by Lark Watson
The non-disclosure attached to the letter was insanely thick. I wondered if they expected anyone to read it as the size alone threatened a headache.
But, I read it. Front to back.
Twice.
Susan at the agency called to ensure I’d received everything while at the same time making sure I understood that even though Ms. Maxwell was intimidating, the situation itself was optimal for someone like me.
Her exact words. Someone. Like. Me.
She stressed that there was no need to stay in a bad situation, but that a job like this could eventually open doors to more permanent placements.
Also, the money was insane.
As someone who barely lived month to month, even a few months out in the boondocks of wealth would give me enough of a cushion to avoid that sick feeling in my gut every month-end.
Susan’s words may have given me pause, but there really was no saying no to this.
I contacted my landlord and got rid of my tiny furnished studio, packed up everything I owned in a Goodwill suitcase, and waited for the mysterious town car that would once again whisk me away to who knows where.
Who Knows Where ended up being the train station downtown.
The train ride was longer than I expected. The tall buildings fell away, then the medium buildings, then most buildings all together. I’d never seen as much lush green—the color amplified by the light rain making it almost glow.
We reached my stop well after dark. The rain had slowed, but the air hung heavy with the damp. It clung to me in a clean, fresh way you never felt in the city. There was no soot or stink of garbage to steal from the smell of grass and flowers.
It was the same feeling as walking into a giant florist shop.
I pulled my jacket down to keep my butt dry and waited for the car that was supposed to pick me up. A cold wind swept down the tracks as I waited on a bench, looking at the lights illuminating what was hopefully a town not far off. After a few frozen moments outside, I decided to trudge over to the 50s style diner across the street, the lone thing open on the dark road.
Fear wasn’t my issue. Unlike the neighborhoods I’d grown up in, the darkness was due to cute little shops with their lights off. No bars on the windows, no security floodlights at the door. Just wide panes of glass that shouted for some kid to huck a rock through it and grab the nearest trinkets.
But, what kid was going to want embroidered handbags made for elderly ladies who carried little dogs around like baby dolls? I couldn’t help but laugh at the idea of trying to find the street value of doilies.
I pushed into the warm diner, trying to judge if a cup of coffee would keep me up long enough to make a plan or if my ride would be here any moment.
Glancing around, I hoped someone would look up and ask if I was Jane. But no one did. No one even really looked up at all.
Apparently rich people were as good at minding their own business as the poor were.
Settling at the counter and wondering how long it would be before this devolved into something that would be acceptably defined as an emergency by Ms. Maxwell, I glanced through the menu as if I were thinking of getting something.
But, with a light wallet and a case of the nerves, food wasn’t at the top of my list. Deciding on a fruity herbal tea, I settled in, hoping my ride—or at least news, would arrive soon.
Perhaps this Mrs. Fairfax had seen Ms. Maxwell’s thick folder and decided I wasn’t what they were looking for after all. They could be the type of people who just didn’t bother to send word. The entire thing had been a bit insane, but I was hopefully still employed.
Mrs. Fairfax had seemed like a reasonable sounding woman from the job description she’d forwarded on. I’d hoped that would be the sign of things to come. Often, when you got a job description—even for the short term jobs I was bound to take—the job description could scare you off.
Weird things like being on call twenty-four seven just shouted run.
Which, after the first time, I always did.
This job hadn’t had any of the normal weird warning flags. I’d read it over four times before accepting. Ms. Maxwell had acted like my acceptance was an odd thing. As if it were a done deal before I’d entered her office.
Rich people were like that. They couldn’t discern the difference between offering someone a gift and an opportunity. To so many of them, everything they handed out to the little people was the equivalent of a bequeathal from on high. You’d think folks were begging for a handout, not doing the difficult job of taking care of your kids.
And, perhaps with all she knew pertaining to my background and life, it had been a given and she’d understood that.
I was thinking about asking for a refill, when the door flew open, banging against the wall behind it. A man who appeared to be in his late fifties stepped in, scowling at each occupant before his gaze landed on me, and narrowed.
“You Jane?” he asked from the door, not bothering with niceties.
“Yes.” I glanced about wondering that even in this quaint little village of a train stop, people were busy minding their own.
“You were supposed to be at the train station.”
“I was.” I didn’t bother to say that was over thirty minutes ago when the train arrived twenty minutes late and that it was raining.
He nodded, a bit of a grunt escaping. “Come along then. Is that your bag?” He cocked his head toward where I’d left my luggage inside the doorway.
“Yes.”
“Fine then.” He picked it up, and headed back out the door, not waiting for me at all.
I watched him go through the wide, glossy window. He rounded an older town car and shoved my suitcase in the trunk before glancing back up as if he just realized I wasn’t with him.
Curt I could deal with. Curt people typically weren’t dangerous. Their annoyance was laid out for all to see, so why bother acting upon it beyond growling and glaring.
I laid money down on the counter and headed out the door thinking that this was a slow start to my big adventure.
Before I could let myself into the front seat, the grumpy driver opened the door to the rear, giving me a look that just dared me to challenge him. It was nothing to me, so I slid in and pulled the door shut behind me, settling in for who knew how long.
“How far to the house?” I asked.
“This time of night, probably about forty minutes.”
Forty minutes seemed pretty far from civilization, but who was I to judge? The city was the city and distances outside of it were probably judged differently than blocks and bus stops.
I plugged on with questions and basically got that his name was Frank and he’d worked at the house most of his life and that I’d have a room waiting for me when I got there.
Settling back, I watched the houses get farther and farther apart as the road became a winding slip of a thing that meandered along up into the forested hill I’d seen from the train station. Away from the lights but toward the heavens.
Or so I hoped.
Chapter 3
Just as I began to wonder if we’d drive right over the little mountain, Frank slowed and turned between two large stone columns.
I leaned forward, heady to get a look at my new place, only to see a huge black iron gate and on the far side of it, nothing but more unlit, wooded road.
Frank rolled his window down to press the code in the gate’s security pad and the gateway rolled back.
“Is this it?”
“’Bout five more minutes.”
I leaned back, getting as much of a view as I could and waited.
While I did that, I gave myself the same stern talking to I did before each in-home position I took. This was not my new home. It was just a job. No matter what the look of it, it was only a salary.
We turned the last bend and the trees dropped away, opening up to a wide sweeping lawn with a slight rise up to the house.
It was what I expect people thought of when they said Tudor, dark
and angled and beautiful while at the same time a little foreboding. There were lights in the bottom windows, making it look a bit more welcoming, but it was the fact that the rest was cloaked in a darkness that kept me from seeing all its angles dipped it in mystery.
The moon had slipped behind the clouds while we were climbing the drive. It was as if the house itself didn’t want to share its secrets…yet.
Frank cut off to the side, following the circular drive to the front door and pulled to a stop.
“Here it is,” he announced with the most ceremony I’d seen from him.
Before I could reply, he was out of the car and pulling my luggage from the trunk.
I’d been afraid for a moment there’d be a servants’ entrance and I’d be expected to go through there, moving along tiny staircases and dark corridors. Whispering so as to not bother the mistress of the house.
But, as I crawled from the car, still damp and beginning to drowse, the front door was thrown open, pouring light out in a welcome path.
“Oh, my dear! You look positively exhausted.” A woman just under heavyset with her hair wrapped tight on top of her head hurried out, and pulled my carryall out of my hands. “Here, let me take that. Frank! Frank, bring her stuff up to the blue room at the end of the east wing right away. Just put it on the bench. We’ll take care of everything else later.”
Frank grunted in what could only be assent since he headed in, lugging my suitcase along with him.
She looked after him before asking, “Is that all you brought?”
I nodded, not letting on that the luggage had not only everything I brought, but everything I owned. She probably had closets bigger than my studio back in the city.
“Now, you’re later than expected. I suppose that’s Frank’s doing. I hope he didn’t keep you waiting too long. The weather is just so damp. Come inside.”
I followed her in, already pleased to know that talking wasn’t going to be part of my job.
Listening, perhaps. But I had a feeling that was optional as well. Just being present was probably all Mrs. Fairfax needed. I could be present and still be elsewhere. It was the gift an unwanted child learned young.
“So,” Mrs. Fairfax settled herself next to the fire as she motioned to the chair across from me. “I do love these old fireplaces. They take the damp off just that much quicker. But, I won’t keep you up. We’ll just let Frank get your stuff upstairs and get out of the way. We’ll take care of everything else in the morning. Was the trip long?”
“Not too long. I’ve never been outside the city like this except for some travel with families I was working for.”
I didn’t add that typically meant I saw the room and the beach where I watched the kids while the parents saw everything else. People thought it was a glamorous life. I was thankful it wasn’t. I don’t know what I’d do with glamour.
“Oh, well. This isn’t much of a tourist destination, but there’s a cute little village about a mile past where you turned in the gate. A nice little walk. They keep everything in stock the lake folk need. Nice and clean. Safe to walk there. Or you can take one of the cars.”
Since I couldn’t drive, I doubted I’d be taking a car anywhere. But Mrs. Fairfax already seemed like the type of woman who would just wave her hand and say something light like, Oh, pooh and hand me the keys to a car anyway.
She rose from her seat and headed toward the door, obviously expecting me to follow along.
“You’ll meet Adelia in the morning. She’s an odd little thing what with the not speaking English, but that’s what you’re here for. Smooth that all out.” She smoothed her hands down the front of her dress like pressing the wrinkles away would make the child more normal. “Maybe she’ll be off to a proper school in a few years with a good teacher like you.”
I hadn’t known what the aim was of my time here, so that was enough of a goal for now. It was always odd to me the way of the wealthy. As if she wouldn’t learn quicker in a public school with children around. But, parents—and apparently guardians—always felt that their little one deserved the best. And they assumed they knew what that was.
But, who was I to complain? The ideas of the wealthy paid my bills.
We passed into the oak-paneled entryway, the polish of it giving the walls a deep shiny hue. There was something charmingly old-fashioned about this. I half expected a maid in a long Downton Abbey like uniform to scuttle by, bowing and polishing as she went.
“But,” she continued, “maybe she won’t. Things to consider and all.”
Mrs. Fairfax babbled on as I followed her up the wide, split staircase to the upper floor, explaining the setup.
Two wings at each end making the house shaped like a U. I was on the east wing, the last room at the end, giving me what she called a splendid view of the lake.
This was a different kind of wealth than I was used to working for. I was used to high-polished penthouses with lots of glass and modern looks. Not much in the city had the feel of this—much like I imagined an old gothic English manor house must have felt like.
I was also used to staying in the smallest room with a view of the dumpsters or a brick wall.
Mrs. Fairfax pointed to doors as we passed them, explaining the rooms hidden behind each. The child was on the same floor, but nearer the stairs. Mrs. Fairfax herself slept on the first floor, at the rear of the house in a little apartment she assured me was as cozy as any woman could want.
With that, we reached my room and she wished me a goodnight, being at least insightful enough to realize I didn’t need a tour of it. I just needed to collapse into my new bed.
The room itself was small but only in comparison to the others I’d seen this night. It looked like it may have been part of a long-ago lady’s apartment but had been closed off for just itself. It was more than I’d had before and I couldn’t help walking around opening and closing doors, peeking into the small powder room, and looking out the windows.
There was something completely romantic about the house and my place in it. Perhaps it was the exhaustion speaking, but I suspected that even when the dawn washed through, I’d feel as if I should be learning to curtsey and making calls. The house, with its dark panes and long halls felt like it was lifted out of history and set aside here…where it held not only all of us, but its generations of stored secrets.
But, a long list of costume dramas had taught me…if the house has secrets, it has dangers as well.
Chapter 4
I met Adelia the next day and found her to be utterly self-involved even for a five-year-old. She reminded me of the young teenagers I’d watched over on short stints through the Mediterranean who never wanted to put down their phones and leave the house unless it meant someone was going to buy them something.
Adelia had arrived the week before me with a chaperone who only spoke Spanish. It wasn’t uncommon for a wealthy family to have both a nanny and a tutor. I’d barely noticed it at all when I began nannying, until one day another nanny was talking about it at the park. Challenging the norm of the childcare hierarchy by questioning what the point of having children was if you hired enough people to deal with them during every part of the day. But, Sophie had been with Adelia since birth and wasn’t going anywhere. And, since her presence made my day incredibly short, I wasn’t about to argue.
The home schooling part wasn’t overly odd with how young she was. Neither was the spoiled attitude she had. But I’d never had to deal with both at the same time.
It took a while to get Adelia settled into a routine. Usually that involved doing things that had absolutely nothing to do with the work at hand. Of course, I was sneaky and found ways for her to learn while thinking she was cheating the clock.
We played many games. The English words she learned first were chocolate and hair clip.
I typically only had her for three hours a day for the first month, which left me plenty of time to myself.
The house was equipped with comfortable rooms I didn’t hav
e the words to describe. My favorite—besides my own small haven—was part library, part home theater, part family room, part office.
Adelia and I worked in here most days and that left the rest of the time for me to read or watch movies. Both were such a luxury I was afraid of them at first—trying to fill the time with something that could be called work. But, there was only so much prep you could do for teaching such a young student. I found myself indulging each night in one treat or both.
The rest of the time, I spent on walks.
This was a new pastime for the city girl I was. Usually walking was to get somewhere as quickly and with as little eye contact as possible.
The idea of meandering around in the fresh air, enjoying trees and flowers, watching deer hop through the woods, it was all—surreal.
Then there was the cute village Mrs. Fairfax had told me about with a library and plenty of things to look at. I occasionally made my way there as well. But, for the most part, I liked walking around the lake.
The house’s property took up about one-third of the walk, with the rest shared by two other usually-empty homes of people too rich to care they had an entire estate acting as a storage unit.
But neither of those houses were what drew my attention. There was something completely normal about their splendor in this setting. The scale of them was almost too large to be interesting.
In comparison, the guest house that sat on the edge of the property line was larger than any of the homes I’d seen from the train on my way here, but still looked almost normal in its habitat. It sat just back from the water, tucked into the woods.
I wouldn’t have noticed it if I’d circled the lake from the other direction. But, coming down the house, the path ended then turned sharply toward the lake, bringing the walk down to the water instead of the line where the woods ended.
It was the sudden ending of the pathway that made me look up into the woods and saw the house there. The shrubbery along this area was newer, younger and let me look over it to the cottage.
I couldn’t help but stare. The house itself was cut like a cottage, sweet looking and dream like as if it sat in a fairy wood. There was something otherworldly about it set back there, even in this world that seemed magical to me. While mansions didn’t seem a surprise, the little cottage did.