbrook nodded. “Yes, of course we do.”

“Oh, thank goodness.”

“We pour one bath a week, on a Sunday,” Mrs. Holbrook seemed to take great delight in telling her. “I, of course, have the first bath, followed in order by who has been here the longest. Generally, though, most don’t have a bath as the water is usually cold by the time it gets to their turn. Instead, they use a washcloth twice a day.”

Aimee cleared her throat. “You all share the same bathwater?” Oh good Lord. She was used to having a bath every night, and she never had to share it, let alone use the same water as anyone else. The very idea of doing so made her feel ill. When Evie had said Aimee wouldn’t do well without the luxuries she was used to, Aimee had thought she’d meant she wouldn’t do well without her normal dresses and jewelry, along with shopping and gourmet meals. She hadn’t realized Evie had meant the basic essentials like having a private and clean bath.

What on earth would she do? She couldn’t not have a bath, but then the idea of sharing dirty bathwater made her feel filthy.

“You really have gotten accustomed to living in luxury, haven’t you?” Mrs. Holbrook remarked with interest, obviously seeing the expression of horror on Aimee’s face that she didn’t have the strength to hide. “But don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll quickly settle back into living in less opulent accommodations, as I believe you were once previously used to. Like I said, this isn’t—”

“A hotel,” Aimee finished for her. “Yes, Mrs. Holbrook, I’ve gathered that.” Though it did give her an idea. Perhaps she could rent a room at her father’s hotel, the Mayfair Grand? She had the inheritance her grandmother had left her, which was separate from her million-dollar inheritance from her parents, which meant she could take what she wanted from that account without anyone knowing.

She wouldn’t sleep at the hotel of course, as much as she might wish to, because doing so would undoubtedly be noticed. But she could surely manage to sneak away there a few times a week to have a bath in the room, given it was only a short walk from the office and she’d have an hour for lunch each day.

Hmm, it was a definite possibility, and one she’d have to look into. Because as much as she wanted to experience life from a different perspective, sharing other people’s dirty bathwater wasn’t a line she was willing to cross.

“Good. Then I shall leave you to your unpacking. And remember, do not be late for dinner.” Mrs. Holbrook inclined her head at Aimee before she backed out of the room, shutting the door firmly in Aimee’s face.

What had she gotten herself into?