Chapter Text
Part One
Lucy Carlyle, in the shortest and most delicate way to say it, was doomed. She doesn’t particularly know why she thought she would be any other way when she ran away from home to London, but she had at least hoped she wouldn’t be doomed quite so quickly.
Currently, she was sat at a bench on a street she didn’t know the name of, gazing at the Church down the road and wondering if she should just become a nun despite her questionable devotion. In the end, she decided it would be best not to. Her abysmal singing would most certainly upset everyone else during hymns.
She fiddled with her skirt and plucked a bit of dirt from the hemming. A leaf fell from the small plane tree next to the bench. She looked up at the gray sky. Autumn was coming.
Three weeks. Three weeks she’s been job hunting for even the shoddiest of positions. Her minimal savings were almost gone, and without them she’d have little choice but to wander miserably home.
That was not an option.
Sighing harshly through her nose, Lucy Carlyle got up, straightened her skirt, and walked through the street. It was nearing six, and if she was lucky she could find at least one more place willing to interview her before the shops closed.
Lucy Carlyle was not a girl known for being lucky.
Despite this, she held her head high and weaved through the evening crowd, on the watch for any hiring signs.
Looking back, though, she thinks that, perhaps, this was the luckiest night of her life.
It was pasted in a shop window. A small, unassuming white parchment.
NOW HIRING
MAID POSITION
Any able-bodied woman in search of cleaning work. Preferably with past experience and not over the age of thirty.
Do be able to make tea.
Please report to 35 Portland Row for further inquiries.
She grinned in slight hopefulness. Maybe, just maybe, this would be it. At nineteen, she was likely the prime age for hire. And while she didn’t have the most experience with cleaning, she had enough from her mother, and surely tea couldn’t be that difficult. So, after a bit of confusion over the direction of this 35 Portland Row, she was on her way.
Part Two
Anthony Lockwood, semi-successful merchant and founder of the Lockwood Trading Company, was at his wits end. His shipments were late, his customers were complaining, his business was slightly falling under, and his tea was cold.
The last bit really irked him. He could handle the shipments and revive his business just like he did every Tuesday, but Anthony Lockwood in all his talents and virtues could not make a cup of tea.
At least not the way he liked it.
“George!” he gave a guttural sort of whine when the door opened and George Cubbins walked through.
“What now?” he had originally come to inform Lockwood on the news of their French linen, but whatever Lockwood decided to be upset about now seemed far more interesting a conversation.
“My tea is cold, and the kitchens are much too far for me to even attempt to make more.”
“Oh life must be very rough for you.”
“Yes.”
They stared at each other for a record time of seven seconds before they both broke into grins.
“So, what were you originally going to tell me?” Lockwood stood, walking around his desk to look at the documents George had.
“News on the french linens. Apparently, they’ve been in England for the past week, simply no one could figure out where.”
“Well, have they found it now?”
“No.”
Lockwood hung his head with a sigh and went back to his desk. Grabbing the mug, he took a swig. His face immediately scrunched.
“I forgot that it was cold.”
“At this point, Lockwood,” George began sorting out the mish-mash of papers on his desk, “perhaps you should consider getting another maid.”
“Why? Holly’s mighty fine at her job.”
George stared at him.
“Because Holly has much better things to do than heat your tea.”
Part Three
Holly Munro, the head (and only) maid of the Portland Row Estate, is very glad that her employer has finally decided to hire another maid.
Not that she dislikes her job, if she didn’t she likely would have quit months ago. She knew she was skilled enough to be hired elsewhere even with some people’s problem with certain features of hers, but Mr. Lockwood was nice and let her be independent in her duties. She appreciated his trust.
Still, being the only maid in a modestly large estate just west of London got very lonely. Often she went into town either for her duties or once she was done, but it made the estate itself no less lonesome.
Needless to say, she was excited to perhaps make a friend.
Sadly, it seemed like no one was coming that day. Mr. Lockwood had apparently just put out fliers offering the position so she supposes she shouldn’t be too surprised at the lack of activity on the first day. It still filled her with disappointment, though.
Then, mercifully, the bell rang.
Holly bustled to the door in hardly contained enthusiasm, made sure her dress was straight and proper, fixed a pesky fly-away, and opened it.
The girl was hardly impressive looking, but Holly immediately knew she would be just perfect.
Part Four
“Lucy Carlyle. I’m here about the listing for the maid.”
“Yes! Come in, come in. I’ll pour you a cup of tea.”
Lucy followed who she assumed was the head maid into the front hall where she then was led into a large drawing room on her left.
From what she saw, 35 Portland Row was much less of the house she was expecting and much more posh. She was suddenly very nervous.
“Here you are.” The woman who led her in sat on the couch in the middle of the room, and Lucy sat down on the one opposite. At a quick glance, she immediately noticed the sheer amount of art on the walls. She hoped if she did somehow get this job, she could ask the names of them.
“My name is Holly Munro,” the woman started, and Lucy snapped to attention, “I’m the head maid, and I’m currently the only maid here at Portland Row. This will just be a quick interview.”
Lucy decided not to mention that she didn’t care if the interview lasted three days as long as she got the job.
“So, what’s your favorite color?”
Lucy Carlyle was very adept at being prepared for anything, but this question did make her slightly cough on her tea.
“Oh um… well…” she had never really thought about what her favorite color could be and looked around the room, noticing a certain landscape painting on the far wall. She pointed to it. “You see that soft blue in the sky in that? That’s it.” It really was a pretty color. “It reminds me of when I used to go flower-picking as a child.”
Ms. Munro’s eyes seemed to shimmer when she turned back. Lucy hoped that was a good thing.
“And what’s your favorite food?”
At least she did know this one, “Strawberry pie.”
“Wonderful,” Ms. Munro laughed. It was smooth and melodic, and Lucy felt herself relax somewhat. “Just one last question, dear. How do you make tea?”
Oh bother, Lucy thought, how do I make tea?
“Well, I…” she thought for a moment, and her cheeks turned red, surely it must be a very simple process. At least she thought it was when she made it the few times at home, but why would she be asked if it really were so simple. “I boil the water, brew the leaves, and drink it.”
Ms. Munro laughed again.
“Mr. Lockwood likely won’t appreciate you drinking his tea, but I’m sure he’ll get over it.”
Lucy sat on the couch for a moment.
“You mean I’ve got the job?”
Ms. Munro smiled at her.
“Yes, Ms. Carlyle, it will be a pleasure working with you.”