Free A Sense of Entitlement by Anna Loan-Wilsey

in that had a telephone, Mrs. Mayhew didn’t have only one in the hall on the first floor. So far, I’d counted three. “Oh, Davish! Good, you’re here. Sit over there.” I sat in the nearest chair and pulled out my notebook. “I’m certain because he wired me from New York,” Mrs. Mayhew said into the telephone. A slight hesitation. “Yes, I know there’s a strike going on. He wired it through Providence.” Silence filled the room while Mrs. Mayhew sat listening into the telephone.
    “What?” she exclaimed. “Who told you that? Your maids can’t strike. Harland would dismiss them all. Oh, Jane, what would you do?” Mrs. Mayhew glanced up from stroking her cat on her lap and started when she saw me. Had she forgotten I was there? I wondered.
    “Jane, my secretary’s here. I’ll talk to you at the party.” She put the receiver down. “You won’t need that,” she said, pointing to my notebook. I placed the notebook on my lap but didn’t close it or put my pencil away. Mrs. Mayhew said this to me every day. She had a tendency to believe her words should be memorable enough not to warrant writing anything down. I didn’t disillusion her. I simply wrote everything down as she lounged with her eyes closed, which was often enough.
    She handed me a copy of the afternoon’s guest list with several names crossed off and replacement names scribbled in. “Take care of this, will you?”
    Oh, no, I thought. She’s changed the guest list again.
    “Of course, ma’am.” I waited as Mrs. Mayhew sat staring at a life-size marble statue of the Roman goddess Minerva, slowly petting Bonaparte. Was this it? I was about to stand, assuming I was excused, when she spoke again.
    “As you know, throwing any party demands full cooperation from everyone,” she said.
    “Yes, ma’am.” I knew that the party was demanding the staff to work on what would be for many their half days off.
    “You are new to this house, Miss Davish, but I wonder if you’ve heard anything?”
    If she was talking about the grumbling this morning at breakfast over the lost half day off, yes, I’d heard plenty. Britta had told me all about it, as we were wont to chat a few minutes when she brought my meals. As a new employee I hadn’t expected time off yet, but I could see why they complained. Their half day was all the time they got, and if they didn’t get that time off they didn’t get any time. Britta even insinuated that Mrs. Mayhew purposely scheduled parties at a time she knew would keep the servants at home. I wondered whether the accusation was true or whether she simply forgot, as she had forgotten to send the carriage for me, overwhelmed with trying to run such an enormous household while keeping up with her active social calendar. Knowing the disarrayed state of her affairs between secretaries, I tended to believe the latter.
    But was that what Mrs. Mayhew was asking about? Could she be referring to rumors of an affair? “I rely on you to tell me such things,” she said.
    “I’m not sure what you mean, ma’am,” I said.
    “My dear friend Jane was just now telling me that her girls aren’t happy, that there’s rumors going around about maids asking for more time off. Have you heard of the telegraph operators’ strike? It’s disrupting everything. You must’ve heard about it.”
    “Yes, ma’am, I’ve heard about it.” I was beginning to understand what Mrs. Mayhew was asking. It had nothing to do with her husband.
    “Well, Miss Davish? Have you heard any such rumors in this house?” I was chagrined that she would ask me to inform on the other staff. Luckily, I had nothing to tell.
    “No, ma’am. I haven’t heard any rumors of a strike among the staff.”
    “Of course not, who wouldn’t want to work at Rose Mont? It’s a privilege and they know it.” Mrs. Mayhew sat back in her chair and sighed. “I won’t be requiring your services until the party. After you’ve written the new invitations, have the