House of Storms (eBook)

CHAPTER 1
Westworld

Devon Parks, Courtney Fields, and Macy James rode along the Trans-Canadian Highway debating their next move. They had each secured a job starting in September in private biology labs along the US East Coast. Inseparable at the University of Maryland, they were going to be hundreds of miles apart. They had seen how the fastest of friends could drift apart when separated by even fifty miles, especially when they acquired new friends, got married, had children, changed social stratum, or just simply grew up. Just now, they were off on a lark, playing before they had to settle down in the fall.

Devon was open faced, charming, and sweet. She was probably the smartest of the three. Her hazel eyes, curly dark brown hair, and slightly softer look drew people to her like a magnet. She was generally quiet until something aroused her sympathy or anger. She was saved from being pushed around by a combination of spunk and character.

The gregarious and upbeat Courtney was a curvy five foot two, brown hair, brown eyes. She was stubborn and was seldom pushed in a direction she didn’t want to go, which often made her a leader of whatever group she got involved with.

Macy was tall, blonde over blue. Like the other two, she was a pretty good student, but also enjoyed a good time. She could be a bit quirky—like actually liking hiking and camping, botany and geology.

“We approacheth a town,” Courtney announced. “Didn’t we say we would take the plunge into the job pool at the next town, assuming there were jobs that required our limited skills?”

“I have skills you girls know nothing about,” Macy said with exaggerated dignity. “Perhaps I should find a job and then ask if they have anything you two could possibly do.”

“That would really be sweet,” Devon purred sweetly.

“We weren’t talking about sexual prowess, Macy; we were talking about daytime job skills.”

“I’m writing all these insults down in my book, Courtney, and some day ….”

Surveying the town, Courtney said, “The tour book doesn’t mention a place like this around here.”

“It looks Victorian,” Macy observed. “Hansom cabs, tea carts, a meat market with geese hanging by their necks, bins of fish on ice, greengrocers, and smoking chimneys on every building.”

“Everybody’s in costume,” Devon said. “I wonder if all the employees have to dress up?”

There was a sign that said, Leave conveyances here. Courtney parked the car and locked it as the other two surveyed the anachronistic town. Macy pointed to a three-story house just inside the gate on the right. The arch over the walkway identified it as the McGinnis Hotel. There was a small hand-lettered sign on the gate which made them look at each other and smile, Personnel needed, apply at rear entrance.

It was funny, it seemed like no one took any notice of them until they crossed some magic barrier and stepped onto the street. Suddenly people began doing double-takes—the few women on the sidewalk looking scandalized; some of the men, highly bemused and quite interested.

“I guess you do have to be in costume,” Devon giggled. “The McGinnis is hiring. Guess we go to the back door.”

The three walked around the block and down an alley to the back of the hotel. They stepped up onto a broad stoop and Courtney knocked. In a minute or two, a woman in a long dress and apron opened the door and took one look at them. She blurted, “What in the name of the Lord are you wearing? What in the devil happened to your bleedin’ clothes?” Her Canadian accent was unusually thick—Was that part of the act?

Macy said with all the dignity that she could muster, “We were robbed. We were dragged into an alley and assaulted.” She saw the cooks’ shocked looks and hastily assured them, “No, no, not that way. They just stole our money and clothing before we could get away. We were seeking employment and saw the sign advertising a need for hotel personnel. We were coming here to apply.”

“Well, at least you got away. You must report the assault to the Constabulary immediately. You must get some decent clothing first, of course. We’ll get you fixed up and, afterwards, we can see about positions for the three of you.”

They walked through a mud room and into a—What was it?—a larder Macy remembered the term, which had vegetables, chops, several small fish, and some kind of fowl, maybe one of the geese they had seen in the meat market. They could hear other people working in the next area, which Macy assumed was the kitchen.

“Behind the door,” the woman said, “there are some old kitchen work outfits. They should fit all three of you after a fashion. When you’re dressed decently, use the brush and kerchiefs there to do something with your hair and then come into the kitchen. Where in the world did you get those shoes? Well, we don’t have spare shoes so those will have to do.” She shook her head and left.

After the door was closed and she could hear the cook’s steps fading away, Devon said, “Robbed?”

Macy snapped back, “That’s the best I could come up with under the circumstances! How the hell else would we have lost our clothes and purses in broad daylight?”

“Spooky,” Courtney said. “This damn place feels like Westworld.”

“You mean like the movie?” Devon asked. “Yeah. I’ve never heard or read about a place like this in this area, where everybody is in character. What do we do now?”

“We haven’t heard of everything,” Courtney said in a tone that implied that she thought she had probably heard a bit more than they had. “Let’s go along with it; it could be fun.”

The three women changed clothes and attempted to tie the kerchiefs over their hair the way the older woman had hers, then trooped into the kitchen to line up for inspection. The woman who had answered the door and two younger women stood with their arms crossed, looking at them appraisingly. “That’s better. I’m Agnes, head cook,” the older woman said. “These are Caroline and Fern. We do the cooking. Three other girls that you will meet later do the scullery work.”

Courtney introduced the three of them, said they were from Maryland in the United States, and that they were interested in applying for jobs in the hotel.

“I know it sounds rather strange,” Devon said softly, thinking these people were overplaying their roles—They had surely seen women dressed in jeans and T-shirts before—“but, well, we don’t have any appropriate clothes for this hotel.”

In an aside, Agnes gave brief instructions to two very young women who had just come in to begin dinner preparations. “The positions available are for maids; and we probably have suitable uniforms that will fit you.”

“That’s a step up from the scullery,” Fern said with a little smile. She headed into the scullery and immediately began banging around.

Agnes continued, “I would ask if you have letters of recommendation, but I assume they were taken with your clothes. Well, we must get to work. Have a seat in the employees’ lunchroom and I will send someone to see if the mistress of the hotel is available.” She led the way, got the three young women settled, and scurried away.

“We’ll have to ask where we can get costumes if, in fact, we get jobs here,” Courtney said. “I wonder if they accept modern Canadian money or do we have to exchange it for—what?—funny money?”

“Are you sure we want to do this?” Macy asked. “I know, I know, it could be fun.”

“Good morning, ladies. I am Mrs. McGinnis. My husband owns this hotel and I manage the staff,” said a middle-aged woman bustling into the room. She was well-dressed with her salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a bun and a serious expression, but friendly enough gray eyes.

“Good morning,” the three said almost in unison, standing quickly and smoothing their borrowed dresses.

“Please come back to my office.” She led the way to a nicely furnished room in the back of the building and took a seat behind a small desk of fine cherry wood. The women were seated on a stiff camel-back sofa facing her. Courtney told her about being on an excursion across Canada before they assumed positions on the East Coast and assured her that they could get resumés when they got back to their car.

“Car? If you left your trunks on the train car, it’s a good thirty miles away by now!” The woman said this with a totally straight face.

“Ah, I should have said that we left the luggage at the depot.”

“Oh, yes. Resumés? Very fancy. Well, the jobs I have available are for maids, two upstairs servicing the rooms and one on the first floor servicing the public rooms, that is, the lobby, dining room, sitting room, and the like. It is certainly preferable to working in the scullery and you three seem to be a cut above that kind of position.” Her face became a bit more stern. “You girls haven’t been in any kind of trouble that might follow you here, have you?”

“No, Ma’am,” Macy said, putting her nose a bit higher in the air. “We are honest, and we come from good families.”

“I can see that,” Mrs. McGinnis said more softly. “It’s a question I have to ask all potential employees. Now, have you worked as maids before?”

“Yes,” Courtney said, thinking that they had all cleaned their parents’ homes and, on rare occasion, their own...