“Best not to think of it.”
Sara was unsure how to proceed. She’d never had a hotel guest in her small office, and he was so tall he took up much of the space.
“How did you know what was happening?” Mr. Camden leaned back in his chair, his hat in his lap. He didn’t seem to realize how indecorous it was to be sitting together like this, even if the door was open, so nothing could be construed as irregular. It was almost as if he enjoyed it, while most guests wouldn’t dream of mingling with the staff.
“I can see your hotel room from my window. I stood to get some air and saw her climb up.”
“The girl was supposed to be watching the twins while Mrs. Camden was out. Needless to say, she was fired immediately.”
“Well, luckily all turned out well.” Other than for the nanny, of course.
“What is the ratio of staff to guests here?”
Such an odd question. “We have three hundred rooms and a staff of approximately four hundred.”
“How long have you been head housekeeper?”
“This is my first month.” He hadn’t come up here just to say thank you, she was sure. Something else was driving his line of inquiry. She squared her shoulders and leaned slightly forward, as if into a wind, curious to figure him out. “But I’ve been working here in some capacity for the past eleven years.”
“You know the place well.”
“I do.”
“Mr. Birmingham says you’re highly efficient.”
Mr. Camden had inquired after her. “That’s kind of him to say.”
“It’s a grand building, the Langham. Beautifully built.”
“Yes.” Americans were very strange indeed. He didn’t seem to be in any rush to get back to his family. What if Mr. Birmingham had sent him up here as some kind of a test? “I’m happy to be employed here.”
“This hotel featured the first hydraulic lifts in England. Did you know that?”
Perhaps he was the type of man who collected facts and loved to show off how much he knew. She nodded.
Mr. Camden smiled. “I’m going on and on, sorry about that. I simply want to figure out a way to thank you.”
“There is no need. The hotel staff does everything it can for its guests.”
“You did more than that. I hope you didn’t injure yourself in the process.”
“Not at all.”
One of the laundry girls popped her head into the room and then jumped back, startled when she caught sight of Mr. Camden.
“Sorry, Mrs. Smythe. I’ll come back later.”
“That’s fine, Edwina.”
“Edwina, my mother’s name.” Mr. Camden swiveled around and gave the girl a smile. His face beamed with delight. “Edwina, may we trouble you for some tea?”
He was here to stay. But what for, she couldn’t guess. Edwina turned to Sara. Her eyes held the same faint alarm Sara’s must have, but Sara checked herself. “Yes, please, Edwina.”
The girl shuffled off and Mr. Camden turned back to Sara. “If I’m not keeping you from anything, of course.”
“Not at all. But there is no need for further mention of the incident. All’s well, as they say.”
“May I ask about your background?”
“I’m not sure if that’s necessary, Mr. Camden.”
He blushed. She hadn’t meant to embarrass him, just wanted to redirect the conversation. But how easily he’d gone all pink, like a schoolboy. Caught off guard, he tilted his head and stammered. “In a professional capacity, of course. I’m quite interested in how a big place like this keeps running along day after day, crisis after crisis.”
“I assure you we seldom have crises like the one today. Most of the time it’s a well-oiled machine.” One of Mr. Birmingham’s favorite expressions. She’d never liked it, as it turned the flesh-and-blood staff into cogs in an engine, but she was uncertain how to keep the conversation with Mr. Camden flowing.
“Of course not. What would you say is the biggest problem the staff encounters?”
She considered the question. “We are a first-class hotel, Mr. Camden. We make sure that every guest’s whim is answered. Sometimes that can be a juggling act, as the turnover is quite high.”
“Do many of the guests bring their own servants?”
“Of course. But they still need rooms cleaned and freshened. Ladies’ maids and butlers have their own roles to play, separate from the hotel’s amenities.”
“Before this, did you work in service?”
“I did not; however, my mother was housekeeper to an earl. Before this I was a dressmaker’s apprentice.”
“Yet you still ended up in service?”
She should never have offered so much of her own history. But something about the man’s manner made her speak more than was proper. And now she’d stumbled into uncomfortable territory.
The tea arrived and Sara welcomed the interruption. Enough with Mr. Camden’s incessant questions. She would turn the tables, regain the upper hand. As she poured the tea, she inquired after his work. Americans seemed to enjoy chattering on at great length about their accomplishments.
He rose to the occasion. “I’m assisting the construction of an apartment house in New York City.”
“You’re an architect?”
He beamed. “Yes. I work for the great Henry Hardenbergh.”
Sara shook her head. “I’m afraid I’m not acquainted with his name.”
“He’s taking New York City by storm. He’s designed a place where the best families can live with elegance and privacy, sharing amenities like laundry and housekeeping. Why, we’re even keeping a tailor and baker on staff. As you can see, I’m fascinated with the inner workings of places like the Langham. Who keeps it humming, and how.”
That explained everything. Her shoulders dropped and she offered a warm smile, relieved that Mr. Birmingham wasn’t behind the interrogation. “It sounds like a large project.”
“The Dakota, it’s called, and it will change the way the upper class of the city live. At the moment, the elite of New York reside in brownstones, equivalent to your terrace houses, with one family per abode. The idea of sharing common space and amenities with others, as the French do, is considered gauche.”
“And why is that?”
“It’s too similar to a working-class tenement, where dozens of families live together in poverty and squalor.”