Page 48 of The Maid's Secret

Soon enough, it was just me, Papa, and Mama at the entrance. Light streamed through the tall cathedral windows, catching me obliquely where I stood. My parents were gazing at me as if they’d never seen me before, as if the answer to a problem they’d been trying to solve for months had been right in their faces all along.

“What?” I asked them. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“My little Flora, my beautiful blossom,” said Papa. “You did us proud.”

“A blessing in disguise,” said Mama. “And maybe a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

“A wolf?” I said. “Me?”

“Doesn’t your book have that story in it?” Mama asked as she tapped my copy of Aesop’s fables, which, along with the Cartier pen, I still clutched to my chest.

“That’s a different book entirely,” I said.

“The point is, you saved the day,” said Papa.

Mama shook her head in disbelief. “It feels like a miracle, like a fairy tale. You caught the eye of the king, Flora.”

“You made Magnus change his mind,” said Papa. He put a hand on my shoulder. “I’ve harbored doubts about you since the moment you were born, but you just proved yourself an asset to this family.”

“You did,” said Mama. “But make no mistake, this isn’t the end. It’s just the beginning. Keep your eye on the prize, Flora, do you understand?”

I did not understand, not a thing, but I nodded anyway.

“My daughter charmed Magnus Braun,” said Papa in disbelief. “The wheel of fortune has spun, and it has landed on my precious girl.”

“Careful, Reginald,” said Mama. “Men like Magnus are flighty. What takes their fancy one day bores them the next.”

My father ignored her and turned to me. “May I see the pen he gave you?” he asked.

I handed the Cartier to him. Papa inspected the gold details and the glossy black enamel. “It’s authentic, the real thing, Flora,” he said. “I wouldn’t want you to lose it.” He popped the pen into his breast pocket. “Good work today. You can go now,” he said. “You’re dismissed.”

—

The Workers’ Ball was but a week and a half away, and there were endless preparations before the big event. Mama pleaded with my father to keep some of the temporary workers on staff, which he did. Soon enough, the manor was teeming with servants yet again. Only Mrs.Mead and Uncle Willy knew the run of the show from having worked the ball for so many years, but with the higher stakes of the Brauns in attendance, Mama was more invested in a display of grandeur than ever before.

In the past, the ball was a dance event featuring a live band and simple hors d’oeuvres. But this year, beyond the dance and band, Mama insisted on a full buffet dinner to be offered in the guest parlor just off the ballroom. She also insisted on reorganizing each room that guests would pass on their way to the ballroom so as to show off our family’s precious heirlooms.

The front foyer now featured an intimidating medieval knight in shining armor, complete with a sword and a shield emblazoned with the family coat of arms. In the portrait corridor, Mama added ancestral busts and sculptures, their dead eyes staring at passersby as if assessing their worth and finding it lacking. She took Chinese porcelainvases and Grecian urns from other rooms, emptying those quarters entirely so that walking through that front corridor was like touring a private museum.

But thepièce de résistancewas her lavish display of silver, usually kept in a large pantry in the basement of the manor—engraved utensils and platters, heavy chargers and chafing dishes, monogrammed candelabra and serving spoons—all of which graced the table and sideboards in the banquet room by the ballroom. I learned of my mother’s plan to show off the family’s extensive silver collection when a sheepish temporary maid named Penelope crossed me in a hallway and asked me where the silver pantry was.

“How would I know?” I replied. “Ask Mrs.Mead.”

No sooner had I said it than Mrs.Mead appeared from the kitchen, huffing and puffing, and wiping her hands on her apron.

“Do you know where the silver pantry is?” I asked her.

“Ay. And the glassware rooms and the bedrooms and the laundry rooms, and much more besides. I was hired as your nursemaid, and somehow, I’ve become head maid of this household. Rest assured I’m not paid to be in charge, but yes, I do know where the silver pantry is.”

Mrs.Mead then muttered something under her breath. I’ll admit I never took any of her complaints seriously, but now I realize how overworked she was and that if she wanted to keep living in the cottage on the estate, there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

“Can you show this maid the way?” I asked Mrs.Mead.

“Come,” she said to the shy girl in the hallway.

“Mrs.Mead,” I called out as they were leaving. “There’s something I wanted to discuss with you.”

She cocked her head to one side, hand on her hefty hip. “Does it look like I have time for a wee chat? Follow me downstairs and we’ll talk as I set Penelope up to polish. Or is the little miss too posh to venture into the basement with us common folk?”

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