A Sense of Entitlement by Anna Loan-Wilsey Read Free Book Online Page A

up on learning anything more about the trunk or why these two men had been so eager to see it disappear into the ocean and strode quickly toward where the maid had disappeared.
     
    “Miss Davish!” Mrs. Mayhew said when I finally arrived. The chambermaid had been obliging, leading me through a maze of interconnected rooms, a shortcut she called it, and delivered me to the sitting room within minutes. I instantly recognized it from my tour last night, with its white woodwork, sea green damask wall coverings, and plush white furniture. I lamented, however, that I still didn’t know how to get here again. Mrs. Mayhew was lying on an overstuffed chaise longue upholstered in pink silk, stroking the long pure white fur of a Turkish Angora cat. The sun sprayed a medley of colors on the floor beside her as it streamed in through the stained-glass transom. “I rang hours ago,” Mrs. Mayhew exaggerated as the cat leaped from her lap and crossed the room. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
    “I apologize, ma’am,” I said, the cat brushing up against my leg in greeting. I knelt down to pet him and was rewarded with a purr. His fur was silky and soft. “I got lost.” To my relief, Mrs. Mayhew laughed. The cat scampered back to the warm lap of his owner.
    “It is the biggest house in Newport, isn’t it?”
    “I wouldn’t doubt it, ma’am.”
    “I helped design it myself. Didn’t I, Bonaparte?” she said, pulling the cat close and snuggling her cheek into the back of his head. “Well, we’ll have to make sure that Mrs. Crankshaw gives you a proper tour so you don’t lose yourself again.” I couldn’t tell her Mrs. Crankshaw had given me a tour but I’d been too tired and nervous to pay attention. “I’m most anxious to get started. The garden party is in a few days and I have a million letters to answer. You can sit there.” She pointed to a chair next to the oak secretary piled with papers, letters, and magazines. “Hand me the first one, will you?” I took the seat but had no idea which letter in all the chaos she was referring to. My hand hovered over the pile. “Just grab one,” she said. I did, an invitation that was postmarked yesterday.
    “Ah,” she said, glancing at the contents. “Tell her I’d be delighted.” She handed it back to me. I looked about for something to write with but couldn’t find a single pen or pencil in the vast array of things on the desk. I pulled the pencil from my skirt pocket and scribbled her response on the envelope. With no empty space on the desk, I set the letter on the floor and handed Mrs. Mayhew another.
    “She’s persistent,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ll give her that. But I wish Miranda would stop inviting me. I do so hate to say no.” I took the letter from her, jotted down no and started a new pile on the floor.
    The next was a monthly bill for flowers. Five hundred dollars? I had to read it twice, the sum was so alarming. I glanced at the bouquet of pink and white hollyhocks on the center table. These fresh blooms, and those like them in every room I’d seen so far, including my own sitting room, cost more in a month than I earned in a year. And yet Mrs. Mayhew barely glanced at the bill before tossing it back at me.
    “Fine,” she said. “The checkbook’s in the drawer. Take it with you and write them out as I approve them. I’ll sign them later.” I opened the drawer of the desk with difficulty.
    “What’s in here, ma’am?” I asked, pulling on the solid silver drawer handles.
    “I don’t know, invitations, bills, and calling cards that arrived after Mrs. Pemberton left?”
    After a moment or two of pulling gently, I yanked hard enough it nearly flew out from the desk. Papers of every size, shape, and color had jammed the drawer and some now had dropped on the floor. What a disaster! I must organize this later, I thought as I rummaged through until I found the checkbook.
    “There’s fifteen thousand deposited in the bank in my