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.”
“This is an entirely different animal.” Mrs. Haines’s mouth barely moved when she spoke, as if she had problems with her teeth. “I worked at the Hubert Home Club for the past three years, and I assure you, managing an apartment house is quite a lot more work. My duties will include checking in guests and calling up to the owners to grant them permission to visit, as I did there. A gatekeeper, if you will, to keep out the riffraff. The switchboard shall be my domain.”
“Will you both be residing here at the Dakota?”
Mrs. Haines nodded. “We are moving in today, on the ninth floor.”
“Yes, our rooms are right around the corner from each other,” offered Daisy, looking pleased.
Mrs. Haines didn’t bother to mask her disappointment at the arrangement. The two women were unlikely to become bosom friends, but with luck they’d learn to work together.
The front bell rang and Mrs. Haines sprung up. “I’d like to get started, if that’s all right with you.”
Sara dismissed them, but Daisy turned back in the doorway. “Mrs. Smythe, is it true you came from London?”
“Yes, yes, I did.”
“That’s a long way.”
“Indeed.”
“I hate to speak out of turn, but Mrs. Haines told me she’d thought she would get your job when it came open. You might have your hands full with that one.”
Sara would not tolerate gossip.
“I’m certain Mrs. Haines and I will manage just fine,” she said. “I treat every member of my staff with respect and expect the same treatment in return. Which means that, in the future, Daisy, you need only inform me of matters that pertain directly to you or your duties.”
“Of course, ma’am.” Daisy bit her lip.
Sara did not regret chiding the girl; it was important to establish boundaries from the first. Still, she did not want Daisy to think her cruel or cold. It would be nice to have a friend in this peculiar place.
“Speaking of duties, I’m drowning in all of these papers.” Sara held up a thick stack of bills in each hand and offered Daisy a wry smile. “I’d surely love your help running through them. Do you mind pitching in?”
Daisy’s face brightened. “Of course not, Mrs. Smythe. Can I get you a cup of tea before we dive to the bottom?”
“That would be lovely, and fetch one for yourself as well.”
They made great progress in a short period of time. While Daisy focused on the invoices and began entering them in the ledger, Sara looked over the staff list the girl had found, miraculously, under the desk. In the few minutes before the tolling of the hour, they heard the employees shuffling in through the reception area.
“We should go.” Sara took a deep breath.
She led the way into the dining room, which was packed with men and women of all ages and sizes, from the mischievous-looking messenger boys to the resident laundress, easily recognizable by her chapped, red hands. Everyone stood, careful not to touch the walls or the silk-covered dining room chairs. She was glad they were meeting in this room, which held an awe-inspiring grandeur. Here she had some sway. Or so she hoped.
Mr. Camden loped in, nodding his head and weaving his way through the crowd. Sara noticed Daisy give a quick intake of breath. The man had a rough elegance about him, an unlikely combination.
“Thank you all for assembling,” he said. “I am Mr. Camden, part of the architectural team here. As a future tenant, I’ve also been put in charge of getting the place up and running, along with Mrs. Smythe, the resident managerette.” He gestured in her direction. “We are here to provide our tenants with the sense that they’re not living in an apartment house but instead in a mansion of their own, with everything they could possibly want at their very fingertips. My boss, Mr. Henry Hardenbergh, has created one of the most modern buildings in New York City. We open on October twenty-seventh. That’s very little time, and we will require your utmost attention and assistance.
“I’d like to turn the meeting over to Mrs. Smythe. Mrs. Smythe hails from London, where she worked at the grand Langham Hotel.”
The abrupt introduction threw her. Sweat beaded beneath her chemise and she was glad for the many layers that hid the signs of her terror. She should have been one of the women staring back at her now, expectant, wary, hoping to please.