In comparison, Rosalind’s side was as bare and functional as Nanci’s was inviting. It made her homesick for the comforts of her cozy bedroom at home.
Just last week, Nanci had even wheedled Jim’s services, asking him to see to the window. She’d asked Jim so sweetly and explained the need for repairs so easily to Mrs. Abrams that they got the window fixed with hardly a word of complaint.
Their room was a popular spot with the other girls in the house, despite the sometimes stifling hot summer temperatures. More often than not, Rosalind would come upstairs to find two or three other maids sitting in the room with Nanci, chatting or looking at magazines or newspapers pilfered from the trash. And, as was always the case with Nanci, the conversation would be lively.
Luckily, this evening Nanci seemed as tired as Rosalind, just as happy to slip out of her starched uniform and retire early.
“What a time we had of it today. And for that matter, all week!” Nanci said as they hastily prepared for bed. “I’m exhausted.”
Watching Nanci carefully unpin her hair and begin brushing it with her nightly hundred strokes, Rosalind said, “You seem to be handling it better than me. I almost fell asleep during the dinner service.”
“You’ve had a time of it, for sure. You’re doing both Tilly’s job and yours now.”
“Do you ever worry about Tilly?”
Nanci’s hand slowed. “From time to time, I do. But it’s best not to think about her too much.”
“That sounds kind of harsh.”
“Maybe so, but there’s nothing we can do. Not really.”
“Do you think she’ll return?”
Nanci shook her head. “If she returned, she’d probably be fired. We all know that. Whatever the reason, she’s most likely gone for good.”
Rosalind shivered as she unpinned her waist-length brown hair. Though it was the fashion to cut hair at least to shoulder-blade length, Rosalind had never felt the urge to do so. The problem with that, however, was that it weighed heavily against the dozen pins she used to keep it in place. It was always a blessed relief to release it at the end of each day.
“Just you be glad you weren’t standing behind hot irons all day today,” Nanci said. “Every time I turned around, another woman was needing her dress pressed.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Rosalind said, thinking about the ladies who had been in the house. “There were more women here than I could shake a stick at.”
Nanci chuckled at her country phrase. “Like I said, it’s bound to continue, fair or no fair. Mrs. Sloane is determined to marry off Veronica as soon as possible. Add that to all the ladies who want their daughters to have Douglass? We’re certain to always have a house full of guests now.”
“I’m already even more exhausted just thinking about it,” Rosalind teased. But still, this evening’s party had been exciting, even from her vantage point, which was firmly in the background.
The Sloanes’ dinner for forty-eight had kept all of them on their toes—and their tongues wagging too. Each young lady looked beautiful, and their mothers were just as handsome and well turned out. One by one they had alighted from their carriages and strolled into the home’s brightly lit entryway in an array of exquisitely styled taffeta and satin gowns, each jewel-colored dress seeming to have more yards of fabric than the last.
The men by their sides wore black tuxedos and top hats, white gloves, and bored expressions.
Together, the group looked like something out of a picture post-card or one of the society magazines Miranda used to spend too much money on and examine in awe.
Thinking of how much Miranda must have enjoyed seeing the gowns at parties when she worked there, she mused, “The ladies looked bright and beautiful. Truly lovely.”
“That they did.”
“Did you notice Mrs. Anderson’s bustle?” Rosalind mused, thinking back to the petite woman dressed in unrelieved black. “It was very stylish for a lady in mourning.”
Nanci wrinkled her nose as she continued to pull the horsehair brush through her caramel-colored tresses. “From the way her cheeks were blooming, I wouldn’t put it past her to already be looking for a new man.”
The thought was appalling. Turning to Nanci, Rosalind shook her head. “Surely not. I mean, ladies in mourning are the same everywhere, don’t you think? No amount of money could ever bring back a cherished husband.”
“You’ve got to learn about life here at Sloane House. The people who live here aren’t like anyone you’ve ever met, and some of their friends are even more outlandish.” Lowering her voice, she cast a concerned eye at the door, just as if she imagined someone was listening at the keyhole. “You should prepare yourself to be shocked.”