“Sixty-five, ranging from four to twenty rooms,” answered Mr. Camden.
“How many will be on staff, once it’s up and running?”
Mr. Douglas took a moment to answer, configuring the number in his head, apparently. “One hundred and fifty.”
She recoiled. “I’d be in charge of one hundred and fifty people? What would they all do?”
“Let’s see, this is a good test for me.” Mr. Douglas chuckled, as if it were all a silly joke. “Elevator staff, doormen, janitors, porters, watchmen, resident laundress with staff, gentlemen’s tailor, two painters, cabinetmaker, electrician, plumber, dining room staff. I think that’s everyone. Practically a city within a city, no?”
“Don’t forget the carpenter and glazier,” added Mr. Camden.
The two men discussed the schedule for installing the finishing touches on the Otis elevators for a few minutes, until Mr. Douglas turned on his heel and exited down the hall, puffing like a train.
Mr. Camden went to the wall and rang a button. “Well, that’s exciting news, isn’t it?”
She was frozen on the spot, unsure of how to answer. She was to be responsible for the entire staff and the well-being of hundreds of tenants.
“Fitzroy will be here in a moment and can show you to your office. I think you’ll prefer it to the garret you had at your previous employer’s. I designed the interior myself.”
For a moment, she ached for the small office at the top of the hotel, where she had showed up every day knowing exactly what was expected of her. “I’m not sure I’m right for this position.”
“Then you’ll be on the first steamer back.”
She blanched, and he laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous, give it a whirl. Douglas is in a pickle. You’ll do it, right?” Before she could reply, Fitzroy appeared.
“Sir?”
“Take Mrs. Smythe to the front office. And, Mrs. Smythe, first order of things is to find a new resident housekeeper. Off you go.”
Dutifully, she followed Fitzroy back down the stairs. He moved nimbly for his age. “I’ll have to bring you through the basement, as they’re causing a ruckus in the courtyard.”
She nodded, unable to speak. Her throat had tightened and she wanted a cup of tea desperately.
They descended to the lowest level of the building. Even though they were underground, the place was bright with natural light.
“How are there windows underground?” she asked.
“There’s a waterless moat around the building. But that’s not the only source. If you look up”—he pointed at the ceiling—“you can see the skylights set in the courtyard fountains.”
Fitzroy carried on with the tour, pointing out the water pipes that powered the lifts, she wasn’t sure exactly how, and dozens of small rooms. “Here’s where the tailor will go, and here will be a storage room for the tenants’ trunks. A ramp on the west side of the building allows for deliveries to be made directly to the basement.”
They took an elevator up one flight and Fitzroy unlocked the door to an office off the reception room, flinging it open.
Mr. Camden was correct. No expense had been spared. On the mahogany walls were handsome wood bookshelves, beside which sat a matching desk. The tableau was more suited to an old schooner, the place where the captain of a ship plotted the navigation. Piled on top of the desk were stacks of papers and unopened envelopes. Several had fallen to the floor.
“What’s all this?”
“Bills, requests from tenants, that sort of thing. The manager was supposed to have been here a week ago, so we’re a little behind.”
Fitzroy picked up the envelopes from the floor and laid them carefully on one of the shorter piles. “Did Mr. Camden mention the staff meeting?”
“No. No, he did not.”
“Right, then.” He checked his timepiece. “The entire staff will be arriving shortly and meeting in the dining room in one hour to receive their orders.”
“Mr. Douglas’s way of leading the charge?”
“Mr. Douglas?” Fitzroy looked at her askance. “No, Mrs. Smythe. You’ll be heading the meeting. You’re leading the charge.”
The next thirty minutes were spent rifling through the piles of papers, sorting them out by invoices, resident requests, vendor notices, and the like. It didn’t speak much to the organization of the place that Mr. Douglas had assigned her these duties without telling her exactly what was expected of her. She doubted he even knew. Everyone was starting from scratch with this apartment-house-that-ran-like-a-hotel nonsense. As far as she could tell, her job as lady managerette was to keep the Dakota Apartment House afloat. How that broke down into responsibilities was beyond her, and was probably beyond Mr. Douglas as well, who was busy with his own deadlines and duties.
She knew how to manage housemaids, nothing more than that. All right, perhaps more than that, as Mr. Birmingham at the Langham had presented her with additional responsibilities over the years. Particularly those he disliked, like hiring and firing staff and dealing with the more finicky guests.
She’d fought her way up to housekeeper there, so why should she not jump on this opportunity as well?
Because she might fail, horribly, and have to return to Fishbourne with her tail between her legs, as her mother expected.
A girl with strawberry-blond hair peered in from the doorway. “Mrs. Smythe?”
Sara nodded. “May I help you?”
The girl walked in, followed by a thin, reedy woman. They couldn’t have been more different from each other. The younger one was soft and round with a smattering of pale freckles that dotted her nose and cheeks. Her expression was curious and eager, like that of a girl who’d just walked into a bakery full of pastries. The older one’s mouth turned down at the sides, and her plain gray frock had the unfortunate effect of turning her skin tone rather ashen.
“I’m Daisy Cavanaugh, your assistant,” said the girl. “This is Mrs. Haines, who is also your assistant.”
Sara rose. “It is quite a pleasure to meet you both. Please, sit.” She gestured to the two chairs. “I’m afraid I have yet to find the staff list. Can you tell me a little about yourselves and what your jobs entail?”
Maybe that would give her some clue about her own.
Daisy leaned forward in her chair. “I was told that I’m to do whatever I can to assist you. I assume my first order of business is to locate the staff list.”
She liked the girl already.
“Previously”—Daisy cocked her head—“I worked at the Cosmopolitan Hotel, assisting the manager.”