Brides of Banff Springs Read online

  “You are not going to be popular if he meant what he said,” Saul warned her. “The local girls will want to lynch you. Ryan’s considered quite a catch. Come on.”

  “Why would he say that he would have to marry me? He doesn’t even know me!”

  “Well, look at you,” Saul said as he opened the door for her.

  Tilly peeked down at her cinnamon-colored wool coat. Did she have a button hanging by a thread? Was her hem frayed? She knew the cuffs were a little worn and the pockets sagged as if they were too tired to hold whatever their owner dropped in them but, other than that, she thought she looked neat and reasonably tidy. “What’s wrong with me?”

  “Nothing, Tilly. Nothing at all.” Saul’s grin widened. “It’s just that you’re the prettiest girl to walk through these doors in a long time.”

  “Pretty? Me?” Tilly wrinkled her nose in astonishment that anyone should think such a thing.

  Saul halted his long stride, dropped her suitcase and took her by the shoulders. He gave her a little shake. “Don’t you ever look in a mirror?”

  “Well of course I do. Every day,” she told him. “But I’m nothing special.”

  “You have no idea, do you?” A look of wry amusement flashed across Saul’s face as he recovered her suitcase. “I know girls not half as pretty as you who are twice as vain and try and lord it over everyone. I’ll tell you straight, Tilly, you might have to watch your step with some of the male guests. The male staff, too, if it comes to that.”

  “That sounds very unlikely.” Disbelieving Saul’s statement, Tilly kept her head down as she trailed after him.

  She knew she resembled her mother, having inherited her curly black hair that maddeningly curled even more in damp weather. She had her eyes, too, the deep blue of cornflowers. The shape of her mouth and her strong, stubborn chin featured her father. But no one had ever called her pretty and she still could not think it of herself. Sunk deep in thought she took in none of her surroundings. Only one fact registered with her, and that was their footsteps made no sound as they walked across what seemed acres of carpeting.

  Saul came to a stop and knocked on an office door. After being bid a sharp “Come in”, he opened the door for her and Tilly stepped inside. She cast a swift glance over wooden panelled walls hung with framed certificates and photographs. Two large oil paintings of different aspects of the hotel graced the wall behind an oversized wooden desk at which sat a smartly-dressed, be-spectacled woman.

  As she anxiously approached the desk, the woman looked up and Tilly found herself being raked over from head to toe by a pair of piercing gray eyes. They narrowed ominously as they completed their inspection. Everything about the woman seemed narrow, from the tight, fashionable finger-waves set in her dark blonde hair to her thin, pencilled eyebrows. Her red lipsticked mouth pressed into a tight line, which did nothing to offer Tilly any degree of welcome. She placed a finger on the bridge of her spectacles and settled them firmly into place on her nose.

  All the better to see me with, Tilly thought as she waited for a reaction.

  “Thank you, Mr. Gardiner. You may go.” Miss Richards waved Saul away as she got to her feet.

  “You’ll be fine,” Saul whispered as he left her, but Tilly didn’t feel fine. Her knees shook and she quavered under the woman’s still cool-eyed appraisal.

  “When we spoke on the telephone, I had no indication that you were such a good looking girl,” she finally announced.

  “Is that a problem, Miss Richards?” Tilly found it very hard to keep up with all the interest in her physical appearance.

  “I sincerely hope not, my dear.” Miss Richards took her seat and indicated that Tilly should pull up a chair in front of the desk. “I want to be quite clear from the outset,” she continued once Tilly had settled herself. “Every summer, amongst our guests, we have very rich, influential people. Some of these people, especially the young men, seem to think they can take what I shall call…certain liberties with the female staff. You will engage in none of this behaviour. You will simply do the job you have been hired to do and nothing more. Our hotel policy is that the customer is always right and, in matters where there is a dispute between a guest and a member of staff, the guest must come first. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Miss Richards.” Tilly answered meekly enough but her mind whirled. She supposed Miss Richards was advising her not to flirt with the guests, but in truth she wouldn’t know how. Her only experience had been gleaned from the neighbor farm boys around her home. They annoyed rather than inspired her to any degree of interest, and she frequently left them standing in the dust.

  “Now, you come highly recommended as a hard-working girl of good character.” Miss Richards held up a letter, which she quickly scanned.

  “It was very kind of Mr. Bentinck to speak up for me,” Tilly said.

  “You worked for him?” A sharp glance from over the spectacles made her insides quiver.

  “No, he was my father’s bank manager and therefore mine, too, after my father died.” Tilly clenched her hands in her lap. Thinking of that loss made tears prick her eyes and she blinked hard to prevent them from falling.

  “What about your mother?”

  “Also passed on.” Tilly straightened up. There was no point in prevaricating so she simply told the truth. “I have no parents, Miss Richards, nor do I have a home. Most of my business with Mr. Bentinck was conducted due to the bank’s foreclosure on our farm.”

  “And do you have any means to support yourself if your position here becomes untenable?”

  Tilly sighed. She had been so grateful to the bank manager for his help. It had been he who had shown her the advertisement in the newspaper for housekeeping staff at the famous Banff Springs Hotel. He had allowed her to use the telephone in his office to make enquiries as to how she should apply for the position. Without his help she was sure that she would never have made the journey from a painful past to a hopeful future. But now that hopeful future seemed unnervingly dim.

  “I have some funds available to me, but am I to understand that you don’t want me to work here…” Tilly sank her teeth into her bottom lip to prevent it from trembling, “because of how I look?”

  “I am sorely tempted to turn you down because of it,” Miss Richards stated bluntly. “I think you, without it being any fault of your own, are going to be trouble. Against my better judgement, I am going to pair you with an experienced girl. You will learn how to service the rooms and suites with the Bow Valley view, which are occupied by our highest level of guests. Whether you remain servicing our top floor rooms very much depends on your performance.”

  Tilly almost collapsed with relief at this pronouncement, but Miss Richards was already on her feet, heading towards the door.

  “Come along. I’ll take you and introduce you to Felicity Jessop.” Miss Richards held the door open and Tilly gathered her purse and her suitcase and followed her. As they left the office, Tilly heard her sigh. She stopped and gave Tilly a hard, unwavering stare. “And McMormack….”

  “Yes Miss Richards?”

  “Don’t make me regret this.”

  Chapter Three

  She set off at a brisk walk through a high-ceilinged service area and Tilly hurried after her.

  “You will be working with Jessop under Miss Taylor, your floor supervisor.” Miss Richards stopped in front of a bank of elevators, their brassware gleaming from frequent and vigorous polishing. “These are the service elevators and they are the only elevators you are permitted to use.”

  Tilly supposed this to mean that she would remain hidden from curious-eyed guests, but what would she do if those same guests decided to ride these elevators instead of the ones reserved for them. She counted the seconds it took reach the top floor, relieved when the door opened and they stepped out of the car. Through the windows opposite the elevators, Tilly caught tantalizing glimpses of the surrounding mountains.

  “We are quite unique in that all our rooms are outsi
de rooms which offer our guests grand views, depending on the weather and that, of course, we cannot guarantee.” Miss Richards had not missed Tilly’s interest in the stunning vistas each window presented. “You may well admire the view now. Once you have started work you won’t have time for it. Ah, here we are.”

  They entered a room lined with shelves, each shelf stacked with linens and towels. A girl, who Tilly judged to be not much older than herself, counted sheets while an older woman recorded the numbers given to her. It looked to be a tedious, if necessary, undertaking. Both women’s faces and shoulders relaxed at the interruption.

  “So this is our new recruit?” The older woman, dressed in a neat black dress and with her hair swept into a bun on top of her head, stepped forward.

  “Indeed, Miss Taylor.” Miss Richards remained close to the door.

  She can’t wait to be rid of me, Tilly decided and, after the briefest of introductions, she found herself alone with the two strangers.

  “Well, I must say you are not quite what I expected,” Miss Taylor began.

  Tilly lifted her chin. If her looks were going to be thrown up at her again she would have no compunction in telling them what she thought. Much to her surprise the younger woman, with a spark of interest in her tawny eyes, began to laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” Tilly demanded, fisting her hands on her hips and glaring at the girl.

  “The way your face puckered up.” The laughter subsided into a fat chuckle as Felicity controlled herself. “You look ready to spit nails.”

  “Felicity, that’s quite enough, thank you.” Miss Taylor offered Tilly an apologetic smile. “I can quite see why Miss McCormack would take exception at being unfairly scrutinized.”

  Tilly slowly let out her breath. “Thank you. It has not been my best day.”

  “No, of course not, and as it’s late in the day I’ll excuse Felicity further duties so that she may help you get settled in. I will expect to see you both here tomorrow morning.”

  Their chorused, “Yes Miss Taylor”, had the effect of reminding Tilly of her schooldays but her mood lightened considerably as they left the linen room.

  “So, what do I call you?” Felicity wanted to know as they rode down in the elevator. “Matilda? Tilda? Make it something simple or I’m liable to forget.”

  Tilly laughed. “I can’t imagine you forgetting anything and it’s Tilly. How about you?”

  “Just Fliss, but here’s lesson Number One. Our supervisors tell us it lowers the tone of the hotel to refer to each other in such a casual way so, when we are in sight and sound of our guests, we have to use Mr or Miss Whatever. And talking of tone,” Fliss hesitated as they stepped out of the elevator, “don’t expect miracles from our accommodation, will you?”

  “It can’t be that bad,” Tilly protested, but the suddenly glum expression on Fliss’ face silenced her.

  “It’s just that it’s small and very basic,” Fliss warned her as they exited the hotel and approached a group of nearby out-buildings. “Come on, here we are. We have to share the bathroom at the end of the hall, but this is home sweet home, or as sweet as I can make it.”

  Tilly looked at the travel posters plastered on the wall above Fliss’ bed. The wall above the second bed was bare except for three hooks. A dresser had been squeezed between the foot of the bed and the wall. Between the beds, and beneath the only window, stood a nightstand with an untidy pile of magazines sitting atop it. She fingered through them. Life. Time. Popular Songs, and one she would be sure to tell Ryan about, Motion Picture. At the bottom of the pile she recognized the familiar yellow spine of a National Geographic.

  She hooked it out with her finger and picked it up, observing it was dated February that year. Her father would have devoured it. She looked at the list of contents, which included an article on ‘Petra, Ancient Caravan Stronghold’, by John D. Whiting, and another entitled ‘Silent Winged Owls of North America’, by Maj. Allan Brooks.

  “The guests often leave mags and books when they check out,” Fliss told her. “Do you enjoy reading?”

  “Love it,” Tilly answered. “My dad and I sometimes used to read to each other. He would certainly have appreciated this.”

  She returned the magazine to the pile and looked at the bare, uninviting mattress. “Is there any bedding?”

  “In here.” Fliss closed the bedroom door and revealed, behind it, a battered old armoire. “I’ll make some room for you, but it’s pretty crammed. It’s actually easier to store your stuff under your bed. I don’t normally share, but as Miss Richards seemed to think you were some kind of wonder-girl, I was asked to give you the benefit of my experience.”

  Tilly sank down on the bed with a sigh. “Fliss, I’m no one special. Miss Richards must have got the wrong impression from the reference she was given. It really was a bit over-the-top I’m afraid, but I can’t say I blame Mr. Bentinck for it. He was only trying his best to help me.”

  “Feeling a bit homesick?” Fliss searched in her purse and pulled out a packet of Chesterfields.

  “I’ve no home to feel sick for.” A tug of regret for all she had lost constricted Tilly’s chest, making it difficult, for a moment, for her to breathe. It was hard not to compare her current surroundings with the tidy bedroom she had once occupied. She thought of the quilt so lovingly hand-crafted for her by her mother, the rag-rug beside her bed and the daisy-patterned flour sack drapes. She would have loved to have brought the quilt but had chosen, instead, to offer it to a neighbour’s daughter. All she had brought with her were the clothes she needed and her parents’ wedding photograph as a memento.

  The crinkling sound of paper brought her out of her reverie as Fliss shook the packet and offered her a cigarette. “No, thank you, I don’t smoke.”

  “Sensible you,” Fliss commented. “Sometimes I wish I hadn’t started. Fifteen cents a packet soon cuts into your paycheck.”

  The scrape of a match and the sharp smell of sulphur made Tilly wrinkle her nose. “How many of those things do you smoke a day?”

  “Depends.” Fliss inhaled deeply before expelling a long, thin stream of smoke, which made Tilly cough. “Half a pack usually, but more if I’m bored.”

  “Bored? Here?” Tilly couldn’t quite believe that anyone could be bored in these surroundings.

  “Oh, I wasn’t at first.” Fliss kicked her shoes off and stretched out on the bed. “This is my third season here. I mean, once you’ve been to the zoo and gone to the hot springs and on a hike or two, well, it’s just not Miami. I must say I miss the beach.”

  “Miami?” Tilly’s eyebrows raised in surprise at this announcement.

  “Mmm.” Fliss took another long drag on her cigarette. “Saul and I hate the winter. We’ve worked at the Biltmore and the Flamingo down there but are going to try for Hawaii this year.”

  “Oh, of course.” Tilly sat down on her own bed. “And I’m going to fly to Paris and climb the Eiffel Tower.”

  Fliss ignored the sarcasm and chuckled. “No you’re not. You’ll hang out around here and freeze your butt off. Saul and I are going to apply to The Royal Hawaiian and the Moana Surfrider. Between the two we should get something and if he’s at one and I’m at the other, at least we’re not too far apart because they are both on Waikiki Beach.”

  Tilly, never having seen a beach, could only imagine what the combination of sun and sand would be like. To be in such a place with a young man beside her struck her as slightly daring. “Are you and Saul—well—together?”

  “Four years now.” Fliss responded promptly without giving any signs of embarrassment at Tilly’s question. “I was working in the laundry at the Fort Garry Hotel in Winnipeg at the time. Saul brought us a shirt with a red wine stain on it. He said, ‘any chance you can get rid of this stain?’ and I thought, I can do anything for you. We’ve been together ever since.”

  “That sounds so romantic and a bit like my parents. Dad said as soon as he and my mom set eyes on each other, that was it.” Rememberi
ng Ryan’s warm brown eyes brought a smile to her lips. Could history be repeating itself? She thought not, but how could she be sure? She mentally shook the problem away and focused instead on the exotic-sounding places Fliss mentioned. That hotel staff might travel between luxury hotels as readily as the guests had not occurred to her.

  “So, how do you get these jobs?” she asked, intrigued by what appeared to her to be a very adventurous life style.

  “Adverts in trade magazines as a rule but more often just word of mouth,” Fliss explained. “But for that to happen you have to be very, very good at what you do. That’s why Aggie paired you with me, so you can learn from the best.”

  “You mean Miss Richards?”

  “Good grief, Tilly.” Fliss hauled herself upright. “Of course I mean Miss Richards. Her first name is Agatha, but she’s not here to take offense at whatever I call her behind her back.” Tilly tried to school her features to be noncommittal, but Fliss had not misread her expression. “Oh, let me guess. I’m being disrespectful.”

  “As a matter of fact, I think you are.”

  “Don’t be so uptight, you silly girl.”

  “Silly girl? I’ll have you know I am twenty, so hardly a girl.”

  “And I’m twenty-two, so what of it?”

  For a moment the space between the two beds yawned as deep as the Grand Canyon and then Fliss started to laugh.

  “Oh, Tilly,” she spluttered. “You should see your face. You really have to lighten up, you know.”

  “Well, I certainly don’t want us to get off on the wrong foot,” Tilly said. “I need all the friends I can get.”

  “First, we’ll make up your bed and then we’ll go to Sam’s place. Here, give me a corner of that sheet.”

  By the time they had made the bed they were chatting as easily as if they had known each other for decades, not for less than a day and, when Fliss insisted on arranging Tilly’s curls before they went out, she gave in.

  This is what having a sister must be like, Tilly thought as she waited patiently for Fliss, showing a surprising flair for fashion, to tweak and twist her hair into place. When she was done, she produced a felt cloche hat and set it on Tilly’s head so that her handiwork peeped becomingly from beneath its edge.