Twas cold, but sweat beaded on my forehead, understanding settling in. I no longer had a job. “Complaints?”
“Aye, lass. Complaints. Many. More than one family said they saw ye sweeping the carpet rather than using the vacuum. Another said they saw ye hanging the sheets up in the room to be beaten with the broom handle. Who taught ye to clean? Yer great-great-great grandmother?” Danny laughed slightly, pleased with herself for the odd joke.
“No one taught me to clean. I doona like the sound of the vacuum, it hurts me ears. And I doona know how to use the cleaning barrel for the sheets.”
Danny’s eyes grew wide at me ignorance.
“Cleaning barrel? Do ye mean the washing machine? Gracious! I’d hate to see what yer house looks like, and I bet yer clothes smell something dreadful. Now, collect yer things and be gone with ye.”
She gave me no further chance to speak as she turned and left, leaving me alone in the small storage room beneath the staircase. I knew I’d been in trouble when she pulled me into the broom storage, but I never expected to be left without a job.
Without it, I had little means to pay for the small apartment Jerry and Gwendolyn found for me, and I was unsure of how to search for another job. What could I do? I had few skills, and those I did possess would serve me little in today’s time.
I’d held the job for only two weeks and, with each passing day, I found myself regretting me decision to stay in this time just a little bit more.
But it didn’t matter. I alone had chosen me path. Breathing in deeply as I tried to suck back the tears threatening to fall from the corner of me eye, I lifted me head up as I left the closet.
*
“Wait up!”
I heard the shout from behind me shoulder but continued to make me way home, assuming the words were meant for someone else.
“Blaire! Slow down. Ye walk so fast I canna catch up to ye.”
I stopped walking, causing a man who seemed to be in quite a big hurry to walk right into me back. After he told me what he thought about me in a few short, fairly shocking words, I turned to see one of the other maids, Isla, lifting her dainty, short legs up in an effort to reach me.
“I’m sorry. I thought ye were calling after someone else.”
Once she was next to me, we moved off of the main walkway so that we could stand without blocking the way of others. Isla rubbed her gloved hands together and cupped them around her mouth, blowing air into them to warm her hands.
I continued to be amazed at how cold everyone seemed to always be. Twas no colder than Scotland always was and, with the thick coats and protective clothing that people now wore, not to mention my favorite modern invention—heaters, I found the temperature to always be quite enjoyable.
“No, I was talking to ye. I just got off work, and I heard about what Danny did to ye. I’m sorry that ye lost yer job, but I do have to tell ye, ye did do things awful strange. But that’s not what I wanted to tell ye. I might could get ye another job if ye like.”
“Aye, I would like. I doona know what I will do for a job.”
Isla smiled and put her arm around me as if we were more closely acquainted than we actually were. “I thought that might be the case. There is a catch, though. Ye canna do this job looking like ye do. It would only cause trouble for ye.”
I stepped away, still uncomfortable with the familiarity that people of this time used with one another. “What do ye mean? What is the job?”
“My cousin owns a pub not far from the hotel. I’ve been bartending there as a second job, but I canna juggle both at the same time. He’s looking for a replacement for me. I would train ye meself, and I know he will give ye the job if I ask him. All ye do is mix drinks, but ye look too pretty and sweet with yer long hair and clean face. I know ye have enough spunk to handle the job, but yer appearance needs to reflect yer no-nonsense attitude. I’ll help ye change yer look. What do ye say?” Isla smiled and shrugged her shoulders, raising her hands palm up as if awaiting my answer.
I knew it would be foolish to tell her no. “Aye, I canna thank ye enough, Isla. What do ye want to do about the way I look?”
I fidgeted uncomfortably while Isla looked me up and down, deciding how to best alter what appeared to be so unacceptable. “How would ye feel about cutting yer hair? And maybe piercing yer ears? And eyeliner, ye definitely need to learn how to implore the use of eyeliner. It will make ye look more intimidating instantly, and believe me, when tending bar for a bunch of rowdy Scots, ye want a look that says ‘doona even think about it’.”
“Aye, if ye say so. But I doona wanna look like a man. The hair goes no higher than me shoulders.” I reached a hand up to run through my long locks. Mayhap a change would be good.