Jane Carter Investigates: Episode Eight
“Didn’t you ask the man what he meant about not staying the
night?” Florence asked.
“Certainly, I did, Flo. He merely shrugged, and said it was his
opinion I’d not like the place.”
“Then he meant nothing after all?”
“I’m not sure. I think he started to tell me something and changed
his mind. Anyway, the question is, shall I tell Emma?”
“She’ll never take the job if you do.”
“That’s what I figured. Of course, if the place is undesirable, we
wouldn’t wish her to have it.”
“Why not wait until we learn the outcome of the interview?”
“Perhaps that would be wise,” I said.
Emma had paused to wait for us.
“Shall we wait outside or go in with you?” I asked Emma.
“You don’t mind coming along?”
“Not in the least.”
“Then I wish you would. I dread being interviewed by strangers.”
We let ourselves through a dirty picket fence and made our way to
the porch. A card in the front window bore the words: “Tourist Rooms.”
Flo rang the doorbell. A lean woman, with frowsy hair scorched
from a curling iron, came to the door. She had a sharp, angular face and a
large nose which drew attention away from her other imperfect features.
“Well?” she said.
Not very welcoming, I thought, for someone in the business of
catering to tourists.
Emma became confused and could not answer, so I replied that we
were there in response to an advertisement inserted in the Greenville Examiner.
“Come in,” the woman said. She stared at us each in turn. “You’re
not from White Falls, are you?”
“No, we live in Greenville,” I said.
“I’d rather have a girl from somewhere besides White Falls. But I
warn you the work is hard. There’s scrubbing and washing and ironing to do. You
look—"
“Oh, I’m not applying for the position,” I said. “This is Emma
Brown. She is the one who is interested. Your name is—”
“Mrs. Earnestine Conrad,” replied the woman. She frowned as she
stared Emma up and down. “You’re not very strong, are you?”
“I’ve never been afraid of hard work,” faltered Emma.
“Well, I don’t know,” Mrs. Conrad.
“Emma has had considerable experience in caféterias and
restaurants,” I said, considerably embroidering the truth. “I am sure you will
find her both capable and willing.”
“I might take you on trial,” the woman told Emma. “You’ll start in
at two dollars a week, plus board and room.”
“But the advertisement said $2.50 a week,” Emma protested.
“Two dollars—take it or leave it. Later, if you’re a hard worker
and know how to mind your business, maybe I can raise you to three.”
Emma glanced over at Flo and me. Flo shook her head, and I
mouthed, “Don’t do it.”
“I guess I’ll take it,” said Emma, ignoring our advice.
She really must be desperate for work, I thought. Maybe her
statements about starving hadn’t been that much of an exaggeration.
“Then get into your work clothes right away,” Mrs. Conrad ordered.
“I’m in the middle of a big ironing. You can take over while I do my grocery
buying.”
Before Emma could reply, a short, pudgy man with alert, darting
eyes entered the parlor. He looked at us, then looked at his wife.
“Who are they, Earnestine?” he asked.
“The new housemaid, and some of her friends,” his wife replied.
“We’ll help you bring in your luggage, Emma,” I said.
Florence and I carried the heavy suitcase to an upstairs room
which Mrs. Conrad had assigned Emma. It was a plainly furnished chamber with
ugly wallpaper and an uncomfortable bed.
“Emma, do you think you really wish to stay?” I said. “If I’m any
judge of character, Mrs. Conrad will prove a hard taskmaster.”
“Oh, I expect it. But I’ll stick it out for a few weeks, anyway.”
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